[fic] Kicked Out of Time, Part 2
Title: Kicked Out of Time, Part 2
Author: shingo_the_pest
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Neal and Peter, may become slash
Spoilers: none
Warnings: WIP
Summary: Neal suddenly finds himself in the past. And Peter is no longer his friend. “Do I know you?” Peter asked. Neal’s smile slowly dropped.
Part 1
Neal had woke up that day cold, in a thin hospital garment, under thin sheets, with the air conditioning far too high.
The hospital bed was small and his elbows and toes hit the chilly metal railing. A nurse had him sip water from a plastic cup. He drank it down all down and asked her for more, smiling gratefully.
"What happened?" He asked her.
"We hoped you could tell us," she laid a heavier blanket over him. "What's your name?"
He smiled. "Neal Caffrey."
She wrote it down. "You had no wallet on you. The police found you unconscious."
Neal glanced at his hands, saw black ink on each finger. His fingerprints would put up red flags as soon as the results came back. He might as well get a hold of Peter.
"Can I make a call?"
---
When he had called Peter's cell, no one answered.
His clothes from yesterday were hung in a small closet across from the too small bed. There was dirt and a bit of grime on them. He hated to see any of Bryon's clothes ruined, and hoped they would be fine after a bit of cleaning. The nurse allowed him a shower, and when she wasn't looking, Neal snuck away with a white doctor's coat on. He went straight to the Burke's house, an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach at not being able to reach Peter's phone.
---
Sunday afternoon, in the office (where he should /not/ be on Sunday) Peter was getting frustrated with the stranger who showed up on his doorstep.
The young man was half honest, half deceitful, and eventually Peter gave up for the day and left "Nathan Haversham" in a holding cell. Nathan had protested but didn't fight or run as he was placed in the cell. He looked forlorn and lonely as Peter left. Peter felt a bit guilty, but satisfied too. Peter didn't tolerate liars or pests, and one night in a cell wouldn't hurt the young man. Peter went home to El, and enjoyed what was left of the weekend.
The next day, amidst all the research for other cases, Peter began digging for Nathan Haversham. His results were very empty.
He stared the young man down through the cell bars. "There are /no/ Nathan Havershams in New York."
Nathan raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his bench. "Not even one? This is New York, there has to be at least one."
"None."
Nathan's eyes darted to the left, realizing that it had not been the best alias. He shrugged, like it didn’t matter. "Okay. Not a big deal."
"You aren't very good at coming up with aliases, are you." The corner of Peter's lips quirked.
"I can be good at it."
"You don't work well under pressure?"
"I do!"
The corners of Peter's mouth twitched, and he left before the smile could break out.
---
The jailers grudgingly allowed Neal a newspaper when he asked. He had to talk them into it.
The date on the paper said June 23, 2002.
Neal took a deep breath.
"Hello! Hello!" He reached through the bars and waved the guard over. "Hello, thanks. I was just wondering, could I have a current newspaper? This one's old."
The guard frowned. "Yesterday’s paper too old for you? Deal with it."
"No, no, I don't mind yesterday’s paper, I was just looking for something from this year." Neal pointed to the date.
The guard looked where Neal's long finger pointed, looked at Neal, huffed in disbelief, and walked away.
"That's not an answer," Neal called after him. The guard ignored him.
---
Hughes called the US Marshalls and asked if they recognized the tracker.
"They've never seen the anklet or the signal before. Completely unidentified."
Peter sighed. "It looked pretty high tech."
"It's impressive. The tech guys don't recognize it, and are very intrigued."
"So not our tech?"
"Nope."
Hughes frowned and shrugged.
"Who is this kid, and who was keeping track of him?"
Peter shrugged. "Dunno."
"We took his fingerprints, and a saliva test. No DNA matches. His prints don't have a match in the system either. So he hasn't been arrested before."
Peter suggested, "CIA might have prints."
"Unless we have reason to believe he's part of a big crime, we're not going to bark up that tree. Tell me, do you think he's a criminal?"
"I dunno. But I don't want to let him out of my sight until I know what's going on."
"I understand. Open up an unidentified person case, with potential identity fraud, but don't neglect our real cases Burke. You have an update on the bank hold up from Friday?"
"Sure do boss."
---
The tracker was gone from his ankle, and Neal wasn't sure if he should be relieved or not. It felt like another connection had been taken away.
So the next time Peter visited his cell, just after lunch, he asked Peter, "What about my finger prints, what do they tell you?"
Peter shrugged. "Nothing. You're prints aren't in our database."
Neal's eyes went wide, and he leaned back slowly. The FBI had his prints, his DNA, his dental records, even a retinal scan.
Peter was watching him closely. "You seem surprised."
Neal couldn't find the words to explain his confusion. He shrugged, at a loss.
"What hospital did you wake up in?" Peter asked.
"I don't really remember. I think it was Mercy in Brooklyn..."
Peter's eyes narrowed, knowing he was lying. Neal wondered if he should tell the truth.
What would happen if he did? He didn't know. He didn't know what was going on or what was at stake. He didn't want jail. He just wanted his friends, and his life back.
"You're clamming up," Peter accused. Neal just smiled helplessly at him.
---
The lawyer who showed up to represent Neal looked very apathetic. He explained he would represent Nathan Haversham should any charges be pressed, and he was there to protect Nathan's rights.
"Can you get me out? They don't have anything on me, so they can't hold me."
"No, they can't. But they can investigate you, under grounds of suspicious activity and suspicion of false identity. Do you have anything to hide?"
"Honestly? I don't know if I do at this point."
"Then just don't run. We want your address, where you work, and a number to contact you at.” He pushed release forms to Neal.
Neal hesitated, then wrote down bogus information. He wondered if they would check it.
---
They let him go.
Neal felt cast away, and a bit lost. But this strange and unnatural situation had opened up possibilities. He was free again.
"Come on, let’s go. We've got nothing to charge you on, even with the tracker. So up and out, let's move." Peter told him.
Peter escorted him out, and watched Neal walk down the steps. "Don't leave town." Peter called. "I'm keeping my eye on you."
Neal hesitated, and turned around, looked up at Peter. "Can I ask you for a favor?"
Peter shrugged, not feeling very generous.
"Can I have your phone number?"
"And why would you need that?"
"Just, in case, you know. Please?"
Peter gave in, with a grudging sigh, and handed Neal a business card. "I don't take social calls. And don't drop by my house uninvited. I'll find an excuse to arrest you again."
Neal Caffrey nodded, laughed a little.
So Peter added. "And if you need any help, you can, you know. Call me." Peter sort of smiled. While trying to look stern and serious.
Neal smiled. Then walked away.
---
The number Peter gave him was not the one Neal was familiar with. It explained why he hadn't been able to reach Peter before.
Neal got his hands on a credit card, and bought spare sets of clothes from a consignment shop with no security camera. He threw the card away, then got cash from a few loose wallets, and found a four star hotel to stay in. He could get better, but he needed to stay inconspicuous.
Should he head out of town and disappear? Should he set up a fake identity and start a life as Nathan Haversham? It wouldn't be ideal, but at least he had some connections this way. He wished he could talk to El.
It was June 2002. In Philadelphia, he and Kate would be drinking wine from an expensive bottle and pretending they were in Paris. His younger self may even have begun planning the fake promotional business right now. Come December, he and Kate would steal their first heavy piece of artwork. Should he reach out to his younger self? Warn him about the future, warn Kate? They wouldn't listen to him. They might even change their plans, and his knowledge of the future might change. It hurt to think about it. He would have to tread carefully with them.
There was someone he knew who was closer than Philadelphia. One cab ride brought him to Bull Dog Storage where he slipped past the guard, and made his way down isle Q. He couldn't remember the exact unit, but it was one in the middle.
A computer hum came from Q-56. Neal knocked. All humming suddenly stopped, as if someone had pulled a cord.
"Hey Moz, I know you're in there," Neal called.
Muffed, he heard, "There's nothing important here!"
Neal smiled to himself, "I bet you're trying to hack into NASA's system."
The storage door lifted, and Mozzie squinted up at Neal. "How do you know that?"
"Because you think they're a bunch of liars. Careful, if you annoy them too much, they'll track you down. You’ll have to abandon your current equipment."
Mozzie waved it off, "They're not on to me yet. And I don’t know you.”
“Not yet. I’m from the future.”
“Ha! Haha! The future he says. As if I would be so gullible. What do you want?”
Neal spread his arms and smiled. “I just want a good friend.”
Moz poked him in the chest. “The price of friendship is far too high, especially from strangers who have investigated me. Not interested!”
"I can tell you the future, believe me. Brazil will defeat Germany in the World Cup this year."
Moz looked skeptical. “Posturing. I don’t believe you.”
"Has Rosemary Clooney died yet?"
Moz gasped, affronted. "No! And if that comes true, I'll turn you in for murder."
"Ted Williams too."
"No, I don't believe you!"
"I can't set /all/ that up. You have to believe me."
"No. You're strange, and I don't like you." Moz adjusted his glasses and glared, in a very squinty way.
Neal put his hands in his suit pockets and leaned back. "Then, ignore all that. Moz, I would like to work with you. I would like to set up a jewel heist."
Moz looked reluctantly interested. "To steal what?"
"The Emperor Ruby."
"Tempting, tempting. But I don't like working with strangers."
"One hundred thousand dollars. Surely I don't look like that much of a stranger?"
"Hmmm..."
"You'll be impressed with the way I can cut a fake diamond."
"I'm...intrigued. You can come in and talk. But no promises!"
Neal smiled. "Right now I'll take anything I can get."
---
Neal left that night with a lighter step. Moz had slowly opened up, and the company felt good. On his way back to his hotel, Neal bought a prepaid cell phone and a postcard. With his phone he sent Peter a friendly text message. The postcard he sent to Philadelphia.
Next Chapter
Notes: This story has a tentative outline, and I’m open to suggestions. (Need them, really.) So tell me, what do you want to see happen? Any hyjinks or plot ideas, throw them at me!
.
Author: shingo_the_pest
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Neal and Peter, may become slash
Spoilers: none
Warnings: WIP
Summary: Neal suddenly finds himself in the past. And Peter is no longer his friend. “Do I know you?” Peter asked. Neal’s smile slowly dropped.
Part 1
Neal had woke up that day cold, in a thin hospital garment, under thin sheets, with the air conditioning far too high.
The hospital bed was small and his elbows and toes hit the chilly metal railing. A nurse had him sip water from a plastic cup. He drank it down all down and asked her for more, smiling gratefully.
"What happened?" He asked her.
"We hoped you could tell us," she laid a heavier blanket over him. "What's your name?"
He smiled. "Neal Caffrey."
She wrote it down. "You had no wallet on you. The police found you unconscious."
Neal glanced at his hands, saw black ink on each finger. His fingerprints would put up red flags as soon as the results came back. He might as well get a hold of Peter.
"Can I make a call?"
---
When he had called Peter's cell, no one answered.
His clothes from yesterday were hung in a small closet across from the too small bed. There was dirt and a bit of grime on them. He hated to see any of Bryon's clothes ruined, and hoped they would be fine after a bit of cleaning. The nurse allowed him a shower, and when she wasn't looking, Neal snuck away with a white doctor's coat on. He went straight to the Burke's house, an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach at not being able to reach Peter's phone.
---
Sunday afternoon, in the office (where he should /not/ be on Sunday) Peter was getting frustrated with the stranger who showed up on his doorstep.
The young man was half honest, half deceitful, and eventually Peter gave up for the day and left "Nathan Haversham" in a holding cell. Nathan had protested but didn't fight or run as he was placed in the cell. He looked forlorn and lonely as Peter left. Peter felt a bit guilty, but satisfied too. Peter didn't tolerate liars or pests, and one night in a cell wouldn't hurt the young man. Peter went home to El, and enjoyed what was left of the weekend.
The next day, amidst all the research for other cases, Peter began digging for Nathan Haversham. His results were very empty.
He stared the young man down through the cell bars. "There are /no/ Nathan Havershams in New York."
Nathan raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his bench. "Not even one? This is New York, there has to be at least one."
"None."
Nathan's eyes darted to the left, realizing that it had not been the best alias. He shrugged, like it didn’t matter. "Okay. Not a big deal."
"You aren't very good at coming up with aliases, are you." The corner of Peter's lips quirked.
"I can be good at it."
"You don't work well under pressure?"
"I do!"
The corners of Peter's mouth twitched, and he left before the smile could break out.
---
The jailers grudgingly allowed Neal a newspaper when he asked. He had to talk them into it.
The date on the paper said June 23, 2002.
Neal took a deep breath.
"Hello! Hello!" He reached through the bars and waved the guard over. "Hello, thanks. I was just wondering, could I have a current newspaper? This one's old."
The guard frowned. "Yesterday’s paper too old for you? Deal with it."
"No, no, I don't mind yesterday’s paper, I was just looking for something from this year." Neal pointed to the date.
The guard looked where Neal's long finger pointed, looked at Neal, huffed in disbelief, and walked away.
"That's not an answer," Neal called after him. The guard ignored him.
---
Hughes called the US Marshalls and asked if they recognized the tracker.
"They've never seen the anklet or the signal before. Completely unidentified."
Peter sighed. "It looked pretty high tech."
"It's impressive. The tech guys don't recognize it, and are very intrigued."
"So not our tech?"
"Nope."
Hughes frowned and shrugged.
"Who is this kid, and who was keeping track of him?"
Peter shrugged. "Dunno."
"We took his fingerprints, and a saliva test. No DNA matches. His prints don't have a match in the system either. So he hasn't been arrested before."
Peter suggested, "CIA might have prints."
"Unless we have reason to believe he's part of a big crime, we're not going to bark up that tree. Tell me, do you think he's a criminal?"
"I dunno. But I don't want to let him out of my sight until I know what's going on."
"I understand. Open up an unidentified person case, with potential identity fraud, but don't neglect our real cases Burke. You have an update on the bank hold up from Friday?"
"Sure do boss."
---
The tracker was gone from his ankle, and Neal wasn't sure if he should be relieved or not. It felt like another connection had been taken away.
So the next time Peter visited his cell, just after lunch, he asked Peter, "What about my finger prints, what do they tell you?"
Peter shrugged. "Nothing. You're prints aren't in our database."
Neal's eyes went wide, and he leaned back slowly. The FBI had his prints, his DNA, his dental records, even a retinal scan.
Peter was watching him closely. "You seem surprised."
Neal couldn't find the words to explain his confusion. He shrugged, at a loss.
"What hospital did you wake up in?" Peter asked.
"I don't really remember. I think it was Mercy in Brooklyn..."
Peter's eyes narrowed, knowing he was lying. Neal wondered if he should tell the truth.
What would happen if he did? He didn't know. He didn't know what was going on or what was at stake. He didn't want jail. He just wanted his friends, and his life back.
"You're clamming up," Peter accused. Neal just smiled helplessly at him.
---
The lawyer who showed up to represent Neal looked very apathetic. He explained he would represent Nathan Haversham should any charges be pressed, and he was there to protect Nathan's rights.
"Can you get me out? They don't have anything on me, so they can't hold me."
"No, they can't. But they can investigate you, under grounds of suspicious activity and suspicion of false identity. Do you have anything to hide?"
"Honestly? I don't know if I do at this point."
"Then just don't run. We want your address, where you work, and a number to contact you at.” He pushed release forms to Neal.
Neal hesitated, then wrote down bogus information. He wondered if they would check it.
---
They let him go.
Neal felt cast away, and a bit lost. But this strange and unnatural situation had opened up possibilities. He was free again.
"Come on, let’s go. We've got nothing to charge you on, even with the tracker. So up and out, let's move." Peter told him.
Peter escorted him out, and watched Neal walk down the steps. "Don't leave town." Peter called. "I'm keeping my eye on you."
Neal hesitated, and turned around, looked up at Peter. "Can I ask you for a favor?"
Peter shrugged, not feeling very generous.
"Can I have your phone number?"
"And why would you need that?"
"Just, in case, you know. Please?"
Peter gave in, with a grudging sigh, and handed Neal a business card. "I don't take social calls. And don't drop by my house uninvited. I'll find an excuse to arrest you again."
Neal Caffrey nodded, laughed a little.
So Peter added. "And if you need any help, you can, you know. Call me." Peter sort of smiled. While trying to look stern and serious.
Neal smiled. Then walked away.
---
The number Peter gave him was not the one Neal was familiar with. It explained why he hadn't been able to reach Peter before.
Neal got his hands on a credit card, and bought spare sets of clothes from a consignment shop with no security camera. He threw the card away, then got cash from a few loose wallets, and found a four star hotel to stay in. He could get better, but he needed to stay inconspicuous.
Should he head out of town and disappear? Should he set up a fake identity and start a life as Nathan Haversham? It wouldn't be ideal, but at least he had some connections this way. He wished he could talk to El.
It was June 2002. In Philadelphia, he and Kate would be drinking wine from an expensive bottle and pretending they were in Paris. His younger self may even have begun planning the fake promotional business right now. Come December, he and Kate would steal their first heavy piece of artwork. Should he reach out to his younger self? Warn him about the future, warn Kate? They wouldn't listen to him. They might even change their plans, and his knowledge of the future might change. It hurt to think about it. He would have to tread carefully with them.
There was someone he knew who was closer than Philadelphia. One cab ride brought him to Bull Dog Storage where he slipped past the guard, and made his way down isle Q. He couldn't remember the exact unit, but it was one in the middle.
A computer hum came from Q-56. Neal knocked. All humming suddenly stopped, as if someone had pulled a cord.
"Hey Moz, I know you're in there," Neal called.
Muffed, he heard, "There's nothing important here!"
Neal smiled to himself, "I bet you're trying to hack into NASA's system."
The storage door lifted, and Mozzie squinted up at Neal. "How do you know that?"
"Because you think they're a bunch of liars. Careful, if you annoy them too much, they'll track you down. You’ll have to abandon your current equipment."
Mozzie waved it off, "They're not on to me yet. And I don’t know you.”
“Not yet. I’m from the future.”
“Ha! Haha! The future he says. As if I would be so gullible. What do you want?”
Neal spread his arms and smiled. “I just want a good friend.”
Moz poked him in the chest. “The price of friendship is far too high, especially from strangers who have investigated me. Not interested!”
"I can tell you the future, believe me. Brazil will defeat Germany in the World Cup this year."
Moz looked skeptical. “Posturing. I don’t believe you.”
"Has Rosemary Clooney died yet?"
Moz gasped, affronted. "No! And if that comes true, I'll turn you in for murder."
"Ted Williams too."
"No, I don't believe you!"
"I can't set /all/ that up. You have to believe me."
"No. You're strange, and I don't like you." Moz adjusted his glasses and glared, in a very squinty way.
Neal put his hands in his suit pockets and leaned back. "Then, ignore all that. Moz, I would like to work with you. I would like to set up a jewel heist."
Moz looked reluctantly interested. "To steal what?"
"The Emperor Ruby."
"Tempting, tempting. But I don't like working with strangers."
"One hundred thousand dollars. Surely I don't look like that much of a stranger?"
"Hmmm..."
"You'll be impressed with the way I can cut a fake diamond."
"I'm...intrigued. You can come in and talk. But no promises!"
Neal smiled. "Right now I'll take anything I can get."
---
Neal left that night with a lighter step. Moz had slowly opened up, and the company felt good. On his way back to his hotel, Neal bought a prepaid cell phone and a postcard. With his phone he sent Peter a friendly text message. The postcard he sent to Philadelphia.
Next Chapter
Notes: This story has a tentative outline, and I’m open to suggestions. (Need them, really.) So tell me, what do you want to see happen? Any hyjinks or plot ideas, throw them at me!
.