Composition in Black and White (part two) 6/6
5/
“I shot him,” Neal croaked, looking up at Peter with wide glazed eyes.“And I didn’t even think about it. I just - why didn’t I think about it?”
Peter swallowed, staring over at the slumped form a few feet away. He was two steps behind but it was obvious enough from what was right in front of him to understand what had just happened. What Neal had seen that he hadn’t. Even from this distance he could see they were Russian and familiar. He’d hazard an easy bet that they had some connection to Volkov and that he’d stared at their mugshot more than once in the last week. And they’d followed him, or Neal, and been ready to take them both out.
Before Neal had intervened.
Neal and his sharp shooting skills so very rarely put to use but so well honed they posed so many unanswered questions, even now, four months before Peter could lose the chance to know anymore about Neal Caffrey. Or, at least, that’s how it had been a week ago.
Now, now Neal didn’t trust him enough to let him within a foot of him without clearly being uncomfortable. Still, the look on his face now was impossible to ignore, Peter moved forwards, making sure he wasn’t touching him, but close enough that he could if he was needed.
“It’s okay, Neal. It’s okay.”
“I didn’t even think; why didn’t I think? Peter?” Neal’s face was white as a sheet and he looked straight at Peter, like Peter knew the answer. Even Peter found himself floundering.
“Neal?” he asked, reaching out to rest his hand on the kid’s shoulder, steadying him. Neal was still paper white and confused, staring down at the gun hanging loose in his right hand.
“I didn’t even hesitate, I just - “ he was clearly having a hard time accepting what he’d done. As grateful as Peter was, it was alarming. But very Neal. Peter stared down at his friend, taking all of him in when he noticed it - the dark wet patch down the kid’s left side. He was bleeding again, and quite badly.
“Neal, you’re bleeding,” Peter said, feeling stupid at stating the obvious, but all the same a little alarmed and Neal hadn’t really seemed to notice. When he looked down he didn’t really seem to care too much. He was beginning to shake. Shock had set in. Peter needed to call for help, but he was having a hard time entertaining the thought of taking his hands off Neal even to reach into his own pockets. He looked like he was barely holding it together.
“I need to call for help, Neal, okay?”
Neal’s eyes were glazed and he was still staring at the gun in his hands, so Peter reached out and pried it from his grasp. He gave it up without effort, but without the metal on his skin he seemed a mite more coherent as he looked up at Peter.
“I need to go and call for help, okay?” Peter asked softly and this time Neal nodded.
“I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll be just over there.”
Peter kept his gaze on Neal for a moment longer than necessary, purely for his own benefit before he got to his feet and walked over to the body and turning it over to get a good look at his face. Peter’s frown deepened as he recognized the high forehead and tattooed face of the driver of the SUV, Volkov’s muscle. Rummaging in his pockets for his phone he cast a quick glance back at Neal before he opened his cell. Neal was exactly as Peter had left him. He was staring blankly in front of him and the hand he had used to shoot the driver was still resting on his knees, palm up and fingers curled. Peter let out a deep breath before hitting Diana’s number. There were four missed calls from her.
It didn’t take long before she picked up.
“Peter?”
“I found him, Diana,” the words slipped out before he could stop himself and the breath of relief on the other end was palpable.
“Thank God. Where are you, boss? ”
“We’re at Kate Moreau’s old building. Where I found Neal the second time,” he murmured. He could hear Diana moving on her end, her breathing picking up just a little.
“I need you here, Di. I was followed.”
“We were worried about that, Boss. I tried to call you, ” she said and Peter knew she was definitely moving, he could hear the bell of the elevator.
“I know. You don’t need to worry anymore. It was the driver. Valkov’s muscle.”
“You need me to bring the cavalry, Peter? ”
“You’ll need the lot of them, Diana. Neal shot him. He’s dead.”
“Neal shot him? ”
“Yeah. I’m gonna need an ambulance as well.”
“Are you hurt? ”
“Neal is. I think he’s busted his stitches. And I wouldn’t be shy on diagnosing shock either. He needs to go back to Lenox Hill,” Peter said, glancing back at Neal. He hadn’t moved.
“I’ll make the calls, boss. We’ll be there as soon as we can. ”
“Thanks, Diana,” Peter said softly, hanging up and slipping the phone back in his pocket and dragging himself to his feet. He felt old and tired, weary and worn out. It was a feeling he didn’t quite like in the slightest. Crossing the distance back to Neal, Peter crouched down in front of him. Neal still hadn’t moved and was sitting twisted on his knees. Peter laid his hands on Neal’s shoulders and gently moved him, urging him sideways.
“Come on, buddy, let’s get you a little more comfortable, eh?” he said quietly. Neal’s eyes narrowed and Peter couldn’t help but be relieved to see a sharpness back in his gaze again.
“What happened, Peter?” he asked softly and for a brief moment Peter was terrified that Neal couldn’t remember what had just happened and he was ready to check for a head wound he somehow missed, before he realized quietly that Neal meant everything; the whole situation, the shooting, the accident, the deal, his arrest - all of it.
He’d seen everything on paper. Or as much as Mozzie had been squirreling away.
But Neal had no idea the reasons why it had happened. Just that it had.
Peter cleared his throat.
He really didn’t want to have to be the one to explain it all, but it was obvious in that moment that Neal needed to hear at least some of it now.
“Kate was missing and we used that to catch you. We flushed her out and waited for you to show up. And you did.”
“So that’s how you caught me.”
“You practically turned yourself in, Neal. When you told me what happened, you said Mozzie knew it was a trap, but you went in anyway. You needed to see her again.”
Peter looked up at Neal then and he almost couldn’t keep talking, considering the look on the damn kid’s face, the grief, the longing, the confusion all plain as day. Peter took another deep breath in.
Keep going.
“You came in, and you told her you loved her and she forgave you. She said it back.”
“Was it true though?”
“She waited for you, Neal. She didn’t know it was a trap, and when we arrested you she was there the whole time. She was there at your arraignment, at your sentencing. Every day. Whatever was between you, it was forgiven, Neal. She loved you. She came to see you every week, like clockwork for four -“ Peter stopped. He’d almost said four years.
“She came to see you every week, until about six months until your parole, she stopped. She broke it off. She must have done something or said something, because you were incensed. You broke out of supermax six weeks later.”
“Did I find her?”
“No,” Peter said sadly. This was the hard part.
“She was being held by someone. You knew she was in trouble, but couldn’t prove anything. You had three months to go. I found you the day you broke out. You came - “
“Here,” Neal said, interrupting quietly. His face was pale and Peter wasn’t sure if it was the story or the steadily bleeding wound on his side, but it was the wistful nature of Neal’s voice that piqued him.
“You remember?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” He looked up; blinking like he was trying to hold back tears, but his expression was stoic.
“This was where we lived. Where I lived when I first moved to New York. This was the first place we had together. The longest place we had together.”
“And she stayed here when you went inside.”
“She was gone when I got out looking for her, wasn’t she?” he asked, turning his gaze on Peter, wide eyed and desperate. Peter nodded.
“She was. You went back inside. They gave you another four years.”
“But you let me out.”
“I did.”
“Why?” that question again. Why?
“You’d served your time, Neal. You were being punished for loving Kate. It didn’t seem - “ fair? Right? Why exactly had he let him out?
He’d never quite figured that part out, even now, some four years after Neal had first proposed the idea to him.
“You said you could help me find another forger I was after. The Dutchman. I knew you wanted out to find Kate. But it didn’t matter. I gave in. You were released working for me on a two mile leash in Manhattan.”
“Two miles.”
“Two miles. Even with two miles you managed to work your way up in the world. I left you at a midtown motel and you wound up living with a rich old widow within the afternoon. You went to the thrift store for clothes and came out with a room full of Rat Pack hand me downs and a Manhattan loft.”
“I help out,” Neal murmured, so quietly Peter almost missed it, almost like he was talking only to himself. Peter tried to keep his smile under wraps.
“Wash the jag, play with her grand-daughters - “
“Walk Bugsy. Keep an eye on him when June’s out of town. I keep her company. She gets lonely.”
He all but whispered the last of it and Peter awkwardly cleared his throat and started to continue as if Neal hadn’t spoken.
“You helped me catch the Dutchman and we made your deal permanent. You had four years working for me on your two miles. But of course, that wasn’t what you intended. You looked for Kate.”
“Did I find her?”
“You did, Neal. I’ll be able to explain it properly later - “ or hopefully Neal would remember and he wouldn’t have to…
“But the man who had her was willing to give her back in exchange for the amber music box owned by Catherine the Great.”
“I don’t have it.”
“You didn’t, no. You found it, though. You and - “
“Alex.”
“You remember that or is it past history talking?” Peter prodded and Neal smiled, this ghost of a former, more familiar beam but it was enough. Peter laughed.
“You handed over the music box and were ready to disappear.”
Peter stopped, his smile fading. How could all that history turn into just a few sentences with the capacity to be spoken of like they didn’t matter? He could try and make it easier, simpler than it was. But the weight of them was going to be much heavier now in Neal than it was for the Neal Peter knew, who spoke about Kate with a reverence no longer weighed down by damning grief.
The look on Neal’s face said he knew what came next anyway. The story was probably in those files he’d read. Would Peter’s own statement be in them? Knowing Neal and Mozzie, in all likelihood. For a moment Peter panicked, trying to remember what he’d said in that report two and a half years ago.
“You were at the airport and she was waiting in the plane and - “ and I stopped you. The words were on Peter’s tongue but he couldn’t force them out.
“I turned around,” Neal said. It was soft and quiet and Neal was staring somewhere behind Peter when he said it, like he could see something Peter couldn’t. Perhaps locked in some vision of his history Peter had thought they had put behind them. There had been other traumas, other betrayals. He should have known that Kate’s tragedy would never be quite over. She was the love of Neal’s life, to which all others had been and would be compared.
“Neal - “ Peter said, reaching out to rest a hand on his friend’s shoulder, but before he could say anything more, there was the distinctive sound of movement outside. Peter’s hand reached out for the gun he’d set out of Neal’s reach, and beside him Neal went immediately tense. But Peter could do little more than grasp the handle before he heard the click of boots on the stairs and Diana was running up the hallway. She stopped when she reached the doorway and stared at the scene in front of her. When she finally started moving again her steps were slow and deliberate and Neal stared to relax.
“Hey Diana,” Peter said, looking up at her as she stopped in front of them and crouched down.
“Hey yourself. You two just can’t help getting yourselves into trouble, can you?” she said, her voice annoyed but her expression was kind.
“You alright, Neal?” she asked, her gaze moving over the red stain down Neal’s side and the grey pallor of his skin.
He cocked his head to the side in a brief half gesture.
“I’m… I don’t know,” he acceded and Peter was thankful that it wasn’t the oft heard and untrue ‘I’m fine’.
“There’s some EMT’s trying to navigate a stretcher up the stairs. They’ll be here in a bit,” she said conversationally and Neal didn’t press it. He just nodded. Peter would have translated the expression on his face as grateful. It wasn’t often he saw that, especially when hospitals were on the agenda. After all, just two days ago Neal had broken out of one.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said with a hefty sigh and Peter reached out to brace him, resting his hand back on Neal’s shoulder.
“And neither are we,” he said. It was definite then, Neal definitely looked grateful.
***
They were spending far too much time at the hospital, Mozzie thought as he paused in the doorway. All the same, this time there was a definite feeling of relief to see Neal in one of those damned gowns. He was back, he was alive, he was alright.
Or, as alright as he could be.
Mozzie knocked lightly on the doorframe and Neal spun to stare at him. He still looked pale, wan, tired. Only now, now he looked haunted as well.
“He knows about Kate. About the explosion. He knows about the deal working with me,” Peter had said when Mozzie had finally arrived.
“He knows.”
And Peter had looked a little haunted too.
But now, now it was Neal’s gaze bearing down on him as Mozzie carefully made his way across the room. He felt… unwelcome, almost. Still, he sat down next to Neal and waited for his friend to speak first. Neal’s voice lacked the spark of energy it had last time, it was a croak, like he’d been screaming.
It reminded Mozzie how it had been after Kate. After they’d sat in one of those bare rooms after the doctor had left and Peter had left and it was just him and Neal while they were waiting for the Marshall’s to take him back to lockup. Neal’s voice had been wasted like he’d been screaming and his eyes had been dull and glassy like he’d been crying and they’d just been silent until Mozzie hadn’t been able to take it any longer and said ‘I’m sorry’ and Neal had just croaked ‘she’s gone, she’s just… gone’.
But this time, this time Kate has been gone for a long time but it’s just as raw a loss. Except that Neal couldn’t remember. It was just a fact of life that has been passed and written down as a fact.
Kate was gone.
And Neal couldn’t remember.
In a fit of selfishness Mozzie couldn’t help but hope - oh please, oh please - that he couldn’t.
“If I didn’t ask, were you ever going to tell me, Mozzie?” Neal finally asked and Mozzie couldn’t help but jump at the sound of his friend’s voice cracking open the silence like an egg and everything that had been hidden was suddenly all over the place and Mozzie didn’t know what to do with it. How to deal with it.
“Which part?” he asked, a bit stupidly. Neal’s eyed narrowed.
“All of it? It’s my life, Moz. How long did you think I could go on without knowing what happened to me?”
“As long as you damn well could.”
“It’s not something you had the right to keep from me,” Neal said, with a snarl that Mozzie hadn’t heard in a long time. Neal wasn’t an angel. Wasn’t free from the burdens of anger and violence as much as he tried. He was gentile and charming by nature, but he had pushed that nature into something alien a long time ago. Mozzie had realized years ago the privilege it was to see Neal erupt in front of him. Neal kept things inside and he didn’t often vent, and venting in front of someone was as intimate as the man got. He’d been through a lot and yet Neal’s anger didn’t manifest as often as it would have if Mozzie had been in his friend’s shoes. He couldn’t help but feel almost glad to see that burning anger in Neal’s eyes now. This time, it warranted anger and frustration and all those emotions Neal liked to bottle and hide.
This was a time to let go.
Even those reasons close to chest that were hard to express. Mozzie sighed.
Lead by example.
“And I couldn’t bear the idea telling you it all, Neal,” he said, started softly. “You could have died, we had to stand around and watch you clinging to life for three days and then you wake up and you think you’re eight years younger and you’re as free as a bird. The idea of telling you that the next four years you don’t remember you spent in a maximum security prison and before you could get out Adler took Kate away from you and then killed her before you could get her back? It made me sick. Neal, I couldn’t tell you that and watch you drop like a stone out of the sky. And neither could the Suit.”
“You should have told me,” Neal said again and this time Mozzie sighed, hanging his head.
“I was going to. That first time they let me in after you woke up. I was supposed to tell you that you worked for the Suits and that Kate was dead but I couldn’t, Neal. I just couldn’t.”
He looked up and Neal was watching him, staring at him with those impossible blue eyes and wearing this expression on his face like he didn’t know quite how to feel. An expression that was all Neal. Mozzie knew; he’d seen it before, so many times.
“I had to help pick up the pieces after she died, and knowing you couldn’t remember any of that was like a blessing and a curse and I took advantage of that. I’m sorry, Neal. I should have told you.”
Neal looked away and Mozzie could see it happening before it did. Neal’s propensity to pass the blame back to himself to make his partner (or mark) feel better. It was a conman’s trick, but it was something Neal simply couldn’t stop. He had such little actual self worth it was alarming, really.
“I should have waited. You said you’d tell me in due time. I just didn’t wait,” Neal said, looking down at his hands. Mozzie watched him.
He should have waited, but that was Neal. It wasn’t that he should of, more so that he simply couldn’t wait. He never could and that had always been Neal. It was now or never. Mozzie should have foreseen it, should have known the Neal that woke up didn’t have the hesitancy, the moment of reflection and consideration built into him with the Seal of Burke branded on it. The Neal who had woken up had been the Neal of before, and Mozzie had been so wrapped up in just having him back that he ignored what part of Neal had returned and what hadn’t. And he’d been blinded by that instinctual part of him that had been grinning ear to ear knowing that all he needed to do was pull up Treasure Cam 3.0 and give Neal one glimpse and he wouldn’t have thought twice about Burke or the feds or anything they would be leaving behind.
He’d been blinded and now his eyes were open and Neal was paying the price and the guilt was thick and cloying. Mozzie shifted in his seat.
“It’s fine. I should have foreseen it. I know you, after all - the true sign of knowledge is experience. And I have a lot of experience.”
Neal grinned, like a brief glimpse of sunlight through a storm.
“Einstein; Mozzie, you only quote Einstein when you’re happy.”
“The state of my wellbeing is not to be put under a microscope to be studied and questioned. I’m glad you’re alive, that’s all.”
“Aw, Moz, that almost sounded like you care,” Neal quipped, smiling that impossible smile. It still looked a little odd on his older face; it lacked that boyish quality that had made it manic and invincible. It still packed a punch, charming and joyous but just that little bit strange and for the briefest moment Mozzie felt a pang for the Neal-that-was. The Neal that belonged in the body in front of him, who had fought and won his battles and earned the scars that marked the body in front of him. But the soul, the soul was the same, the very heart of him. The Older Neal was a little warier, a little bruised; perhaps forgetting those who had done the bruising could finally help the tarnishes heal.
If he let them. Maybe this time he would. Mrs Suit could read him like a book these days, front and back and seeing that unleashed on the Young Neal in front of him would be a sight to behold; a woman who knew everything about you and you didn’t know a thing about her could be a powerful thing.
The Suits could help him heal and he and June would take care of the rest. He could call Alex again, she’d come the moment he said there was room. It was the only thing stopping her once the news had reached Florence about Neal’s initial disappearance.
No, Neal had a support network like a spider in his web. He’d be fine.
Neal had friends.
People who cared, all they had to do was show him how much and help being those barriers down that Mozzie hadn’t been able to do on his own the first time. Or even Kate.
No, together, surely they could manage a miracle between them.
***
Peter was exhausted, but he was having a hard time trying to leave.
Neal had passed out almost the moment they’d put him on the stretcher and Peter’s nerves had frayed to shreds. Every hint of exhaustion he’d felt between the moment they’d loaded Neal into the damn ambulance and now had been quashed under the need to know his partner was safe. It was his fault, after all.
Peter sighed.
The sun was out, it was nearly ten in the morning, Neal was awake and talking quietly with Mozzie. Volkov was in holding, his muscle, Krovesky was dead. Overall things seemed almost finished, but there was a part of Peter that felt it just wasn’t. He knew from this moment, he was going on leave. It was almost a certainty and it was one he was actually looking forward to. But all the same, there was a bubbling sense of unease keeping him here. Keeping him awake.
And it seemed to take fruit when Reese took pause beside him, watching Neal and Mozzie through the glass.
“How’s Caffrey doing?” he asked, solemn and quiet. Peter sighed and glanced over at his boss. Hughes looked grim.
“They stitched him back up, but the doctor seems to think he’ll be fine. In time.”
“Has he remembered anything?” Reese asked gently and Peter sighed.
“Not much. Nothing new. He remembers Moreau’s explosion, and living with June Holloway, but nothing else. He won’t say much about shooting Korevsky either. He doesn’t trust me.”
It hurt to say it, but Peter knew it for truth.
Hughes sighed, sounding sympathetic.
“He trusted you enough to shoot a man, Peter, even I know that’s a big thing to ask of the boy.”
“He says it was instinct. He doesn’t know why he did it.”
Hughes was quiet and Peter glanced over at him.
“What are we doing about it?”
Hughes sighed again, this time it was long and weary and Peter couldn’t help but tense up.
“Peter, I’ve been ordered to ship Caffrey back to Supermax until the DOJ can conduct a hearing and make their decision.”
“He’s being sent back?” Peter could barely hear himself over the roiling anger rearing up inside him. Hughes looked more than uncomfortable but that was doing nothing to stop it. Instead he kept talking, continuing what honestly felt like a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare.
Only it wasn’t and he knew it and there was nothing he could do.
“As of right now, Peter, Caffrey is set to serve out the rest of his sentence in his old cell. Beyond that, it’s up to the DOJ whether he’s persecuted for escaping again, or for shooting Korevsky.”
“And whether he’ll have to serve more time?” Peter asked, astounded. The only thing he could feel stopping his anger from all out bursting was the look of intense dislike across Reese’s face. Reese clearly didn’t like what he was saying, but Peter knew there was nothing they could do. Hughes wouldn’t be telling him this if there was another way.
“That’s up to the DOJ, Peter.”
“And they won’t let him serve the four months out with me? Or even under house arrest?”
“He’s classed as an escaped fugitive, Peter; an escaped fugitive that stole and used an agent’s gun to kill a man. The fact he was saving your life is an oversight. It doesn’t matter to them. What matters is that the felon who has served three and a half tumultuous years in your care, currently doesn’t even remember being incarcerated the first time! They’re hesitant to let him out at all. I’m sorry, Peter, but there’s nothing I can do. The boy goes back to Supermax when he’s signed out tomorrow morning.”
Peter felt his stomach turn over and he glanced back at Neal. Mozzie was still sitting next to him and they were talking, nothing heated, just banter. Neal’s eyes were half mast and he was solemn, the only part of him moving was his lips and his eyelids in very slow blinks.
“I can’t let you see him, Peter.” Peter turned back to his boss.
“The Marshall’s have sent down two officers to keep an eye on him. None of our agents are authorized to see him. He’s high risk. It’s out of our hands until the DOJ decides otherwise.”
“I can’t even say goodbye?”
“I don’t think he’ll miss it, Peter,” Reese said gently.
Peter nodded, and half turned away but his heart was pounding and his fingers itched and it felt so damn wrong but there was nothing he could do. This was the job. Sometimes you had to do things you really didn’t like.
He knew that.
He’d done some things in his career that kept him awake. He knew this would keep him awake a lot longer than anything he’d done in the last four years.
This was Neal, and Neal had killed someone to protect him, to save Peter’s life, and in return they were going to send him back to prison.
With the potential to convict him again.
It turned Peter’s stomach, but there was nothing he could do.
Hughes cuffed Peter on the shoulder and started walking back down the hallway. Peter glanced back at Neal once again.
How could he let them do this?
***
Elizabeth was waiting for him when he got home, just as he knew she would be.
Peter had barely been able to keep a straight face as he’d dumped his coat on the couch and crossed the room to hold her.
“We found him,” he murmured into her hair and she’d clutched him tighter, knowing at that moment that there was more he wasn’t saying.
And it was more he couldn’t say, more he couldn’t find the words to say until much later that day, when El woke him up, brushing his hair out of his face and smiling sadly.
She’d called Jones while he was sleeping.
Jones had told her the news that was spreading around the office like wildfire.
Neal was being sent back to prison the very next morning.
“I’ve been put on administrative leave,” Peter said as he sat down at the kitchen table opposite her. Her hands in his.
“They should have put me on it after I was signed out of the hospital anyway, so I can’t really appeal it. It’s procedure.”
“You found him, Honey, there’s nothing else you could have done. Now’s the time to rest,” she sounded sad as she said it.
“How can I rest when Neal’s going back to Supermax for saving my life?”
El frowned and squeezed his hand.
“We’ll figure something out, Hon. I’ll talk to Mozzie and June in the morning. We’ll figure it out.”
“Planning a jailbreak, Mrs Burke?”
“What’s it to you, Mr Burke?” she goaded, for the briefest moment she smiled and her eyes glinted and all his worries lifted away. It always shocked him how she could make him forget the world. He didn’t deserve her.
“I’m sorry I’ve been distracted the last few weeks,” he murmured softly and El shook her head and took his head in her hands.
“It’s okay. I understand. You’re a good man, Peter Burke. You brought him back to us, that’s what counts. Now it’s our turn. We’ll figure this out, Peter. Have faith.”
“I do. In you.”
“You’re sweet. You should get some rest while I make dinner. It wont be long.”
“Yeah,” Peter sighed, leaning in to kiss his wife softly. She smiled at him sadly.
“He’ll be alright. He’s stronger than we give him credit for, sometimes.”
“I know.”
“You should go up and have a shower, I’ll put dinner on,” Elizabeth said softly, squeezing his hand again.
Peter brought it up to his mouth and kissed the back of it.
“I think I’m going to take Satch for a walk around the block, clear my head.”
“Okay,” El nodded, fixing him with a quiet stare, before she squeezed his hand back and slid of the chair and around the corner into the kitchen.
Peter watched her go before getting to his feet and going for the lead.
Satchmo followed him to the door and waited patiently for Peter to attach the lead and open the doors.
That was Satchmo, though, honest and loyal.
Peter took the dog to the end of the block before he even turned the burner phone on.
Elizabeth kept it on the underside of one of the drawers in the side board near the stairs.
The street was silent as he stood on the corner and waited. Satchmo whined and circled his legs as Peter stared down at the phone in his hand, before finally coming to a stop and sitting at Peter’s feet. Peter turned his gaze from the phone down to the dog, staring into the giant brown eyes staring up at him.
He didn’t know if it was the dog’s honest devotion staring back at him, or whether his own brain jumped through the remaining hoops of uncertainty on it’s own but either way it ended the same way as he entered Mozzie’s phone number into the phone and pressed call.
He didn’t know if he’d made his choice the moment Reese had told him what was happening or whether it had been in his kitchen ten minutes ago with his wife or any time in between. He didn’t know when, he just knew the decision had been made.
It nearly rang out before it was answered, and Peter’s determination was starting to dwindle, right up until he heard the paranoid man’s voice.
The moment he did, he knew there was no turning back.
“Mrs Suit?”
“No, it’s Peter.”
Mozzie was quiet a moment and in that second he made his decision.
“What do you want, Suit? You know you’re not supposed to call someone when they’re in the hospital. It interferes with the machines, you could put Neal in a coma.”
“You’re not supposed to answer either, Mozzie. But you did.”
“That’s not the issue, Suit. You should have known I was here. Why’d you call?”
“Because of exactly where you are.”
“You’re not exactly one for riddles, Suit.”
Peter took a deep breath in. It was now or never.
He didn’t think he could live with himself if he picked never.
“I need you to do something for me, Mozzie; I need you to take him and run.”
The words were clear and decisive and there was no way that the other man could have mistaken them for what they were.
Mozzie was silent on the other end and Peter took another deep breath in, staring down the end of the block and into the distance.
“You know as well as I do what those Marshalls outside his room mean. They’re coming for him in the morning, Mozzie. To take him back. Do whatever you have to do and go.”
Mozzie didn’t say anything for a second, and it was all Peter could stand. He didn’t wait any longer for the other man’s reply. He couldn’t stand to hear it, anyway. He hung up and immediately turned the phone off with a long sigh. Part anxiety, part relief.
He was going to be in hell for that. He knew there would be an enquiry. His career would be in tatters, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t do it to Neal. Not after all this.
Not when Neal’s life was torn to shreds and everyone wanted to punish him for things that were none of his doing. They were Peter’s. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t justice. It was blatant punishment and Peter couldn’t stand back and let it happen. Not now. Not to Neal.
Peter breathed in, clenching the phone in one hand hard enough to break it. He had just broken the law for a criminal. But the thought had barely crossed his mind before he was tripping over it to change his own wording.
He hadn’t broken the law for a criminal. He wouldn’t. But he would for a friend.
He’d done the right thing in a sea of wrong. It was the right thing, but only just.
But regardless of its consequences, it was the only option he could live with.
He’d deal with what came to him later.
***
The call came through at 11:34pm and once again, Diana Berrigan found herself lodged with the task of telling Peter.
Neal Caffrey had escaped.
Again.
~*~
Fin
“I shot him,” Neal croaked, looking up at Peter with wide glazed eyes.“And I didn’t even think about it. I just - why didn’t I think about it?”
Peter swallowed, staring over at the slumped form a few feet away. He was two steps behind but it was obvious enough from what was right in front of him to understand what had just happened. What Neal had seen that he hadn’t. Even from this distance he could see they were Russian and familiar. He’d hazard an easy bet that they had some connection to Volkov and that he’d stared at their mugshot more than once in the last week. And they’d followed him, or Neal, and been ready to take them both out.
Before Neal had intervened.
Neal and his sharp shooting skills so very rarely put to use but so well honed they posed so many unanswered questions, even now, four months before Peter could lose the chance to know anymore about Neal Caffrey. Or, at least, that’s how it had been a week ago.
Now, now Neal didn’t trust him enough to let him within a foot of him without clearly being uncomfortable. Still, the look on his face now was impossible to ignore, Peter moved forwards, making sure he wasn’t touching him, but close enough that he could if he was needed.
“It’s okay, Neal. It’s okay.”
“I didn’t even think; why didn’t I think? Peter?” Neal’s face was white as a sheet and he looked straight at Peter, like Peter knew the answer. Even Peter found himself floundering.
“Neal?” he asked, reaching out to rest his hand on the kid’s shoulder, steadying him. Neal was still paper white and confused, staring down at the gun hanging loose in his right hand.
“I didn’t even hesitate, I just - “ he was clearly having a hard time accepting what he’d done. As grateful as Peter was, it was alarming. But very Neal. Peter stared down at his friend, taking all of him in when he noticed it - the dark wet patch down the kid’s left side. He was bleeding again, and quite badly.
“Neal, you’re bleeding,” Peter said, feeling stupid at stating the obvious, but all the same a little alarmed and Neal hadn’t really seemed to notice. When he looked down he didn’t really seem to care too much. He was beginning to shake. Shock had set in. Peter needed to call for help, but he was having a hard time entertaining the thought of taking his hands off Neal even to reach into his own pockets. He looked like he was barely holding it together.
“I need to call for help, Neal, okay?”
Neal’s eyes were glazed and he was still staring at the gun in his hands, so Peter reached out and pried it from his grasp. He gave it up without effort, but without the metal on his skin he seemed a mite more coherent as he looked up at Peter.
“I need to go and call for help, okay?” Peter asked softly and this time Neal nodded.
“I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll be just over there.”
Peter kept his gaze on Neal for a moment longer than necessary, purely for his own benefit before he got to his feet and walked over to the body and turning it over to get a good look at his face. Peter’s frown deepened as he recognized the high forehead and tattooed face of the driver of the SUV, Volkov’s muscle. Rummaging in his pockets for his phone he cast a quick glance back at Neal before he opened his cell. Neal was exactly as Peter had left him. He was staring blankly in front of him and the hand he had used to shoot the driver was still resting on his knees, palm up and fingers curled. Peter let out a deep breath before hitting Diana’s number. There were four missed calls from her.
It didn’t take long before she picked up.
“Peter?”
“I found him, Diana,” the words slipped out before he could stop himself and the breath of relief on the other end was palpable.
“Thank God. Where are you, boss? ”
“We’re at Kate Moreau’s old building. Where I found Neal the second time,” he murmured. He could hear Diana moving on her end, her breathing picking up just a little.
“I need you here, Di. I was followed.”
“We were worried about that, Boss. I tried to call you, ” she said and Peter knew she was definitely moving, he could hear the bell of the elevator.
“I know. You don’t need to worry anymore. It was the driver. Valkov’s muscle.”
“You need me to bring the cavalry, Peter? ”
“You’ll need the lot of them, Diana. Neal shot him. He’s dead.”
“Neal shot him? ”
“Yeah. I’m gonna need an ambulance as well.”
“Are you hurt? ”
“Neal is. I think he’s busted his stitches. And I wouldn’t be shy on diagnosing shock either. He needs to go back to Lenox Hill,” Peter said, glancing back at Neal. He hadn’t moved.
“I’ll make the calls, boss. We’ll be there as soon as we can. ”
“Thanks, Diana,” Peter said softly, hanging up and slipping the phone back in his pocket and dragging himself to his feet. He felt old and tired, weary and worn out. It was a feeling he didn’t quite like in the slightest. Crossing the distance back to Neal, Peter crouched down in front of him. Neal still hadn’t moved and was sitting twisted on his knees. Peter laid his hands on Neal’s shoulders and gently moved him, urging him sideways.
“Come on, buddy, let’s get you a little more comfortable, eh?” he said quietly. Neal’s eyes narrowed and Peter couldn’t help but be relieved to see a sharpness back in his gaze again.
“What happened, Peter?” he asked softly and for a brief moment Peter was terrified that Neal couldn’t remember what had just happened and he was ready to check for a head wound he somehow missed, before he realized quietly that Neal meant everything; the whole situation, the shooting, the accident, the deal, his arrest - all of it.
He’d seen everything on paper. Or as much as Mozzie had been squirreling away.
But Neal had no idea the reasons why it had happened. Just that it had.
Peter cleared his throat.
He really didn’t want to have to be the one to explain it all, but it was obvious in that moment that Neal needed to hear at least some of it now.
“Kate was missing and we used that to catch you. We flushed her out and waited for you to show up. And you did.”
“So that’s how you caught me.”
“You practically turned yourself in, Neal. When you told me what happened, you said Mozzie knew it was a trap, but you went in anyway. You needed to see her again.”
Peter looked up at Neal then and he almost couldn’t keep talking, considering the look on the damn kid’s face, the grief, the longing, the confusion all plain as day. Peter took another deep breath in.
Keep going.
“You came in, and you told her you loved her and she forgave you. She said it back.”
“Was it true though?”
“She waited for you, Neal. She didn’t know it was a trap, and when we arrested you she was there the whole time. She was there at your arraignment, at your sentencing. Every day. Whatever was between you, it was forgiven, Neal. She loved you. She came to see you every week, like clockwork for four -“ Peter stopped. He’d almost said four years.
“She came to see you every week, until about six months until your parole, she stopped. She broke it off. She must have done something or said something, because you were incensed. You broke out of supermax six weeks later.”
“Did I find her?”
“No,” Peter said sadly. This was the hard part.
“She was being held by someone. You knew she was in trouble, but couldn’t prove anything. You had three months to go. I found you the day you broke out. You came - “
“Here,” Neal said, interrupting quietly. His face was pale and Peter wasn’t sure if it was the story or the steadily bleeding wound on his side, but it was the wistful nature of Neal’s voice that piqued him.
“You remember?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” He looked up; blinking like he was trying to hold back tears, but his expression was stoic.
“This was where we lived. Where I lived when I first moved to New York. This was the first place we had together. The longest place we had together.”
“And she stayed here when you went inside.”
“She was gone when I got out looking for her, wasn’t she?” he asked, turning his gaze on Peter, wide eyed and desperate. Peter nodded.
“She was. You went back inside. They gave you another four years.”
“But you let me out.”
“I did.”
“Why?” that question again. Why?
“You’d served your time, Neal. You were being punished for loving Kate. It didn’t seem - “ fair? Right? Why exactly had he let him out?
He’d never quite figured that part out, even now, some four years after Neal had first proposed the idea to him.
“You said you could help me find another forger I was after. The Dutchman. I knew you wanted out to find Kate. But it didn’t matter. I gave in. You were released working for me on a two mile leash in Manhattan.”
“Two miles.”
“Two miles. Even with two miles you managed to work your way up in the world. I left you at a midtown motel and you wound up living with a rich old widow within the afternoon. You went to the thrift store for clothes and came out with a room full of Rat Pack hand me downs and a Manhattan loft.”
“I help out,” Neal murmured, so quietly Peter almost missed it, almost like he was talking only to himself. Peter tried to keep his smile under wraps.
“Wash the jag, play with her grand-daughters - “
“Walk Bugsy. Keep an eye on him when June’s out of town. I keep her company. She gets lonely.”
He all but whispered the last of it and Peter awkwardly cleared his throat and started to continue as if Neal hadn’t spoken.
“You helped me catch the Dutchman and we made your deal permanent. You had four years working for me on your two miles. But of course, that wasn’t what you intended. You looked for Kate.”
“Did I find her?”
“You did, Neal. I’ll be able to explain it properly later - “ or hopefully Neal would remember and he wouldn’t have to…
“But the man who had her was willing to give her back in exchange for the amber music box owned by Catherine the Great.”
“I don’t have it.”
“You didn’t, no. You found it, though. You and - “
“Alex.”
“You remember that or is it past history talking?” Peter prodded and Neal smiled, this ghost of a former, more familiar beam but it was enough. Peter laughed.
“You handed over the music box and were ready to disappear.”
Peter stopped, his smile fading. How could all that history turn into just a few sentences with the capacity to be spoken of like they didn’t matter? He could try and make it easier, simpler than it was. But the weight of them was going to be much heavier now in Neal than it was for the Neal Peter knew, who spoke about Kate with a reverence no longer weighed down by damning grief.
The look on Neal’s face said he knew what came next anyway. The story was probably in those files he’d read. Would Peter’s own statement be in them? Knowing Neal and Mozzie, in all likelihood. For a moment Peter panicked, trying to remember what he’d said in that report two and a half years ago.
“You were at the airport and she was waiting in the plane and - “ and I stopped you. The words were on Peter’s tongue but he couldn’t force them out.
“I turned around,” Neal said. It was soft and quiet and Neal was staring somewhere behind Peter when he said it, like he could see something Peter couldn’t. Perhaps locked in some vision of his history Peter had thought they had put behind them. There had been other traumas, other betrayals. He should have known that Kate’s tragedy would never be quite over. She was the love of Neal’s life, to which all others had been and would be compared.
“Neal - “ Peter said, reaching out to rest a hand on his friend’s shoulder, but before he could say anything more, there was the distinctive sound of movement outside. Peter’s hand reached out for the gun he’d set out of Neal’s reach, and beside him Neal went immediately tense. But Peter could do little more than grasp the handle before he heard the click of boots on the stairs and Diana was running up the hallway. She stopped when she reached the doorway and stared at the scene in front of her. When she finally started moving again her steps were slow and deliberate and Neal stared to relax.
“Hey Diana,” Peter said, looking up at her as she stopped in front of them and crouched down.
“Hey yourself. You two just can’t help getting yourselves into trouble, can you?” she said, her voice annoyed but her expression was kind.
“You alright, Neal?” she asked, her gaze moving over the red stain down Neal’s side and the grey pallor of his skin.
He cocked his head to the side in a brief half gesture.
“I’m… I don’t know,” he acceded and Peter was thankful that it wasn’t the oft heard and untrue ‘I’m fine’.
“There’s some EMT’s trying to navigate a stretcher up the stairs. They’ll be here in a bit,” she said conversationally and Neal didn’t press it. He just nodded. Peter would have translated the expression on his face as grateful. It wasn’t often he saw that, especially when hospitals were on the agenda. After all, just two days ago Neal had broken out of one.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said with a hefty sigh and Peter reached out to brace him, resting his hand back on Neal’s shoulder.
“And neither are we,” he said. It was definite then, Neal definitely looked grateful.
***
They were spending far too much time at the hospital, Mozzie thought as he paused in the doorway. All the same, this time there was a definite feeling of relief to see Neal in one of those damned gowns. He was back, he was alive, he was alright.
Or, as alright as he could be.
Mozzie knocked lightly on the doorframe and Neal spun to stare at him. He still looked pale, wan, tired. Only now, now he looked haunted as well.
“He knows about Kate. About the explosion. He knows about the deal working with me,” Peter had said when Mozzie had finally arrived.
“He knows.”
And Peter had looked a little haunted too.
But now, now it was Neal’s gaze bearing down on him as Mozzie carefully made his way across the room. He felt… unwelcome, almost. Still, he sat down next to Neal and waited for his friend to speak first. Neal’s voice lacked the spark of energy it had last time, it was a croak, like he’d been screaming.
It reminded Mozzie how it had been after Kate. After they’d sat in one of those bare rooms after the doctor had left and Peter had left and it was just him and Neal while they were waiting for the Marshall’s to take him back to lockup. Neal’s voice had been wasted like he’d been screaming and his eyes had been dull and glassy like he’d been crying and they’d just been silent until Mozzie hadn’t been able to take it any longer and said ‘I’m sorry’ and Neal had just croaked ‘she’s gone, she’s just… gone’.
But this time, this time Kate has been gone for a long time but it’s just as raw a loss. Except that Neal couldn’t remember. It was just a fact of life that has been passed and written down as a fact.
Kate was gone.
And Neal couldn’t remember.
In a fit of selfishness Mozzie couldn’t help but hope - oh please, oh please - that he couldn’t.
“If I didn’t ask, were you ever going to tell me, Mozzie?” Neal finally asked and Mozzie couldn’t help but jump at the sound of his friend’s voice cracking open the silence like an egg and everything that had been hidden was suddenly all over the place and Mozzie didn’t know what to do with it. How to deal with it.
“Which part?” he asked, a bit stupidly. Neal’s eyed narrowed.
“All of it? It’s my life, Moz. How long did you think I could go on without knowing what happened to me?”
“As long as you damn well could.”
“It’s not something you had the right to keep from me,” Neal said, with a snarl that Mozzie hadn’t heard in a long time. Neal wasn’t an angel. Wasn’t free from the burdens of anger and violence as much as he tried. He was gentile and charming by nature, but he had pushed that nature into something alien a long time ago. Mozzie had realized years ago the privilege it was to see Neal erupt in front of him. Neal kept things inside and he didn’t often vent, and venting in front of someone was as intimate as the man got. He’d been through a lot and yet Neal’s anger didn’t manifest as often as it would have if Mozzie had been in his friend’s shoes. He couldn’t help but feel almost glad to see that burning anger in Neal’s eyes now. This time, it warranted anger and frustration and all those emotions Neal liked to bottle and hide.
This was a time to let go.
Even those reasons close to chest that were hard to express. Mozzie sighed.
Lead by example.
“And I couldn’t bear the idea telling you it all, Neal,” he said, started softly. “You could have died, we had to stand around and watch you clinging to life for three days and then you wake up and you think you’re eight years younger and you’re as free as a bird. The idea of telling you that the next four years you don’t remember you spent in a maximum security prison and before you could get out Adler took Kate away from you and then killed her before you could get her back? It made me sick. Neal, I couldn’t tell you that and watch you drop like a stone out of the sky. And neither could the Suit.”
“You should have told me,” Neal said again and this time Mozzie sighed, hanging his head.
“I was going to. That first time they let me in after you woke up. I was supposed to tell you that you worked for the Suits and that Kate was dead but I couldn’t, Neal. I just couldn’t.”
He looked up and Neal was watching him, staring at him with those impossible blue eyes and wearing this expression on his face like he didn’t know quite how to feel. An expression that was all Neal. Mozzie knew; he’d seen it before, so many times.
“I had to help pick up the pieces after she died, and knowing you couldn’t remember any of that was like a blessing and a curse and I took advantage of that. I’m sorry, Neal. I should have told you.”
Neal looked away and Mozzie could see it happening before it did. Neal’s propensity to pass the blame back to himself to make his partner (or mark) feel better. It was a conman’s trick, but it was something Neal simply couldn’t stop. He had such little actual self worth it was alarming, really.
“I should have waited. You said you’d tell me in due time. I just didn’t wait,” Neal said, looking down at his hands. Mozzie watched him.
He should have waited, but that was Neal. It wasn’t that he should of, more so that he simply couldn’t wait. He never could and that had always been Neal. It was now or never. Mozzie should have foreseen it, should have known the Neal that woke up didn’t have the hesitancy, the moment of reflection and consideration built into him with the Seal of Burke branded on it. The Neal who had woken up had been the Neal of before, and Mozzie had been so wrapped up in just having him back that he ignored what part of Neal had returned and what hadn’t. And he’d been blinded by that instinctual part of him that had been grinning ear to ear knowing that all he needed to do was pull up Treasure Cam 3.0 and give Neal one glimpse and he wouldn’t have thought twice about Burke or the feds or anything they would be leaving behind.
He’d been blinded and now his eyes were open and Neal was paying the price and the guilt was thick and cloying. Mozzie shifted in his seat.
“It’s fine. I should have foreseen it. I know you, after all - the true sign of knowledge is experience. And I have a lot of experience.”
Neal grinned, like a brief glimpse of sunlight through a storm.
“Einstein; Mozzie, you only quote Einstein when you’re happy.”
“The state of my wellbeing is not to be put under a microscope to be studied and questioned. I’m glad you’re alive, that’s all.”
“Aw, Moz, that almost sounded like you care,” Neal quipped, smiling that impossible smile. It still looked a little odd on his older face; it lacked that boyish quality that had made it manic and invincible. It still packed a punch, charming and joyous but just that little bit strange and for the briefest moment Mozzie felt a pang for the Neal-that-was. The Neal that belonged in the body in front of him, who had fought and won his battles and earned the scars that marked the body in front of him. But the soul, the soul was the same, the very heart of him. The Older Neal was a little warier, a little bruised; perhaps forgetting those who had done the bruising could finally help the tarnishes heal.
If he let them. Maybe this time he would. Mrs Suit could read him like a book these days, front and back and seeing that unleashed on the Young Neal in front of him would be a sight to behold; a woman who knew everything about you and you didn’t know a thing about her could be a powerful thing.
The Suits could help him heal and he and June would take care of the rest. He could call Alex again, she’d come the moment he said there was room. It was the only thing stopping her once the news had reached Florence about Neal’s initial disappearance.
No, Neal had a support network like a spider in his web. He’d be fine.
Neal had friends.
People who cared, all they had to do was show him how much and help being those barriers down that Mozzie hadn’t been able to do on his own the first time. Or even Kate.
No, together, surely they could manage a miracle between them.
***
Peter was exhausted, but he was having a hard time trying to leave.
Neal had passed out almost the moment they’d put him on the stretcher and Peter’s nerves had frayed to shreds. Every hint of exhaustion he’d felt between the moment they’d loaded Neal into the damn ambulance and now had been quashed under the need to know his partner was safe. It was his fault, after all.
Peter sighed.
The sun was out, it was nearly ten in the morning, Neal was awake and talking quietly with Mozzie. Volkov was in holding, his muscle, Krovesky was dead. Overall things seemed almost finished, but there was a part of Peter that felt it just wasn’t. He knew from this moment, he was going on leave. It was almost a certainty and it was one he was actually looking forward to. But all the same, there was a bubbling sense of unease keeping him here. Keeping him awake.
And it seemed to take fruit when Reese took pause beside him, watching Neal and Mozzie through the glass.
“How’s Caffrey doing?” he asked, solemn and quiet. Peter sighed and glanced over at his boss. Hughes looked grim.
“They stitched him back up, but the doctor seems to think he’ll be fine. In time.”
“Has he remembered anything?” Reese asked gently and Peter sighed.
“Not much. Nothing new. He remembers Moreau’s explosion, and living with June Holloway, but nothing else. He won’t say much about shooting Korevsky either. He doesn’t trust me.”
It hurt to say it, but Peter knew it for truth.
Hughes sighed, sounding sympathetic.
“He trusted you enough to shoot a man, Peter, even I know that’s a big thing to ask of the boy.”
“He says it was instinct. He doesn’t know why he did it.”
Hughes was quiet and Peter glanced over at him.
“What are we doing about it?”
Hughes sighed again, this time it was long and weary and Peter couldn’t help but tense up.
“Peter, I’ve been ordered to ship Caffrey back to Supermax until the DOJ can conduct a hearing and make their decision.”
“He’s being sent back?” Peter could barely hear himself over the roiling anger rearing up inside him. Hughes looked more than uncomfortable but that was doing nothing to stop it. Instead he kept talking, continuing what honestly felt like a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare.
Only it wasn’t and he knew it and there was nothing he could do.
“As of right now, Peter, Caffrey is set to serve out the rest of his sentence in his old cell. Beyond that, it’s up to the DOJ whether he’s persecuted for escaping again, or for shooting Korevsky.”
“And whether he’ll have to serve more time?” Peter asked, astounded. The only thing he could feel stopping his anger from all out bursting was the look of intense dislike across Reese’s face. Reese clearly didn’t like what he was saying, but Peter knew there was nothing they could do. Hughes wouldn’t be telling him this if there was another way.
“That’s up to the DOJ, Peter.”
“And they won’t let him serve the four months out with me? Or even under house arrest?”
“He’s classed as an escaped fugitive, Peter; an escaped fugitive that stole and used an agent’s gun to kill a man. The fact he was saving your life is an oversight. It doesn’t matter to them. What matters is that the felon who has served three and a half tumultuous years in your care, currently doesn’t even remember being incarcerated the first time! They’re hesitant to let him out at all. I’m sorry, Peter, but there’s nothing I can do. The boy goes back to Supermax when he’s signed out tomorrow morning.”
Peter felt his stomach turn over and he glanced back at Neal. Mozzie was still sitting next to him and they were talking, nothing heated, just banter. Neal’s eyes were half mast and he was solemn, the only part of him moving was his lips and his eyelids in very slow blinks.
“I can’t let you see him, Peter.” Peter turned back to his boss.
“The Marshall’s have sent down two officers to keep an eye on him. None of our agents are authorized to see him. He’s high risk. It’s out of our hands until the DOJ decides otherwise.”
“I can’t even say goodbye?”
“I don’t think he’ll miss it, Peter,” Reese said gently.
Peter nodded, and half turned away but his heart was pounding and his fingers itched and it felt so damn wrong but there was nothing he could do. This was the job. Sometimes you had to do things you really didn’t like.
He knew that.
He’d done some things in his career that kept him awake. He knew this would keep him awake a lot longer than anything he’d done in the last four years.
This was Neal, and Neal had killed someone to protect him, to save Peter’s life, and in return they were going to send him back to prison.
With the potential to convict him again.
It turned Peter’s stomach, but there was nothing he could do.
Hughes cuffed Peter on the shoulder and started walking back down the hallway. Peter glanced back at Neal once again.
How could he let them do this?
***
Elizabeth was waiting for him when he got home, just as he knew she would be.
Peter had barely been able to keep a straight face as he’d dumped his coat on the couch and crossed the room to hold her.
“We found him,” he murmured into her hair and she’d clutched him tighter, knowing at that moment that there was more he wasn’t saying.
And it was more he couldn’t say, more he couldn’t find the words to say until much later that day, when El woke him up, brushing his hair out of his face and smiling sadly.
She’d called Jones while he was sleeping.
Jones had told her the news that was spreading around the office like wildfire.
Neal was being sent back to prison the very next morning.
“I’ve been put on administrative leave,” Peter said as he sat down at the kitchen table opposite her. Her hands in his.
“They should have put me on it after I was signed out of the hospital anyway, so I can’t really appeal it. It’s procedure.”
“You found him, Honey, there’s nothing else you could have done. Now’s the time to rest,” she sounded sad as she said it.
“How can I rest when Neal’s going back to Supermax for saving my life?”
El frowned and squeezed his hand.
“We’ll figure something out, Hon. I’ll talk to Mozzie and June in the morning. We’ll figure it out.”
“Planning a jailbreak, Mrs Burke?”
“What’s it to you, Mr Burke?” she goaded, for the briefest moment she smiled and her eyes glinted and all his worries lifted away. It always shocked him how she could make him forget the world. He didn’t deserve her.
“I’m sorry I’ve been distracted the last few weeks,” he murmured softly and El shook her head and took his head in her hands.
“It’s okay. I understand. You’re a good man, Peter Burke. You brought him back to us, that’s what counts. Now it’s our turn. We’ll figure this out, Peter. Have faith.”
“I do. In you.”
“You’re sweet. You should get some rest while I make dinner. It wont be long.”
“Yeah,” Peter sighed, leaning in to kiss his wife softly. She smiled at him sadly.
“He’ll be alright. He’s stronger than we give him credit for, sometimes.”
“I know.”
“You should go up and have a shower, I’ll put dinner on,” Elizabeth said softly, squeezing his hand again.
Peter brought it up to his mouth and kissed the back of it.
“I think I’m going to take Satch for a walk around the block, clear my head.”
“Okay,” El nodded, fixing him with a quiet stare, before she squeezed his hand back and slid of the chair and around the corner into the kitchen.
Peter watched her go before getting to his feet and going for the lead.
Satchmo followed him to the door and waited patiently for Peter to attach the lead and open the doors.
That was Satchmo, though, honest and loyal.
Peter took the dog to the end of the block before he even turned the burner phone on.
Elizabeth kept it on the underside of one of the drawers in the side board near the stairs.
The street was silent as he stood on the corner and waited. Satchmo whined and circled his legs as Peter stared down at the phone in his hand, before finally coming to a stop and sitting at Peter’s feet. Peter turned his gaze from the phone down to the dog, staring into the giant brown eyes staring up at him.
He didn’t know if it was the dog’s honest devotion staring back at him, or whether his own brain jumped through the remaining hoops of uncertainty on it’s own but either way it ended the same way as he entered Mozzie’s phone number into the phone and pressed call.
He didn’t know if he’d made his choice the moment Reese had told him what was happening or whether it had been in his kitchen ten minutes ago with his wife or any time in between. He didn’t know when, he just knew the decision had been made.
It nearly rang out before it was answered, and Peter’s determination was starting to dwindle, right up until he heard the paranoid man’s voice.
The moment he did, he knew there was no turning back.
“Mrs Suit?”
“No, it’s Peter.”
Mozzie was quiet a moment and in that second he made his decision.
“What do you want, Suit? You know you’re not supposed to call someone when they’re in the hospital. It interferes with the machines, you could put Neal in a coma.”
“You’re not supposed to answer either, Mozzie. But you did.”
“That’s not the issue, Suit. You should have known I was here. Why’d you call?”
“Because of exactly where you are.”
“You’re not exactly one for riddles, Suit.”
Peter took a deep breath in. It was now or never.
He didn’t think he could live with himself if he picked never.
“I need you to do something for me, Mozzie; I need you to take him and run.”
The words were clear and decisive and there was no way that the other man could have mistaken them for what they were.
Mozzie was silent on the other end and Peter took another deep breath in, staring down the end of the block and into the distance.
“You know as well as I do what those Marshalls outside his room mean. They’re coming for him in the morning, Mozzie. To take him back. Do whatever you have to do and go.”
Mozzie didn’t say anything for a second, and it was all Peter could stand. He didn’t wait any longer for the other man’s reply. He couldn’t stand to hear it, anyway. He hung up and immediately turned the phone off with a long sigh. Part anxiety, part relief.
He was going to be in hell for that. He knew there would be an enquiry. His career would be in tatters, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t do it to Neal. Not after all this.
Not when Neal’s life was torn to shreds and everyone wanted to punish him for things that were none of his doing. They were Peter’s. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t justice. It was blatant punishment and Peter couldn’t stand back and let it happen. Not now. Not to Neal.
Peter breathed in, clenching the phone in one hand hard enough to break it. He had just broken the law for a criminal. But the thought had barely crossed his mind before he was tripping over it to change his own wording.
He hadn’t broken the law for a criminal. He wouldn’t. But he would for a friend.
He’d done the right thing in a sea of wrong. It was the right thing, but only just.
But regardless of its consequences, it was the only option he could live with.
He’d deal with what came to him later.
***
The call came through at 11:34pm and once again, Diana Berrigan found herself lodged with the task of telling Peter.
Neal Caffrey had escaped.
Again.
~*~
Fin