Fic: "Beyond the Sea" 3/5
Title: Beyond the Sea
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal, Peter, Neal/OFC, past Neal/Kate
Rating: Teen
Contains: Amnesia. Medical trauma.
Word count: 27,000
Summary: Pre-series. Neal Caffrey is happily eluding the Feds when a sailing accident robs him of his memories and, consequently, his identity. As he recovers, he takes takes refuge in his new girlfriend, who helps him rediscover his identity as Steve Tabernackle, jet-setting millionaire. But when Steve returns to New York, it doesn't take long for his past to catch up with him.
Notes: Written for whitecollar_bb. This fic is an AU taking place around the time of Neal's arrest in "Forging Bonds."
It had been a couple weeks since he'd arrested Neal Caffrey, and for the first time in years, Peter felt out of the loop. Trials were drawn-out processes, and now the U.S. Attorney's office had taken over, there was less for Peter to do.
Soon enough, he would have to testify. First at the indictment, and then at the trial. He looked forward to that. Plenty of his cases never got that far-usually the defendants accepted plea deals. Occasionally, a case fell through due to lack of evidence. But he never doubted that Neal Caffrey would fight the charges against him. And Peter enjoyed testifying.
It still rankled occasionally that Neal was out on bail. Initially, Peter had waited to receive word that Neal had cut his anklet and fled. He was certain it would happen. But the call never came, and Peter had other cases to worry about.
But when he ran into Angela Morales in the lobby by the elevators, thoughts of Caffrey came flooding back.
"Angela? Didn't expect to see you today."
She turned around and smiled. "Oh, hi. Yeah, I have to talk to an agent in Organized Crime. How's it going?"
"All right. I have a meeting in about fifteen minutes, and wouldn't you know I'm running late. I'm glad I ran into you, though. I've been curious about how the Caffrey case is going."
He'd been glad to learn Angela was handling the case. She was one of the younger U.S. attorneys, but she'd prosecuted another of his cases, and he knew she could handle a trial well.
But at the mention of Neal Caffrey, her smile became strained. "It remains to be seen. The indictment's been scheduled for a couple weeks from now. But his lawyer was talking about requesting a competency hearing."
"A competency hearing?"
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. They both stepped inside.
"Case law is on our side. Even if Caffrey's amnesia is really as severe as he claims, there's not much precedent to find him incompetent."
"I've talked to him. He's aware of what's going on."
"Exactly. And I don't think there will even be a hearing. Still, his condition isn't making things any easier for us, and his lawyer might be able to get the trial delayed. You know he'll milk this for all it's worth. If we go to trial, and he testifies, it's going to be hard for me to question him without coming across like an asshole."
Peter shook his head. Of all the things that might have complicated the case, he never could have anticipated Neal Caffrey getting a damn head injury.
"Do you think it'll go to trial?" he said.
Angela shrugged. "We'll probably offer him a deal, but he hasn't been very cooperative. I have to say, though, I'm not optimistic about all charges. The bond forgery is strong enough to stick. But other stuff, like the theft of that Raphael? It's circumstantial right now. I don't want to let you guys down, but I'm not a miracle worker."
Her words were discouraging to hear, but not altogether surprising. Peter knew the case better than anyone. One of the things that made Caffrey so infuriating was how hard it was to pin stuff on him. There were lots of rumors and sightings. Very little hard evidence. There were several suspected crimes that they hadn't even charged him with. As for the charges, the hope had been that he would turn over stolen artwork and antiquities in exchange for a lighter sentence. A slim hope, knowing Caffrey, but it was a possibility. But if he really had amnesia, he wasn't going to remember where he'd hidden the Raphael, let alone anything else.
The elevator stopped at the nineteenth floor, and Angela stepped out. Turning to face him, she said, "Don't get discouraged. You caught the guy-that's half the battle."
He wanted to believe her, and he tried to reassure himself that the matter was out of his hands right now. This was how the system worked: he caught the bad guys, and then the federal prosecutors took over the case.
But as he continued upward in the elevator, he couldn't get Neal Caffrey out of his mind.
* * *
At his first hearing, Neal had been stuck wearing a jumpsuit. Today, he was wearing a dark navy suit and a maroon silk tie. It was amazing what that did for his confidence. When he arrived at the courthouse, he felt almost certain of his ability to handle the indictment.
Almost. His head had been bothering him when he woke up that morning, so he'd taken some of his migraine medication. He preferred to take the pills with food, but he didn't have an appetite. Annabelle had prodded him to eat, reminding him that the indictment might take a while, and he'd half-heartedly eaten a bowl of cereal.
Now, sitting in the courtroom, the pills weren't as effective as he'd hoped they'd be.
He tried not to let the headache affect his confidence. But hearing the assistant U.S. attorney present the evidence against him wasn't helping matters.
None of it was new to him. Neal had met with Griffin a few days ago. But Griffin had a way of presenting everything in an optimistic manner.
"They have strong evidence linking you to the forged bonds," he'd told Neal. "They have your prints on them, and security camera footage of you cashing them in. But they can't prove you were the one who forged them. The art theft charges are more circumstantial. The only problem we might have is with the charge relating to the Raphael. They have a witness who's willing to testify that you solicited his help in the robbery. But the guy's in jail on an unrelated charge, and if this goes to trial, I should be able to discredit him. He's a jailhouse snitch." He waved his hand dismissively, like it was nothing.
But now, seeing the evidence presented all at once, it felt a lot more damning.
Then Agent Burke took the stand to testify.
"Please state your name and title for the record," Morales said.
Burke leaned into the microphone. "Special Agent Peter Burke."
"You have handled this case since the beginning, is that correct?"
"Yes, that's correct."
"How long has it been since you started pursuing Neal Caffrey?"
"Nearly three years."
"Do you see the man you identified as Neal Caffrey in this courtroom today?"
Burke looked at Neal. "Yes. The accused is Neal Caffrey."
"Are you certain of that?"
"Absolutely."
Their eyes met, and what Neal saw surprised him. Burke's mouth quirked up in a smile, and his expression betrayed both pride and pleasure. He was happy to be testifying today. He was happy to be testifying against him.
Throughout all of this, Neal had never blamed the FBI for his misfortune. They had a job to do, and Neal believed he was just another file to them.
But as Burke talked about the years he spent chasing him, and his confidence in the arrest, Neal realized that he was invested in this case.
After Burke left the stand, Neal sat back in his chair.
He was ready for the hearing to be over. He hadn't realized that the indictment would take this long.
His head was pounding. Even the scar where they'd cut open his head hurt, and he lifted his hand to touch it. His hair was growing out, but he could still feel the tender, raised scar.
He tried to will the pain to go away. He didn't want a repeat of his interrogation at the FBI offices. There was little worse than throwing up in front of the people who were scrutinizing him for weaknesses. Maybe the grand jury would have been sympathetic if he'd thrown up, but he still had his pride.
But despite his efforts to distract himself, his stomach was getting queasy. He wished he'd trusted his instincts and forgone food that morning.
He folded his arms on the mahogany table in front of him and breathed through his nose. Morales, was speaking, but Neal couldn't focus on what she was saying. When he lost the confidence that he could hold back the nausea, he leaned over to his attorney and whispered in his ear.
The judge noticed the distraction. "Is there a problem?" he asked.
Morales turned to look at them. She appeared displeased by the interruption.
Griffin pulled away from Neal and looked up at the bench, "Uh, my client is ill. I'd like to request a recess."
"Can it wait?" The judge asked.
"I don't think so, no."
"Fine. It's a good time to break for lunch, anyway. We'll reconvene in an hour."
Neal closed his eyes in relief. He could feel the sweat on his face, and he hoped it didn't look as obvious as it felt. When he stood up, his head swam.
Griffin helped him to the restroom, and then left him alone. The nausea was at bay now, but Neal didn't want to leave the bathroom prematurely.
He leaned on the sinks, his chest pounding. He ran his hand under one of the motion-sensor faucets and cupped his hands under the water. He splashed his face, not caring at the moment that water was getting on his shirt and tie. He slipped a finger into the knot of his tie and loosened it. He reached into his suit pocket for his pills, and was fiddling with the bottle when the bathroom door opened.
Looking up in the mirror, it took him a moment to recognize the man who stepped in. When he did, Neal's eyes widened.
Agent Burke also looked surprised. He paused in the doorway for a minute, appearing to debate what to do. Finally, he stepped inside and silently made his way to the row of urinals on the other side of the room.
Neal wondered if being in the same room violated any sort of anti-fraternization rule. Not that he cared. Besides, he was here first.
Neal leaned forward on the sink again. The sinks were in a low row, and Neal was at the end closest to the door. After he finished peeing, Burke took the sink at the opposite end. He glanced at Neal.
"You all right over there?"
"Yeah. Thanks for asking." He lifted his head and studied Burke for a few seconds before saying, "You really think I'm a bad person, don't you?"
Burke looked at him and blinked. "What?"
Neal stood up straight, but held on to the edge of the counter. "You were happy to testify against me today. I could see it."
Burke looked down at the sink as he rinsed his hands. "I like testifying."
"And today was personal. I bet you'll love it when the case goes to trial."
"I spent three years on this case. Yeah, I'm happy to bring you to justice. It's nothing personal to do with you, so don't flatter yourself."
Neal shrugged. "I wasn't. And I have a hard time sympathizing with you wasting three years when I've lost my whole life. I don't know what you think sending me to prison is going to accomplish."
"It's not my fault you got hit in the head." Burke stepped away from the sink and ran his hands under one of the electric dryers. He looked over his shoulder at Neal. Lifting his chin, he asked, "What's the deal with the headaches, anyway?"
"Post-concussion syndrome. Believe it or not, my doctor says I'm lucky. Even with the memory loss. I could have lost a lot more of myself." He thought for a second, and added, "Of course, maybe I have. The Neal Caffrey you chased probably would have used this recess as a chance to cut his anklet and run."
"The possibility cross your mind?"
"Sure." Neal lifted his pant leg, showing the anklet. "But you'll notice I'm still here."
Not that running hadn't occurred to him. Mozzie swore he could get him out of the country. Sometimes he didn't know why he didn't try it.
Burke left the bathroom, and Neal was alone again.
When he finally emerged, he saw Morales in the hall, talking on her cell phone. She met his eyes briefly, and then walked further down the hall. Neal sat on a bench by the courtroom doors.
Griffin came up to him, holding a paper cup of water.
"Here, thought you might need this."
Neal took it with thanks, and sipped the water slowly.
When the hearing reconvened, it lasted another hour. Finally, the grand jury made their decision.
He was indicted on the bond forgery, the theft of the Raphael painting that he'd never heard of, and the possession of fake passports.
As he left the courthouse, Griffin tried to convince him that this wasn't as bad as it appeared.
"They could have tried to charge you with a lot more."
Neal wasn't reassured. "If they find me guilty on the charges, how much time am I looking at?"
"It's too soon to worry about that."
Neal paused on the courthouse steps. "Then when is the right time to worry? I want to know what I'm facing."
"We don't even know if it's going to trial yet. I'm going to try to get it delayed because of your condition. The fact that you had trouble with today's hearing just shows that you can't handle a full trial right now."
"I don't want to just delay it. I want to be acquitted."
"We'll work on it. Right now, we need time to build our case. Look at it this way-at least you can go back home for now."
That was a small comfort. He couldn't be certain that his bail wouldn't be revoked after his arraignment, and that hearing would come up all too quickly.
He saw Annabelle coming up the steps toward him. When she reached him, she gave him a hug.
When he told her the news, she squeezed his hands and said, "You'll be fine. It's not as bad as it could be, right?"
He wished he could be as confident.
* * *
"What's the matter, Hon?"
Peter looked up from his plate. He'd been picking at his meatloaf. "Nothing."
El looked skeptical. "You've barely said a word since you got home. I thought the hearing went well."
"Yeah. It went great. I mean, Neal wasn't indicted on all the charges, but we got him on the bond forgery. That's the most important thing."
"So what's the problem?"
Peter set down his fork. Satchmo, who was sitting at Peter's feet, whined. Peter absently patted him on the head.
"There had to be a recess because Neal had another headache. And then I ran into him in the bathroom. He looked terrible."
El clicked her tongue. "Well, from what you told me about what happened to him, it sounds like a miracle that he's even alive."
"I guess I didn't realize that this whole head injury thing might be serious. I figured he was exaggerating. I still don't know what to think about the amnesia."
"You still think he might be faking it?"
That was just it-Peter didn't know. "This is Neal Caffrey, Hon. You can't trust anything. Remember when he pretended he was mauled by a shark?"
"I don't think he faked this accident," El said gently.
She was right. Peter had followed up on Neal's story, and it checked out. There were hospital records and independent witnesses. Neal had even passed a polygraph test, though Peter didn't put it past him to be able to fake it.
"That doesn't mean he isn't exaggerating his condition." He picked up his fork and grabbed a bite of meatloaf. He chewed it slowly, deep in thought. Once he'd swallowed, he said, "If he's not exaggerating...I guess it's hitting me how crazy this must be for him. It must be hard to find out you committed a bunch of crimes you can't remember." He sighed. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be simple-I catch him, he goes to trial, he gets convicted, he pays for his crimes. That's how it works. I spoke to Morales after the indictment, and she told me Neal's lawyer wants to have the trial delayed."
"Because of his health? Do you think it'll work?"
Peter shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. Even if the case does go to trial, I know Neal and his lawyer are going to milk his condition for all it's worth."
If the jury or the judge went easy on Neal because of his injury, that wasn't justice. But Peter wasn't sure that locking up a man who'd lost two decades' worth of memory was justice, either.
He didn't want to let Neal rob him of his pride over the case. But it was hard not to have some doubts. Would they have even caught Neal if his guard wasn't down?
He couldn't shake the idea that Neal was playing them. He'd gotten out on bail, and now he might have his trial delayed for months. But then, he could have run by now if he wanted to....
"It's out of your hands," El said. "This prosecutor, Morales. Is she good at her job?"
"Yeah, she's great. She got a conviction on that mortgage fraud case that went to trial in May. And I didn't know if that'd be possible."
"Then let her do her job, and try to relax. You should be proud of how the indictment went."
"You're right. It went as well as I'd hoped."
"Then let's celebrate. Eat your dinner before it gets cold, and then we can curl up on the sofa with some wine. How does that sound?"
Peter smiled at her. He could always count on El to reassure him. "That sounds perfect."
* * *
Neal was sketching when the intercom buzzed. He was home alone, so he set his sketchbook aside and got up to answer it.
Pressing the button, he said, "Hello?"
"Neal! It's me and I've got a surprise! Buzz me in."
It was Mozzie. Neal buzzed him in and waited for the knock on the door. As soon as he heard it, Neal answered the door. He froze when he saw that Mozzie wasn't alone.
There was a woman with him. She had long dark hair and the most striking blue eyes Neal had ever seen. When she saw him, her lips parted.
"Hello," Neal said.
"Hello, Neal," she said.
"I found her and told her what happened to you," Mozzie said with a smile. "She insisted on seeing you."
Neal got the impression that he was supposed to be happy about this.
The woman swallowed and said, "Do you remember me?"
Neal shook his head. "No. I'm sorry, I don't. Are you Kate?"
"Yes," she said softly.
People had mentioned her to him, usually in annoyingly vague ways that implied he was supposed to know what they were talking about. No one had volunteered much information, and Neal had sensed it might be better not to ask. He liked to reassure himself that the people from his past, the ones who hadn't sought him out after his arrest, were no longer a part of his life. He had tried not to think about Kate, but here she was.
"Come in," Neal said. As he led Mozzie and Kate inside, he was glad Annabelle wasn't home. He hadn't mentioned Kate to her. He'd seen no reason to.
Once in the living room, Kate looked pointedly at Mozzie.
"Oh," Mozzie said after a moment. "Right. I'll let you two talk."
Mozzie made himself scarce, and Neal could only imagine what he was doing in the other rooms. Right now, he had other things to worry about.
He invited Kate to sit on the sofa, and, after a moment of deliberation, joined her.
Brushing her hair behind her ear, Kate said, "Mozzie tracked me down. He told me about your accident. He said you have amnesia."
"I do."
"You don't have to lie to me, okay? If this is some sort scheme to get out of going to prison, you can tell me the truth."
"What? No, it's not."
She raised her voice a notch. "Do you have any idea how cruel that would be? Letting people who care about you think you have a brain injury?"
"You don't believe me," Neal said incredulously. He'd come to expect this from the Feds. But not from his supposed friends.
"Can you blame me? It's not like you've never faked an accident before. Remember Monterey Bay?"
"No, I really don't. And I have no idea if your doubts are reasonable." He inched closer to her. "Look, I'm not lying. And this isn't saving me from going to prison. At best, I'm going to have my trial delayed a few months. I still have to go to trial, and since I don't have my memory, I have no idea how to defend myself. So believe me, I'd rather have my memory."
Kate's face softened. "I don't want to doubt you it's just-when Mozzie told me, I couldn't believe it. It sounded like one of your lies. God, I wish it was." She reached for her oversized purse. "Anyhow, I brought some photos. Maybe they'll help jog your memory."
"Thanks, but I don't know if it'll do any good. My doctor says that at this point, the only thing that will help is time."
She pulled an envelope out of her purse. "So, they think you'll get your memories back?"
He shrugged. "They don't know. I mean, it's been a few months, now. But it's possible." He nodded at the envelope. "I'd like to see the pictures, if you don't mind."
Kate pulled a stack of photos out of the envelope and spread them out on the coffee table. Neal took his time, looking over each one. A couple, he recognized as being taken in his apartment. He couldn’t tell where the others had been taken, but many were travel photos. One photo showed them on a boat, wearing swimsuits. Neal suppressed a shudder when he saw it. Another showed them posed in front of a fountain, smiling.
"This was when we went to Rome," Kate said.
"When did we go?"
"A couple years ago. You...the FBI was getting close. We decided to go overseas for a bit."
He could hear the tension in her voice, and he realized that no matter how happy Kate appeared in the photos, their past was not unequivocally pleasant for her. It was maddening to see only a few, carefully presented facets of his own life.
"We weren't happy, were we?"
Kate looked at him, her eyes wide. "We were, for a while."
"What happened?" When she hesitated, he said, "Hey, you wanted me to tell you the truth. I'm just asking for the same thing."
She looked at the pictures laid out before them. "We cared about each other, but we weren't a good fit. I don't think either of us was honest."
Neal took that in, and tried to read between the lines. He wondered how he had lied to her in the past, to make her think he was lying to her now. Had he cheated on her?
"Listen," he said, "you should know something. I have a girlfriend now. Her name is Annabelle-"
"I know."
"Oh."
"Mozzie told me. I'm not upset-at first, I thought you were lying about the amnesia to trick me into coming to see you. When I learned you'd moved on, I was glad."
"Well, I'm glad you came."
Kate smiled at him, and reached over and squeezed his hand.
He heard the sound of a key in the front door, and stood up in time to see Annabelle come in. Annabelle started to take her leather briefcase off her shoulder and froze when she saw Kate.
"Annabelle," Neal said, "this is Kate...."
"Moreau," Kate supplied. She stood and stepped around the sofa. As she shook Annabelle's hand, she said, "I'm an old friend of Neal's. I just found out about what happened to him."
"It was very nice of you to visit him." Annabelle's tone was neither cold nor inviting.
Neal knew she was ambivalent about Mozzie, and he got the impression she felt put out by having strangers visiting her home. He sometimes wondered if she regretted letting him stay.
If she did, he wasn't sure if he could blame her for it.
To Annabelle's credit, she recovered from her surprise gracefully.
"I was going to make some coffee," she said to Kate. "Would you like some?"
"That would be great."
Neal was a bit embarrassed to realize he'd forgotten to offer Kate and Mozzie anything. That was when he remembered that Mozzie was still lurking around the apartment.
He hesitated for a moment, unsure if it would be wise to leave Kate and Annabelle alone together. Deciding it was the least of his concerns at the moment, he went in search of Mozzie.
He found him in Annabelle's bedroom, sitting on the bed. He was reading a small book.
"Hey," Neal said softly but urgently, "what are you doing?"
Mozzie looked up. "Oh, hey. Did you know Annabelle keeps a diary? An actual diary!"
Neal's eyes widened. "What are you doing?" he hissed. "Put it back!"
"Don't you want to know-?"
"No, I don't. Put it away before she finds you."
With a shrug, Mozzie opened the top nightstand drawer and put the diary away. Neal rushed him out of the bedroom.
Annabelle and Kate were in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee. When Annabelle saw Mozzie, she raised her eyebrows. She had obviously been unaware Mozzie was there, and didn't look entirely pleased. Neal couldn't blame her. He wasn't sure what to make of Mozzie, himself.
Neal made his way back to the living room and collected the photos that were still spread out on the coffee table. He didn't want Annabelle to see them. He put them back in the envelope.
A minute later, Kate and Annabelle emerged from the kitchen, each carrying a mug of coffee. Neal went to get mugs for him and Mozzie, and the four of them sat down around the coffee table.
"How long have you known Steve?" Annabelle asked Kate.
If Kate surprised or unsettled by hearing him called by a different name, she showed no indication of it. "A few years."
"I know you two were dating," Annabelle said plainly.
Neal, who was sitting beside her, whipped his head around. He'd never mentioned Kate to Annabelle before, but her tone suggested that she wasn't just guessing.
"We were," Kate admitted. "We broke up before the accident."
Neal's instinct was to reassure Annabelle that his relationship with Kate was long over. But in his condition, it would be an obvious lie. He was a little alarmed by how much that frustrated him. Was this really who he was? Someone who had things to hide? Someone whose first instinct was to lie?
Perhaps his past was not compatible with the type of life he wanted. Perhaps it would have been better if he'd never found his old friends....
Finally, Mozzie and Kate decided to go. As Neal walked her to the door, Kate put a hand on his elbow and turned to face him.
"I'm sorry about everything that's happened to you," she said. "If you weren't alone in Cape Cod...."
"It's not your fault," he said. Without knowing her, it was an empty statement. But he believed it.
"I know," Kate said. "But I wish things could have been different."
After seeing Kate and Mozzie out, Neal returned to Annabelle in the living room.
"I'm sorry you didn't have any warning," he said. "They just showed up. I think Mozzie wanted to surprise me."
Annabelle gave him a small smile. "That's okay. You deserve to get a nice surprise. It's not like you get much excitement around here."
He walked over to the coffee table and picked up his half-full cup of coffee. He took a sip, and said, "How did you know about Kate?"
Annabelle looked up at him, blinking. "What?"
"You already knew about her."
He studied her face carefully. She rubbed her lips together and looked down at her cup of coffee.
"This morning, my father and I met with the private investigator." She looked up and quickly continued. "I wanted to have the meeting here. It was my dad's idea to do it at his office. He thought it'd be better. I didn't want to argue with him."
Neal raised his eyebrows. "Better? Really?" What purpose could it possibly have served? If Mr. Pryor didn't trust him anymore, Neal couldn't entirely blame him. But keeping him in the dark seemed both unnecessary and cruel. "How is hiring a PI going to help with my defense if I don't get to hear what he finds?"
"I brought home a copy of everything." She reached for her briefcase, which was leaning against the side of her chair. She pulled out a disappointingly thin folder and set it on the coffee table.
Neal picked it up. He would have been nervous, but if it contained anything groundbreaking, he imagined Annabelle wouldn't be so blasé about it. He fiddled with the elastic band holding the folder closed.
"Your father doesn't trust me, does he?"
Annabelle sighed. "I didn't say that...."
"Let's be honest, please." He cocked his head. "What about you? Do you have doubts?"
Annabelle picked up her mug and stood. She walked over to the glass door that led to the balcony and peered out. "Well," she said after a moment, "What do you expect? It's not like I knew what to think when the FBI showed up at my door. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. But I'm not an idiot. It's not like you can promise me you're innocent. I was hoping the PI would find something to show me you were telling me the truth. But everything he found just supports what they're saying about you." Her voice wavered. "And I now I keep thinking about when we met, and I feel like an idiot. You were so interested in my Matisse...."
He couldn't tell Annabelle that her suspicions were wrong.
He stood up and walked over to her. He could just make out the reflection of her face in the glass door. "Listen," he said softly, "I can't tell you who I was. But that person's gone. I want to be the man you were falling in love with."
"And what happens if you get your memory back?"
He couldn't answer that. He'd wondered himself. Would he stop being her Steve Tabernackle? Would he ever be the old Neal Caffrey again?
He couldn't help but think it would be easier if he never got his memory back. He hadn't been with Annabelle long before the FBI came along, but he'd been happy. Being Steve was the only thing he knew how to do.
Annabelle looked down. "After your arraignment, I think we should talk to the marshals about having you stay somewhere else."
Neal swallowed. "You're breaking up with me?"
"I didn't say that. I mean, I don't know. I just don't know if I can keep pretending for an entire trial. And that's what we're doing, isn't it? Pretending."
He couldn't blame her, really. Still, the thought of losing the single person who'd been there for him since his accident made him feel like he'd been cut adrift. Without Annabelle, there was no Steve Tabernackle. Another, ashamed part of him panicked at the thought of how bad this could be for his case. What would a jury think when they learned his girlfriend had lost faith in him?
Annabelle turned around. Her face was pale and her eyes betrayed fear. "Are you upset?"
Neal shook his head. "No. You have to do what you have to do. I'll be okay."
She nodded numbly. "I'm going out for a bit. The folder is for you. I can get my own copy of everything."
After she left, he stood for a few minutes in the utter silence, feeling more alone than he had since he woke up in the hospital. Then, he sat down to look at the file.
There was surprisingly little. What was notably absent was any record of him being Steve Tabernackle. On the other hand, the PI had collected information about the FBI's search for Neal Caffrey. There were print-outs of news articles with a police sketch that eerily resembled him. There was very little about Neal Caffrey, but the PI had dug up references to some of his aliases. There was record of a Nick Halden and a Kate Moreau renting a beach cabin together. So that was how Annabelle had found out.
As he looked through the scant pages, he couldn't escape the understanding that this was who he was. He hadn't been lying in those early weeks after the accident. But now, how was living as Steve anything other than a con?
Maybe the accident hadn't changed him at all.
Chapter 4
This entry was originally posted at http://citrinesunset.dreamwidth.org/127395.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal, Peter, Neal/OFC, past Neal/Kate
Rating: Teen
Contains: Amnesia. Medical trauma.
Word count: 27,000
Summary: Pre-series. Neal Caffrey is happily eluding the Feds when a sailing accident robs him of his memories and, consequently, his identity. As he recovers, he takes takes refuge in his new girlfriend, who helps him rediscover his identity as Steve Tabernackle, jet-setting millionaire. But when Steve returns to New York, it doesn't take long for his past to catch up with him.
Notes: Written for whitecollar_bb. This fic is an AU taking place around the time of Neal's arrest in "Forging Bonds."
It had been a couple weeks since he'd arrested Neal Caffrey, and for the first time in years, Peter felt out of the loop. Trials were drawn-out processes, and now the U.S. Attorney's office had taken over, there was less for Peter to do.
Soon enough, he would have to testify. First at the indictment, and then at the trial. He looked forward to that. Plenty of his cases never got that far-usually the defendants accepted plea deals. Occasionally, a case fell through due to lack of evidence. But he never doubted that Neal Caffrey would fight the charges against him. And Peter enjoyed testifying.
It still rankled occasionally that Neal was out on bail. Initially, Peter had waited to receive word that Neal had cut his anklet and fled. He was certain it would happen. But the call never came, and Peter had other cases to worry about.
But when he ran into Angela Morales in the lobby by the elevators, thoughts of Caffrey came flooding back.
"Angela? Didn't expect to see you today."
She turned around and smiled. "Oh, hi. Yeah, I have to talk to an agent in Organized Crime. How's it going?"
"All right. I have a meeting in about fifteen minutes, and wouldn't you know I'm running late. I'm glad I ran into you, though. I've been curious about how the Caffrey case is going."
He'd been glad to learn Angela was handling the case. She was one of the younger U.S. attorneys, but she'd prosecuted another of his cases, and he knew she could handle a trial well.
But at the mention of Neal Caffrey, her smile became strained. "It remains to be seen. The indictment's been scheduled for a couple weeks from now. But his lawyer was talking about requesting a competency hearing."
"A competency hearing?"
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. They both stepped inside.
"Case law is on our side. Even if Caffrey's amnesia is really as severe as he claims, there's not much precedent to find him incompetent."
"I've talked to him. He's aware of what's going on."
"Exactly. And I don't think there will even be a hearing. Still, his condition isn't making things any easier for us, and his lawyer might be able to get the trial delayed. You know he'll milk this for all it's worth. If we go to trial, and he testifies, it's going to be hard for me to question him without coming across like an asshole."
Peter shook his head. Of all the things that might have complicated the case, he never could have anticipated Neal Caffrey getting a damn head injury.
"Do you think it'll go to trial?" he said.
Angela shrugged. "We'll probably offer him a deal, but he hasn't been very cooperative. I have to say, though, I'm not optimistic about all charges. The bond forgery is strong enough to stick. But other stuff, like the theft of that Raphael? It's circumstantial right now. I don't want to let you guys down, but I'm not a miracle worker."
Her words were discouraging to hear, but not altogether surprising. Peter knew the case better than anyone. One of the things that made Caffrey so infuriating was how hard it was to pin stuff on him. There were lots of rumors and sightings. Very little hard evidence. There were several suspected crimes that they hadn't even charged him with. As for the charges, the hope had been that he would turn over stolen artwork and antiquities in exchange for a lighter sentence. A slim hope, knowing Caffrey, but it was a possibility. But if he really had amnesia, he wasn't going to remember where he'd hidden the Raphael, let alone anything else.
The elevator stopped at the nineteenth floor, and Angela stepped out. Turning to face him, she said, "Don't get discouraged. You caught the guy-that's half the battle."
He wanted to believe her, and he tried to reassure himself that the matter was out of his hands right now. This was how the system worked: he caught the bad guys, and then the federal prosecutors took over the case.
But as he continued upward in the elevator, he couldn't get Neal Caffrey out of his mind.
* * *
At his first hearing, Neal had been stuck wearing a jumpsuit. Today, he was wearing a dark navy suit and a maroon silk tie. It was amazing what that did for his confidence. When he arrived at the courthouse, he felt almost certain of his ability to handle the indictment.
Almost. His head had been bothering him when he woke up that morning, so he'd taken some of his migraine medication. He preferred to take the pills with food, but he didn't have an appetite. Annabelle had prodded him to eat, reminding him that the indictment might take a while, and he'd half-heartedly eaten a bowl of cereal.
Now, sitting in the courtroom, the pills weren't as effective as he'd hoped they'd be.
He tried not to let the headache affect his confidence. But hearing the assistant U.S. attorney present the evidence against him wasn't helping matters.
None of it was new to him. Neal had met with Griffin a few days ago. But Griffin had a way of presenting everything in an optimistic manner.
"They have strong evidence linking you to the forged bonds," he'd told Neal. "They have your prints on them, and security camera footage of you cashing them in. But they can't prove you were the one who forged them. The art theft charges are more circumstantial. The only problem we might have is with the charge relating to the Raphael. They have a witness who's willing to testify that you solicited his help in the robbery. But the guy's in jail on an unrelated charge, and if this goes to trial, I should be able to discredit him. He's a jailhouse snitch." He waved his hand dismissively, like it was nothing.
But now, seeing the evidence presented all at once, it felt a lot more damning.
Then Agent Burke took the stand to testify.
"Please state your name and title for the record," Morales said.
Burke leaned into the microphone. "Special Agent Peter Burke."
"You have handled this case since the beginning, is that correct?"
"Yes, that's correct."
"How long has it been since you started pursuing Neal Caffrey?"
"Nearly three years."
"Do you see the man you identified as Neal Caffrey in this courtroom today?"
Burke looked at Neal. "Yes. The accused is Neal Caffrey."
"Are you certain of that?"
"Absolutely."
Their eyes met, and what Neal saw surprised him. Burke's mouth quirked up in a smile, and his expression betrayed both pride and pleasure. He was happy to be testifying today. He was happy to be testifying against him.
Throughout all of this, Neal had never blamed the FBI for his misfortune. They had a job to do, and Neal believed he was just another file to them.
But as Burke talked about the years he spent chasing him, and his confidence in the arrest, Neal realized that he was invested in this case.
After Burke left the stand, Neal sat back in his chair.
He was ready for the hearing to be over. He hadn't realized that the indictment would take this long.
His head was pounding. Even the scar where they'd cut open his head hurt, and he lifted his hand to touch it. His hair was growing out, but he could still feel the tender, raised scar.
He tried to will the pain to go away. He didn't want a repeat of his interrogation at the FBI offices. There was little worse than throwing up in front of the people who were scrutinizing him for weaknesses. Maybe the grand jury would have been sympathetic if he'd thrown up, but he still had his pride.
But despite his efforts to distract himself, his stomach was getting queasy. He wished he'd trusted his instincts and forgone food that morning.
He folded his arms on the mahogany table in front of him and breathed through his nose. Morales, was speaking, but Neal couldn't focus on what she was saying. When he lost the confidence that he could hold back the nausea, he leaned over to his attorney and whispered in his ear.
The judge noticed the distraction. "Is there a problem?" he asked.
Morales turned to look at them. She appeared displeased by the interruption.
Griffin pulled away from Neal and looked up at the bench, "Uh, my client is ill. I'd like to request a recess."
"Can it wait?" The judge asked.
"I don't think so, no."
"Fine. It's a good time to break for lunch, anyway. We'll reconvene in an hour."
Neal closed his eyes in relief. He could feel the sweat on his face, and he hoped it didn't look as obvious as it felt. When he stood up, his head swam.
Griffin helped him to the restroom, and then left him alone. The nausea was at bay now, but Neal didn't want to leave the bathroom prematurely.
He leaned on the sinks, his chest pounding. He ran his hand under one of the motion-sensor faucets and cupped his hands under the water. He splashed his face, not caring at the moment that water was getting on his shirt and tie. He slipped a finger into the knot of his tie and loosened it. He reached into his suit pocket for his pills, and was fiddling with the bottle when the bathroom door opened.
Looking up in the mirror, it took him a moment to recognize the man who stepped in. When he did, Neal's eyes widened.
Agent Burke also looked surprised. He paused in the doorway for a minute, appearing to debate what to do. Finally, he stepped inside and silently made his way to the row of urinals on the other side of the room.
Neal wondered if being in the same room violated any sort of anti-fraternization rule. Not that he cared. Besides, he was here first.
Neal leaned forward on the sink again. The sinks were in a low row, and Neal was at the end closest to the door. After he finished peeing, Burke took the sink at the opposite end. He glanced at Neal.
"You all right over there?"
"Yeah. Thanks for asking." He lifted his head and studied Burke for a few seconds before saying, "You really think I'm a bad person, don't you?"
Burke looked at him and blinked. "What?"
Neal stood up straight, but held on to the edge of the counter. "You were happy to testify against me today. I could see it."
Burke looked down at the sink as he rinsed his hands. "I like testifying."
"And today was personal. I bet you'll love it when the case goes to trial."
"I spent three years on this case. Yeah, I'm happy to bring you to justice. It's nothing personal to do with you, so don't flatter yourself."
Neal shrugged. "I wasn't. And I have a hard time sympathizing with you wasting three years when I've lost my whole life. I don't know what you think sending me to prison is going to accomplish."
"It's not my fault you got hit in the head." Burke stepped away from the sink and ran his hands under one of the electric dryers. He looked over his shoulder at Neal. Lifting his chin, he asked, "What's the deal with the headaches, anyway?"
"Post-concussion syndrome. Believe it or not, my doctor says I'm lucky. Even with the memory loss. I could have lost a lot more of myself." He thought for a second, and added, "Of course, maybe I have. The Neal Caffrey you chased probably would have used this recess as a chance to cut his anklet and run."
"The possibility cross your mind?"
"Sure." Neal lifted his pant leg, showing the anklet. "But you'll notice I'm still here."
Not that running hadn't occurred to him. Mozzie swore he could get him out of the country. Sometimes he didn't know why he didn't try it.
Burke left the bathroom, and Neal was alone again.
When he finally emerged, he saw Morales in the hall, talking on her cell phone. She met his eyes briefly, and then walked further down the hall. Neal sat on a bench by the courtroom doors.
Griffin came up to him, holding a paper cup of water.
"Here, thought you might need this."
Neal took it with thanks, and sipped the water slowly.
When the hearing reconvened, it lasted another hour. Finally, the grand jury made their decision.
He was indicted on the bond forgery, the theft of the Raphael painting that he'd never heard of, and the possession of fake passports.
As he left the courthouse, Griffin tried to convince him that this wasn't as bad as it appeared.
"They could have tried to charge you with a lot more."
Neal wasn't reassured. "If they find me guilty on the charges, how much time am I looking at?"
"It's too soon to worry about that."
Neal paused on the courthouse steps. "Then when is the right time to worry? I want to know what I'm facing."
"We don't even know if it's going to trial yet. I'm going to try to get it delayed because of your condition. The fact that you had trouble with today's hearing just shows that you can't handle a full trial right now."
"I don't want to just delay it. I want to be acquitted."
"We'll work on it. Right now, we need time to build our case. Look at it this way-at least you can go back home for now."
That was a small comfort. He couldn't be certain that his bail wouldn't be revoked after his arraignment, and that hearing would come up all too quickly.
He saw Annabelle coming up the steps toward him. When she reached him, she gave him a hug.
When he told her the news, she squeezed his hands and said, "You'll be fine. It's not as bad as it could be, right?"
He wished he could be as confident.
* * *
"What's the matter, Hon?"
Peter looked up from his plate. He'd been picking at his meatloaf. "Nothing."
El looked skeptical. "You've barely said a word since you got home. I thought the hearing went well."
"Yeah. It went great. I mean, Neal wasn't indicted on all the charges, but we got him on the bond forgery. That's the most important thing."
"So what's the problem?"
Peter set down his fork. Satchmo, who was sitting at Peter's feet, whined. Peter absently patted him on the head.
"There had to be a recess because Neal had another headache. And then I ran into him in the bathroom. He looked terrible."
El clicked her tongue. "Well, from what you told me about what happened to him, it sounds like a miracle that he's even alive."
"I guess I didn't realize that this whole head injury thing might be serious. I figured he was exaggerating. I still don't know what to think about the amnesia."
"You still think he might be faking it?"
That was just it-Peter didn't know. "This is Neal Caffrey, Hon. You can't trust anything. Remember when he pretended he was mauled by a shark?"
"I don't think he faked this accident," El said gently.
She was right. Peter had followed up on Neal's story, and it checked out. There were hospital records and independent witnesses. Neal had even passed a polygraph test, though Peter didn't put it past him to be able to fake it.
"That doesn't mean he isn't exaggerating his condition." He picked up his fork and grabbed a bite of meatloaf. He chewed it slowly, deep in thought. Once he'd swallowed, he said, "If he's not exaggerating...I guess it's hitting me how crazy this must be for him. It must be hard to find out you committed a bunch of crimes you can't remember." He sighed. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be simple-I catch him, he goes to trial, he gets convicted, he pays for his crimes. That's how it works. I spoke to Morales after the indictment, and she told me Neal's lawyer wants to have the trial delayed."
"Because of his health? Do you think it'll work?"
Peter shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. Even if the case does go to trial, I know Neal and his lawyer are going to milk his condition for all it's worth."
If the jury or the judge went easy on Neal because of his injury, that wasn't justice. But Peter wasn't sure that locking up a man who'd lost two decades' worth of memory was justice, either.
He didn't want to let Neal rob him of his pride over the case. But it was hard not to have some doubts. Would they have even caught Neal if his guard wasn't down?
He couldn't shake the idea that Neal was playing them. He'd gotten out on bail, and now he might have his trial delayed for months. But then, he could have run by now if he wanted to....
"It's out of your hands," El said. "This prosecutor, Morales. Is she good at her job?"
"Yeah, she's great. She got a conviction on that mortgage fraud case that went to trial in May. And I didn't know if that'd be possible."
"Then let her do her job, and try to relax. You should be proud of how the indictment went."
"You're right. It went as well as I'd hoped."
"Then let's celebrate. Eat your dinner before it gets cold, and then we can curl up on the sofa with some wine. How does that sound?"
Peter smiled at her. He could always count on El to reassure him. "That sounds perfect."
* * *
Neal was sketching when the intercom buzzed. He was home alone, so he set his sketchbook aside and got up to answer it.
Pressing the button, he said, "Hello?"
"Neal! It's me and I've got a surprise! Buzz me in."
It was Mozzie. Neal buzzed him in and waited for the knock on the door. As soon as he heard it, Neal answered the door. He froze when he saw that Mozzie wasn't alone.
There was a woman with him. She had long dark hair and the most striking blue eyes Neal had ever seen. When she saw him, her lips parted.
"Hello," Neal said.
"Hello, Neal," she said.
"I found her and told her what happened to you," Mozzie said with a smile. "She insisted on seeing you."
Neal got the impression that he was supposed to be happy about this.
The woman swallowed and said, "Do you remember me?"
Neal shook his head. "No. I'm sorry, I don't. Are you Kate?"
"Yes," she said softly.
People had mentioned her to him, usually in annoyingly vague ways that implied he was supposed to know what they were talking about. No one had volunteered much information, and Neal had sensed it might be better not to ask. He liked to reassure himself that the people from his past, the ones who hadn't sought him out after his arrest, were no longer a part of his life. He had tried not to think about Kate, but here she was.
"Come in," Neal said. As he led Mozzie and Kate inside, he was glad Annabelle wasn't home. He hadn't mentioned Kate to her. He'd seen no reason to.
Once in the living room, Kate looked pointedly at Mozzie.
"Oh," Mozzie said after a moment. "Right. I'll let you two talk."
Mozzie made himself scarce, and Neal could only imagine what he was doing in the other rooms. Right now, he had other things to worry about.
He invited Kate to sit on the sofa, and, after a moment of deliberation, joined her.
Brushing her hair behind her ear, Kate said, "Mozzie tracked me down. He told me about your accident. He said you have amnesia."
"I do."
"You don't have to lie to me, okay? If this is some sort scheme to get out of going to prison, you can tell me the truth."
"What? No, it's not."
She raised her voice a notch. "Do you have any idea how cruel that would be? Letting people who care about you think you have a brain injury?"
"You don't believe me," Neal said incredulously. He'd come to expect this from the Feds. But not from his supposed friends.
"Can you blame me? It's not like you've never faked an accident before. Remember Monterey Bay?"
"No, I really don't. And I have no idea if your doubts are reasonable." He inched closer to her. "Look, I'm not lying. And this isn't saving me from going to prison. At best, I'm going to have my trial delayed a few months. I still have to go to trial, and since I don't have my memory, I have no idea how to defend myself. So believe me, I'd rather have my memory."
Kate's face softened. "I don't want to doubt you it's just-when Mozzie told me, I couldn't believe it. It sounded like one of your lies. God, I wish it was." She reached for her oversized purse. "Anyhow, I brought some photos. Maybe they'll help jog your memory."
"Thanks, but I don't know if it'll do any good. My doctor says that at this point, the only thing that will help is time."
She pulled an envelope out of her purse. "So, they think you'll get your memories back?"
He shrugged. "They don't know. I mean, it's been a few months, now. But it's possible." He nodded at the envelope. "I'd like to see the pictures, if you don't mind."
Kate pulled a stack of photos out of the envelope and spread them out on the coffee table. Neal took his time, looking over each one. A couple, he recognized as being taken in his apartment. He couldn’t tell where the others had been taken, but many were travel photos. One photo showed them on a boat, wearing swimsuits. Neal suppressed a shudder when he saw it. Another showed them posed in front of a fountain, smiling.
"This was when we went to Rome," Kate said.
"When did we go?"
"A couple years ago. You...the FBI was getting close. We decided to go overseas for a bit."
He could hear the tension in her voice, and he realized that no matter how happy Kate appeared in the photos, their past was not unequivocally pleasant for her. It was maddening to see only a few, carefully presented facets of his own life.
"We weren't happy, were we?"
Kate looked at him, her eyes wide. "We were, for a while."
"What happened?" When she hesitated, he said, "Hey, you wanted me to tell you the truth. I'm just asking for the same thing."
She looked at the pictures laid out before them. "We cared about each other, but we weren't a good fit. I don't think either of us was honest."
Neal took that in, and tried to read between the lines. He wondered how he had lied to her in the past, to make her think he was lying to her now. Had he cheated on her?
"Listen," he said, "you should know something. I have a girlfriend now. Her name is Annabelle-"
"I know."
"Oh."
"Mozzie told me. I'm not upset-at first, I thought you were lying about the amnesia to trick me into coming to see you. When I learned you'd moved on, I was glad."
"Well, I'm glad you came."
Kate smiled at him, and reached over and squeezed his hand.
He heard the sound of a key in the front door, and stood up in time to see Annabelle come in. Annabelle started to take her leather briefcase off her shoulder and froze when she saw Kate.
"Annabelle," Neal said, "this is Kate...."
"Moreau," Kate supplied. She stood and stepped around the sofa. As she shook Annabelle's hand, she said, "I'm an old friend of Neal's. I just found out about what happened to him."
"It was very nice of you to visit him." Annabelle's tone was neither cold nor inviting.
Neal knew she was ambivalent about Mozzie, and he got the impression she felt put out by having strangers visiting her home. He sometimes wondered if she regretted letting him stay.
If she did, he wasn't sure if he could blame her for it.
To Annabelle's credit, she recovered from her surprise gracefully.
"I was going to make some coffee," she said to Kate. "Would you like some?"
"That would be great."
Neal was a bit embarrassed to realize he'd forgotten to offer Kate and Mozzie anything. That was when he remembered that Mozzie was still lurking around the apartment.
He hesitated for a moment, unsure if it would be wise to leave Kate and Annabelle alone together. Deciding it was the least of his concerns at the moment, he went in search of Mozzie.
He found him in Annabelle's bedroom, sitting on the bed. He was reading a small book.
"Hey," Neal said softly but urgently, "what are you doing?"
Mozzie looked up. "Oh, hey. Did you know Annabelle keeps a diary? An actual diary!"
Neal's eyes widened. "What are you doing?" he hissed. "Put it back!"
"Don't you want to know-?"
"No, I don't. Put it away before she finds you."
With a shrug, Mozzie opened the top nightstand drawer and put the diary away. Neal rushed him out of the bedroom.
Annabelle and Kate were in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee. When Annabelle saw Mozzie, she raised her eyebrows. She had obviously been unaware Mozzie was there, and didn't look entirely pleased. Neal couldn't blame her. He wasn't sure what to make of Mozzie, himself.
Neal made his way back to the living room and collected the photos that were still spread out on the coffee table. He didn't want Annabelle to see them. He put them back in the envelope.
A minute later, Kate and Annabelle emerged from the kitchen, each carrying a mug of coffee. Neal went to get mugs for him and Mozzie, and the four of them sat down around the coffee table.
"How long have you known Steve?" Annabelle asked Kate.
If Kate surprised or unsettled by hearing him called by a different name, she showed no indication of it. "A few years."
"I know you two were dating," Annabelle said plainly.
Neal, who was sitting beside her, whipped his head around. He'd never mentioned Kate to Annabelle before, but her tone suggested that she wasn't just guessing.
"We were," Kate admitted. "We broke up before the accident."
Neal's instinct was to reassure Annabelle that his relationship with Kate was long over. But in his condition, it would be an obvious lie. He was a little alarmed by how much that frustrated him. Was this really who he was? Someone who had things to hide? Someone whose first instinct was to lie?
Perhaps his past was not compatible with the type of life he wanted. Perhaps it would have been better if he'd never found his old friends....
Finally, Mozzie and Kate decided to go. As Neal walked her to the door, Kate put a hand on his elbow and turned to face him.
"I'm sorry about everything that's happened to you," she said. "If you weren't alone in Cape Cod...."
"It's not your fault," he said. Without knowing her, it was an empty statement. But he believed it.
"I know," Kate said. "But I wish things could have been different."
After seeing Kate and Mozzie out, Neal returned to Annabelle in the living room.
"I'm sorry you didn't have any warning," he said. "They just showed up. I think Mozzie wanted to surprise me."
Annabelle gave him a small smile. "That's okay. You deserve to get a nice surprise. It's not like you get much excitement around here."
He walked over to the coffee table and picked up his half-full cup of coffee. He took a sip, and said, "How did you know about Kate?"
Annabelle looked up at him, blinking. "What?"
"You already knew about her."
He studied her face carefully. She rubbed her lips together and looked down at her cup of coffee.
"This morning, my father and I met with the private investigator." She looked up and quickly continued. "I wanted to have the meeting here. It was my dad's idea to do it at his office. He thought it'd be better. I didn't want to argue with him."
Neal raised his eyebrows. "Better? Really?" What purpose could it possibly have served? If Mr. Pryor didn't trust him anymore, Neal couldn't entirely blame him. But keeping him in the dark seemed both unnecessary and cruel. "How is hiring a PI going to help with my defense if I don't get to hear what he finds?"
"I brought home a copy of everything." She reached for her briefcase, which was leaning against the side of her chair. She pulled out a disappointingly thin folder and set it on the coffee table.
Neal picked it up. He would have been nervous, but if it contained anything groundbreaking, he imagined Annabelle wouldn't be so blasé about it. He fiddled with the elastic band holding the folder closed.
"Your father doesn't trust me, does he?"
Annabelle sighed. "I didn't say that...."
"Let's be honest, please." He cocked his head. "What about you? Do you have doubts?"
Annabelle picked up her mug and stood. She walked over to the glass door that led to the balcony and peered out. "Well," she said after a moment, "What do you expect? It's not like I knew what to think when the FBI showed up at my door. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. But I'm not an idiot. It's not like you can promise me you're innocent. I was hoping the PI would find something to show me you were telling me the truth. But everything he found just supports what they're saying about you." Her voice wavered. "And I now I keep thinking about when we met, and I feel like an idiot. You were so interested in my Matisse...."
He couldn't tell Annabelle that her suspicions were wrong.
He stood up and walked over to her. He could just make out the reflection of her face in the glass door. "Listen," he said softly, "I can't tell you who I was. But that person's gone. I want to be the man you were falling in love with."
"And what happens if you get your memory back?"
He couldn't answer that. He'd wondered himself. Would he stop being her Steve Tabernackle? Would he ever be the old Neal Caffrey again?
He couldn't help but think it would be easier if he never got his memory back. He hadn't been with Annabelle long before the FBI came along, but he'd been happy. Being Steve was the only thing he knew how to do.
Annabelle looked down. "After your arraignment, I think we should talk to the marshals about having you stay somewhere else."
Neal swallowed. "You're breaking up with me?"
"I didn't say that. I mean, I don't know. I just don't know if I can keep pretending for an entire trial. And that's what we're doing, isn't it? Pretending."
He couldn't blame her, really. Still, the thought of losing the single person who'd been there for him since his accident made him feel like he'd been cut adrift. Without Annabelle, there was no Steve Tabernackle. Another, ashamed part of him panicked at the thought of how bad this could be for his case. What would a jury think when they learned his girlfriend had lost faith in him?
Annabelle turned around. Her face was pale and her eyes betrayed fear. "Are you upset?"
Neal shook his head. "No. You have to do what you have to do. I'll be okay."
She nodded numbly. "I'm going out for a bit. The folder is for you. I can get my own copy of everything."
After she left, he stood for a few minutes in the utter silence, feeling more alone than he had since he woke up in the hospital. Then, he sat down to look at the file.
There was surprisingly little. What was notably absent was any record of him being Steve Tabernackle. On the other hand, the PI had collected information about the FBI's search for Neal Caffrey. There were print-outs of news articles with a police sketch that eerily resembled him. There was very little about Neal Caffrey, but the PI had dug up references to some of his aliases. There was record of a Nick Halden and a Kate Moreau renting a beach cabin together. So that was how Annabelle had found out.
As he looked through the scant pages, he couldn't escape the understanding that this was who he was. He hadn't been lying in those early weeks after the accident. But now, how was living as Steve anything other than a con?
Maybe the accident hadn't changed him at all.
Chapter 4
This entry was originally posted at http://citrinesunset.dreamwidth.org/127395.html. Please comment there using OpenID.