Fic Exchange! - Over Ghosts
Title: Over Ghosts
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, everything belongs to Jeff Eastin, and such valuable possessions he does have, indeed!
Warnings: OC character death, grief, aaaangst
Summary: Post-Withdrawl, Neal is still not quite himself, but they’re all coping. Then Peter gets a call; Neal’s twenty feet out of his radius and not moving. It’s not much, but before the day is out Peter is going to get a much better idea about what it’s like to be a man trapped in two miles that proved to be just enough to stop him saving the woman he loved.
AN: This is for nefhiriel, over at the collarcorner fic exchange, who asked for anklet angst, h/c heavy on the comfort and Neal and Peter friendship. I hope I ticked the boxes sufficiently to your liking and I’m sorry I’ve run a little over time. Ever so much to do!
~
Opened up his little heart
Unlocked the lock that kept it dark
And read a written warning
Saying I’m still mourning
Over ghosts.
He would stare at empty chairs
Think of the ghosts who once sat there
The ghosts that broke his heart.
Ghosts,
Laura Marling
***
There’s a cafe right on the very edge of Neal’s radius that the damn kid has such a fondness for it’s not really something that Peter pays any mind to when he see’s the information on Neal’s movement transcripts these days.
When Neal first started frequenting the place about four months into his probation, Peter had been anxious and over zealous and Elizabeth had laughed at him for ten minutes solid when he’d brought it up, staring at the data like it was going to give him all the answers. He’d been sure that Neal was meeting someone, or making his plans for escape, staring out on the edge of his freedom. That was until El had told him that the place Neal was going was a rather pricey little pâtisserie that made cakes that were practically to die for. So after the fourth time Peter had caught Neal’s little blinking dot at the same little place, he’d caved and gone to watch, and just as Elizabeth had said, it was a small little pâtisserie and Neal had been sitting out the front on his radius side of the little assortment of tables and chairs and he’d been staring across the road at a little florist with an open look on his face and the sight had been oddly vulnerable, so Peter had left in a hurry. When he’d explained to El later that night she’d just shook her head at him and the next day dragged Peter to the place for a quick break. El had been right, the cakes had been to die for and in similar fashion to Neal, they’d sat out the front and watched the bustle on the opposite side of the street.
After that, Peter had left it well enough alone.
He knew that the place obviously had some form of meaning in Neal’s archive of sentiments and romance because Neal kept going back, and there were very few places in his radius Neal frequented as much as the little patisserie.
And if over time Neal had frequented the place less and less, well, Peter had just let it be. Happy that Neal was no longer skirting along the edge of his boundaries so often.
But then there was the music box, and there was Mentor and there was Kate and a plane and two months in prison and when Neal got out again, well, if the little blinking dot went back to the little patisserie, then it was no business of Peter’s. Mozzie gave nothing away and Peter couldn’t find it in himself to ask.
All he could think of every time he thought on it was the vulnerable look on Neal’s face and so he left it alone.
But Neal was restless again, bursting with pent up energy and a startling desire for revenge that had Peter a little anxious and had Diana skirting quick looks at Neal with such hesitating concern for the briefest moments. But then they were suddenly back to normal and Peter was left with a small and alarming voice in the back of his head warning him when things were silent and should have otherwise been easy, that all things Caffrey were nowhere near as calm as it would seem. Warning him to not grow complacent.
And the blinking dot returned to the patisserie and instead of watching out, Peter tried hard to pay it no mind.
Until one day as he forced himself to concentrate on the security fraud hell bent on ruining his day as he waited out the extra hour for a late lunch with El, the phone rang.
Caffrey was out of his radius, he wasn’t moving, wasn’t running, but he was fifty feet out of his radius.
A little concerned, Peter brought up Neal’s data, hanging up the phone with the order that no one was to do anything unless Peter informed otherwise, that he would deal with Neal.
The little dot blinked at him just half a block away from where Neal usually sat at the little cafe and for the briefest moment, Peter was almost certain that all Neal had done was cross the road after all this time and actually visit the little florist he’d been staring at every time Peter had dragged himself over to spy on him.
Only, he knew Neal, and Neal knew how much trouble just crossing the road would cause. There had to be a reason.
Which is what lead Peter hurrying to his car and towards the address where Neal’s little red dot was still blinking on the screen of his phone.
He was not expecting what he saw when he arrived.
Chaos.
The type of chaos Peter had seen more than once, but never experienced so much so as the time he’d been out with a friend in the NYPD one night, and been called to the site of a hit and run in Brooklyn. That night a fifteen year old boy had been rushed to intensive care.
This was worse, Peter could tell by the sombre look of everyone on site as he jogged forward and held out his badge, fully intending on flashing the damn thing at anyone who could tell him where the bloody hell Neal was, hoping with everything he had that it wasn’t Neal who had gone and got himself killed. Because this had to have been a fatality; Coppers didn’t look like that when there was hope for someone. They didn’t look so desolate.
It was a bitter relief when Peter flashed his badge at a young female officer, and she nodded.
“Over on the sidewalk, Agent Burke,” she said simply and Peter nodded, his gaze following her outstretched arm.
As Peter skirted around the edge of the cars parked haphazardly at the intersection, his stomach dropped to his shoes at the sight of his friend sitting on the kerb, his knees to his chest and his arms wrapped tight around himself. In that moment it was like looking straight back to nearly four months ago, back to the sight of his brittle friend holding himself together by sheer will alone. Peter slowed his stride, there was an ambulance officer kneeling in front of Neal, who had a blanket around Neal’s shoulders and the pair of them tensed as Peter neared. Neal looked up slowly, blinking like he wasn’t sure who he was seeing. The Ambo raised a speculative eyebrow.
“Agent Burke, I’m Mr Caffrey’s handler,” Peter said, feeling useless.
Neal still looked blank and the ambo shrugged, he reached out and petted Neal’s knee softly.
“I really think you should reconsider - “ Peter heard him say softly and Neal turned into the performer Peter recognized and smiled brilliantly.
“It’s fine, I’m fine. Peter can take me home.”
Neal was looking up at Peter then, as was the EMT and then they locked eyes again and the EMT sighed.
“I’ll be back, okay? Stay still for me, will you?”
Neal nodded and the EMT rose to his feet and walked around Peter towards the waiting ambulance parked just around the corner.
“Neal - ?” Peter asked, not quite sure how to phrase his next sentence, because he’d never been very confident at comforting, and asking if Neal was okay was clearly as pointless an endeavour now for Neal as it would be for Neal to ask Peter under the same circumstances.
Besides, it was blatantly clear that Neal was far from okay and that in and of itself was alarming.
“I couldn’t stop it,” Neal said quietly and it was so unexpected as Peter settled himself on the kerb next to his friend that he almost missed it.
“I was sitting at the patisserie and i saw her and I thought just for a second - but then I didn’t think she would keep going and then she did and I just. I couldn’t stop her.”
Neal turned to face Peter and the haunted look in his eyes had Peter wary, not for any sort of danger or Neal doing something stupid. There was no chance of that, Neal was trembling. Peter found himself wondering if Neal would be able to stand up, let alone do something else like run away. Even if he was still wearing his anklet.
“I hesitated,” Neal said, staring at Peter and his eyes were wide and they gleamed and Peter could understand why the EMT wanted Neal to go with him. Neal was in shock.
“It’s okay, Neal,” Peter heard himself saying and Neal looked away sharply, back to staring out in front of him and he tightened the grip he had around himself.
“It’s not,” he said simply. But his tone was breathy and bitter and Peter all of a sudden ached for everything that his friend had gone through. He didn’t know much about today, about now, but it was clearly enough to have dissolved the careful constraints Neal had obviously been keeping on himself after Kate’s death.
“What happened, Neal?” he asked, knowing already, but hoping that if he could get Neal to explain it aloud properly, to him, to Peter and to himself without the official beauocracy of an NYPD interrogation, which would no doubt turn sharp once they discovered who Neal was, if they hadn’t already. It had only been twenty minutes since Neal had run out on his radius and by the looks of the milling police they hadn’t got quite as far as interrogating the witness. If they’d followed protocol and their own sense of decency dealing with someone suffering shock after what they’d seen, then Neal still had yet to be questioned.
“I was eating lunch, just looking across the road and this girl walks out of the florist and she just - “ Neal took a shaky breath and Peter glanced for the first time at the scene cordoned off from the public, the corner hidden from view by police cars and the aligning building. There was a white sheet over the body and Peter could see the tip of a blue heel sticking out from under it.
“She has her arms full of flowers, lilies and I just watched her and she wasn’t paying attention and she didn’t see. But I did, I saw the car and I thought she’d notice. But she didn’t seem to and I wanted to stop her, I stood up, but it just went so fast and I hesitated, I hesitated and then it was too late.”
Peter could see the tension and the terror in the white of Neal’s hands and the lack of focus in his eyes and he reached out to press his hand on Neal’s shoulder and the kid leaned into the touch and Peter knew it was revolving in Neal’s head. He was reliving it and it was clearly too much for him, too much - his girlfriend, Kate, his beloved Kate, for whom he’d go to jail for, who he’d escape for and risk going back forever just to see again. it was clearly too much for him just four months after Kate’s death, only just over eight weeks since he was let out of jail again. Prison would not have been easy in the slightest given what Neal had been doing during his interim at the FBI, but with Kate’s murder added in on top, it was a wonder Neal hadn’t had an utter breakdown during the two months he was inside. Perhaps this would be the stick to break the camels back.
Peter felt his own hand shaking.
“Come on, Neal, I’ll take you home.”
Neal nodded, mutely.
“Stay here a moment, I’ll be right back,” Peter said softly and this time Neal didn’t reply. Peter tightened his hold on Neal briefly before standing up and walking over to one of the supervising officers.
“Special Agent Burke, FBI. I’m Neal Caffrey’s handler,” he said and the officer nodded.
“Has he been able to say anything to you? Cause the guy’s been all but mute since we got here, shaking like a good breeze’ll knock him over.”
“Caffrey’s in shock, I’m taking him into my custody. Who’s in charge of the report? I’ll send his statement over once he’s able to string two words together,” Peter said, aiming to sound gruff, but he couldn’t help but throw back a glance at Neal.
The EMT was back to kneeling in front of him and the tense line in Neal’s shoulders had subsided incredibly. He wasn’t anywhere near Neal’s usual level of control, but it was almost like having Peter there was giving him something to hold onto and bring his persona back to top performance. Or as top as he could be.
Peter felt a small smile tug at his lips, that was his friend. The Neal he knew.
He was so quietly pleased he almost missed the Officer relaying the information.
“I don’t envy Peterson having the job of contacting that girl’s family,” Officer Dawes was saying as Peter dragged himself back into the conversation. The copper glanced at the sheet covering the poor girl.
“Poor thing went flying bad. I don’t blame your friend for chucking up, poor thing,” he said again, shaking his head and sighing. Peter felt the smile drain out of him.
“I’ll contact your division first thing tomorrow and send over Caffrey’s statement.”
“Hopefully he’ll be able to help us catch the bastard,” Dawes said bitterly and Peter nodded grimly, turning back to Neal. Neal was staring at the covered body over the shoulder of the EMT and after following his gaze, Peter had enough.
The Coroner was approaching.
It was time to go.
“Come on, Neal,” Peter said softly as he loomed over the pair of them. The EMT nodded grimly, like he wasn’t happy at having his charge dragged away from him, but he made no effort to stop Peter guide Neal to his feet and back towards the Taurus, so Neal’s reaction couldn’t have been that bad.
All the same, Neal didn’t say a word the entire trip back to June’s.
There was no chance he was taking Neal back to the office.
***
The climb up to Neal’s apartment was much the same as the trip in the car. Neal had been silent and there was a weary droop in his shoulders that refused to go away.
The hard thing was the silence though. Peter was used to Neal talking, he talked through everything, mostly in a bid to annoy Peter - only lately his talking had been used instead as a distraction from himself, it seemed. Neal had started to fill gaps in conversation like he needed to have them there, like the idea of quiet opened up far too many spaces that his brain would undoubtedly fill and now Peter was suffering withdrawal in the quiet.
God knows what was suddenly teeming through Neal’s head, Peter thought vaguely and then his compassion caught up with the problem solving part of his brain and he spun on his heel to look at Neal properly. Neal was standing by his kitchen table, idly running his fingers over an empty glass and staring out the French doors at the impossible view of Manhattan, and despite the million dollar backdrop, despite his still impeccably tailored suits and the windswept coif in his hair like he’d stepped off the set of a movie; despite it all, he cast a small and vulnerable figure.
“Neal,” Peter said softly and Neal tensed before he let out an otherwise impressive sigh and his shoulders slumped. The quiet was broken by the piercing shriek as he pulled a chair out from the table and all but dropped into it. His elbows met the table and he continued to stare.
Peter stayed where he was, halfway from the table, halfway from the door, filled with a mixture of desire to drag out Neal’s troubles and deal with them and run away to stop himself from blustering through everything like a fool and entirely looking the part.
Before Peter could quite make the decision, Neal made it for him.
“Sometimes when I look out that view I can almost pretend that I don’t live in a gilded cage,” he said, his voice soft and Peter had to stop himself from breathing too loud in case he broke it, because this was something - this was progress, even if it was tiny and it had seemed like they’d made all but the little ground they’d gained right after Neal’s release, and sometimes it had felt like they were going backwards.
But in the entirety of that progress, not once had Neal actually talked about what he was feeling now. Oh, he’d talked about that day in the hanger, about what he’d been about to say before, and in those words he had alluded to some figment of a desire not to run, not to leave. But in the end, the decision had been made for him and neither of them knew what the end result would have been.
And Neal had tried to go on like that whole week hadn’t happened, like Kate hadn’t happened and sometimes it was so clear that there was a massive piece of him missing now that Peter wondered how the man seemed to function at all.
But not once since that day when Peter had clamped his hand on his friend’s shoulder as he’d sat shaking in the back of an ambulance, not once had Neal actually said anything about how he felt now that Kate was gone. Kate was gone, and Peter’s deal was left and for two months Neal had let himself sit in prison, in limbo, not sure where to go, not sure of what cards he had left, let alone if any of them were up his sleeves anymore.
“Sometimes I pretend that I’m somewhere else, anywhere else and she’s just left the room and whenever I want I can go after her. I can just go, and there’s no one there to stop me.”
Neal looked up again, staring out the windows again for an impossibly long moment before he hung his head and slid his leg out in front of him. The leg with the anklet. Peter watched it blink.
“Then I move, Peter, and I feel it wrapped around my ankle and it all comes crashing back. Even if she was still here, this thing would have stopped me. It did stop me, it stopped me from finding her and now she’s gone.”
Peter couldn’t feel guilty, it had been the deal. It had been part of the deal, but he had always had his reservations about Kate. Kate had been the weak link, she had been the puzzle he couldn’t wrap his head around and then with a little help from Diana he had realised how important she was to him. It was only until now, now that she was gone that he was beginning to really understand just how much she had meant to Neal. El had always said what they had was romantic, like what she and Peter had, except the conman version instead of the FBI agent shtick.
Peter hesitated, and suddenly Neal turned to face him, his eyes wide and staring and his face white.
“I hesitated, Peter,” he croaked and this time Peter had to move. He took a careful step forward and Neal hung his head again.
“I was sitting across the road at that damn table and I saw her and she was beautiful, Peter. She was the most beautiful thing and I saw her and she wasn’t paying attention and she kept walking and I thought, I thought stop, please stop but then she kept walking and I stood up, I was going to try and stop her, I shouted out - but Peter I hesitated. I hesitated because she was twenty feet out of my damn radius and then she just stepped out in front of that car and I can’t remember what colour it was or what type it was or make or anything because all I can think about is the sound she made as she hit the windscreen and how the light left her eyes and how she looked so damn scared and I hesitated.”
Peter forced himself to walk around the table and sit down opposite Neal. The man’s eyes never left him as he moved, but then as Peter sat facing him, Neal sighed again and his gaze shied away.
“Neal,” Peter said softly and Neal sighed again.
“I know, Peter,” he said and Peter didn’t know what was about to come out of the conman’s mouth but he knew he didn’t want to hear a word of it.
“Don’t, Neal,” he said, sounding gruffer than he hoped and Neal’s expression tightened.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that today, Neal,” he said and Neal’s shoulders tensed.
“I’m sorry, but you have to know there was nothing you could have done to save her. You couldn’t have got there in time to stop it, Neal, and there was no way you could have known what was about to happen. Today, or with Kate.”
Neal’s whole body tensed then and it was Peter’s turn to exhale and sit back in his seat.
“I know you, Neal, you have a good heart, listen to it. You did what you had to do. If you were sitting at that cafe there was no way you could have stopped her from walking in front of that car anklet or no anklet. It was too far.”
There was a brightness in Neal’s eyes then, like the words were suddenly a lifeline he’d needed but hadn’t been able to reach before then and once again Peter found himself wondering just what he’d done in a past life to find himself in this position with Neal Caffrey. Five years ago he was the bane of Peter’s life, the reason he missed dinners with his wife, the reason his dog wouldn’t obey him, the reason he missed poker night so often he had to buy his way back in with the booze tab.
Five years ago if he’d never seen or heard of Neal Caffrey and Kate Moreau again he would have been happy. He knows it would never have been possible, given Neal’s constant propensity to trick people and take things that don’t belong to him.
But all the same, he wouldn’t be finding himself in the position of comforting the man four months after the death of the love of his life.
Peter couldn’t find a part of him that regretted the path he had taken.
“Sometimes things are out of our reach, Neal. Sometimes things hold us back. The mark of a good man is not holding back because of it. You went to her, Neal. She was outside your radius and you waited with her. That’s enough,” he knew he wasn’t quite addressing the real issue, but he knew that part of it stemmed from the unknown girl. Peter didn’t even know her name.
Neal cared too much, and he cared too little; but Caffrey cared and he wasn’t just a thief, he was a thief who had lived more than Peter had ever seen before and that had been the mark that had kept him chasing. Neal had just lived in ways Peter had never experienced or imagined and he kept doing it.
The difference was his life had never been one to be shy on the hard knocks as much as the luck that just seemed to fuel his adrenaline highs.
Peter had just never thought he’d bear witness to the moment when Neal crashed.
“And with Kate, Neal with Kate you did all you could. None of us knew about the bomb on that plane. All you can do with that is live the way she would have wanted you to live. Dont carry the burden with you, Neal, it’ll eat you alive. Guilt always does and you don’t have reason to carry it at all.”
Neal slumped and when he looked up his eyes were glassy.
“I don’t know what to do, Peter,” he said softly and that sentence was perhaps the strangest Peter had ever heard pass Neal’s lips.
So instead he fixed his gaze on his friend direct and honest and unwavering.
“You keep going, Neal, because that’s what we do. But you don’t have to do it alone. You have me, and Elizabeth. June and Mozzie and Jones and Diana. You have the team, Neal. You don’t have to do all this alone,” he said pointedly and Neal nodded.
“As long as you have that anklet on, Neal, you’re guaranteed to have a group of people to look out for you, because that’s half of what it is, Neal. It’s so we can take care of you. The other half is so I can keep track of you, but the first part stands.”
There was the smallest hint of amusement in Neal’s expression when he turned it up on Peter.
“You know for an emotionally repressed Fed, Peter, your wife has rubbed off on you rather well.”
And while Peter could see through the thinly veiled facade, he let it lie. Neal had been through a lot, and while there was so much that made Peter want to beat him senseless until he understood how good he could be, how much worth he had in the right and just circles, there still remained the part of Neal Peter cherished that was still good, even in his warped and corrupted ways and that part was worth so much. It was the part that had kept Peter chasing him, and it was the part that Peter hoped he could see mend in the wake of Kate’s death.
It was the part that had niggled in Peter’s mind when he sat staring at the papers on his desk that would sign over a convicted criminal in a state penitentiary serving his time into the FBI’s custody and an electronic leash.
It was the part that had convinced Peter to reach forward and sign on the dotted line (on every page, in every one of the four copies) and it was the reason Peter nodded towards the closet and told Neal to pack a bag.
Peter had all but exhausted his empathy powers, but El had it in spades and Neal was still shaky and would need the compassion.
And Peter was strangely willing to give it to him, as long as he needed it.
Because as mad as Neal drove him, the man deserved his happiness, and while that may be a long way yet to go, Peter was more than willing to ensure his friend found it.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, everything belongs to Jeff Eastin, and such valuable possessions he does have, indeed!
Warnings: OC character death, grief, aaaangst
Summary: Post-Withdrawl, Neal is still not quite himself, but they’re all coping. Then Peter gets a call; Neal’s twenty feet out of his radius and not moving. It’s not much, but before the day is out Peter is going to get a much better idea about what it’s like to be a man trapped in two miles that proved to be just enough to stop him saving the woman he loved.
AN: This is for nefhiriel, over at the collarcorner fic exchange, who asked for anklet angst, h/c heavy on the comfort and Neal and Peter friendship. I hope I ticked the boxes sufficiently to your liking and I’m sorry I’ve run a little over time. Ever so much to do!
~
Opened up his little heart
Unlocked the lock that kept it dark
And read a written warning
Saying I’m still mourning
Over ghosts.
He would stare at empty chairs
Think of the ghosts who once sat there
The ghosts that broke his heart.
Ghosts,
Laura Marling
***
There’s a cafe right on the very edge of Neal’s radius that the damn kid has such a fondness for it’s not really something that Peter pays any mind to when he see’s the information on Neal’s movement transcripts these days.
When Neal first started frequenting the place about four months into his probation, Peter had been anxious and over zealous and Elizabeth had laughed at him for ten minutes solid when he’d brought it up, staring at the data like it was going to give him all the answers. He’d been sure that Neal was meeting someone, or making his plans for escape, staring out on the edge of his freedom. That was until El had told him that the place Neal was going was a rather pricey little pâtisserie that made cakes that were practically to die for. So after the fourth time Peter had caught Neal’s little blinking dot at the same little place, he’d caved and gone to watch, and just as Elizabeth had said, it was a small little pâtisserie and Neal had been sitting out the front on his radius side of the little assortment of tables and chairs and he’d been staring across the road at a little florist with an open look on his face and the sight had been oddly vulnerable, so Peter had left in a hurry. When he’d explained to El later that night she’d just shook her head at him and the next day dragged Peter to the place for a quick break. El had been right, the cakes had been to die for and in similar fashion to Neal, they’d sat out the front and watched the bustle on the opposite side of the street.
After that, Peter had left it well enough alone.
He knew that the place obviously had some form of meaning in Neal’s archive of sentiments and romance because Neal kept going back, and there were very few places in his radius Neal frequented as much as the little patisserie.
And if over time Neal had frequented the place less and less, well, Peter had just let it be. Happy that Neal was no longer skirting along the edge of his boundaries so often.
But then there was the music box, and there was Mentor and there was Kate and a plane and two months in prison and when Neal got out again, well, if the little blinking dot went back to the little patisserie, then it was no business of Peter’s. Mozzie gave nothing away and Peter couldn’t find it in himself to ask.
All he could think of every time he thought on it was the vulnerable look on Neal’s face and so he left it alone.
But Neal was restless again, bursting with pent up energy and a startling desire for revenge that had Peter a little anxious and had Diana skirting quick looks at Neal with such hesitating concern for the briefest moments. But then they were suddenly back to normal and Peter was left with a small and alarming voice in the back of his head warning him when things were silent and should have otherwise been easy, that all things Caffrey were nowhere near as calm as it would seem. Warning him to not grow complacent.
And the blinking dot returned to the patisserie and instead of watching out, Peter tried hard to pay it no mind.
Until one day as he forced himself to concentrate on the security fraud hell bent on ruining his day as he waited out the extra hour for a late lunch with El, the phone rang.
Caffrey was out of his radius, he wasn’t moving, wasn’t running, but he was fifty feet out of his radius.
A little concerned, Peter brought up Neal’s data, hanging up the phone with the order that no one was to do anything unless Peter informed otherwise, that he would deal with Neal.
The little dot blinked at him just half a block away from where Neal usually sat at the little cafe and for the briefest moment, Peter was almost certain that all Neal had done was cross the road after all this time and actually visit the little florist he’d been staring at every time Peter had dragged himself over to spy on him.
Only, he knew Neal, and Neal knew how much trouble just crossing the road would cause. There had to be a reason.
Which is what lead Peter hurrying to his car and towards the address where Neal’s little red dot was still blinking on the screen of his phone.
He was not expecting what he saw when he arrived.
Chaos.
The type of chaos Peter had seen more than once, but never experienced so much so as the time he’d been out with a friend in the NYPD one night, and been called to the site of a hit and run in Brooklyn. That night a fifteen year old boy had been rushed to intensive care.
This was worse, Peter could tell by the sombre look of everyone on site as he jogged forward and held out his badge, fully intending on flashing the damn thing at anyone who could tell him where the bloody hell Neal was, hoping with everything he had that it wasn’t Neal who had gone and got himself killed. Because this had to have been a fatality; Coppers didn’t look like that when there was hope for someone. They didn’t look so desolate.
It was a bitter relief when Peter flashed his badge at a young female officer, and she nodded.
“Over on the sidewalk, Agent Burke,” she said simply and Peter nodded, his gaze following her outstretched arm.
As Peter skirted around the edge of the cars parked haphazardly at the intersection, his stomach dropped to his shoes at the sight of his friend sitting on the kerb, his knees to his chest and his arms wrapped tight around himself. In that moment it was like looking straight back to nearly four months ago, back to the sight of his brittle friend holding himself together by sheer will alone. Peter slowed his stride, there was an ambulance officer kneeling in front of Neal, who had a blanket around Neal’s shoulders and the pair of them tensed as Peter neared. Neal looked up slowly, blinking like he wasn’t sure who he was seeing. The Ambo raised a speculative eyebrow.
“Agent Burke, I’m Mr Caffrey’s handler,” Peter said, feeling useless.
Neal still looked blank and the ambo shrugged, he reached out and petted Neal’s knee softly.
“I really think you should reconsider - “ Peter heard him say softly and Neal turned into the performer Peter recognized and smiled brilliantly.
“It’s fine, I’m fine. Peter can take me home.”
Neal was looking up at Peter then, as was the EMT and then they locked eyes again and the EMT sighed.
“I’ll be back, okay? Stay still for me, will you?”
Neal nodded and the EMT rose to his feet and walked around Peter towards the waiting ambulance parked just around the corner.
“Neal - ?” Peter asked, not quite sure how to phrase his next sentence, because he’d never been very confident at comforting, and asking if Neal was okay was clearly as pointless an endeavour now for Neal as it would be for Neal to ask Peter under the same circumstances.
Besides, it was blatantly clear that Neal was far from okay and that in and of itself was alarming.
“I couldn’t stop it,” Neal said quietly and it was so unexpected as Peter settled himself on the kerb next to his friend that he almost missed it.
“I was sitting at the patisserie and i saw her and I thought just for a second - but then I didn’t think she would keep going and then she did and I just. I couldn’t stop her.”
Neal turned to face Peter and the haunted look in his eyes had Peter wary, not for any sort of danger or Neal doing something stupid. There was no chance of that, Neal was trembling. Peter found himself wondering if Neal would be able to stand up, let alone do something else like run away. Even if he was still wearing his anklet.
“I hesitated,” Neal said, staring at Peter and his eyes were wide and they gleamed and Peter could understand why the EMT wanted Neal to go with him. Neal was in shock.
“It’s okay, Neal,” Peter heard himself saying and Neal looked away sharply, back to staring out in front of him and he tightened the grip he had around himself.
“It’s not,” he said simply. But his tone was breathy and bitter and Peter all of a sudden ached for everything that his friend had gone through. He didn’t know much about today, about now, but it was clearly enough to have dissolved the careful constraints Neal had obviously been keeping on himself after Kate’s death.
“What happened, Neal?” he asked, knowing already, but hoping that if he could get Neal to explain it aloud properly, to him, to Peter and to himself without the official beauocracy of an NYPD interrogation, which would no doubt turn sharp once they discovered who Neal was, if they hadn’t already. It had only been twenty minutes since Neal had run out on his radius and by the looks of the milling police they hadn’t got quite as far as interrogating the witness. If they’d followed protocol and their own sense of decency dealing with someone suffering shock after what they’d seen, then Neal still had yet to be questioned.
“I was eating lunch, just looking across the road and this girl walks out of the florist and she just - “ Neal took a shaky breath and Peter glanced for the first time at the scene cordoned off from the public, the corner hidden from view by police cars and the aligning building. There was a white sheet over the body and Peter could see the tip of a blue heel sticking out from under it.
“She has her arms full of flowers, lilies and I just watched her and she wasn’t paying attention and she didn’t see. But I did, I saw the car and I thought she’d notice. But she didn’t seem to and I wanted to stop her, I stood up, but it just went so fast and I hesitated, I hesitated and then it was too late.”
Peter could see the tension and the terror in the white of Neal’s hands and the lack of focus in his eyes and he reached out to press his hand on Neal’s shoulder and the kid leaned into the touch and Peter knew it was revolving in Neal’s head. He was reliving it and it was clearly too much for him, too much - his girlfriend, Kate, his beloved Kate, for whom he’d go to jail for, who he’d escape for and risk going back forever just to see again. it was clearly too much for him just four months after Kate’s death, only just over eight weeks since he was let out of jail again. Prison would not have been easy in the slightest given what Neal had been doing during his interim at the FBI, but with Kate’s murder added in on top, it was a wonder Neal hadn’t had an utter breakdown during the two months he was inside. Perhaps this would be the stick to break the camels back.
Peter felt his own hand shaking.
“Come on, Neal, I’ll take you home.”
Neal nodded, mutely.
“Stay here a moment, I’ll be right back,” Peter said softly and this time Neal didn’t reply. Peter tightened his hold on Neal briefly before standing up and walking over to one of the supervising officers.
“Special Agent Burke, FBI. I’m Neal Caffrey’s handler,” he said and the officer nodded.
“Has he been able to say anything to you? Cause the guy’s been all but mute since we got here, shaking like a good breeze’ll knock him over.”
“Caffrey’s in shock, I’m taking him into my custody. Who’s in charge of the report? I’ll send his statement over once he’s able to string two words together,” Peter said, aiming to sound gruff, but he couldn’t help but throw back a glance at Neal.
The EMT was back to kneeling in front of him and the tense line in Neal’s shoulders had subsided incredibly. He wasn’t anywhere near Neal’s usual level of control, but it was almost like having Peter there was giving him something to hold onto and bring his persona back to top performance. Or as top as he could be.
Peter felt a small smile tug at his lips, that was his friend. The Neal he knew.
He was so quietly pleased he almost missed the Officer relaying the information.
“I don’t envy Peterson having the job of contacting that girl’s family,” Officer Dawes was saying as Peter dragged himself back into the conversation. The copper glanced at the sheet covering the poor girl.
“Poor thing went flying bad. I don’t blame your friend for chucking up, poor thing,” he said again, shaking his head and sighing. Peter felt the smile drain out of him.
“I’ll contact your division first thing tomorrow and send over Caffrey’s statement.”
“Hopefully he’ll be able to help us catch the bastard,” Dawes said bitterly and Peter nodded grimly, turning back to Neal. Neal was staring at the covered body over the shoulder of the EMT and after following his gaze, Peter had enough.
The Coroner was approaching.
It was time to go.
“Come on, Neal,” Peter said softly as he loomed over the pair of them. The EMT nodded grimly, like he wasn’t happy at having his charge dragged away from him, but he made no effort to stop Peter guide Neal to his feet and back towards the Taurus, so Neal’s reaction couldn’t have been that bad.
All the same, Neal didn’t say a word the entire trip back to June’s.
There was no chance he was taking Neal back to the office.
***
The climb up to Neal’s apartment was much the same as the trip in the car. Neal had been silent and there was a weary droop in his shoulders that refused to go away.
The hard thing was the silence though. Peter was used to Neal talking, he talked through everything, mostly in a bid to annoy Peter - only lately his talking had been used instead as a distraction from himself, it seemed. Neal had started to fill gaps in conversation like he needed to have them there, like the idea of quiet opened up far too many spaces that his brain would undoubtedly fill and now Peter was suffering withdrawal in the quiet.
God knows what was suddenly teeming through Neal’s head, Peter thought vaguely and then his compassion caught up with the problem solving part of his brain and he spun on his heel to look at Neal properly. Neal was standing by his kitchen table, idly running his fingers over an empty glass and staring out the French doors at the impossible view of Manhattan, and despite the million dollar backdrop, despite his still impeccably tailored suits and the windswept coif in his hair like he’d stepped off the set of a movie; despite it all, he cast a small and vulnerable figure.
“Neal,” Peter said softly and Neal tensed before he let out an otherwise impressive sigh and his shoulders slumped. The quiet was broken by the piercing shriek as he pulled a chair out from the table and all but dropped into it. His elbows met the table and he continued to stare.
Peter stayed where he was, halfway from the table, halfway from the door, filled with a mixture of desire to drag out Neal’s troubles and deal with them and run away to stop himself from blustering through everything like a fool and entirely looking the part.
Before Peter could quite make the decision, Neal made it for him.
“Sometimes when I look out that view I can almost pretend that I don’t live in a gilded cage,” he said, his voice soft and Peter had to stop himself from breathing too loud in case he broke it, because this was something - this was progress, even if it was tiny and it had seemed like they’d made all but the little ground they’d gained right after Neal’s release, and sometimes it had felt like they were going backwards.
But in the entirety of that progress, not once had Neal actually talked about what he was feeling now. Oh, he’d talked about that day in the hanger, about what he’d been about to say before, and in those words he had alluded to some figment of a desire not to run, not to leave. But in the end, the decision had been made for him and neither of them knew what the end result would have been.
And Neal had tried to go on like that whole week hadn’t happened, like Kate hadn’t happened and sometimes it was so clear that there was a massive piece of him missing now that Peter wondered how the man seemed to function at all.
But not once since that day when Peter had clamped his hand on his friend’s shoulder as he’d sat shaking in the back of an ambulance, not once had Neal actually said anything about how he felt now that Kate was gone. Kate was gone, and Peter’s deal was left and for two months Neal had let himself sit in prison, in limbo, not sure where to go, not sure of what cards he had left, let alone if any of them were up his sleeves anymore.
“Sometimes I pretend that I’m somewhere else, anywhere else and she’s just left the room and whenever I want I can go after her. I can just go, and there’s no one there to stop me.”
Neal looked up again, staring out the windows again for an impossibly long moment before he hung his head and slid his leg out in front of him. The leg with the anklet. Peter watched it blink.
“Then I move, Peter, and I feel it wrapped around my ankle and it all comes crashing back. Even if she was still here, this thing would have stopped me. It did stop me, it stopped me from finding her and now she’s gone.”
Peter couldn’t feel guilty, it had been the deal. It had been part of the deal, but he had always had his reservations about Kate. Kate had been the weak link, she had been the puzzle he couldn’t wrap his head around and then with a little help from Diana he had realised how important she was to him. It was only until now, now that she was gone that he was beginning to really understand just how much she had meant to Neal. El had always said what they had was romantic, like what she and Peter had, except the conman version instead of the FBI agent shtick.
Peter hesitated, and suddenly Neal turned to face him, his eyes wide and staring and his face white.
“I hesitated, Peter,” he croaked and this time Peter had to move. He took a careful step forward and Neal hung his head again.
“I was sitting across the road at that damn table and I saw her and she was beautiful, Peter. She was the most beautiful thing and I saw her and she wasn’t paying attention and she kept walking and I thought, I thought stop, please stop but then she kept walking and I stood up, I was going to try and stop her, I shouted out - but Peter I hesitated. I hesitated because she was twenty feet out of my damn radius and then she just stepped out in front of that car and I can’t remember what colour it was or what type it was or make or anything because all I can think about is the sound she made as she hit the windscreen and how the light left her eyes and how she looked so damn scared and I hesitated.”
Peter forced himself to walk around the table and sit down opposite Neal. The man’s eyes never left him as he moved, but then as Peter sat facing him, Neal sighed again and his gaze shied away.
“Neal,” Peter said softly and Neal sighed again.
“I know, Peter,” he said and Peter didn’t know what was about to come out of the conman’s mouth but he knew he didn’t want to hear a word of it.
“Don’t, Neal,” he said, sounding gruffer than he hoped and Neal’s expression tightened.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that today, Neal,” he said and Neal’s shoulders tensed.
“I’m sorry, but you have to know there was nothing you could have done to save her. You couldn’t have got there in time to stop it, Neal, and there was no way you could have known what was about to happen. Today, or with Kate.”
Neal’s whole body tensed then and it was Peter’s turn to exhale and sit back in his seat.
“I know you, Neal, you have a good heart, listen to it. You did what you had to do. If you were sitting at that cafe there was no way you could have stopped her from walking in front of that car anklet or no anklet. It was too far.”
There was a brightness in Neal’s eyes then, like the words were suddenly a lifeline he’d needed but hadn’t been able to reach before then and once again Peter found himself wondering just what he’d done in a past life to find himself in this position with Neal Caffrey. Five years ago he was the bane of Peter’s life, the reason he missed dinners with his wife, the reason his dog wouldn’t obey him, the reason he missed poker night so often he had to buy his way back in with the booze tab.
Five years ago if he’d never seen or heard of Neal Caffrey and Kate Moreau again he would have been happy. He knows it would never have been possible, given Neal’s constant propensity to trick people and take things that don’t belong to him.
But all the same, he wouldn’t be finding himself in the position of comforting the man four months after the death of the love of his life.
Peter couldn’t find a part of him that regretted the path he had taken.
“Sometimes things are out of our reach, Neal. Sometimes things hold us back. The mark of a good man is not holding back because of it. You went to her, Neal. She was outside your radius and you waited with her. That’s enough,” he knew he wasn’t quite addressing the real issue, but he knew that part of it stemmed from the unknown girl. Peter didn’t even know her name.
Neal cared too much, and he cared too little; but Caffrey cared and he wasn’t just a thief, he was a thief who had lived more than Peter had ever seen before and that had been the mark that had kept him chasing. Neal had just lived in ways Peter had never experienced or imagined and he kept doing it.
The difference was his life had never been one to be shy on the hard knocks as much as the luck that just seemed to fuel his adrenaline highs.
Peter had just never thought he’d bear witness to the moment when Neal crashed.
“And with Kate, Neal with Kate you did all you could. None of us knew about the bomb on that plane. All you can do with that is live the way she would have wanted you to live. Dont carry the burden with you, Neal, it’ll eat you alive. Guilt always does and you don’t have reason to carry it at all.”
Neal slumped and when he looked up his eyes were glassy.
“I don’t know what to do, Peter,” he said softly and that sentence was perhaps the strangest Peter had ever heard pass Neal’s lips.
So instead he fixed his gaze on his friend direct and honest and unwavering.
“You keep going, Neal, because that’s what we do. But you don’t have to do it alone. You have me, and Elizabeth. June and Mozzie and Jones and Diana. You have the team, Neal. You don’t have to do all this alone,” he said pointedly and Neal nodded.
“As long as you have that anklet on, Neal, you’re guaranteed to have a group of people to look out for you, because that’s half of what it is, Neal. It’s so we can take care of you. The other half is so I can keep track of you, but the first part stands.”
There was the smallest hint of amusement in Neal’s expression when he turned it up on Peter.
“You know for an emotionally repressed Fed, Peter, your wife has rubbed off on you rather well.”
And while Peter could see through the thinly veiled facade, he let it lie. Neal had been through a lot, and while there was so much that made Peter want to beat him senseless until he understood how good he could be, how much worth he had in the right and just circles, there still remained the part of Neal Peter cherished that was still good, even in his warped and corrupted ways and that part was worth so much. It was the part that had kept Peter chasing him, and it was the part that Peter hoped he could see mend in the wake of Kate’s death.
It was the part that had niggled in Peter’s mind when he sat staring at the papers on his desk that would sign over a convicted criminal in a state penitentiary serving his time into the FBI’s custody and an electronic leash.
It was the part that had convinced Peter to reach forward and sign on the dotted line (on every page, in every one of the four copies) and it was the reason Peter nodded towards the closet and told Neal to pack a bag.
Peter had all but exhausted his empathy powers, but El had it in spades and Neal was still shaky and would need the compassion.
And Peter was strangely willing to give it to him, as long as he needed it.
Because as mad as Neal drove him, the man deserved his happiness, and while that may be a long way yet to go, Peter was more than willing to ensure his friend found it.