Fic: The End and the Beginning (6/9)
Title: The End and the Beginning (6/9)
Author: reve_silencieux
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Neal, Peter, Sara, Mozzie, Jones, Elizabeth, OFC (N/S)
Spoilers: Season Five
Warnings: Spoilery (highlight to read) Permanent Injury - Paralysis
Word Count: 49,000 (This chapter: 5373)
Beta: sapphire2309
Summary: Five years after the events of The Last Con, Peter and Jones stumble across a case that opens up old wounds.
Previous Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five
Chapter Six
“Purple.”
Neal handed over a purple crayon, but only got an exasperated look from his daughter.
“Not that one!”
He raised an eyebrow and when she pouted, he chuckled. “Which one then?”
She pointed to a very specific one amongst the pile of crayons, just out of her reach. “That one!”
“Ahhh… you mean,” he picked up the pink-ish purple crayon that had earned his daughter’s attention and read the label, “vivid violet. Excellent choice.”
Madeline beamed and started drawing in Eeyore’s ears on her paper very carefully, her tongue sticking out as she concentrated.
The doorbell rang, but Neal didn’t move from his position on the floor, instead watching as his daughter looked up at the television screen where a scene from Winnie the Pooh was frozen and back down to her drawing. She was trying really hard to match the image on the screen. Tigger had already been drawn after much deliberation as to the right shade of orange.
What was on the paper wasn’t so much the familiar characters as it was colored blobs and scribbles. But he'd been told she was already ahead of other kids her age.
"Don't forget Eeyore's bow," he said, pointing to the tail.
“Helping her with her first forgery are we, Neal?”
Neal looked up and grinned. “It’s not forgery if she signs her name, and trust me, she tries to leave her mark on everything."
Peter rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same.
He turned back to his daughter. “Madeline, I want you to meet a friend of mine. Say hello to Peter.”
She looked up briefly, and caught sight of Peter. “Hello.” Her head was down two seconds later, her attention back on her drawing and Neal shook his head. Every day, he saw more and more of himself in her, including his love of drawing, but unfortunately also his stubbornness. Seeing as both he and Sara never backed down from a fight, it was inevitable.
“I’m going to be in the kitchen. Come show us when you’re done, okay?”
“Okay,” she answered, without looking up.
He glanced back up at Peter and shrugged as if to say, ‘What can you do?’ Shifting to his side, he rolled onto his back, and pushed up into a sitting position. He moved the floor pillow out of the way and reached over, pulling his chair closer and locked the brakes. With a well-practiced move, he pushed up from the floor, grabbed the edge of the chair and swung himself up and into it.
Neal could feel Peter’s eyes on him and knew seeing him out of the chair was probably harder than seeing him in it. But he liked to interact with his daughter on her level, and let her have as normal a life as she could, even though they all had to adjust and adapt to his disability. She was young though, and didn’t seem to be bothered by it so far. It would probably be harder once she grew up.
He led the way into the kitchen and moved toward the stove. “I'm going to finish getting dinner ready. Feel free to get something to drink if you're interested.” He pointed up towards a cabinet. “Glasses are up there.”
Pulling out the pasta pot from its drawer, he placed it on the back of the cooktop and reached over to the faucet on the back wall, extending the arm so it lined up over the pot. He flipped the lever at the base of the faucet and it started filling the pot with water.
“That sure looks handy to have.”
Neal looked over his shoulder to Peter, and grinned. "It's one of the best features of this kitchen. I love it." Glancing back he looked into the mirror situated at an angle above the potfiller and watched the water line. A couple minutes later he switched it off and moved the pot to the burner.
“I never thought about that, I guess,” Peter admitted. “I never thought about a lot of this,” he said, waving a hand around the kitchen with all its adaptations.
“You normally don't. But trust me, every little thing makes it easier. You stop thinking about it after awhile.” He pulled the pot's lid out the drawer, placed it onto the pot and flipped the burner on. “It's really why we built the house. I had an accident in the kitchen in our first apartment, and after a trip to the hospital, Sara decided then and there that we needed a bigger place that was easier for me to get around.”
Peter looked a little pained and uncomfortable to hear about this. “What happened?”
Neal shrugged. “Just spilled some water, it wasn't that bad. All the same, if you wouldn’t mind draining it for me later, I’d appreciate it.”
“Sure, sure.” Peter still appeared troubled though, and Neal knew it would take him a while to accept that he was in a wheelchair and had to do things differently. But his friend’s distress had more to do with the fact that he hadn’t been there to help out.
He picked up the spoon resting on the counter and stirred the spaghetti sauce that was simmering on another burner, then turned back to face Peter.
“I'm okay, Peter, really. Do I look unhappy, angry… or depressed?” Peter shook his head silently and Neal sighed. He pushed away from the stove. “Look, I’ll admit it’s not an easy life, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, but it’s not like I had a choice. I had to accept it.”
He looked away, staring at the expanse of the kitchen, and feeling the cool metal of his wheels under his hands. It was a different life, and sometimes it was difficult for people to understand that he could still be happy. Glancing back, he gave Peter a tired smile.
“I know it’s a shock for you. It was hard for Sara too, and she had a lot more to deal with-she was injured and had to uproot her life at the same time. But we got through it. The psychologists told me that everyone has to find a way to grieve and move on-it’s not just about me.”
Neal paused and looked Peter in the eye. “And something tells me you’ve grieved enough.” He watched as pain flickered across Peter’s face, but disappeared a moment later. It was familiar, the need to move on and bury the grief, but it never really went away, just dulled to a point where you could almost forget-until something reminded you. It didn't matter that Peter knew the truth now. The grief, the memory of that time would always be there.
Peter said nothing and his head tilted just slightly in acknowledgment.
“It could have been worse-I could really be dead,” he offered. He had meant to lighten things up, but quickly sobered at the glare Peter shot him. It didn’t matter that it was the truth. He very nearly died, or he could have been injured worse. However, he also knew that he had been the lucky one-he’d known the truth.
They both had gone through their own grief, but for Neal the pain of losing everyone had been tempered by the knowledge that they were all safe. Peter hadn’t had that luxury.
He didn’t want to imagine how he would have felt if he had been in Peter’s shoes. He had lost too many people over the years, and losing Peter might have been the last straw. While cutting off contact with Peter had the same effect, Neal had at least known that he was alive.
And perhaps Peter's life was a little easier now that he wasn't worrying about Neal. It might be fatalistic of him, but it was the truth.
Peter sighed and leaned against the island, crossing his arms over his chest. "So, psychologists? As in plural? Don’t tell me you scared one off?"
Neal laughed and rocked his chair back. It was a change of topic, but he didn’t mind. “Not quite. I was a bit of mess at the beginning. And it was a little tricky, seeing as I couldn’t explain my past or the fact that I was about to enter WitSec. But she helped me a lot. So did the one with the US Marshals. Sara and I worked with her a lot when we moved here.”
“Sara seems good now. She always was pretty tough.”
“Yeah, she is,” Neal agreed, smiling softly. “But we had a rough spot. I felt guilty about forcing her into this life, and she… well, we both had our issues to work through, suffice it to say.”
“And I bet you two are even stronger now.”
“We are. I’m not sure what I would have done without her.”
Peter's face fell. “We've should have been there to help you, both of you. She shouldn't have been the only one to shoulder the burden.”
“Would you have stayed for four months? Would you have been there every day while I learned to roll over and sit up like a baby? Or how about while I learned how to bathe myself and pick myself up after I fell?” He rolled forward, and looked up at Peter with a hardened expression. “Peter, it wasn’t a pretty time-it was grueling and embarrassing, and I had to do it on my own. I had to learn to do everything all over again because I couldn’t, and never wanted to, rely on Sara or anyone else to take care of me.
"Not to mention, I wasn’t always the best patient," he added lightly, the corners of his mouth turning up.
“I’m still sorry.”
Neal sighed. “I know you are, but if you let it, the guilt will eat you alive. I know it's only been a couple of days for you, but you'll go home, life will move on, and you won't even think about this anymore.”
"I think you know that’s pretty impossible. You're a pretty hard person to forget,” Peter said wryly, smiling.
Neal smirked. “I know. Reena told me about the eulogy you gave.”
He winced and scratched a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah... about that...”
“Hey, you can't take it back just because I'm alive.” Neal grinned and then paused, as he remembered Reena returning to the hospital a week after his accident, when he was still flat on his back and trying not to spiral down into depression. “I needed to hear it. It helped me remember that I was doing it for the right reason.”
Peter nodded and gave him a small smile. “I'm glad. I meant all of it.”
Neal knew that Peter was probably uncomfortable talking about it, so he thought it best to move on. They couldn't fix everything in one night. There would always be guilt; only time would help Peter accept that. He rolled closer to the stove, opened the lid to the pasta pot and set it aside. Leaning over, he picked up the box of spaghetti from the counter to his left. Cracking it open, he dumped the pasta into the boiling water, replaced the lid, and went to the fridge where a timer hung on the side. He quickly set the timer, and looped the lanyard around his neck.
“Want any wine? I think you might need some right about now.”
Peter let out a breath, and smiled, looking happy to move on as well. “Sure, why not?”
Neal opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle, a now welcome occurrence since he didn’t have Mozzie emptying all of his wine on a daily basis. He nodded towards a cabinet above his head. “If you could grab the glasses, that’d be great.”
They moved to the kitchen table where Neal poured them each a small glass.
“How's Elizabeth?”
“She's good. Still splits her time between the DeArmitt gallery and Burke Premiere Events.” Peter took a sip. “Although she has her assistants handle most of it now. She's getting to that point where she just wants to come home and curl up with a book without worrying about bridezillas calling at all hours.”
Neal smiled wistfully. He did miss them-it was hard not to. “And you? Risen in the ranks? Or are you winding down now?”
Peter chuckled and shook his head. “No, I'm still ASAC. I like it. I'm still involved with the cases, but I'm home at six every night. I'm not sure I want to go any higher-that just means more bureaucracy. I don't know how long I'll keep at it, but for now I'm content. If Elizabeth wants to retire in another few years, I might consider it.”
“Peter Burke, workaholic-retired? I'm not sure I can picture that.”
“Neither can I, but it'll happen eventually. Besides, it's about time for Jones to step up. He deserves it.” He stopped and cocked his head to the side, looking over Neal's shoulder.
Neal knew exactly what had caught Peter's attention. Without turning around, he said, “Madeline, do you remember our rule?”
The little girl moved to the side and looked up shyly, swaying side to side.
"We don't play around Daddy's chair, sweetie," he said calmly.
The rule actually encompassed a few things-not just playing with his chair, but not to stand or play behind him. It was a rule to keep her safe, and so he didn't have to worry every time he moved around.
She held up her drawing, and he softened. They didn't have many people over, so he knew she was nervous with Peter there. Taking the drawing, he smiled wide, and not just for her sake. He could see the talent starting to show, and he was proud of her. Even though she was only two and half years old, she was recognizing more colors and shapes than most kids.
“This looks wonderful, Madeline.” He scanned the drawing and noticed that she had indeed added the bow to Eeyore's tail, although it looked like a messy pink knot of scribbles.
"How about we work on Pooh and Piglet tomorrow?"
She thought about, it then nodded. “Okay.” He held out her drawing and she took it carefully, holding it between her small fingers like it was a delicate masterpiece.
Neal leaned in closer to her. “We can even use the paints if you want.”
Her bright blue eyes widened in excitement. “Really?”
He nodded, and smiled. Madeline had seen him work with paint, and always wanted to join him. They'd bought washable child paints, but he still preferred to have her use crayons. “Yes, really.” He kissed her forehead and brushed a hand over her head, sweeping back stray curls. “Why don’t you go show this to mommy and then wash up for dinner, okay?”
Grinning, she got up on her tip toes and leaned into him. Neal moved his head down, hugging her side as she kissed him softly on his cheek. Then she spun around without a word and ran out of the kitchen.
“You always were good with kids.”
Neal looked up and shrugged half-heartedly, but couldn’t help and smile softly. Talking to kids and doing magic tricks to entertain them was one thing, but raising one every day was a challenge. A challenge he had taken on without hesitation once he’d held Madeline in his arms for the first time. It still amazed him that she was his, that he had this life where a little girl looked at him like he was her hero. He wasn't Neal Caffrey, ex-con, or thief, to her. Just her father, and that meant the world to him.
“She makes it easy.”
“You say that now,” Peter said, nodding and raised his glass with a knowing look. “I’ve heard about the terrible twos and threes.”
He laughed. “Yeah, we’ve seen a few flare ups, but so far she’s really good, listens to us when we tell her not to do something. That rule I mentioned? Well, that’s just one of several. We also get her to pick up her toys because I ran over one and broke it. She was devastated, but now she always picks up after herself.”
Peter raised an eyebrow, and set his glass down. “You did it on purpose didn’t you?”
“I don’t exactly have a backup camera, Peter,” he replied wryly and picked up his own glass.
Peter didn’t appear convinced. “No, but the Neal Caffrey I know does nothing by accident." He stared him down, and Neal almost squirmed. It'd been a while since he’d had a Peter Burke interrogation.
"... Neal?"
Neal sighed. Sometimes it was annoying how well Peter knew him. “It would have happened eventually. I can't tell you how many times I've nearly run over toys or crayons or tiny little hairclips.”
Peter's shoulders shook as he let out a laugh. He grinned and shook his head. “You conned your own daughter.”
Neal’s eyes widened. “I did not!”
“Oh yes, you did.” Peter looked at him pointedly, the corners of his mouth curling up. “Doesn't matter what you call it. That, my friend, was a con, pure and simple.”
Neal rolled his eyes. “It was a teachable moment.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Peter smirked and leaned back, taking a long drink of his wine.
“Ask any parent out there, and they'll tell you they've done it too. I make no apologies for it. You should see her room. It's spotless."
“Just wait until she grows up and realizes you conned her.”
The timer went off just then, saving Neal from having to defend himself further. Before he could quiet it, Peter had jumped out of his seat.
“I got it.”
Neal wheeled behind him into the kitchen. “Just lift the insert out-it has separate handles.”
Turning off the burner, Peter removed the lid, picked up the insert and carefully shook it, letting the water drain back into the pot. “I know, Elizabeth has one of these pots too.” After a good thirty seconds, he placed it on a back burner and then carried the stock pot over to the sink.
“So the great Peter Burke can do more than make pot roast. I'm impressed.”
Peter looked over his shoulder as steam filled the air, and glared.
He laughed and turned to the freezer to grab some corn. “Yeah, some things don't change.”
*~*~*~*
Neal breathed through his mouth slowly, and closed his eyes. It was good to be sitting up finally, but the small milestone was hardly anything to cheer. Not when moving just a few inches made him dizzy and light-headed. The first time they elevated his bed he’d nearly passed out. The next day he’d thrown up. Each time he sat up higher and for longer periods, but he didn’t feel like it was as much an accomplishment as a necessary evil. In less than a week he’d be heading to rehab. He’d have to learn how to do so much more than simply keep his head up.
Hearing a soft knock, he opened his eyes, and gave Reena a small smile as she walked in.
“Hey there. I see you’re almost vertical.” She pulled a chair up close to his bed. The sound of the legs scraping against the linoleum floor broke the silence of his self-imposed isolation. He'd long grown tired of the TV over the past couple of weeks, so it was on but muted, just to give him something to stare at besides the white walls.
“Yeah, I was getting tired of impersonating the living dead," he replied dryly.
"You'll be up and charming the ladies in no time," she said, smiling brightly, perhaps a tad too brightly, but Neal knew she was trying. Reaching into her coat pocket, she pulled out a small ring box. "Here you go."
She dropped it into his waiting hand. He held it carefully, remembering the last time he'd looked at it. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and while he hadn't been ready to pop the question then, he'd had a vision of a future. A future that seemed impossible now. But he'd asked Reena to grab it before Diana came to pack away his things.
There was still a part of him that dreamed that it was possible. Maybe one day...
"It's beautiful."
Neal looked up. She nodded toward the small box in his hands.
"She's going to love it."
He frowned and hesitated, running his fingers over the seam, but stopped short of opening it. "The ring's not what I'm worried about." He couldn't even look at it now, afraid that this was where it would end. That he'd never get the chance to propose, or worse, that she'd stay for the wrong reasons.
Reena sighed and clasped her hands over her knee. "I've known Sara for a couple of years now, and while she usually keeps things close to her chest, when she came to me, it was plainly obvious that she was serious about you. She wouldn't have offered you the job or let you move in with her if she hadn't. She doesn't open up to people easily, but she let you in." She paused and smiled reassuringly at him. "I think that speaks for itself."
Neal nodded silently, and stared at the box in his hands. A few years ago he would have laughed at the idea of loving Sara Ellis, of wanting to spend his life with her. Everything Reena said about her was true. The Sara Ellis he'd met back then had been fierce, determined, and lonely. She'd opened up just a little on the rooftop of the FBI building, but not much. Not like she had later.
"She loves you," Reena said softly. "She wouldn't be here otherwise. I know you're worried. Life is going to get... tough. But don't ever doubt her feelings, or motivation. I offered her the choice, told her that she didn't have to go into WitSec, or that she could go in by herself.
"She's here because she wants to be here, Neal," she emphasized gently.
He gave her a tired smile, but the uncertainty didn't go away. Things had changed so much. He wouldn't blame her if she couldn't handle it.
There was a knock on the door and both looked up, seeing Sara walk in. With a quick flick, he casually slipped the box beneath the blanket.
"Hey," he greeted her, trying to smile wide, but knowing that it wouldn't fool anyone, least of all Sara.
Sara smiled back, but it was plain to see that she was worn out and stressed. She was only allowed to leave the safe house every couple of days, and even then, she couldn't stay too long. Both of them were going stir crazy, and he knew that Sara did not do well with nothing to occupy herself. The last time she had 'died,' she'd thrown herself into the investigation. Now, she could only sit and wait.
"Hi," she said and leaned over stiffly to kiss him. "You're not green today. Progress."
He chuckled lightly. "It's not my best color."
Reena stood up. "Well, I'll leave you two be. I'll talk to you later, Neal." She squeezed Sara's good shoulder, smiled, and walked out, the door closing behind her.
Sara sat down in the empty chair and scooted closer, taking his hand.
"How are you?" he asked, before she could say anything. He didn't want to talk about himself, tired of all the attention that he frankly didn't want anymore.
Sara needed attention too. She tried to deflect, but she'd been injured too. It wasn't obvious, the bruises on her face were fading, and the only other outward sign that she'd been injured was the cast on her arm. But her whole body was bruised, her ribs sore, and her shoulders were held back in a figure of eight splint that he knew was uncomfortable for her. She didn't complain, even though she was as embarrassed as he was at needing help to get dressed.
"I'm good," she replied quickly. He knew better than to push. The two of them were experts at denial. "Actually, they gave me a laptop, and I've started some research."
He raised an eyebrow at this, but honestly, he was not surprised. That she'd convinced them to give her a computer, or that she found a project to work on.
"I'm looking at rehab facilities."
Neal swallowed hard and gripped her hand. He wanted out of here-there was no question about that. But leaving this hospital, this bed, was not the end. There was going to be no end to this, and he wasn’t ready to accept that.
She squeezed back in response, and smiled. "I know the doctors are talking about sending you to a local hospital, but there's a bigger one out in Aylesbury-the National Spinal Injuries Centre. It's really good. One of the few in Europe that has CARF international accreditation for spinal cord rehabilitation. It's an hour away, but I talked with Agent Moran, and he actually thought it would be better if we left London. So your doctor is going to contact the hospital. We should hear back soon.
“Meanwhile, I’ve been reading forums on what to expect, and what we need to bring. One of the agents is going to help us-”
"You don't have to do this," he said quietly, stopping her.
She looked at him surprised and shook her head. “No, we have to think about this. The doctors say you could leave as soon as the day after tomorrow if the hospital is ready to accept you. We have to be ready.”
“Sara-”
“Jessica,” she interrupted and glared at him. “We have to get used to this. Like it or not, that’s who we are now, and that’s who we’ll be for the next few months.”
“Sara,” he repeated and looked her in the eye. “You don’t have to do this.” He didn’t like it. He didn’t like that Sara had to get used to a new name and research the best rehab hospital for him, or face the ugly truth of what lay in their future. She shouldn’t have to do any of it.
She froze and her eyes flared. “Neal,” she stopped and took a deep breath. “Alec. Yes, I do. We are going to get through this and we’re going to move back to the US, and whatever our names will be, we’re doing this together. I can go back to the weather being in Fahrenheit, where everything is not a ‘pudding,’ and you drive on the right side of the road.” Her voice pitched and suddenly she slumped back in her seat. “Not to mention, where I can get some decent Mexican food.”
Neal’s eyes widened and he gave her a weak smile. “Tell me how you really feel.”
Sara relaxed and laughed softly. “Sorry. I just…” she exhaled slowly. “I’m okay, really.” She nodded, giving him a shaky smile that he didn’t quite believe. “It’s not all going to be bad. And I’ve been thinking, I’m going to make use of my law degree.”
He recognized the change in topic and knew she was far from okay, clinging to anything she still had control over. “Oh? Think they’ll let you? Law can be pretty high profile.”
“I’m not aiming to be the US Attorney General,” she replied dryly, then shrugged lightly. “No, I thought maybe intellectual property… art and culture, that type of thing.”
“Still going after art thieves?” he teased, but he was happy to see her finding a way to make a new life for herself. Starting over was hard. His mother hadn’t been able to handle it.
She smirked. “I do know a thing or two about them. Anyway, I looked into it, and the bar exam is held in February and July. So I’ll study, and take it in the summer, wherever we end up.”
Neal grimaced. He knew they probably wouldn’t have a choice, and that they would never be able to go back to New York, but it still hurt. Although he’d left, New York had become home, it was a city that became a part of you. Even Sara would have to agree. He hesitated slightly, then asked, “Where do you want to live?”
“Not Florida,” she replied immediately.
He blinked, surprised by the decisiveness and speed of her answer.
“Too many bugs,” she explained.
“Ah, well, not to worry." The corner of his mouth twitched. "George Donnelly allegedly conned a couple from West Palm Beach into investing in a diving expedition with some fake coins from the Spanish 1715 Treasure Fleet.”
Sara rolled her eyes, and they both fell silent.
George, Steve, Nick… they were all gone now. They were only small pieces of him, from a past he’d given up, but losing them still stung. He'd cultivated them, relied on them, and now he had to just toss them away. They were dead now too, he supposed. But only a few people would know. It didn’t hurt as much as everything else he’d lost, but it was just a reminder of how different everything was going to be.
“We’re going to be okay, Neal,” she said finally, breaking the silence. “We’re still here, and that’s what matters. So what if we have to change it up a bit?”
“It’s more than just a bit.”
“I don’t care,” she said firmly. “We’ll deal.”
Neal watched the familiar signs of Sara shoring up her defenses as she accepted a challenge, when she put her mind to something and wouldn’t let anyone discourage her otherwise. Her shoulders would normally square back, ready to pounce or show that she was in control, but the splint already had them pulled back. The subtle shift to do so anyway, the natural inclination, was obvious to him. Then there was the slight flare in her eyes that, depending on the situation, would either light up in anticipation or harden in determination.
It was a sight that had once made him step back, but now made him look on in awe. He was proud of her, for making the life she had, and not letting anything stand in her way. It was something he respected. He knew that she would tackle this life like everything else before, with her head held high and with the spirit to match.
But it wasn’t the life he wanted for her. He hadn't stopped her from going to London because he wanted her to be happy. And right now he could only think that she deserved someone else, to have that life back.
“Sara, I can’t even take care of myself right now. It’s going to be a lot harder than you realize,” he said, and felt himself start to choke up, and tried to push it down. He didn't want to lose her, but she was too good for him.
She shook her head as if she knew what he was thinking, and squeezed his hand again. "That’s why you’re going to rehab. You’ll learn. And you’re not doing this by yourself." She paused and smiled softly, gently stroking the palm of his hand.
"I know you’re used to landing on your feet all the time. Finding a way out of everything, be it jumping from a tram or off the side a building. But what you need to remember is that you had help. You weren’t alone then, and you’re not alone now. I’m here, and we will get through this, Neal."
Neal nodded, took a deep breath, and felt the mask he'd been wearing start to crack. He was still scared, terrified of learning to live in this broken body. It was never going to be the same again.
A tear slipped down his cheek and Sara's hand moved to wipe it away. She cupped his cheek and he closed his eyes, leaning into her. His chest shuddered, a silent sob escaping, and he knew that this was it. There was no turning back.
Chapter Seven
Author: reve_silencieux
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Neal, Peter, Sara, Mozzie, Jones, Elizabeth, OFC (N/S)
Spoilers: Season Five
Warnings: Spoilery (highlight to read) Permanent Injury - Paralysis
Word Count: 49,000 (This chapter: 5373)
Beta: sapphire2309
Summary: Five years after the events of The Last Con, Peter and Jones stumble across a case that opens up old wounds.
Previous Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five
Chapter Six
“Purple.”
Neal handed over a purple crayon, but only got an exasperated look from his daughter.
“Not that one!”
He raised an eyebrow and when she pouted, he chuckled. “Which one then?”
She pointed to a very specific one amongst the pile of crayons, just out of her reach. “That one!”
“Ahhh… you mean,” he picked up the pink-ish purple crayon that had earned his daughter’s attention and read the label, “vivid violet. Excellent choice.”
Madeline beamed and started drawing in Eeyore’s ears on her paper very carefully, her tongue sticking out as she concentrated.
The doorbell rang, but Neal didn’t move from his position on the floor, instead watching as his daughter looked up at the television screen where a scene from Winnie the Pooh was frozen and back down to her drawing. She was trying really hard to match the image on the screen. Tigger had already been drawn after much deliberation as to the right shade of orange.
What was on the paper wasn’t so much the familiar characters as it was colored blobs and scribbles. But he'd been told she was already ahead of other kids her age.
"Don't forget Eeyore's bow," he said, pointing to the tail.
“Helping her with her first forgery are we, Neal?”
Neal looked up and grinned. “It’s not forgery if she signs her name, and trust me, she tries to leave her mark on everything."
Peter rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same.
He turned back to his daughter. “Madeline, I want you to meet a friend of mine. Say hello to Peter.”
She looked up briefly, and caught sight of Peter. “Hello.” Her head was down two seconds later, her attention back on her drawing and Neal shook his head. Every day, he saw more and more of himself in her, including his love of drawing, but unfortunately also his stubbornness. Seeing as both he and Sara never backed down from a fight, it was inevitable.
“I’m going to be in the kitchen. Come show us when you’re done, okay?”
“Okay,” she answered, without looking up.
He glanced back up at Peter and shrugged as if to say, ‘What can you do?’ Shifting to his side, he rolled onto his back, and pushed up into a sitting position. He moved the floor pillow out of the way and reached over, pulling his chair closer and locked the brakes. With a well-practiced move, he pushed up from the floor, grabbed the edge of the chair and swung himself up and into it.
Neal could feel Peter’s eyes on him and knew seeing him out of the chair was probably harder than seeing him in it. But he liked to interact with his daughter on her level, and let her have as normal a life as she could, even though they all had to adjust and adapt to his disability. She was young though, and didn’t seem to be bothered by it so far. It would probably be harder once she grew up.
He led the way into the kitchen and moved toward the stove. “I'm going to finish getting dinner ready. Feel free to get something to drink if you're interested.” He pointed up towards a cabinet. “Glasses are up there.”
Pulling out the pasta pot from its drawer, he placed it on the back of the cooktop and reached over to the faucet on the back wall, extending the arm so it lined up over the pot. He flipped the lever at the base of the faucet and it started filling the pot with water.
“That sure looks handy to have.”
Neal looked over his shoulder to Peter, and grinned. "It's one of the best features of this kitchen. I love it." Glancing back he looked into the mirror situated at an angle above the potfiller and watched the water line. A couple minutes later he switched it off and moved the pot to the burner.
“I never thought about that, I guess,” Peter admitted. “I never thought about a lot of this,” he said, waving a hand around the kitchen with all its adaptations.
“You normally don't. But trust me, every little thing makes it easier. You stop thinking about it after awhile.” He pulled the pot's lid out the drawer, placed it onto the pot and flipped the burner on. “It's really why we built the house. I had an accident in the kitchen in our first apartment, and after a trip to the hospital, Sara decided then and there that we needed a bigger place that was easier for me to get around.”
Peter looked a little pained and uncomfortable to hear about this. “What happened?”
Neal shrugged. “Just spilled some water, it wasn't that bad. All the same, if you wouldn’t mind draining it for me later, I’d appreciate it.”
“Sure, sure.” Peter still appeared troubled though, and Neal knew it would take him a while to accept that he was in a wheelchair and had to do things differently. But his friend’s distress had more to do with the fact that he hadn’t been there to help out.
He picked up the spoon resting on the counter and stirred the spaghetti sauce that was simmering on another burner, then turned back to face Peter.
“I'm okay, Peter, really. Do I look unhappy, angry… or depressed?” Peter shook his head silently and Neal sighed. He pushed away from the stove. “Look, I’ll admit it’s not an easy life, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, but it’s not like I had a choice. I had to accept it.”
He looked away, staring at the expanse of the kitchen, and feeling the cool metal of his wheels under his hands. It was a different life, and sometimes it was difficult for people to understand that he could still be happy. Glancing back, he gave Peter a tired smile.
“I know it’s a shock for you. It was hard for Sara too, and she had a lot more to deal with-she was injured and had to uproot her life at the same time. But we got through it. The psychologists told me that everyone has to find a way to grieve and move on-it’s not just about me.”
Neal paused and looked Peter in the eye. “And something tells me you’ve grieved enough.” He watched as pain flickered across Peter’s face, but disappeared a moment later. It was familiar, the need to move on and bury the grief, but it never really went away, just dulled to a point where you could almost forget-until something reminded you. It didn't matter that Peter knew the truth now. The grief, the memory of that time would always be there.
Peter said nothing and his head tilted just slightly in acknowledgment.
“It could have been worse-I could really be dead,” he offered. He had meant to lighten things up, but quickly sobered at the glare Peter shot him. It didn’t matter that it was the truth. He very nearly died, or he could have been injured worse. However, he also knew that he had been the lucky one-he’d known the truth.
They both had gone through their own grief, but for Neal the pain of losing everyone had been tempered by the knowledge that they were all safe. Peter hadn’t had that luxury.
He didn’t want to imagine how he would have felt if he had been in Peter’s shoes. He had lost too many people over the years, and losing Peter might have been the last straw. While cutting off contact with Peter had the same effect, Neal had at least known that he was alive.
And perhaps Peter's life was a little easier now that he wasn't worrying about Neal. It might be fatalistic of him, but it was the truth.
Peter sighed and leaned against the island, crossing his arms over his chest. "So, psychologists? As in plural? Don’t tell me you scared one off?"
Neal laughed and rocked his chair back. It was a change of topic, but he didn’t mind. “Not quite. I was a bit of mess at the beginning. And it was a little tricky, seeing as I couldn’t explain my past or the fact that I was about to enter WitSec. But she helped me a lot. So did the one with the US Marshals. Sara and I worked with her a lot when we moved here.”
“Sara seems good now. She always was pretty tough.”
“Yeah, she is,” Neal agreed, smiling softly. “But we had a rough spot. I felt guilty about forcing her into this life, and she… well, we both had our issues to work through, suffice it to say.”
“And I bet you two are even stronger now.”
“We are. I’m not sure what I would have done without her.”
Peter's face fell. “We've should have been there to help you, both of you. She shouldn't have been the only one to shoulder the burden.”
“Would you have stayed for four months? Would you have been there every day while I learned to roll over and sit up like a baby? Or how about while I learned how to bathe myself and pick myself up after I fell?” He rolled forward, and looked up at Peter with a hardened expression. “Peter, it wasn’t a pretty time-it was grueling and embarrassing, and I had to do it on my own. I had to learn to do everything all over again because I couldn’t, and never wanted to, rely on Sara or anyone else to take care of me.
"Not to mention, I wasn’t always the best patient," he added lightly, the corners of his mouth turning up.
“I’m still sorry.”
Neal sighed. “I know you are, but if you let it, the guilt will eat you alive. I know it's only been a couple of days for you, but you'll go home, life will move on, and you won't even think about this anymore.”
"I think you know that’s pretty impossible. You're a pretty hard person to forget,” Peter said wryly, smiling.
Neal smirked. “I know. Reena told me about the eulogy you gave.”
He winced and scratched a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah... about that...”
“Hey, you can't take it back just because I'm alive.” Neal grinned and then paused, as he remembered Reena returning to the hospital a week after his accident, when he was still flat on his back and trying not to spiral down into depression. “I needed to hear it. It helped me remember that I was doing it for the right reason.”
Peter nodded and gave him a small smile. “I'm glad. I meant all of it.”
Neal knew that Peter was probably uncomfortable talking about it, so he thought it best to move on. They couldn't fix everything in one night. There would always be guilt; only time would help Peter accept that. He rolled closer to the stove, opened the lid to the pasta pot and set it aside. Leaning over, he picked up the box of spaghetti from the counter to his left. Cracking it open, he dumped the pasta into the boiling water, replaced the lid, and went to the fridge where a timer hung on the side. He quickly set the timer, and looped the lanyard around his neck.
“Want any wine? I think you might need some right about now.”
Peter let out a breath, and smiled, looking happy to move on as well. “Sure, why not?”
Neal opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle, a now welcome occurrence since he didn’t have Mozzie emptying all of his wine on a daily basis. He nodded towards a cabinet above his head. “If you could grab the glasses, that’d be great.”
They moved to the kitchen table where Neal poured them each a small glass.
“How's Elizabeth?”
“She's good. Still splits her time between the DeArmitt gallery and Burke Premiere Events.” Peter took a sip. “Although she has her assistants handle most of it now. She's getting to that point where she just wants to come home and curl up with a book without worrying about bridezillas calling at all hours.”
Neal smiled wistfully. He did miss them-it was hard not to. “And you? Risen in the ranks? Or are you winding down now?”
Peter chuckled and shook his head. “No, I'm still ASAC. I like it. I'm still involved with the cases, but I'm home at six every night. I'm not sure I want to go any higher-that just means more bureaucracy. I don't know how long I'll keep at it, but for now I'm content. If Elizabeth wants to retire in another few years, I might consider it.”
“Peter Burke, workaholic-retired? I'm not sure I can picture that.”
“Neither can I, but it'll happen eventually. Besides, it's about time for Jones to step up. He deserves it.” He stopped and cocked his head to the side, looking over Neal's shoulder.
Neal knew exactly what had caught Peter's attention. Without turning around, he said, “Madeline, do you remember our rule?”
The little girl moved to the side and looked up shyly, swaying side to side.
"We don't play around Daddy's chair, sweetie," he said calmly.
The rule actually encompassed a few things-not just playing with his chair, but not to stand or play behind him. It was a rule to keep her safe, and so he didn't have to worry every time he moved around.
She held up her drawing, and he softened. They didn't have many people over, so he knew she was nervous with Peter there. Taking the drawing, he smiled wide, and not just for her sake. He could see the talent starting to show, and he was proud of her. Even though she was only two and half years old, she was recognizing more colors and shapes than most kids.
“This looks wonderful, Madeline.” He scanned the drawing and noticed that she had indeed added the bow to Eeyore's tail, although it looked like a messy pink knot of scribbles.
"How about we work on Pooh and Piglet tomorrow?"
She thought about, it then nodded. “Okay.” He held out her drawing and she took it carefully, holding it between her small fingers like it was a delicate masterpiece.
Neal leaned in closer to her. “We can even use the paints if you want.”
Her bright blue eyes widened in excitement. “Really?”
He nodded, and smiled. Madeline had seen him work with paint, and always wanted to join him. They'd bought washable child paints, but he still preferred to have her use crayons. “Yes, really.” He kissed her forehead and brushed a hand over her head, sweeping back stray curls. “Why don’t you go show this to mommy and then wash up for dinner, okay?”
Grinning, she got up on her tip toes and leaned into him. Neal moved his head down, hugging her side as she kissed him softly on his cheek. Then she spun around without a word and ran out of the kitchen.
“You always were good with kids.”
Neal looked up and shrugged half-heartedly, but couldn’t help and smile softly. Talking to kids and doing magic tricks to entertain them was one thing, but raising one every day was a challenge. A challenge he had taken on without hesitation once he’d held Madeline in his arms for the first time. It still amazed him that she was his, that he had this life where a little girl looked at him like he was her hero. He wasn't Neal Caffrey, ex-con, or thief, to her. Just her father, and that meant the world to him.
“She makes it easy.”
“You say that now,” Peter said, nodding and raised his glass with a knowing look. “I’ve heard about the terrible twos and threes.”
He laughed. “Yeah, we’ve seen a few flare ups, but so far she’s really good, listens to us when we tell her not to do something. That rule I mentioned? Well, that’s just one of several. We also get her to pick up her toys because I ran over one and broke it. She was devastated, but now she always picks up after herself.”
Peter raised an eyebrow, and set his glass down. “You did it on purpose didn’t you?”
“I don’t exactly have a backup camera, Peter,” he replied wryly and picked up his own glass.
Peter didn’t appear convinced. “No, but the Neal Caffrey I know does nothing by accident." He stared him down, and Neal almost squirmed. It'd been a while since he’d had a Peter Burke interrogation.
"... Neal?"
Neal sighed. Sometimes it was annoying how well Peter knew him. “It would have happened eventually. I can't tell you how many times I've nearly run over toys or crayons or tiny little hairclips.”
Peter's shoulders shook as he let out a laugh. He grinned and shook his head. “You conned your own daughter.”
Neal’s eyes widened. “I did not!”
“Oh yes, you did.” Peter looked at him pointedly, the corners of his mouth curling up. “Doesn't matter what you call it. That, my friend, was a con, pure and simple.”
Neal rolled his eyes. “It was a teachable moment.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Peter smirked and leaned back, taking a long drink of his wine.
“Ask any parent out there, and they'll tell you they've done it too. I make no apologies for it. You should see her room. It's spotless."
“Just wait until she grows up and realizes you conned her.”
The timer went off just then, saving Neal from having to defend himself further. Before he could quiet it, Peter had jumped out of his seat.
“I got it.”
Neal wheeled behind him into the kitchen. “Just lift the insert out-it has separate handles.”
Turning off the burner, Peter removed the lid, picked up the insert and carefully shook it, letting the water drain back into the pot. “I know, Elizabeth has one of these pots too.” After a good thirty seconds, he placed it on a back burner and then carried the stock pot over to the sink.
“So the great Peter Burke can do more than make pot roast. I'm impressed.”
Peter looked over his shoulder as steam filled the air, and glared.
He laughed and turned to the freezer to grab some corn. “Yeah, some things don't change.”
*~*~*~*
Neal breathed through his mouth slowly, and closed his eyes. It was good to be sitting up finally, but the small milestone was hardly anything to cheer. Not when moving just a few inches made him dizzy and light-headed. The first time they elevated his bed he’d nearly passed out. The next day he’d thrown up. Each time he sat up higher and for longer periods, but he didn’t feel like it was as much an accomplishment as a necessary evil. In less than a week he’d be heading to rehab. He’d have to learn how to do so much more than simply keep his head up.
Hearing a soft knock, he opened his eyes, and gave Reena a small smile as she walked in.
“Hey there. I see you’re almost vertical.” She pulled a chair up close to his bed. The sound of the legs scraping against the linoleum floor broke the silence of his self-imposed isolation. He'd long grown tired of the TV over the past couple of weeks, so it was on but muted, just to give him something to stare at besides the white walls.
“Yeah, I was getting tired of impersonating the living dead," he replied dryly.
"You'll be up and charming the ladies in no time," she said, smiling brightly, perhaps a tad too brightly, but Neal knew she was trying. Reaching into her coat pocket, she pulled out a small ring box. "Here you go."
She dropped it into his waiting hand. He held it carefully, remembering the last time he'd looked at it. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and while he hadn't been ready to pop the question then, he'd had a vision of a future. A future that seemed impossible now. But he'd asked Reena to grab it before Diana came to pack away his things.
There was still a part of him that dreamed that it was possible. Maybe one day...
"It's beautiful."
Neal looked up. She nodded toward the small box in his hands.
"She's going to love it."
He frowned and hesitated, running his fingers over the seam, but stopped short of opening it. "The ring's not what I'm worried about." He couldn't even look at it now, afraid that this was where it would end. That he'd never get the chance to propose, or worse, that she'd stay for the wrong reasons.
Reena sighed and clasped her hands over her knee. "I've known Sara for a couple of years now, and while she usually keeps things close to her chest, when she came to me, it was plainly obvious that she was serious about you. She wouldn't have offered you the job or let you move in with her if she hadn't. She doesn't open up to people easily, but she let you in." She paused and smiled reassuringly at him. "I think that speaks for itself."
Neal nodded silently, and stared at the box in his hands. A few years ago he would have laughed at the idea of loving Sara Ellis, of wanting to spend his life with her. Everything Reena said about her was true. The Sara Ellis he'd met back then had been fierce, determined, and lonely. She'd opened up just a little on the rooftop of the FBI building, but not much. Not like she had later.
"She loves you," Reena said softly. "She wouldn't be here otherwise. I know you're worried. Life is going to get... tough. But don't ever doubt her feelings, or motivation. I offered her the choice, told her that she didn't have to go into WitSec, or that she could go in by herself.
"She's here because she wants to be here, Neal," she emphasized gently.
He gave her a tired smile, but the uncertainty didn't go away. Things had changed so much. He wouldn't blame her if she couldn't handle it.
There was a knock on the door and both looked up, seeing Sara walk in. With a quick flick, he casually slipped the box beneath the blanket.
"Hey," he greeted her, trying to smile wide, but knowing that it wouldn't fool anyone, least of all Sara.
Sara smiled back, but it was plain to see that she was worn out and stressed. She was only allowed to leave the safe house every couple of days, and even then, she couldn't stay too long. Both of them were going stir crazy, and he knew that Sara did not do well with nothing to occupy herself. The last time she had 'died,' she'd thrown herself into the investigation. Now, she could only sit and wait.
"Hi," she said and leaned over stiffly to kiss him. "You're not green today. Progress."
He chuckled lightly. "It's not my best color."
Reena stood up. "Well, I'll leave you two be. I'll talk to you later, Neal." She squeezed Sara's good shoulder, smiled, and walked out, the door closing behind her.
Sara sat down in the empty chair and scooted closer, taking his hand.
"How are you?" he asked, before she could say anything. He didn't want to talk about himself, tired of all the attention that he frankly didn't want anymore.
Sara needed attention too. She tried to deflect, but she'd been injured too. It wasn't obvious, the bruises on her face were fading, and the only other outward sign that she'd been injured was the cast on her arm. But her whole body was bruised, her ribs sore, and her shoulders were held back in a figure of eight splint that he knew was uncomfortable for her. She didn't complain, even though she was as embarrassed as he was at needing help to get dressed.
"I'm good," she replied quickly. He knew better than to push. The two of them were experts at denial. "Actually, they gave me a laptop, and I've started some research."
He raised an eyebrow at this, but honestly, he was not surprised. That she'd convinced them to give her a computer, or that she found a project to work on.
"I'm looking at rehab facilities."
Neal swallowed hard and gripped her hand. He wanted out of here-there was no question about that. But leaving this hospital, this bed, was not the end. There was going to be no end to this, and he wasn’t ready to accept that.
She squeezed back in response, and smiled. "I know the doctors are talking about sending you to a local hospital, but there's a bigger one out in Aylesbury-the National Spinal Injuries Centre. It's really good. One of the few in Europe that has CARF international accreditation for spinal cord rehabilitation. It's an hour away, but I talked with Agent Moran, and he actually thought it would be better if we left London. So your doctor is going to contact the hospital. We should hear back soon.
“Meanwhile, I’ve been reading forums on what to expect, and what we need to bring. One of the agents is going to help us-”
"You don't have to do this," he said quietly, stopping her.
She looked at him surprised and shook her head. “No, we have to think about this. The doctors say you could leave as soon as the day after tomorrow if the hospital is ready to accept you. We have to be ready.”
“Sara-”
“Jessica,” she interrupted and glared at him. “We have to get used to this. Like it or not, that’s who we are now, and that’s who we’ll be for the next few months.”
“Sara,” he repeated and looked her in the eye. “You don’t have to do this.” He didn’t like it. He didn’t like that Sara had to get used to a new name and research the best rehab hospital for him, or face the ugly truth of what lay in their future. She shouldn’t have to do any of it.
She froze and her eyes flared. “Neal,” she stopped and took a deep breath. “Alec. Yes, I do. We are going to get through this and we’re going to move back to the US, and whatever our names will be, we’re doing this together. I can go back to the weather being in Fahrenheit, where everything is not a ‘pudding,’ and you drive on the right side of the road.” Her voice pitched and suddenly she slumped back in her seat. “Not to mention, where I can get some decent Mexican food.”
Neal’s eyes widened and he gave her a weak smile. “Tell me how you really feel.”
Sara relaxed and laughed softly. “Sorry. I just…” she exhaled slowly. “I’m okay, really.” She nodded, giving him a shaky smile that he didn’t quite believe. “It’s not all going to be bad. And I’ve been thinking, I’m going to make use of my law degree.”
He recognized the change in topic and knew she was far from okay, clinging to anything she still had control over. “Oh? Think they’ll let you? Law can be pretty high profile.”
“I’m not aiming to be the US Attorney General,” she replied dryly, then shrugged lightly. “No, I thought maybe intellectual property… art and culture, that type of thing.”
“Still going after art thieves?” he teased, but he was happy to see her finding a way to make a new life for herself. Starting over was hard. His mother hadn’t been able to handle it.
She smirked. “I do know a thing or two about them. Anyway, I looked into it, and the bar exam is held in February and July. So I’ll study, and take it in the summer, wherever we end up.”
Neal grimaced. He knew they probably wouldn’t have a choice, and that they would never be able to go back to New York, but it still hurt. Although he’d left, New York had become home, it was a city that became a part of you. Even Sara would have to agree. He hesitated slightly, then asked, “Where do you want to live?”
“Not Florida,” she replied immediately.
He blinked, surprised by the decisiveness and speed of her answer.
“Too many bugs,” she explained.
“Ah, well, not to worry." The corner of his mouth twitched. "George Donnelly allegedly conned a couple from West Palm Beach into investing in a diving expedition with some fake coins from the Spanish 1715 Treasure Fleet.”
Sara rolled her eyes, and they both fell silent.
George, Steve, Nick… they were all gone now. They were only small pieces of him, from a past he’d given up, but losing them still stung. He'd cultivated them, relied on them, and now he had to just toss them away. They were dead now too, he supposed. But only a few people would know. It didn’t hurt as much as everything else he’d lost, but it was just a reminder of how different everything was going to be.
“We’re going to be okay, Neal,” she said finally, breaking the silence. “We’re still here, and that’s what matters. So what if we have to change it up a bit?”
“It’s more than just a bit.”
“I don’t care,” she said firmly. “We’ll deal.”
Neal watched the familiar signs of Sara shoring up her defenses as she accepted a challenge, when she put her mind to something and wouldn’t let anyone discourage her otherwise. Her shoulders would normally square back, ready to pounce or show that she was in control, but the splint already had them pulled back. The subtle shift to do so anyway, the natural inclination, was obvious to him. Then there was the slight flare in her eyes that, depending on the situation, would either light up in anticipation or harden in determination.
It was a sight that had once made him step back, but now made him look on in awe. He was proud of her, for making the life she had, and not letting anything stand in her way. It was something he respected. He knew that she would tackle this life like everything else before, with her head held high and with the spirit to match.
But it wasn’t the life he wanted for her. He hadn't stopped her from going to London because he wanted her to be happy. And right now he could only think that she deserved someone else, to have that life back.
“Sara, I can’t even take care of myself right now. It’s going to be a lot harder than you realize,” he said, and felt himself start to choke up, and tried to push it down. He didn't want to lose her, but she was too good for him.
She shook her head as if she knew what he was thinking, and squeezed his hand again. "That’s why you’re going to rehab. You’ll learn. And you’re not doing this by yourself." She paused and smiled softly, gently stroking the palm of his hand.
"I know you’re used to landing on your feet all the time. Finding a way out of everything, be it jumping from a tram or off the side a building. But what you need to remember is that you had help. You weren’t alone then, and you’re not alone now. I’m here, and we will get through this, Neal."
Neal nodded, took a deep breath, and felt the mask he'd been wearing start to crack. He was still scared, terrified of learning to live in this broken body. It was never going to be the same again.
A tear slipped down his cheek and Sara's hand moved to wipe it away. She cupped his cheek and he closed his eyes, leaning into her. His chest shuddered, a silent sob escaping, and he knew that this was it. There was no turning back.
Chapter Seven