White Collar - "Blurred Lines"
Title: Blurred Lines
Author: TeeJay
Genre: Gen
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter, Elizabeth and a few OCs
Written for: raven_tree for the whitecollarhc Fever Fic Fest I and the 2011 Advent Calendar over at whitecollarfic (two birds with one stone-yay!)
Prompt: Neal gets sick while undercover and the bad guy/bad guy's henchman motherhens Neal into seeing a doctor. He then insists Neal stay at his place while Neal recovers. Peter freaking out about the bad guy taking better care of Neal than Neal does would be great.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Neal goes undercover with a group of bank robbers. When an untimely bout of bronchitis hits him, Peter is worried about Neal, but finds out that maybe he didn't actually have to be.
Author's Note: This may or may not have been in part inspired by me recently watching "The Town". :-) raven_tree, I hope it's what you were looking for. I also decided to post this for Day 24 of the whitecollarfic Advent Calendar, even though it's not exactly Holiday-themed.
I'd say this is set either in season two or season three pre-Countdown.
Thank you, rabidchild67, for the beta and the invaluable comments! And thank you, kanarek13, for the help with the New York related research.
Disclaimer: White Collar, its characters and its settings belong to Jeff Eastin and USA Network. And, guys? Your characters are not only welcome, they're wonderful. I'm just borrowing, I promise.
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Criminals weren't always bad people. Peter Burke knew that all too well, having chased Neal Caffrey for a number of years. And even though for the longest time he'd wanted nothing more than to see him behind bars, he'd always seen the man behind the con, and that man had a kind soul hidden beneath a perhaps somewhat misguided veil of bad judgment.
It seemed like Neal fit right into the group of criminals that their latest undercover assignment had placed him in. They'd had their eye on this particular posse for a while, who were just so damn good at not leaving any evidence behind that the FBI had been groping in the dark for the better part of a year. And now, miraculously, they'd managed to get one Tony Keane (i.e. Neal Caffrey) in as their new safe-cracking expert.
This was maybe a bit unusual, since bank robbery wasn't normally White Collar's problem to deal with, but Peter had a long history with two of the perps, so he'd asked whether his team could take the lead on this, and the higher-ups had agreed.
Since Neal had gone in undercover, he hadn't been able to report back with a whole lot of details. A short phone conversation here, a quick text message there. He had to be careful, being the new guy, they didn't want to risk raising suspicions. And suspiciousness was one thing that this group had plenty of, especially their leader. Peter knew they had to tread very carefully from the get-go.
Peter knew, perhaps a little unusually, the head of the gang was a woman who went by the name of Leah. Neal had said she was calling the shots. And Neal had assured Peter more than once that he wasn't in danger. Leah knew how to take care of her pack, how to protect her own.
Bottom line was, Peter was latently worried, even though there was no indication he should be. But still, he'd learned to rely on his gut feelings in the years he'd worked with the Bureau.
The plan had always been that Neal would not be part of the actual heist. He was supposed to gather intel and get them enough evidence for a search warrant or even an arrest, and then get the hell out of Dodge.
Sitting in his office, Peter checked his mobile phone for the umpteenth time. Neal had been supposed to report in earlier that day. It was not too unusual that this didn't happen, Neal wasn't exactly running on a schedule, and there was no knowing when he could sneak away to get a phone call to Peter out.
Peter almost jumped in his chair when the phone went off.
"Neal?" he greeted the caller.
"Yeah, sorry I didn't call earlier," came the answer, and Peter's forehead creased in concern. Neal's voice sounded rough, raspy.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, everything’s going according to plan. The operation is ramping up. Can we arrange a meet somewhere, I have a few things I need to show you?"
"Yeah, sure. Right now?"
"No," Neal said quickly. "They expect me back within the hour. Tomorrow morning, 6 AM. Meet me at a place called Joe The Art of Coffee on Flatbush Avenue."
Neal then launched into a cough that sounded dry and painful.
"Neal, are you sick?"
"It's just a cough. I'll live."
"Do we need to pull you out?"
"No, Peter, I'm fine. I can do this."
"Okay," Peter reluctantly agreed. "But, Neal, if you need out..."
"I'll contact you," Neal finished the sentence for him.
It didn't do much in terms of reassuring Peter, and the uneasy feeling in his belly intensified.
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The next morning, bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived, Peter squeezed into a booth at Joe's. It was three minutes past six, and no Neal in sight. Peter checked his phone, then his watch again. He ordered black coffee when the waitress came to take his order.
A quick flood or relief washed over him when Neal joined him at the table. He ordered peppermint tea, which struck Peter as odd, and prompted him to study Neal more closely as the young man sat down opposite him.
He had dark circles under his eyes and his skin looked pale and clammy. There was an unmistakable exhaustion in Neal's features, the lines on his forehead speaking volumes. Neal held his fist in front of his mouth as a cough erupted from his lungs which sent Neal's expression into a momentary drawing board of pain and discomfort that he wiped clean as soon as his somewhat uncooperative body would let him.
Peter's worry meter immediately shot up. "That doesn't sound good."
"Yeah, it doesn't feel too good either," Neal admitted.
"How long have you been like this?"
Neal shrugged. "I don't know. Two days? Three? Felt like a cold at first, now it's that darn cough."
"Neal, we can pull you out." Peter reached across the table, held his hand to Neal's forehead. "You have a fever. You have no business running a con."
Neal's resolve perked up, determination settling on his face. "We're so close. You can't pull me out now. Peter, these guys, they're brilliant. If we pull the plug now, it could be years before you catch them."
"Doesn't matter, Neal. This wouldn't only compromise the assignment, it could endanger your safety."
Neal ignored him, produced a stack of documents from the satchel he'd been carrying. He slid them across the table to Peter. "Here, take a look at this. Schematics, time schedules, it's all there."
The waitress arrived with their drinks and Neal started tipping sugar into his tea. The spoon clanked against the mug in a steady rhythm as he stirred the steaming beverage.
Peter pushed his coffee aside and leafed through the documents, his curiosity piqued. "This is good, but will it be enough?"
Neal shrugged. "You tell me."
"Any chances for fingerprints? Can we tie this to Leah? I mean, I can see the relevance in the context of our operation, but I'd hate to see a judge dismissing it as incidental."
"Peter, these are copies. I can't take the originals, she'd notice. So the only fingerprints on it will be mine."
Peter leaned back in his seat, releasing a frustrated breath. "Then I'm not sure this'll really help all that much."
Neal knitted his brow. "I'm sorry, that's all I can give you right now."
Peter quickly smoothed over the disappointment on his face. "No, this is good. This is helpful. I just... I guess I was just hoping for something a little more substantial."
"They're careful. It's not surprising they've been doing this for years without getting caught."
"Years?" Peter asked, incredulous.
"That's what I gathered. They don't brag about it. I just pick up bits and pieces."
Neal took a careful sip of his tea, not able to suppress another cough. Peter's worried eyes searched out Neal's. "Are you sure you're up for this?"
Neal's gaze was steely. "Peter, stop worrying. I've dealt with worse, believe me. It takes more than a stupid cough to bring down the great Neal Caffrey."
"Okay, fine," Peter finally agreed. "But if this gets worse-"
"How often do I need to repeat it? Yes, I'll be in touch." Neal sounded a tad aggressive now.
Peter lifted his hands in defense. "Okay, okay."
"I promise, I'm not gonna mess this up."
"No one said anything about messing this up."
"No, but it's what you were thinking, right?"
Truth was, the answer was yes. He had no doubt in Neal's grace under pressure. He did, however, have doubt in Neal's ability to keep his mind focused with a raging fever crippling his system.
Neal's eyes darted to his watch, then to Peter. "Listen, I gotta go. Leah's an early bird. She'll want me there bright 'n early. I'll contact you tomorrow, all right?"
"All right," Peter acknowledged. "There's a pharmacy right down the street. At least get some cough drops and Tylenol," he called after Neal as he was about to leave.
"Yeah, yeah," Neal dismissed him before he left the café.
Peter was sure the advice would be lost on Neal, stubborn as he knew the ex-con to be.
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Neal didn't contact Peter or his team the next day, and to say it made Peter feel on edge was an understatement. Rationally, he knew it was silly to be as worried as he was. At home, he was fidgety, checking Neal's tracking data every half hour.
This whole operation, it wasn't quite their regular surveillance strategy. Neal wasn't wearing his tracker, and because Leah had a thing for bug sweeps, they were tracking Neal through the GPS on his phone. They'd also discussed Neal wearing a wire, which would have gotten them all the evidence they needed. It hadn't taken much for Neal to convince them it was too risky.
Peter sat at his laptop again, bringing up the tracking data for what felt like the tenth time in the last hour. It was enough to make Elizabeth nervous as well.
She sidled up to him sitting at the dining table, the laptop open in front of him. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders.
"Honey, you're driving yourself crazy over nothing. You said yourself Neal's points of contact have been erratic with this assignment."
"I know," he sighed. "I just can't help thinking something went wrong. You should have seen him when we met, he looked like death warmed over."
"And you told him to contact you if he got worse, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"And he promised he would."
"Yes, but-"
"Do you not trust him on this?"
Peter sighed again more deeply, scrubbing a weary hand over his face. "I... don't know. He's Neal. You know how boneheaded he can be."
She smiled a small smile, then sobered. "I'd like to think no news is good news here. Why don't you give it until tomorrow? If he still hasn't been in touch by then, you can always take action."
He'd reluctantly agreed but couldn't help thinking about the case. He wasn't even sure now just how Neal had ended up so deep undercover. The initial plan had been to have him pose as a safecracking expert to gather some intel. One meeting with Leah only, that was supposed to be it. But she'd taken to the idea of having him on the team, and it had become kind of a self-runner from there. Before they knew it, Hughes had approved to keep Neal on the inside, and it had spiraled further down from there.
Peter slept fitfully that night, half expecting the phone to ring on his nightstand in the middle of the night. He wasn't all that reassured when it didn't.
The next morning in the office, he checked Neal's tracking data again, which looked nothing but inconspicuous. Pretty much the same locations he'd been before. And he'd kept moving every now and then, which indicated Neal was still on his feet and mobile. Peter briefly considered calling Neal, but it had been agreed that this should only happen in emergencies. Leah, while being meticulous in her planning skills, was also meticulously paranoid. Peter didn't think this constituted an emergency, so in the end he stifled the impulse.
By lunchtime, Peter grew restless to the point where he started to trace Neal's movements in more detail. He'd been stationary at one particular location for almost two hours and was still there now. This in itself was not a cause for concern, but when Peter checked what the location was, he unease in his stomach was back with a vengeance.
St. Mary's Hospital. This had to be related to Neal being sick. Had it gotten serious overnight? Had the fever spiked to dangerous levels? Had he collapsed somewhere from exhaustion? Had he contracted serious bronchitis or pneumonia? One worst case scenario chased another in Peter's head.
He checked the tracking data again, and the red dot was still in the same location. Making the decision, he grabbed his jacket and left the office.
The hospital was over in Hoboken. When he entered the waiting area, he cautiously looked around. And sure enough, there was Leah Bronstein, sitting in one of the chairs in the waiting area. Peter stopped dead in his tracks, knowing full well he had to tread carefully now.
He tried to think quickly, tried to revise his strategy. Truth was, he wasn't even sure he had one in the first place. He knew he couldn't wave his FBI badge now to be let into the treatment area. Could he feign a medical problem to gain access? Could he ask to see Neal, pretend to be family?
Time was of the essence, there was no knowing how much longer Neal would be here. However, the decision was made for him before he could act when Neal shuffled into the waiting area. Peter ducked into a corner, hoping Neal wouldn't see him right away.
Peter watched Leah get up, meet Neal, and Peter could barely keep his first instinct to barge in and protect Neal in check. Instead he stayed where he was, tried to blend into the crowd, and looked on.
He was surprised by Leah's demeanor. There was nothing fierce or threatening about her. If he didn't know better, one could almost think she and Neal were a couple. She went up to him, lightly touched his arm, spoke to him in soft tones that he couldn't make out from where he was standing. Neal smiled, nodded, all the while unsuccessfully trying to stifle a cough.
Leah then laid a hand on his back and guided them to the exit. Peter flinched, because he knew there was no place to hide and no way to leave without it looking suspicious. And of course Neal spotted him as they passed him. Peter had to give him credit, because Neal barely even startled. Their eyes met briefly before Neal looked away again. Peter hoped it had given Neal the signal to contact him as soon as he could.
Back in the Taurus, Peter sat behind the wheel, staring out at the busy street in front of him without starting the car. What was it that he'd just witnessed? Neal didn't look like he was being coerced. Was Leah Bronstein the Neal Caffrey of bank robbers, a brilliant criminal with her heart in the right place? It was hard to imagine, having seen the surveillance tapes of the armed, masked robbers that uttered death threats at employees and innocent bystanders.
The whole thing still confused him, Leah just seemed an enigma in and of itself. Being a petite woman in her early forties, and certainly not Neal's type, it was hard to gauge just exactly what her ulterior motive towards Neal was.
Peter shook his head. It was all a little too much to fathom, and he had no idea what to do. He drove back to the office, his mind working through too many scenarios to be comfortable with.
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The atmosphere in the conference room was charged with energy. Diana was arguing against pulling Neal out of the operation while Jones kept uncharacteristically quiet. Peter was trying to make a case, all the while attempting to stay objective, to weigh their options.
"Boss, with all due respect, why are we considering pulling Neal out when he's not made any indication that it's necessary?" Diana asked.
Peter couldn't blame her. He had given her the opportunity to take more of a lead on this one, had let her call some of the shots. He knew she was ready to take on more responsibility, spread her wings. And he wished that he could give her this, but not at the cost of putting Neal in any more danger.
"Diana, this-"
His cell phone rang, and Peter couldn't swipe it off the table fast enough to answer it. "Burke."
"Peter." Neal's voice was raspier than before, barely recognizable as his own.
Peter quickly met Diana's eyes, then strode into his office. "Neal, are you all right?"
The hoarse chuckle at the other end quickly turned into a bellowy cough. His larynx could barely form the syllables and they sounded two octaves deeper than his usual voice. "All right may be overstating it a little."
"Yeah, I'll say. Where are you, we'll get you out."
"No," Neal protested. "There's no need for that."
"Jesus, Neal, you were at that hospital for over two hours. Telling me you're fine doesn't quite cut it anymore. What did they diagnose you with?"
"Bronchitis. Gave me plenty of fluids, analgesics, antibiotics."
"That's it. I'm coming to get you."
"No," Neal said quickly, urgently, and it came out barely like a croak that was followed by another cough. "Please hear me out first, Peter. We're this close. I can deal with this, I feel a lot better already. I'm over the worst of it, believe me. Pulling me out now would be like calling off the sailing trip after you've already made it through the storm."
"Neal, I don't like the sound of any of this."
"I know," Neal said, his voice barely carrying over the line. "But I need you to trust me on this one. I'm making a lot of headway. We're moving forward in two days. The target is Wells Fargo Bank on Lexington and 58th. 8:30 AM. And, damn, Leah's good. The vault is on a time lock, and she's planned it meticulously around that."
"Two days? Neal, you know we can't let you go in. We need to move in before that. You have nothing for us?"
"She's a paranoid control freak, Peter. She doesn't let things slip, doesn't delegate. I need more time."
"One more day, Neal."
"Thanks. I'll make it count."
Peter's gaze fell on the computer where Neal's tracking data was still up on the screen. The location looked strangely familiar and a bell rang in the back of Peter's mind. "Neal, are you where I think you are?"
"I don't know-where do you think I am?"
"It looks a lot like Leah's last known address."
"Well, then maybe that's where I am."
"Damn," Peter muttered under his breath. Out loud he said, "Neal, I've never known you to be the stupid type."
"Peter, she insisted. What was I supposed to do?"
"Insisted how? With a gun to your back?"
"No. Listen. She's not a bad person, she actually cares about her crew."
"Not a bad person? She's a bank robber!"
"Yeah, but she's also human. She saw I was barely keeping upright, and she made sure I didn't keel over."
"Didn't keel over," Peter repeated incredulously. "Neal, I told you-"
"Peter, relax," Neal interrupted him hastily, but was cut off by another painful-sounding cough.
"Please don't tell me you're sleeping in her bed," Peter said.
"No, she graciously offered me her sofa, a warm blanket, chamomile tea and chicken soup. Told me to take it easy but I’d better damn be feeling well when the show gets on the road."
"Why is it that that doesn't reassure me in the least?"
"You know what, Peter?" Neal's voice sounded more raspy with every cough. "I think this might actually be a blessing in disguise. She's gone now, I might have the chance to snoop around a little."
"Just be careful, all right?"
"Aw," Neal said. "You're actually worried."
"Damn right I'm worried," Peter grumbled. "You're still my CI. And to tell you the truth, it sounds like the lines are getting very blurry here. You know what Stockholm Syndrome is, right?"
"Yeah, Peter, I know what Stockholm Syndrome is. And I can assure you that this is not what's going on here."
"You're letting her mother you while you're sick, and you want to convince me that you're still committed to putting her behind bars? Tell me, Neal, how does that not raise any red flags?"
"I said she looks out for her crew, but that doesn't mean what they're doing is justifiable. They've killed people. Murder is where I draw the line."
There was a pause before Peter admitted, "I'd feel a lot better if we could meet in person."
"I could try to sneak out for a bit, but to tell you the truth, I'd rather not. Leah gets suspicious, she'll call off the job, and then you'd have nothing."
"So what? You're telling me we have to sit this out, catch them red-handed?"
"Please tell me you have a SWAT team on alert."
Peter sighed. "We've made precautions. But I would really prefer if it didn't have to come to that."
"Yeah, same here, but it's starting to look like that's the only way to make sure they're all convicted."
"Do you know how dangerous a full-fledged take-down commando operation is?"
Annoyance and frustration was now crawling into Neal's voice. "Look, I am trying to do what I can, all right?"
Peter sighed again. "I'm sorry, Neal. I just... I don't have a good feeling about this."
"Yeah, well, you can still call this off right now. Just say the word and I'm outta here."
Peter rubbed his chin, weighed the options. He let out a long breath. "No. Stay put for now. We'll be in touch tomorrow, then let's decide the next course of action."
"Okay," Neal acknowledged.
"And Neal?"
"What?"
"Just... feel better, all right?"
"Thank you," Neal said, his voice so spent now that it barely came out as more than a croak.
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The next day, it was a text message from Neal rather than a call, and it didn't come exactly as a surprise to Peter that it said, "Meet me at 10 AM, same place. Bring a laptop, lost my voice."
Neal without a voice, that was something you didn't see every day. And Peter might even have gloated a little, if it hadn't come in such an untimely manner.
This time, when Peter got to Joe's, Neal was already there, nursing a mug of tea, a forced, almost embarrassed smile on his face. Peter slid into the booth opposite him, putting the laptop bag on the seat next to him.
"Neal Caffrey without a voice, never thought I'd see the day," Peter greeted him with a smirk.
Neal didn't seem to think it was funny. He drew a face and whispered, "Damn cough."
Peter unpacked the computer, hit the power button. While the system booted up, he looked at Neal, studied him to gauge his state of health. Neal looked a little better than the last time he'd seen him, though not by much. It was clear that he was not up to par, and the unease in the pit of Peter's stomach intensified.
"Are you okay?" he asked Neal.
Neal just nodded and mouthed, "Fine."
Peter wasn't convinced, especially when Neal launched into a coughing fit, that was wet and deep and strangely reminded Peter of a dog with a noiseless bark. He frowned, but Neal shot him a look that made him swallow down any cautionary remark he might have had at the tip of his tongue.
With the computer now having fully booted, he slid it over to Neal who opened up a word processor and started typing, keeping the screen so that Peter could see it too.
Leah's moving in as planned tomorrow morning. Don't have other evidence. Sorry.
"It's okay," Peter said and Neal drew a discontented face that clearly said, 'No, it's not, and you know it.'
You gonna pull me out?
"Do you want out?" Peter asked.
Neal shook his head, typing, If you wanna take them down tomorrow, I need to be there.
Peter didn't like the idea any more than before, but he knew Neal was right. "Can you do this?"
Yes.
The answer was simple, but this would need more debriefing, more planning, more communication. It was more than inconvenient that Neal's physical condition was making that difficult right now.
Peter gave Neal a scrutinizing look. "Neal, you need to come into the office today. We need more information, need to plan the take-down. We need you there."
I know. When?
"As soon as possible."
OK. 2 PM. Meanwhile need to figure something out.
"Okay, yeah. Two PM. Is there anything you need?"
A computer?
Peter chuckled, giving him a 'duh' look. He studied him for another long moment. "You still running a fever?" He had to suppress the urge to reach over and touch Neal's forehead.
Don't think so. Antibiotics seem to work.
'Good,' Peter thought. Finally some positive news. "All right," he then told Neal. "We'll be ready at two PM. Hang in there, all right?"
Thanks, Neal typed, Gotta go. He then slid the laptop back over to Peter, getting up from his seat.
Peter watched him leave with a worried frown on his forehead.
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At two PM, the whole team was assembled in the conference room. Neal sat with a laptop in front of him, the screen projected onto the TV screen at the front of the room so that everyone could read his replies.
The team had questions, many of them, and Neal tried to answer them as best as he could. The plan was to catch Leah and her team red-handed during the heist. Without Neal, of course. They had it all worked out, and Peter had to admit it was actually a pretty sound plan. Neal had done his homework, everything sounded plausible. Yes, this could actually work.
An hour later, Neal urged them to let him go. Leah was making last minute preparations, going over the plan again, making sure everyone knew their places and roles to the letter.
Peter looked around the room, addressing his team. "All right, people. You all know what to do. Go and make this happen."
There were nods and affirmations and everyone cleared the room until only Peter and Neal were left.
Peter met Neal's gaze, something hovering between worry and question in his expression. "You still up for this? And I mean it, Neal. If you have even the slightest hint of a doubt that this will work, you can say it."
Neal nodded his head. Don't worry, got everything figured out, he typed on the laptop.
"Are you sure?" Peter urged again.
Yes. Stop asking.
A small grin found its way onto Peter's lips. "Okay then. Is there anything else you need?"
Neal shook his head.
I'm good. See you tomorrow morning.
He stood up from his seat as Peter nodded in confirmation.
Peter light slapped Neal on the back as he left the room, hoping that Neal's confidence would not fail them.
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The next morning was filled with frantic yet controlled activity. Peter's FBI team was well prepared. Agents were positioned all around and more importantly inside the bank. Everyone in the bank was either FBI or NYPD, some of them posing as personnel, some as customers. SWAT was also ready to be given the go-ahead, though Peter hoped it would not have to come to that.
All the tense anticipation, the adrenaline, the concern that had caused a restless night for Peter, it turned out it hadn't been necessary. Leah's meticulousness had ultimately been her doom, because they had been able to plan the FBI takedown right around all of Leah's instructions. The plan couldn't have been executed with more precision-on both sides.
Leah and her men turned up precisely on time, went inside, took their positions. Neal made eye contact with Peter, and just as agreed, gave him the signal at the right time, exactly like they had planned.
Neal ducked out of the way when the FBI team swept in. The perps were quickly disarmed, weapons confiscated, handcuffs slapped around wrists.
From where Peter stood with Leah being handcuffed by a fellow agent, he could see that Neal was watching it all with a certain fascination. Was he having regrets after all for having handed Leah to the wolves? Justice was a fickle business, and once more he realized Neal would always be most comfortable in the gray areas rather than staying on the black or white side of things.
There was something else he realized. All this time while Neal was undercover, unease about his situation, his condition had found what seemed like a permanent residence in the pit of Peter's stomach. But with Leah's crew having been arrested without anyone getting hurt, it had made that feeling dissolve into nothingness. He had to admit that Neal was something of a master at doing well under pressure. Next time-he knew now-he had to put more confidence in the con artist.
Turning his attention back at Leah, he took a step closer and said to Agent Maddows, "I'll take it from here."
Peter himself escorted Leah out of the building, and when they passed Neal, she stopped. "You're a damn snitch?"
Neal just shrugged, his face smugly apologetic.
Surprisingly, she didn't revert to anger or resentfulness. "Damn, Keane, you had me fooled. You're good." Her tone of voice was almost admiring.
Neal raised his hands, palms-up, his intention clear, "Sorry, had to do it."
Leah leaned in a little closer. "I hope you don't regret this."
It looked like Neal didn't let the comment fluster him. It wasn't the first time he was being threatened, and Leah didn't seem like the sort of person who'd conjure up convoluted revenge plans from a prison cell.
Peter tugged at Leah's arm. "Let's go."
Neal sauntered outside after the FBI agents, looked on as Leah's crew was put in FBI issue cars to be taken to Processing. Peter came up to him, patted him on the shoulder. "I'd say that went well."
Neal nodded. "Yeah," he managed to get out, but it was barely a rasp and led to a painful sounding coughing fit.
"Okay, let's get you home," Peter said to him.
Neal shook his head. "No," he whispered. "I'm okay."
Peter gave him a no-nonsense look. "Neal, you've gone above and beyond on this one. You're exhausted. You're sick. You've more than earned some R&R. Go home and rest. The FBI can wait." His hand squeezed Neal's upper arm. "Come on."
And finally, Neal was happy to oblige. Before they headed to the car, however, Peter stopped Neal. "One more thing." He held up the tracking anklet.
"Of course," Neal whispered.
"Sorry," Peter shrugged.
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Two days later, Peter found himself knocking on the door to Neal's apartment.
It took a few seconds for the door to open, a smiling Neal holding the door open. "Peter," he said in a voice that was still about half an octave too deep for Neal and sounded strangely unlike him. He let Peter into the apartment.
"You've got your voice back," Peter stated.
"Barely."
"Well, I wasn't sure, so I brought this." Peter held out a flat plastic object to Neal, which he took.
"Etch-A-Sketch? Clever."
Peter shrugged. "El's niece left it the last time they visited. Thought it might come in handy."
"Good thinking, but as you can hear, not really necessary."
Both Neal and Peter took a seat at the table, and Peter asked, "So, how are you?"
Neal shrugged. "Oh, you know... Okay, I guess."
"Still coughing?"
"On and off. Getting there. How's the case going?"
"You mean Leah?"
"Yeah."
"Well, it's all wrapped up, I'd say. Largely thanks to you. Went smooth as a whistle, even the paperwork."
"Good," Neal said. "So... got any new cases to consult on?"
"Getting tired of sick leave?" Peter smirked.
"Is it that obvious?"
"It's only been two days, and already you're bored?" Peter asked, incredulous. He'd trusted Neal to be a little better with biding his time. Or maybe the bronchitis had thrown him more than he would admit.
"Yeah, well, I don't have anything particularly exciting to work on right now."
Peter looked around. "What, no art projects to keep your skills honed?"
Neal shrugged. "I don't know. Just don't feel like painting right now."
"Listen, Neal," Peter told him. "About the case... You did really well."
Neal almost looked embarrassed, if that was even possible. "Yeah, you already told me that."
"And I'm telling you again."
Neal smiled a small smile. "It almost sounds like you're proud of me."
Peter responded with a faint smile of his own. "Maybe I am. A little. But I swear, the next time, we're not sending you in undercover while you're sick."
"Would you stop belaboring the point? It wasn't your fault. As a wise man once said, shit happens."
"A wise man? Who?"
"Beats me. Mozzie'd probably know."
"Yeah," Peter said knowingly. "Speaking of which, where was he through all of this?"
"I have no idea. He kinda went off the radar two weeks ago. I wouldn't worry. It happens."
"Okay," Peter acknowledged. He put his palms flat on the table and got up. "So, are you ready to go back to work tomorrow? Because if not, you can take another sick day or two."
"No, I'm ready," Neal quickly said, adding, "Unless it involves going undercover as safecracker with a group of paranoid bank robbers."
Peter chuckled. "No, I think we've had our share of that for the rest of the year. At least. It's desk duty for you for the next week."
"I know that's supposed to be a benevolent move on your part, but you do know that desk duty is one of the things that feels a lot like punishment, right?"
Peter gave him a sympathetic grin. "Humor me, okay? I promise there's gonna be coffee breaks."
"With real coffee, not that swill from the coffee maker in the kitchen?"
Peter nodded in affirmation. "With real coffee. From the coffee shop. We have a new intern. I have nothing against sending him on a coffee run or two."
"All right," Neal beamed. "I'm sold."
"Good," Peter said from the door. "See you tomorrow then."
"I'll be there," Neal confirmed.
Peter opened the door and stepped into the hallway. As he walked down the stairs of the Manhattan mansion, it once again struck him how strange this alliance with the former con really was. And how he'd never expected it to become this-whatever this was-when a captured Neal Caffrey had asked him to visit him in prison two years ago.
Still, as much of a pain in the neck as Neal Caffrey could sometimes be, Peter regretted nothing.
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THE END.
Author: TeeJay
Genre: Gen
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter, Elizabeth and a few OCs
Written for: raven_tree for the whitecollarhc Fever Fic Fest I and the 2011 Advent Calendar over at whitecollarfic (two birds with one stone-yay!)
Prompt: Neal gets sick while undercover and the bad guy/bad guy's henchman motherhens Neal into seeing a doctor. He then insists Neal stay at his place while Neal recovers. Peter freaking out about the bad guy taking better care of Neal than Neal does would be great.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Neal goes undercover with a group of bank robbers. When an untimely bout of bronchitis hits him, Peter is worried about Neal, but finds out that maybe he didn't actually have to be.
Author's Note: This may or may not have been in part inspired by me recently watching "The Town". :-) raven_tree, I hope it's what you were looking for. I also decided to post this for Day 24 of the whitecollarfic Advent Calendar, even though it's not exactly Holiday-themed.
I'd say this is set either in season two or season three pre-Countdown.
Thank you, rabidchild67, for the beta and the invaluable comments! And thank you, kanarek13, for the help with the New York related research.
Disclaimer: White Collar, its characters and its settings belong to Jeff Eastin and USA Network. And, guys? Your characters are not only welcome, they're wonderful. I'm just borrowing, I promise.
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Criminals weren't always bad people. Peter Burke knew that all too well, having chased Neal Caffrey for a number of years. And even though for the longest time he'd wanted nothing more than to see him behind bars, he'd always seen the man behind the con, and that man had a kind soul hidden beneath a perhaps somewhat misguided veil of bad judgment.
It seemed like Neal fit right into the group of criminals that their latest undercover assignment had placed him in. They'd had their eye on this particular posse for a while, who were just so damn good at not leaving any evidence behind that the FBI had been groping in the dark for the better part of a year. And now, miraculously, they'd managed to get one Tony Keane (i.e. Neal Caffrey) in as their new safe-cracking expert.
This was maybe a bit unusual, since bank robbery wasn't normally White Collar's problem to deal with, but Peter had a long history with two of the perps, so he'd asked whether his team could take the lead on this, and the higher-ups had agreed.
Since Neal had gone in undercover, he hadn't been able to report back with a whole lot of details. A short phone conversation here, a quick text message there. He had to be careful, being the new guy, they didn't want to risk raising suspicions. And suspiciousness was one thing that this group had plenty of, especially their leader. Peter knew they had to tread very carefully from the get-go.
Peter knew, perhaps a little unusually, the head of the gang was a woman who went by the name of Leah. Neal had said she was calling the shots. And Neal had assured Peter more than once that he wasn't in danger. Leah knew how to take care of her pack, how to protect her own.
Bottom line was, Peter was latently worried, even though there was no indication he should be. But still, he'd learned to rely on his gut feelings in the years he'd worked with the Bureau.
The plan had always been that Neal would not be part of the actual heist. He was supposed to gather intel and get them enough evidence for a search warrant or even an arrest, and then get the hell out of Dodge.
Sitting in his office, Peter checked his mobile phone for the umpteenth time. Neal had been supposed to report in earlier that day. It was not too unusual that this didn't happen, Neal wasn't exactly running on a schedule, and there was no knowing when he could sneak away to get a phone call to Peter out.
Peter almost jumped in his chair when the phone went off.
"Neal?" he greeted the caller.
"Yeah, sorry I didn't call earlier," came the answer, and Peter's forehead creased in concern. Neal's voice sounded rough, raspy.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, everything’s going according to plan. The operation is ramping up. Can we arrange a meet somewhere, I have a few things I need to show you?"
"Yeah, sure. Right now?"
"No," Neal said quickly. "They expect me back within the hour. Tomorrow morning, 6 AM. Meet me at a place called Joe The Art of Coffee on Flatbush Avenue."
Neal then launched into a cough that sounded dry and painful.
"Neal, are you sick?"
"It's just a cough. I'll live."
"Do we need to pull you out?"
"No, Peter, I'm fine. I can do this."
"Okay," Peter reluctantly agreed. "But, Neal, if you need out..."
"I'll contact you," Neal finished the sentence for him.
It didn't do much in terms of reassuring Peter, and the uneasy feeling in his belly intensified.
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The next morning, bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived, Peter squeezed into a booth at Joe's. It was three minutes past six, and no Neal in sight. Peter checked his phone, then his watch again. He ordered black coffee when the waitress came to take his order.
A quick flood or relief washed over him when Neal joined him at the table. He ordered peppermint tea, which struck Peter as odd, and prompted him to study Neal more closely as the young man sat down opposite him.
He had dark circles under his eyes and his skin looked pale and clammy. There was an unmistakable exhaustion in Neal's features, the lines on his forehead speaking volumes. Neal held his fist in front of his mouth as a cough erupted from his lungs which sent Neal's expression into a momentary drawing board of pain and discomfort that he wiped clean as soon as his somewhat uncooperative body would let him.
Peter's worry meter immediately shot up. "That doesn't sound good."
"Yeah, it doesn't feel too good either," Neal admitted.
"How long have you been like this?"
Neal shrugged. "I don't know. Two days? Three? Felt like a cold at first, now it's that darn cough."
"Neal, we can pull you out." Peter reached across the table, held his hand to Neal's forehead. "You have a fever. You have no business running a con."
Neal's resolve perked up, determination settling on his face. "We're so close. You can't pull me out now. Peter, these guys, they're brilliant. If we pull the plug now, it could be years before you catch them."
"Doesn't matter, Neal. This wouldn't only compromise the assignment, it could endanger your safety."
Neal ignored him, produced a stack of documents from the satchel he'd been carrying. He slid them across the table to Peter. "Here, take a look at this. Schematics, time schedules, it's all there."
The waitress arrived with their drinks and Neal started tipping sugar into his tea. The spoon clanked against the mug in a steady rhythm as he stirred the steaming beverage.
Peter pushed his coffee aside and leafed through the documents, his curiosity piqued. "This is good, but will it be enough?"
Neal shrugged. "You tell me."
"Any chances for fingerprints? Can we tie this to Leah? I mean, I can see the relevance in the context of our operation, but I'd hate to see a judge dismissing it as incidental."
"Peter, these are copies. I can't take the originals, she'd notice. So the only fingerprints on it will be mine."
Peter leaned back in his seat, releasing a frustrated breath. "Then I'm not sure this'll really help all that much."
Neal knitted his brow. "I'm sorry, that's all I can give you right now."
Peter quickly smoothed over the disappointment on his face. "No, this is good. This is helpful. I just... I guess I was just hoping for something a little more substantial."
"They're careful. It's not surprising they've been doing this for years without getting caught."
"Years?" Peter asked, incredulous.
"That's what I gathered. They don't brag about it. I just pick up bits and pieces."
Neal took a careful sip of his tea, not able to suppress another cough. Peter's worried eyes searched out Neal's. "Are you sure you're up for this?"
Neal's gaze was steely. "Peter, stop worrying. I've dealt with worse, believe me. It takes more than a stupid cough to bring down the great Neal Caffrey."
"Okay, fine," Peter finally agreed. "But if this gets worse-"
"How often do I need to repeat it? Yes, I'll be in touch." Neal sounded a tad aggressive now.
Peter lifted his hands in defense. "Okay, okay."
"I promise, I'm not gonna mess this up."
"No one said anything about messing this up."
"No, but it's what you were thinking, right?"
Truth was, the answer was yes. He had no doubt in Neal's grace under pressure. He did, however, have doubt in Neal's ability to keep his mind focused with a raging fever crippling his system.
Neal's eyes darted to his watch, then to Peter. "Listen, I gotta go. Leah's an early bird. She'll want me there bright 'n early. I'll contact you tomorrow, all right?"
"All right," Peter acknowledged. "There's a pharmacy right down the street. At least get some cough drops and Tylenol," he called after Neal as he was about to leave.
"Yeah, yeah," Neal dismissed him before he left the café.
Peter was sure the advice would be lost on Neal, stubborn as he knew the ex-con to be.
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Neal didn't contact Peter or his team the next day, and to say it made Peter feel on edge was an understatement. Rationally, he knew it was silly to be as worried as he was. At home, he was fidgety, checking Neal's tracking data every half hour.
This whole operation, it wasn't quite their regular surveillance strategy. Neal wasn't wearing his tracker, and because Leah had a thing for bug sweeps, they were tracking Neal through the GPS on his phone. They'd also discussed Neal wearing a wire, which would have gotten them all the evidence they needed. It hadn't taken much for Neal to convince them it was too risky.
Peter sat at his laptop again, bringing up the tracking data for what felt like the tenth time in the last hour. It was enough to make Elizabeth nervous as well.
She sidled up to him sitting at the dining table, the laptop open in front of him. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders.
"Honey, you're driving yourself crazy over nothing. You said yourself Neal's points of contact have been erratic with this assignment."
"I know," he sighed. "I just can't help thinking something went wrong. You should have seen him when we met, he looked like death warmed over."
"And you told him to contact you if he got worse, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"And he promised he would."
"Yes, but-"
"Do you not trust him on this?"
Peter sighed again more deeply, scrubbing a weary hand over his face. "I... don't know. He's Neal. You know how boneheaded he can be."
She smiled a small smile, then sobered. "I'd like to think no news is good news here. Why don't you give it until tomorrow? If he still hasn't been in touch by then, you can always take action."
He'd reluctantly agreed but couldn't help thinking about the case. He wasn't even sure now just how Neal had ended up so deep undercover. The initial plan had been to have him pose as a safecracking expert to gather some intel. One meeting with Leah only, that was supposed to be it. But she'd taken to the idea of having him on the team, and it had become kind of a self-runner from there. Before they knew it, Hughes had approved to keep Neal on the inside, and it had spiraled further down from there.
Peter slept fitfully that night, half expecting the phone to ring on his nightstand in the middle of the night. He wasn't all that reassured when it didn't.
The next morning in the office, he checked Neal's tracking data again, which looked nothing but inconspicuous. Pretty much the same locations he'd been before. And he'd kept moving every now and then, which indicated Neal was still on his feet and mobile. Peter briefly considered calling Neal, but it had been agreed that this should only happen in emergencies. Leah, while being meticulous in her planning skills, was also meticulously paranoid. Peter didn't think this constituted an emergency, so in the end he stifled the impulse.
By lunchtime, Peter grew restless to the point where he started to trace Neal's movements in more detail. He'd been stationary at one particular location for almost two hours and was still there now. This in itself was not a cause for concern, but when Peter checked what the location was, he unease in his stomach was back with a vengeance.
St. Mary's Hospital. This had to be related to Neal being sick. Had it gotten serious overnight? Had the fever spiked to dangerous levels? Had he collapsed somewhere from exhaustion? Had he contracted serious bronchitis or pneumonia? One worst case scenario chased another in Peter's head.
He checked the tracking data again, and the red dot was still in the same location. Making the decision, he grabbed his jacket and left the office.
The hospital was over in Hoboken. When he entered the waiting area, he cautiously looked around. And sure enough, there was Leah Bronstein, sitting in one of the chairs in the waiting area. Peter stopped dead in his tracks, knowing full well he had to tread carefully now.
He tried to think quickly, tried to revise his strategy. Truth was, he wasn't even sure he had one in the first place. He knew he couldn't wave his FBI badge now to be let into the treatment area. Could he feign a medical problem to gain access? Could he ask to see Neal, pretend to be family?
Time was of the essence, there was no knowing how much longer Neal would be here. However, the decision was made for him before he could act when Neal shuffled into the waiting area. Peter ducked into a corner, hoping Neal wouldn't see him right away.
Peter watched Leah get up, meet Neal, and Peter could barely keep his first instinct to barge in and protect Neal in check. Instead he stayed where he was, tried to blend into the crowd, and looked on.
He was surprised by Leah's demeanor. There was nothing fierce or threatening about her. If he didn't know better, one could almost think she and Neal were a couple. She went up to him, lightly touched his arm, spoke to him in soft tones that he couldn't make out from where he was standing. Neal smiled, nodded, all the while unsuccessfully trying to stifle a cough.
Leah then laid a hand on his back and guided them to the exit. Peter flinched, because he knew there was no place to hide and no way to leave without it looking suspicious. And of course Neal spotted him as they passed him. Peter had to give him credit, because Neal barely even startled. Their eyes met briefly before Neal looked away again. Peter hoped it had given Neal the signal to contact him as soon as he could.
Back in the Taurus, Peter sat behind the wheel, staring out at the busy street in front of him without starting the car. What was it that he'd just witnessed? Neal didn't look like he was being coerced. Was Leah Bronstein the Neal Caffrey of bank robbers, a brilliant criminal with her heart in the right place? It was hard to imagine, having seen the surveillance tapes of the armed, masked robbers that uttered death threats at employees and innocent bystanders.
The whole thing still confused him, Leah just seemed an enigma in and of itself. Being a petite woman in her early forties, and certainly not Neal's type, it was hard to gauge just exactly what her ulterior motive towards Neal was.
Peter shook his head. It was all a little too much to fathom, and he had no idea what to do. He drove back to the office, his mind working through too many scenarios to be comfortable with.
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The atmosphere in the conference room was charged with energy. Diana was arguing against pulling Neal out of the operation while Jones kept uncharacteristically quiet. Peter was trying to make a case, all the while attempting to stay objective, to weigh their options.
"Boss, with all due respect, why are we considering pulling Neal out when he's not made any indication that it's necessary?" Diana asked.
Peter couldn't blame her. He had given her the opportunity to take more of a lead on this one, had let her call some of the shots. He knew she was ready to take on more responsibility, spread her wings. And he wished that he could give her this, but not at the cost of putting Neal in any more danger.
"Diana, this-"
His cell phone rang, and Peter couldn't swipe it off the table fast enough to answer it. "Burke."
"Peter." Neal's voice was raspier than before, barely recognizable as his own.
Peter quickly met Diana's eyes, then strode into his office. "Neal, are you all right?"
The hoarse chuckle at the other end quickly turned into a bellowy cough. His larynx could barely form the syllables and they sounded two octaves deeper than his usual voice. "All right may be overstating it a little."
"Yeah, I'll say. Where are you, we'll get you out."
"No," Neal protested. "There's no need for that."
"Jesus, Neal, you were at that hospital for over two hours. Telling me you're fine doesn't quite cut it anymore. What did they diagnose you with?"
"Bronchitis. Gave me plenty of fluids, analgesics, antibiotics."
"That's it. I'm coming to get you."
"No," Neal said quickly, urgently, and it came out barely like a croak that was followed by another cough. "Please hear me out first, Peter. We're this close. I can deal with this, I feel a lot better already. I'm over the worst of it, believe me. Pulling me out now would be like calling off the sailing trip after you've already made it through the storm."
"Neal, I don't like the sound of any of this."
"I know," Neal said, his voice barely carrying over the line. "But I need you to trust me on this one. I'm making a lot of headway. We're moving forward in two days. The target is Wells Fargo Bank on Lexington and 58th. 8:30 AM. And, damn, Leah's good. The vault is on a time lock, and she's planned it meticulously around that."
"Two days? Neal, you know we can't let you go in. We need to move in before that. You have nothing for us?"
"She's a paranoid control freak, Peter. She doesn't let things slip, doesn't delegate. I need more time."
"One more day, Neal."
"Thanks. I'll make it count."
Peter's gaze fell on the computer where Neal's tracking data was still up on the screen. The location looked strangely familiar and a bell rang in the back of Peter's mind. "Neal, are you where I think you are?"
"I don't know-where do you think I am?"
"It looks a lot like Leah's last known address."
"Well, then maybe that's where I am."
"Damn," Peter muttered under his breath. Out loud he said, "Neal, I've never known you to be the stupid type."
"Peter, she insisted. What was I supposed to do?"
"Insisted how? With a gun to your back?"
"No. Listen. She's not a bad person, she actually cares about her crew."
"Not a bad person? She's a bank robber!"
"Yeah, but she's also human. She saw I was barely keeping upright, and she made sure I didn't keel over."
"Didn't keel over," Peter repeated incredulously. "Neal, I told you-"
"Peter, relax," Neal interrupted him hastily, but was cut off by another painful-sounding cough.
"Please don't tell me you're sleeping in her bed," Peter said.
"No, she graciously offered me her sofa, a warm blanket, chamomile tea and chicken soup. Told me to take it easy but I’d better damn be feeling well when the show gets on the road."
"Why is it that that doesn't reassure me in the least?"
"You know what, Peter?" Neal's voice sounded more raspy with every cough. "I think this might actually be a blessing in disguise. She's gone now, I might have the chance to snoop around a little."
"Just be careful, all right?"
"Aw," Neal said. "You're actually worried."
"Damn right I'm worried," Peter grumbled. "You're still my CI. And to tell you the truth, it sounds like the lines are getting very blurry here. You know what Stockholm Syndrome is, right?"
"Yeah, Peter, I know what Stockholm Syndrome is. And I can assure you that this is not what's going on here."
"You're letting her mother you while you're sick, and you want to convince me that you're still committed to putting her behind bars? Tell me, Neal, how does that not raise any red flags?"
"I said she looks out for her crew, but that doesn't mean what they're doing is justifiable. They've killed people. Murder is where I draw the line."
There was a pause before Peter admitted, "I'd feel a lot better if we could meet in person."
"I could try to sneak out for a bit, but to tell you the truth, I'd rather not. Leah gets suspicious, she'll call off the job, and then you'd have nothing."
"So what? You're telling me we have to sit this out, catch them red-handed?"
"Please tell me you have a SWAT team on alert."
Peter sighed. "We've made precautions. But I would really prefer if it didn't have to come to that."
"Yeah, same here, but it's starting to look like that's the only way to make sure they're all convicted."
"Do you know how dangerous a full-fledged take-down commando operation is?"
Annoyance and frustration was now crawling into Neal's voice. "Look, I am trying to do what I can, all right?"
Peter sighed again. "I'm sorry, Neal. I just... I don't have a good feeling about this."
"Yeah, well, you can still call this off right now. Just say the word and I'm outta here."
Peter rubbed his chin, weighed the options. He let out a long breath. "No. Stay put for now. We'll be in touch tomorrow, then let's decide the next course of action."
"Okay," Neal acknowledged.
"And Neal?"
"What?"
"Just... feel better, all right?"
"Thank you," Neal said, his voice so spent now that it barely came out as more than a croak.
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The next day, it was a text message from Neal rather than a call, and it didn't come exactly as a surprise to Peter that it said, "Meet me at 10 AM, same place. Bring a laptop, lost my voice."
Neal without a voice, that was something you didn't see every day. And Peter might even have gloated a little, if it hadn't come in such an untimely manner.
This time, when Peter got to Joe's, Neal was already there, nursing a mug of tea, a forced, almost embarrassed smile on his face. Peter slid into the booth opposite him, putting the laptop bag on the seat next to him.
"Neal Caffrey without a voice, never thought I'd see the day," Peter greeted him with a smirk.
Neal didn't seem to think it was funny. He drew a face and whispered, "Damn cough."
Peter unpacked the computer, hit the power button. While the system booted up, he looked at Neal, studied him to gauge his state of health. Neal looked a little better than the last time he'd seen him, though not by much. It was clear that he was not up to par, and the unease in the pit of Peter's stomach intensified.
"Are you okay?" he asked Neal.
Neal just nodded and mouthed, "Fine."
Peter wasn't convinced, especially when Neal launched into a coughing fit, that was wet and deep and strangely reminded Peter of a dog with a noiseless bark. He frowned, but Neal shot him a look that made him swallow down any cautionary remark he might have had at the tip of his tongue.
With the computer now having fully booted, he slid it over to Neal who opened up a word processor and started typing, keeping the screen so that Peter could see it too.
Leah's moving in as planned tomorrow morning. Don't have other evidence. Sorry.
"It's okay," Peter said and Neal drew a discontented face that clearly said, 'No, it's not, and you know it.'
You gonna pull me out?
"Do you want out?" Peter asked.
Neal shook his head, typing, If you wanna take them down tomorrow, I need to be there.
Peter didn't like the idea any more than before, but he knew Neal was right. "Can you do this?"
Yes.
The answer was simple, but this would need more debriefing, more planning, more communication. It was more than inconvenient that Neal's physical condition was making that difficult right now.
Peter gave Neal a scrutinizing look. "Neal, you need to come into the office today. We need more information, need to plan the take-down. We need you there."
I know. When?
"As soon as possible."
OK. 2 PM. Meanwhile need to figure something out.
"Okay, yeah. Two PM. Is there anything you need?"
A computer?
Peter chuckled, giving him a 'duh' look. He studied him for another long moment. "You still running a fever?" He had to suppress the urge to reach over and touch Neal's forehead.
Don't think so. Antibiotics seem to work.
'Good,' Peter thought. Finally some positive news. "All right," he then told Neal. "We'll be ready at two PM. Hang in there, all right?"
Thanks, Neal typed, Gotta go. He then slid the laptop back over to Peter, getting up from his seat.
Peter watched him leave with a worried frown on his forehead.
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At two PM, the whole team was assembled in the conference room. Neal sat with a laptop in front of him, the screen projected onto the TV screen at the front of the room so that everyone could read his replies.
The team had questions, many of them, and Neal tried to answer them as best as he could. The plan was to catch Leah and her team red-handed during the heist. Without Neal, of course. They had it all worked out, and Peter had to admit it was actually a pretty sound plan. Neal had done his homework, everything sounded plausible. Yes, this could actually work.
An hour later, Neal urged them to let him go. Leah was making last minute preparations, going over the plan again, making sure everyone knew their places and roles to the letter.
Peter looked around the room, addressing his team. "All right, people. You all know what to do. Go and make this happen."
There were nods and affirmations and everyone cleared the room until only Peter and Neal were left.
Peter met Neal's gaze, something hovering between worry and question in his expression. "You still up for this? And I mean it, Neal. If you have even the slightest hint of a doubt that this will work, you can say it."
Neal nodded his head. Don't worry, got everything figured out, he typed on the laptop.
"Are you sure?" Peter urged again.
Yes. Stop asking.
A small grin found its way onto Peter's lips. "Okay then. Is there anything else you need?"
Neal shook his head.
I'm good. See you tomorrow morning.
He stood up from his seat as Peter nodded in confirmation.
Peter light slapped Neal on the back as he left the room, hoping that Neal's confidence would not fail them.
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The next morning was filled with frantic yet controlled activity. Peter's FBI team was well prepared. Agents were positioned all around and more importantly inside the bank. Everyone in the bank was either FBI or NYPD, some of them posing as personnel, some as customers. SWAT was also ready to be given the go-ahead, though Peter hoped it would not have to come to that.
All the tense anticipation, the adrenaline, the concern that had caused a restless night for Peter, it turned out it hadn't been necessary. Leah's meticulousness had ultimately been her doom, because they had been able to plan the FBI takedown right around all of Leah's instructions. The plan couldn't have been executed with more precision-on both sides.
Leah and her men turned up precisely on time, went inside, took their positions. Neal made eye contact with Peter, and just as agreed, gave him the signal at the right time, exactly like they had planned.
Neal ducked out of the way when the FBI team swept in. The perps were quickly disarmed, weapons confiscated, handcuffs slapped around wrists.
From where Peter stood with Leah being handcuffed by a fellow agent, he could see that Neal was watching it all with a certain fascination. Was he having regrets after all for having handed Leah to the wolves? Justice was a fickle business, and once more he realized Neal would always be most comfortable in the gray areas rather than staying on the black or white side of things.
There was something else he realized. All this time while Neal was undercover, unease about his situation, his condition had found what seemed like a permanent residence in the pit of Peter's stomach. But with Leah's crew having been arrested without anyone getting hurt, it had made that feeling dissolve into nothingness. He had to admit that Neal was something of a master at doing well under pressure. Next time-he knew now-he had to put more confidence in the con artist.
Turning his attention back at Leah, he took a step closer and said to Agent Maddows, "I'll take it from here."
Peter himself escorted Leah out of the building, and when they passed Neal, she stopped. "You're a damn snitch?"
Neal just shrugged, his face smugly apologetic.
Surprisingly, she didn't revert to anger or resentfulness. "Damn, Keane, you had me fooled. You're good." Her tone of voice was almost admiring.
Neal raised his hands, palms-up, his intention clear, "Sorry, had to do it."
Leah leaned in a little closer. "I hope you don't regret this."
It looked like Neal didn't let the comment fluster him. It wasn't the first time he was being threatened, and Leah didn't seem like the sort of person who'd conjure up convoluted revenge plans from a prison cell.
Peter tugged at Leah's arm. "Let's go."
Neal sauntered outside after the FBI agents, looked on as Leah's crew was put in FBI issue cars to be taken to Processing. Peter came up to him, patted him on the shoulder. "I'd say that went well."
Neal nodded. "Yeah," he managed to get out, but it was barely a rasp and led to a painful sounding coughing fit.
"Okay, let's get you home," Peter said to him.
Neal shook his head. "No," he whispered. "I'm okay."
Peter gave him a no-nonsense look. "Neal, you've gone above and beyond on this one. You're exhausted. You're sick. You've more than earned some R&R. Go home and rest. The FBI can wait." His hand squeezed Neal's upper arm. "Come on."
And finally, Neal was happy to oblige. Before they headed to the car, however, Peter stopped Neal. "One more thing." He held up the tracking anklet.
"Of course," Neal whispered.
"Sorry," Peter shrugged.
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Two days later, Peter found himself knocking on the door to Neal's apartment.
It took a few seconds for the door to open, a smiling Neal holding the door open. "Peter," he said in a voice that was still about half an octave too deep for Neal and sounded strangely unlike him. He let Peter into the apartment.
"You've got your voice back," Peter stated.
"Barely."
"Well, I wasn't sure, so I brought this." Peter held out a flat plastic object to Neal, which he took.
"Etch-A-Sketch? Clever."
Peter shrugged. "El's niece left it the last time they visited. Thought it might come in handy."
"Good thinking, but as you can hear, not really necessary."
Both Neal and Peter took a seat at the table, and Peter asked, "So, how are you?"
Neal shrugged. "Oh, you know... Okay, I guess."
"Still coughing?"
"On and off. Getting there. How's the case going?"
"You mean Leah?"
"Yeah."
"Well, it's all wrapped up, I'd say. Largely thanks to you. Went smooth as a whistle, even the paperwork."
"Good," Neal said. "So... got any new cases to consult on?"
"Getting tired of sick leave?" Peter smirked.
"Is it that obvious?"
"It's only been two days, and already you're bored?" Peter asked, incredulous. He'd trusted Neal to be a little better with biding his time. Or maybe the bronchitis had thrown him more than he would admit.
"Yeah, well, I don't have anything particularly exciting to work on right now."
Peter looked around. "What, no art projects to keep your skills honed?"
Neal shrugged. "I don't know. Just don't feel like painting right now."
"Listen, Neal," Peter told him. "About the case... You did really well."
Neal almost looked embarrassed, if that was even possible. "Yeah, you already told me that."
"And I'm telling you again."
Neal smiled a small smile. "It almost sounds like you're proud of me."
Peter responded with a faint smile of his own. "Maybe I am. A little. But I swear, the next time, we're not sending you in undercover while you're sick."
"Would you stop belaboring the point? It wasn't your fault. As a wise man once said, shit happens."
"A wise man? Who?"
"Beats me. Mozzie'd probably know."
"Yeah," Peter said knowingly. "Speaking of which, where was he through all of this?"
"I have no idea. He kinda went off the radar two weeks ago. I wouldn't worry. It happens."
"Okay," Peter acknowledged. He put his palms flat on the table and got up. "So, are you ready to go back to work tomorrow? Because if not, you can take another sick day or two."
"No, I'm ready," Neal quickly said, adding, "Unless it involves going undercover as safecracker with a group of paranoid bank robbers."
Peter chuckled. "No, I think we've had our share of that for the rest of the year. At least. It's desk duty for you for the next week."
"I know that's supposed to be a benevolent move on your part, but you do know that desk duty is one of the things that feels a lot like punishment, right?"
Peter gave him a sympathetic grin. "Humor me, okay? I promise there's gonna be coffee breaks."
"With real coffee, not that swill from the coffee maker in the kitchen?"
Peter nodded in affirmation. "With real coffee. From the coffee shop. We have a new intern. I have nothing against sending him on a coffee run or two."
"All right," Neal beamed. "I'm sold."
"Good," Peter said from the door. "See you tomorrow then."
"I'll be there," Neal confirmed.
Peter opened the door and stepped into the hallway. As he walked down the stairs of the Manhattan mansion, it once again struck him how strange this alliance with the former con really was. And how he'd never expected it to become this-whatever this was-when a captured Neal Caffrey had asked him to visit him in prison two years ago.
Still, as much of a pain in the neck as Neal Caffrey could sometimes be, Peter regretted nothing.
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THE END.