White Collar fic: Of Fathers And Heroes
Title: Of Fathers And Heroes
Fandom: White Collar
Author: tigerlily0
Rating: Teen (PG-13)
Genre and/or Pairing: gen
Spoilers: up through 2.12 What Happens In Burma
Warnings: none
Word Count: 900
Disclaimer: White Collar and its characters are property of its copyright owners. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is taken from this story.
Summary: Neal took a deep breath to calm himself down as he took a seat in the police station.
Neal took a deep breath to calm himself down as he took a seat in the police station with the others. He glanced around and gave the kid to his left a quick hesitant smile and nod before looking down at his hands, trying hard not to wring them together. Maybe he should sit on them. He forced himself to take another deep breath. Okay, Neal, you can do this. You've been preparing yourself for this for years. You can handle this. Piece of cake, right? Right. Neal sighed. If only all of that psyching himself up really helped.
He sat for what seemed like forever waiting his turn, fidgeting restlessly in his chair, until the largest individual he'd ever seen in a blue uniform called out his name. "Neal Caffrey?"
Neal jumped to his feet, wiping his palms on his jeans. "Here, um, Sir."
"I'm Sergeant MacGregor. Come with me," the officer commanded, in a not entirely unfriendly way.
Neal followed the sergeant through a secure door and down a maze of corridors - which he figured even a trained rat would have trouble finding its way out of - and to an interview room. The officer pointed and grunted. Neal quickly sat in the chair indicated. The cop sat across from him and opened a file, laying it flat on the table. Neal pulled his chair up close and leaned forward on his elbows, trying hard to read what was written there upside-down. What was in there? What questions would they ask?
After flipping through the pages of the file for a moment, Sgt. MacGregor addressed Neal. "So, Caffrey. You're fourteen years old. A freshman at West High. Is that correct?"
"Yes, sir".
"Tell me, why did you apply for admittance to our Law Enforcement Explorers program?"
Neal sat up straight, his mind blank for one harrowing second before his rehearsed answer came back to him. "I want to be a police officer, sir. I intend to apply to the academy as soon as I graduate. My father was a cop. I want to be just like him. I've been studying, I belong to the gun club -"
"Wait a minute. Your father was a police officer? Here in town?"
Neal nodded. "Yes, sir, for five years, but he was killed in the line of duty twelve years ago."
The sergeant looked down, thoughtfully, mumbling to himself, "Caffrey, Caffrey, twelve years ago, why does that sound familiar?"
After a moment, his eyes widened and his head snapped up to glare at Neal. Neal recoiled a little at the disgust he saw in the man's eyes.
"Your father was Sean Caffrey? That dirty, no-good bastard..."
All Neal could do was stammer, "What? He... no... he was a hero..."
MacGregor barked a quick cruel laugh. "A hero? Hardly. Whoever told you that has been feeding you lies, boy. Sean Caffrey was a dirty cop, dirty as they come. I wasn't around then, but he's notorious in the department. The way I hear it, after he was discovered with his hand in the cookie jar, he had to skip town before they slapped the cuffs on him."
Neal deflated into the chair and whispered, "But he died..."
"No, he's alive." The cop shrugged. "As far as I know. At least he was, when he slunk out of town like the despicable rat that he is."
Neal couldn't hear any more of this. His head was spinning. His world had just turned upside-down. His father, the hero, was a dirty cop? His mother lied to him? Had lied to him all these years? But... if his father wasn't a real cop, then he wasn't a cop's son, so what did that make him? Who was he? With all these thoughts banging around in Neal's head, he could barely hear Sgt. MacGregor calling his name. But finally, the words penetrated the fog in his head.
"What?" He looked up. The cop was looking at him with something akin to pity. Neal bristled at the thought of being an object of pity.
The sergeant stood up. Stone-faced and with a monotone voice, he told Neal, "I'm sorry, son. I don't think this is going to work out. Let's get you out of here."
Neal held his head up high, carefully masking his emotions as he followed him out. He'd be damned if he let this officer or anyone else at the station see how devastated he was, and pity him for it. He surreptitiously looked around as they walked. Did they all know about his dad? Damn it.
Once outside, Neal hurried over to his bicycle, hopped on it, and pumped the pedals as hard as he could to get away from the police station as fast as he could. His father wasn't a cop - he was a criminal! And he, Neal, he wasn't the son of a cop, he was the son of a criminal. A criminal. So what did that make him?
When he got home, Neal slammed into his bedroom and trashed it, tossing everything he could find related to his father - his police posters, his gun permit, his membership in the gun club, his toy sheriff's badges, his folders of information on the police academy, everything. Obviously, he couldn't go to the academy now. And what would be the point of finishing high school, either? Might as well go out and try and find his father. They could be criminals together. Fuck.