Fic: When the World Falls Down (I'm Gonna Catch You) (White Collar, Peter, Neal, Mozzie)
Title: When the World Falls Down (I'm Gonna Catch You)
Fandom: White Collar. Specifically,
sholio's Psychic Neal AU.
Wordcount: 4360
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Peter, Mozzie, Neal, Elizabeth, Hughes
Pairing(s): Canon Peter/Elizabeth
Notes: As noted, set in
sholio's Psychic Neal 'verse. A hundred thank you's to her for letting me play in her sandbox, and another hundred thank you's to
frith_in_thorns for betaing.
Summary: A retelling of "Free Fall," set in the currently hypothetical "season 2" of Sholio's fic. When Neal is set up, Peter and Mozzie are the only thing standing between him and the unthinkable.
The case started out so well. It was a juicy one, the "world's most exotic pink diamond" stolen out of a supposedly secure vault from the city's most expensive clothing store and replaced with a fake. Gems, forgeries, and beautiful women--it had nearly everything Neal loved.
Peter was enjoying himself too. The thief had to be smart, and he was bold, and that was Peter's favorite type of criminal to chase. And it was fun to watch Neal work, now that he was working for the right side. Peter got a little thrill telling the manager of Le Joyau Precieux that he had his own appraiser. Not that he'd ever admit that. Neal didn't need any more encouragement.
Things began to fall apart when Hughes confided in Peter that Neal was a suspect. Peter denied the possibility vocally, but he couldn't stop a few tiny little doubts from surfacing. Nearly everything Neal loved, wasn't that what he had thought before?
He threw himself into Adrian Tulane as a suspect, but the man was slick. If Tulane was the thief, then it was going to take more than bluster and a badge to break him.
He tried to ignore Neal gushing over Tulane. He wanted to snap at Neal to take this seriously, but then he would have had to admit why they needed to take it so seriously, and Peter didn't want to do that. He wanted to clear this up without Neal ever having to know.
He should have known things could never be that simple. When the two of them returned from Tulane's, Hughes was waiting for them. Peter knew it was coming, but the bottom dropped out of his stomach when Hughes told Neal he was under arrest.
Neal laughed shakily. "I didn't steal the diamond. You know that. My anklet--"
"Your anklet went offline for six hours last night," Hughes said. His voice was even. "And your signature was on the diamond. It shows up under polarized light. Isn't that how you did it before?"
Neal paled, and his head snapped between Hughes and Peter. "Peter--"
"Neal," Peter warned. Don't do this. Be smart. Be careful. He concentrated as hard as he could, irrationally hoping that his thoughts could break through Neal's damper. And maybe he managed it somehow, or more likely it was his tone and expression that made Neal shut his mouth. But he kept his eyes on Peter as Peter cuffed him, draping his jacket over his arms, hoping to preserve a shred of dignity. "I didn't do this," he hissed desperately to Peter as he was led away.
Peter thought about it. Neal didn't have an alibi, and the evidence was strong, between the anklet going dark and Neal's signature on the fake diamond. Would Neal be so bold as to sign his forgery again, even after telling Peter about the polarized light trick? The old Neal, Neal before he was caught, yes. He'd love to try something so audacious. But Neal now knew better than anyone how precarious his position was, and the tremor of terror in his voice had not been faked. No diamond was worth being locked up in a lab for whatever remained of his life. So Peter said, "I believe you," when Neal repeated himself at the jail several hours later.
Neal blinked. "You do?"
"Yes. Don't sound so surprised." Peter ran a hand over his face. "I think we both know what this is, Neal." If Neal was convicted of another crime, Peter would never be able to keep him on the anklet. Neal would go to prison. Officially speaking.
"What do we do?" Neal asked. He sounded young.
Peter sighed. "I'll talk to Tulane again." He knew how little it was, and from the look on Neal's face, Neal knew it too. He reached across the table and squeezed Neal's hand. "This isn't over, okay? I'm not done. We're not done."
Neal smiled, small and hesitant, but real. "I believe you."
Once outside, Peter called Diana and Jones, but he didn't have much to say other than, "Be ready." By that time it was past dark. Peter couldn't think of anything more he could do right then, so he went home to Elizabeth. Talking it over with her wouldn't solve his problems, but at least he wouldn't have to bear them alone.
"Who's doing this?" Elizabeth asked, worry etched in her features.
Peter sighed. "The CIA? Homeland Security? Some little pocket of shadow government that doesn't even have a name? I don't think it matters. The point is that they have the clout to access both the Marshals' computer system and FBI communications. That must be how they learned about the polarized light signature."
Elizabeth embraced him tightly. "I know this will sound naïve," she said haltingly, "but part of me still can't believe that anybody would want to hurt Neal."
"I know what you mean," Peter assured her. Neal was complicated; Peter knew that. He had a mischievous streak a mile wide, and he had no respect for other people's privacy or personal property. However, he was also capable of incredible affection and loyalty. He had a capacity for love that no amount of torture or misery had ever been able to kill. That was what Peter saw when he looked at Neal. But so many others--government groups, corporations, enemies still unknown--saw only either a profit to be made or a dirty secret to be buried.
"I don't know if I can save him this time, El," he admitted. And even if he did, what then? Would he only be delaying the inevitable? No, he couldn't think like that.
Elizabeth rubbed his back gently. "You've always saved him before. And he's saved you. You'll get through this. We all have faith in you, sweetie. So, trust us."
He gripped her hand. "I love you so much."
"I love you too," she replied, kissing him tenderly. "Now, I'm taking you up to bed. The world will still need saving in the morning." He let her lead him up the stairs, and when he finally fell asleep, he was still holding on to her.
When he arrived at the office the next morning, Hughes came up to him, looking harried. "Caffrey's lawyer is here."
Peter paused. "Neal has a lawyer?"
"Yes, and he seems determined to hold up proceedings as much as possible."
Suspicion began to dawn, and Peter wasn't surprised to see Mozzie, wearing a slightly ill fitting suit and a bow tie, sitting in Hughes's office. He stood up when Hughes and Peter entered the office. "Dante Haversham," he said, nodding at Peter. "I represent Neal Caffrey."
"Mr. Haversham believes that we're withholding information on Caffrey," Hughes told Peter. "I've explained repeatedly that we've given him everything the FBI has, but he insists otherwise." He shot Peter a help me look.
"The numbers don't add up," Mozzie said stiffly. "I have evidence suggesting that there's more on Mr. Caffrey than I've been given. You are impeding my client's right to a fair defense! Do I have to call the ACLU?"
"That won't be necessary," Hughes said quickly.
"Why don't Mr. Haversham and I take a walk and talk about it?" Peter suggested. He looked at Mozzie, who nodded slowly.
"Maybe your underling will be reasonable," Mozzie said, glaring at Hughes. Peter did his best to keep his expression neutral.
The two of them were almost to the elevator, when Peter saw another familiar face. Just when he thought this day couldn't get any more complicated. "Hello, Agent Stark," he said, as pleasantly as he could.
"Agent Burke," she responded coolly. "Mr. Haversham. Let's take a walk."
"Sounds like fun," Peter muttered.
They all entered the elevator, which took them up several floors before Stark led them out. Peter looked around. "Isn't this Violent Crime's office?"
"And will be again," Stark informed him smoothly, "once the cockroach infestation is cleared up."
"Oh," Peter said tightly. He looked over at Mozzie, and saw that the other man's hands were clenched tight and shaking ever so slightly. For the first time it occurred to Peter to wonder just how much this was costing Mozzie, first to walk into the FBI offices at all, and then allow himself to be lead to a mysterious location by an MIB. Hell, it made Peter nervous, and he wasn't a paranoid, anti-government conspiracy freak, who, if Peter were honest with himself, could be quite easily disappeared. Who would miss Mozzie, other than Neal?
He would. Mozzie was annoying, and not a good influence on Neal, but no harm was going to come to him as long as Peter had anything to say about it. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut that he might not have anything to say about it.
"Please sit down, gentlemen." Stark gestured at a table and chairs. Once they had all made themselves as comfortable as possible, given the circumstances, she looked at Mozzie. "I understand you think the FBI is holding out on you."
Mozzie met her gaze. "I think the files the FBI gave me don't match up. I've compared what I've been given with the FBI database, as well as a number of other databases I am definitely unable to access. There are other files, and obviously my client and his defense have the right to see them."
"You're never seeing those files." Stark replied flatly. "Those files will never be made public, and you know it."
Peter kept his face blank. We'll see about that.
Mozzie folded his hands on the table. "I intend to agitate until all information on my client is released. Of course, the investigation is still ongoing." He looked at Peter. "Who knows what new information may turn up."
So, that was Mozzie's game. Stall the investigation until Peter could catch the real thief. It wasn't much, but it was the best they had. Peter contemplated just how desperate Mozzie must be, to be placing his faith in Peter.
Mozzie stood up. "I'll be going now."
Stark looked at him sharply. "I don't think so."
"I do. You see, there is an email set to go out to every major news organization in the country. It contains information I don't think your bosses want getting out. It has yet to be sent, because twice a day, every day, I stop it. However, if something were to happen to me..." He trailed off ominously.
Peter stood up before Stark could react. "I'll see him out, shall I?"
Stark eyed him levelly. "You do that." An expression flashed across her face that could have been a grimace or a smile. "Good luck gentlemen," she said, her tone impossible for Peter to read. "You're going to need it."
Once they were clear of the building, Mozzie stooped over and broke out into heavy, panicked breaths. Peter reached out to put a hand on his arm, but stopped himself. Mozzie wasn't Neal and probably wouldn't find the gesture comforting. Instead he waited a few minutes for Mozzie to calm down. "You okay?"
Mozzie glared at him. "Yes, I love throwing myself into the lion's den. It's fun!" He took a few more deep breaths. "This is your fault, you know."
"My fault?" Peter said incredulously.
"You've been dangling him just out of their reach for over a year. Did you really think they would just sit quietly and let you win? This was your plan, Suit, and now Neal's paying the price."
Peter felt his temper rising. He had done the best he could. If he hadn't gotten Neal the anklet deal, Neal would have been devoured by the system immediately. He had put his career, his life on the line for Neal time and time again, and Mozzie should damn well know that. Peter was about to argue back, but stopped himself just in time. Mozzie was angry, desperate, and afraid for his friend. Peter knew exactly how he felt. "We'll get him back, Mozzie," he said softly. Saying it out loud made it feel almost true. Mozzie was still for a minute before he nodded tersely.
They stood in silence for a while until Peter asked, "That email you threatened Agent Stark with--is it real?" He strongly suspected Mozzie had been bluffing, but if it were real, then a bargaining chip could come in handy.
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
Peter rolled his eyes. "Right, fine." If they all made it out of this, he'd ask Neal.
They had to make it out of this. "I'll undoubtedly see you later," Peter told Mozzie. "You apparently have an email to cancel, and I have work to do."
"Going out to crush the dreams of the proletariat?"
"Actually, I have to see a man about a diamond heist."
Mozzie eyed him cautiously. "Who?"
"Adrian Tulane."
Mozzie was silent a moment. "The name is familiar to me. I could do some digging, see what I find. Just for Neal's sake, you understand. I'm not a nark. Just for Neal."
Peter smiled slightly. "Yeah. For Neal."
Peter steeled his resolve and reentered the office. Before he saw Tulane again, he had to face a conversation he really didn't want to have. He knocked on Hughes's door and was waved in. "Sir? I have some questions."
"About Caffrey." Hughes's face was hard to read.
"Yes, sir." Peter paused. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to have to wonder about Hughes's loyalties. This man was Peter's friend and mentor, one of the best and most honest agents Peter knew. Was this how Neal felt all the time? Seeing shadows everywhere, never letting his guard down? "Sir--"
"Stop with the 'sir' thing, Peter. You're making me nervous."
"Sorry, sir." Peter winced. "Right. I checked the Atlantic Savings bonds for a polarized light signature some time ago."
"Yes, you did. Caffrey claimed he signed them that way, and he did."
"And then you checked the fake diamond for the same type of signature."
"Yes, which paid off."
"Hughes," Peter began carefully, "did anyone suggest that you look for that signature?"
Hughes was silent for a long while. Finally, he spoke. "We all answer to somebody, Peter," he said slowly. "The higher ups make decisions, and we follow them. That's chain of command."
Peter swallowed. "Was it Bancroft?" Please, not Bancroft. They needed Bancroft, if not as an ally, then at least as a non-enemy. If he turned against them, Neal didn't have a chance.
Hughes narrowed his eyes. "That's not any of your business." But he sighed and continued. "No, it wasn't Bancroft." He looked tired. "There are orders you follow without asking questions, Peter." He gave a small, weary huff of laughter. "But you never did learn that."
Peter shrugged slightly. "I never stop digging."
Hughes exhaled heavily. "I haven't been ordered to take you off the investigation. Not yet."
Right. Who knew how little time Peter might have?
"You're a good agent," Hughes said. "I don't want to lose you."
Peter swallowed. "If this goes right, you won't have to."
It was gracious of Hughes, Peter thought as he went back to his office, not to ask what would happen if things went wrong.
Peter was going over Tulane's file yet again when his cell phone rang. "There's an oyster bar at Grand Central Station," said an electronically modified voice. "Meet me there in half an hour."
"Mozzie, is that you?"
"I'm not sharing that information over the phone."
"Well," Peter said, torn between amusement and frustration (frustration was winning), "if you're not Mozzie, then you're probably a CIA assassin setting me up."
There was a brief silence on the other end. "Fine, it's me! Half an hour. Be there."
Peter hung up and asked himself when this had become his life.
When he arrived at the oyster bar, Mozzie had obviously already been there for quite some time. "Suit." He nodded. "Try the fried oysters." Then he pulled his plate away protectively. "But not mine."
"This place is such a tourist trap," Peter said, sitting down.
Mozzie nodded. "Yes, they'll never expect me to come here."
"Good for you. What do you have?"
"I talked to my people. Tulane's been darting around town this past week. Not anywhere the corporate-sponsored government oppressors could find him, but my sources know where to look."
Peter grinned. "He wasn't in Madrid."
"No, though it is lovely this time of year."
Peter's enthusiasm dropped away. "Wait, would any of this be admissible in court?"
Mozzie frowned. "Probably not," he admitted. "You see? This is the problem with--"
Peter held up his hand. "I'm not in the mood, Mozzie." He rubbed his forehead. "This is something. At least I know what I'm looking for." He stood up. "Let's go see Neal."
"We don't have much to tell him."
"I know." But Peter wanted to see him anyway. He wanted to make sure that Neal was okay, wanted to make sure Neal knew they hadn't forgotten him.
Mozzie eyed him searchingly. "Okay. He may have some ideas. Pay the check, and we'll go."
"What?" Peter couldn't believe this. "You want me to pay? I didn't even order anything!"
"You could have. If I'm going to take time out of my day to schlep for the Man, you can at least pay for my lunch."
"I can't believe I'm doing this," Peter muttered, as he took out his credit card. Whatever got them out of there the fastest. "I'm surprised you're willing to accept government money."
"I make it my mission to subvert the blood soaked resources of the Military Industrial Complex for my own ends," Mozzie informed him loftily.
"Sure. Or you're a con artist who doesn't want to pay for his own meal."
"Another possibility."
When he and Mozzie got to the jail, Peter was relieved to see that while Neal was looking stressed and tired, he otherwise seemed all right. When Peter and Mozzie entered the room, his face lit up. "Two visits in two days. I think you miss me," he teased Peter.
"I don't know what do with a peaceful, quiet office," Peter replied. He repressed the urge to ruffle Neal's hair, but he couldn't keep back an affectionate smile.
Mozzie cleared his throat loudly. "The matter at hand, gentlemen."
"Right." Peter's expression turned serious. "It's Tulane. We know it's Tulane. I just can't prove it. I still can't even figure out how he pulled off the theft." He thought briefly. "How would you have done it? I know you didn't," he said quickly, "but if you had."
Neal considered it. "I'd go for the alarm. But forensics said the alarm wasn't tampered with. That should be impossible, unless--"
"Unless he never left the vault," Peter finished for him. "At least, not the way we've all been assuming. This is good. We may have something. I need to go back to the scene of the crime."
"We need to go back to the scene of the crime," Mozzie corrected him. "I may catch something that your government controlled tunnel vision misses."
Peter wouldn't have put it like that, but Mozzie did have a point. You were supposed to set a thief to catch a thief, and if Neal wasn't available, then Mozzie would have to do. Even if the idea of taking Mozzie into the most expensive boutique in the city made Peter cringe. "Fine." He turned to Neal. "If this works, you'll be out of here by this time tomorrow."
"Good to hear." Neal smiled, but there was an uncomfortable edge to it. And if Neal's conman smile was failing him, then something must be very wrong.
"Neal, what aren't you telling me?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Neal."
"I've seen a couple of unfriendly looking people in dark sunglasses. They've been talking to the guards about having me transferred."
"Dammit Neal, why didn't you tell me earlier?"
Neal shrugged. "There wasn't anything you could do. But maybe you could hurry?"
"I'll hurry," Peter promised.
"Don't worry, mon frère," Mozzie assured Neal. "I'm dedicating myself completely to this. And you know that I'm a genius capable of astounding feats. I won't be outwitted." He waved a hand at Peter. "And the Suit has his uses as well."
"Thank you." Peter injected as much sarcasm into the two words as possible.
Neal laughed, tired but genuine. "Seems I have nothing to worry about."
Peter looked straight at him. "We're going to fix this. Trust us."
After a momentary hesitation, Neal met Peter's eyes. "Okay."
At Le Joyau Precieux, Peter introduced Mozzie as a security consultant, which got them past the manager and security guards. "Don't come back here on those credentials," Peter warned him.
Mozzie snorted. "As if I need your help breaking into some store."
Peter decided to pretend he hadn't heard that. He could only investigate so many crimes at once.
Once inside, they both started investigating every inch of the vault. "Hey," Mozzie got Peter's attention. "This light wasn't flickering on the security tape."
"You're right." Peter did a double take. "Wait, when did you see the security tape?"
"Questions later! Or never. Help me get this off."
Peter pried off the panel. "Nothing."
Mozzie looked across the room. "Trying to throw us off the scent, maybe." Sure enough, behind the opposite panel was a bricked up tunnel. "A prohibition tunnel!" Mozzie smiled. "Good to know that some things last."
"Convenient that the investigation missed this," Peter murmured.
"It did seem like awfully shoddy detective work. I wasn't going to say anything."
"Yes you were."
"All right, but I was going to wait."
The tunnel led them up to the street and, in the first piece of luck Peter had had, a security camera. "You have to admit," he said to Mozzie, "Big Brother has its uses." Mozzie folded his arms and huffed.
Peter was less than comfortable letting Mozzie watch the tape with him, but he couldn't say no. The little guy had earned it, and besides, he'd probably find another way to view it. Better that Peter was there to supervise.
"We've got him." Peter grinned as the Tulane on the video turned around. "He just couldn't resist a pretty face."
"It's been known to happen," Mozzie said. "There are some incredibly stupid geniuses out there. And I'm not talking about me," he added.
Peter laughed. "I know who you're talking about."
After that, it was only a matter of obtaining a warrant, the execution of which revealed the missing diamond, and bringing Tulane in.
"We've got you dead to rights," Peter informed him. "We've got the diamond, and we've got you leaving the boutique. But I can make this easier for you."
Tulane looked amused. "Easier? How?"
"Why didn't you leave New York?" Peter asked him. "Seems to me the smartest thing to do would be to leave the country before you were even on our suspect list. But you stuck around. Did someone want to keep a close eye on you?"
Tulane's lips thinned. "Hypothetically speaking, if someone, a benefactor, was behind this job, then they must be very powerful indeed. More powerful than you."
"Do you think they'll get you out of this?"
"I think you definitely can't. And that helping you would do me more harm than good."
"Why did you take this job?"
"I never said I did. But if I had... perhaps the profit was too good to pass up. Or perhaps I didn't have a choice. Hypothetically."
"They offered you the entire profit from the necklace, didn't they? They didn't want a cut. Did you wonder what they were really after, what could be more valuable than 3.2 million in diamonds?"
"As I said, if I had taken a job, I might not have had the luxury of wondering."
Peter nodded. "I see. It's too bad that you got caught up in this." He meant it. Tulane was a thief, a forger, and a smug bastard, but he was just another piece on the board, being moved at the whims of the players. Peter could relate.
Peter left the interrogation room and went straight to Hughes. "We have everything we need to charge Tulane," he said. "The case is a slam dunk."
Hughes nodded. "Then somebody better go get Caffrey. And Peter," he added as Peter turned to go, "congratulations. It's an impressive victory."
Peter knew he meant more than just the case. "Thank you, sir."
They had a small party for Neal in the conference room, just the two of them, Jones, and Diana. However, part of Peter only relaxed once he and Neal and walked through the door to his house, where Elizabeth was waiting for them.
"Cabernet Sauvignon and blue cheese encrusted filet mignon," she said, gesturing to the table with a flourish.
"Blue cheese?" Peter made a face.
Elizabeth smacked him lightly. "When you're released from jail after being wrongly accused, I'll make what you like."
Neal was looking more and more like his regular self. He kissed Elizabeth on the cheek. "Thank you. It looks delicious."
After dinner, Peter and Neal wandered over to the patio, Peter with a beer, and Neal with another glass of wine. "We had a win today," Peter said.
"Yeah," Neal agreed. But his eyes were troubled.
"I know," Peter told him. "We won this time."
"They're never going to stop." Neal's voice was distant.
"No. But neither are we." Peter rested his hand on Neal's shoulder.
Neal leaned into the touch. "You owe Mozzie a thank you card."
"No, I don't. I already paid his exorbitant lunch bill."
"Oh, god." Neal shook his head.
"You're telling me. He can eat enough oysters for ten body builders."
From there, the conversation moved to less fraught topics. Satchmo's latest antics, Jones's new girlfriend, Peter's supposedly atrocious taste in ties. (Neal never got tired of that one.)
It was far from over. It was only beginning. They both understood that. But on that balmy evening, even if only for a little while, it didn't seem impossible.
This entry was originally posted at http://veleda-k.dreamwidth.org/295974.html. Please consider commenting there.
Fandom: White Collar. Specifically,
sholio's Psychic Neal AU.
Wordcount: 4360
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Peter, Mozzie, Neal, Elizabeth, Hughes
Pairing(s): Canon Peter/Elizabeth
Notes: As noted, set in
sholio's Psychic Neal 'verse. A hundred thank you's to her for letting me play in her sandbox, and another hundred thank you's to
frith_in_thorns for betaing.
Summary: A retelling of "Free Fall," set in the currently hypothetical "season 2" of Sholio's fic. When Neal is set up, Peter and Mozzie are the only thing standing between him and the unthinkable.
The case started out so well. It was a juicy one, the "world's most exotic pink diamond" stolen out of a supposedly secure vault from the city's most expensive clothing store and replaced with a fake. Gems, forgeries, and beautiful women--it had nearly everything Neal loved.
Peter was enjoying himself too. The thief had to be smart, and he was bold, and that was Peter's favorite type of criminal to chase. And it was fun to watch Neal work, now that he was working for the right side. Peter got a little thrill telling the manager of Le Joyau Precieux that he had his own appraiser. Not that he'd ever admit that. Neal didn't need any more encouragement.
Things began to fall apart when Hughes confided in Peter that Neal was a suspect. Peter denied the possibility vocally, but he couldn't stop a few tiny little doubts from surfacing. Nearly everything Neal loved, wasn't that what he had thought before?
He threw himself into Adrian Tulane as a suspect, but the man was slick. If Tulane was the thief, then it was going to take more than bluster and a badge to break him.
He tried to ignore Neal gushing over Tulane. He wanted to snap at Neal to take this seriously, but then he would have had to admit why they needed to take it so seriously, and Peter didn't want to do that. He wanted to clear this up without Neal ever having to know.
He should have known things could never be that simple. When the two of them returned from Tulane's, Hughes was waiting for them. Peter knew it was coming, but the bottom dropped out of his stomach when Hughes told Neal he was under arrest.
Neal laughed shakily. "I didn't steal the diamond. You know that. My anklet--"
"Your anklet went offline for six hours last night," Hughes said. His voice was even. "And your signature was on the diamond. It shows up under polarized light. Isn't that how you did it before?"
Neal paled, and his head snapped between Hughes and Peter. "Peter--"
"Neal," Peter warned. Don't do this. Be smart. Be careful. He concentrated as hard as he could, irrationally hoping that his thoughts could break through Neal's damper. And maybe he managed it somehow, or more likely it was his tone and expression that made Neal shut his mouth. But he kept his eyes on Peter as Peter cuffed him, draping his jacket over his arms, hoping to preserve a shred of dignity. "I didn't do this," he hissed desperately to Peter as he was led away.
Peter thought about it. Neal didn't have an alibi, and the evidence was strong, between the anklet going dark and Neal's signature on the fake diamond. Would Neal be so bold as to sign his forgery again, even after telling Peter about the polarized light trick? The old Neal, Neal before he was caught, yes. He'd love to try something so audacious. But Neal now knew better than anyone how precarious his position was, and the tremor of terror in his voice had not been faked. No diamond was worth being locked up in a lab for whatever remained of his life. So Peter said, "I believe you," when Neal repeated himself at the jail several hours later.
Neal blinked. "You do?"
"Yes. Don't sound so surprised." Peter ran a hand over his face. "I think we both know what this is, Neal." If Neal was convicted of another crime, Peter would never be able to keep him on the anklet. Neal would go to prison. Officially speaking.
"What do we do?" Neal asked. He sounded young.
Peter sighed. "I'll talk to Tulane again." He knew how little it was, and from the look on Neal's face, Neal knew it too. He reached across the table and squeezed Neal's hand. "This isn't over, okay? I'm not done. We're not done."
Neal smiled, small and hesitant, but real. "I believe you."
Once outside, Peter called Diana and Jones, but he didn't have much to say other than, "Be ready." By that time it was past dark. Peter couldn't think of anything more he could do right then, so he went home to Elizabeth. Talking it over with her wouldn't solve his problems, but at least he wouldn't have to bear them alone.
"Who's doing this?" Elizabeth asked, worry etched in her features.
Peter sighed. "The CIA? Homeland Security? Some little pocket of shadow government that doesn't even have a name? I don't think it matters. The point is that they have the clout to access both the Marshals' computer system and FBI communications. That must be how they learned about the polarized light signature."
Elizabeth embraced him tightly. "I know this will sound naïve," she said haltingly, "but part of me still can't believe that anybody would want to hurt Neal."
"I know what you mean," Peter assured her. Neal was complicated; Peter knew that. He had a mischievous streak a mile wide, and he had no respect for other people's privacy or personal property. However, he was also capable of incredible affection and loyalty. He had a capacity for love that no amount of torture or misery had ever been able to kill. That was what Peter saw when he looked at Neal. But so many others--government groups, corporations, enemies still unknown--saw only either a profit to be made or a dirty secret to be buried.
"I don't know if I can save him this time, El," he admitted. And even if he did, what then? Would he only be delaying the inevitable? No, he couldn't think like that.
Elizabeth rubbed his back gently. "You've always saved him before. And he's saved you. You'll get through this. We all have faith in you, sweetie. So, trust us."
He gripped her hand. "I love you so much."
"I love you too," she replied, kissing him tenderly. "Now, I'm taking you up to bed. The world will still need saving in the morning." He let her lead him up the stairs, and when he finally fell asleep, he was still holding on to her.
When he arrived at the office the next morning, Hughes came up to him, looking harried. "Caffrey's lawyer is here."
Peter paused. "Neal has a lawyer?"
"Yes, and he seems determined to hold up proceedings as much as possible."
Suspicion began to dawn, and Peter wasn't surprised to see Mozzie, wearing a slightly ill fitting suit and a bow tie, sitting in Hughes's office. He stood up when Hughes and Peter entered the office. "Dante Haversham," he said, nodding at Peter. "I represent Neal Caffrey."
"Mr. Haversham believes that we're withholding information on Caffrey," Hughes told Peter. "I've explained repeatedly that we've given him everything the FBI has, but he insists otherwise." He shot Peter a help me look.
"The numbers don't add up," Mozzie said stiffly. "I have evidence suggesting that there's more on Mr. Caffrey than I've been given. You are impeding my client's right to a fair defense! Do I have to call the ACLU?"
"That won't be necessary," Hughes said quickly.
"Why don't Mr. Haversham and I take a walk and talk about it?" Peter suggested. He looked at Mozzie, who nodded slowly.
"Maybe your underling will be reasonable," Mozzie said, glaring at Hughes. Peter did his best to keep his expression neutral.
The two of them were almost to the elevator, when Peter saw another familiar face. Just when he thought this day couldn't get any more complicated. "Hello, Agent Stark," he said, as pleasantly as he could.
"Agent Burke," she responded coolly. "Mr. Haversham. Let's take a walk."
"Sounds like fun," Peter muttered.
They all entered the elevator, which took them up several floors before Stark led them out. Peter looked around. "Isn't this Violent Crime's office?"
"And will be again," Stark informed him smoothly, "once the cockroach infestation is cleared up."
"Oh," Peter said tightly. He looked over at Mozzie, and saw that the other man's hands were clenched tight and shaking ever so slightly. For the first time it occurred to Peter to wonder just how much this was costing Mozzie, first to walk into the FBI offices at all, and then allow himself to be lead to a mysterious location by an MIB. Hell, it made Peter nervous, and he wasn't a paranoid, anti-government conspiracy freak, who, if Peter were honest with himself, could be quite easily disappeared. Who would miss Mozzie, other than Neal?
He would. Mozzie was annoying, and not a good influence on Neal, but no harm was going to come to him as long as Peter had anything to say about it. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut that he might not have anything to say about it.
"Please sit down, gentlemen." Stark gestured at a table and chairs. Once they had all made themselves as comfortable as possible, given the circumstances, she looked at Mozzie. "I understand you think the FBI is holding out on you."
Mozzie met her gaze. "I think the files the FBI gave me don't match up. I've compared what I've been given with the FBI database, as well as a number of other databases I am definitely unable to access. There are other files, and obviously my client and his defense have the right to see them."
"You're never seeing those files." Stark replied flatly. "Those files will never be made public, and you know it."
Peter kept his face blank. We'll see about that.
Mozzie folded his hands on the table. "I intend to agitate until all information on my client is released. Of course, the investigation is still ongoing." He looked at Peter. "Who knows what new information may turn up."
So, that was Mozzie's game. Stall the investigation until Peter could catch the real thief. It wasn't much, but it was the best they had. Peter contemplated just how desperate Mozzie must be, to be placing his faith in Peter.
Mozzie stood up. "I'll be going now."
Stark looked at him sharply. "I don't think so."
"I do. You see, there is an email set to go out to every major news organization in the country. It contains information I don't think your bosses want getting out. It has yet to be sent, because twice a day, every day, I stop it. However, if something were to happen to me..." He trailed off ominously.
Peter stood up before Stark could react. "I'll see him out, shall I?"
Stark eyed him levelly. "You do that." An expression flashed across her face that could have been a grimace or a smile. "Good luck gentlemen," she said, her tone impossible for Peter to read. "You're going to need it."
Once they were clear of the building, Mozzie stooped over and broke out into heavy, panicked breaths. Peter reached out to put a hand on his arm, but stopped himself. Mozzie wasn't Neal and probably wouldn't find the gesture comforting. Instead he waited a few minutes for Mozzie to calm down. "You okay?"
Mozzie glared at him. "Yes, I love throwing myself into the lion's den. It's fun!" He took a few more deep breaths. "This is your fault, you know."
"My fault?" Peter said incredulously.
"You've been dangling him just out of their reach for over a year. Did you really think they would just sit quietly and let you win? This was your plan, Suit, and now Neal's paying the price."
Peter felt his temper rising. He had done the best he could. If he hadn't gotten Neal the anklet deal, Neal would have been devoured by the system immediately. He had put his career, his life on the line for Neal time and time again, and Mozzie should damn well know that. Peter was about to argue back, but stopped himself just in time. Mozzie was angry, desperate, and afraid for his friend. Peter knew exactly how he felt. "We'll get him back, Mozzie," he said softly. Saying it out loud made it feel almost true. Mozzie was still for a minute before he nodded tersely.
They stood in silence for a while until Peter asked, "That email you threatened Agent Stark with--is it real?" He strongly suspected Mozzie had been bluffing, but if it were real, then a bargaining chip could come in handy.
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
Peter rolled his eyes. "Right, fine." If they all made it out of this, he'd ask Neal.
They had to make it out of this. "I'll undoubtedly see you later," Peter told Mozzie. "You apparently have an email to cancel, and I have work to do."
"Going out to crush the dreams of the proletariat?"
"Actually, I have to see a man about a diamond heist."
Mozzie eyed him cautiously. "Who?"
"Adrian Tulane."
Mozzie was silent a moment. "The name is familiar to me. I could do some digging, see what I find. Just for Neal's sake, you understand. I'm not a nark. Just for Neal."
Peter smiled slightly. "Yeah. For Neal."
Peter steeled his resolve and reentered the office. Before he saw Tulane again, he had to face a conversation he really didn't want to have. He knocked on Hughes's door and was waved in. "Sir? I have some questions."
"About Caffrey." Hughes's face was hard to read.
"Yes, sir." Peter paused. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to have to wonder about Hughes's loyalties. This man was Peter's friend and mentor, one of the best and most honest agents Peter knew. Was this how Neal felt all the time? Seeing shadows everywhere, never letting his guard down? "Sir--"
"Stop with the 'sir' thing, Peter. You're making me nervous."
"Sorry, sir." Peter winced. "Right. I checked the Atlantic Savings bonds for a polarized light signature some time ago."
"Yes, you did. Caffrey claimed he signed them that way, and he did."
"And then you checked the fake diamond for the same type of signature."
"Yes, which paid off."
"Hughes," Peter began carefully, "did anyone suggest that you look for that signature?"
Hughes was silent for a long while. Finally, he spoke. "We all answer to somebody, Peter," he said slowly. "The higher ups make decisions, and we follow them. That's chain of command."
Peter swallowed. "Was it Bancroft?" Please, not Bancroft. They needed Bancroft, if not as an ally, then at least as a non-enemy. If he turned against them, Neal didn't have a chance.
Hughes narrowed his eyes. "That's not any of your business." But he sighed and continued. "No, it wasn't Bancroft." He looked tired. "There are orders you follow without asking questions, Peter." He gave a small, weary huff of laughter. "But you never did learn that."
Peter shrugged slightly. "I never stop digging."
Hughes exhaled heavily. "I haven't been ordered to take you off the investigation. Not yet."
Right. Who knew how little time Peter might have?
"You're a good agent," Hughes said. "I don't want to lose you."
Peter swallowed. "If this goes right, you won't have to."
It was gracious of Hughes, Peter thought as he went back to his office, not to ask what would happen if things went wrong.
Peter was going over Tulane's file yet again when his cell phone rang. "There's an oyster bar at Grand Central Station," said an electronically modified voice. "Meet me there in half an hour."
"Mozzie, is that you?"
"I'm not sharing that information over the phone."
"Well," Peter said, torn between amusement and frustration (frustration was winning), "if you're not Mozzie, then you're probably a CIA assassin setting me up."
There was a brief silence on the other end. "Fine, it's me! Half an hour. Be there."
Peter hung up and asked himself when this had become his life.
When he arrived at the oyster bar, Mozzie had obviously already been there for quite some time. "Suit." He nodded. "Try the fried oysters." Then he pulled his plate away protectively. "But not mine."
"This place is such a tourist trap," Peter said, sitting down.
Mozzie nodded. "Yes, they'll never expect me to come here."
"Good for you. What do you have?"
"I talked to my people. Tulane's been darting around town this past week. Not anywhere the corporate-sponsored government oppressors could find him, but my sources know where to look."
Peter grinned. "He wasn't in Madrid."
"No, though it is lovely this time of year."
Peter's enthusiasm dropped away. "Wait, would any of this be admissible in court?"
Mozzie frowned. "Probably not," he admitted. "You see? This is the problem with--"
Peter held up his hand. "I'm not in the mood, Mozzie." He rubbed his forehead. "This is something. At least I know what I'm looking for." He stood up. "Let's go see Neal."
"We don't have much to tell him."
"I know." But Peter wanted to see him anyway. He wanted to make sure that Neal was okay, wanted to make sure Neal knew they hadn't forgotten him.
Mozzie eyed him searchingly. "Okay. He may have some ideas. Pay the check, and we'll go."
"What?" Peter couldn't believe this. "You want me to pay? I didn't even order anything!"
"You could have. If I'm going to take time out of my day to schlep for the Man, you can at least pay for my lunch."
"I can't believe I'm doing this," Peter muttered, as he took out his credit card. Whatever got them out of there the fastest. "I'm surprised you're willing to accept government money."
"I make it my mission to subvert the blood soaked resources of the Military Industrial Complex for my own ends," Mozzie informed him loftily.
"Sure. Or you're a con artist who doesn't want to pay for his own meal."
"Another possibility."
When he and Mozzie got to the jail, Peter was relieved to see that while Neal was looking stressed and tired, he otherwise seemed all right. When Peter and Mozzie entered the room, his face lit up. "Two visits in two days. I think you miss me," he teased Peter.
"I don't know what do with a peaceful, quiet office," Peter replied. He repressed the urge to ruffle Neal's hair, but he couldn't keep back an affectionate smile.
Mozzie cleared his throat loudly. "The matter at hand, gentlemen."
"Right." Peter's expression turned serious. "It's Tulane. We know it's Tulane. I just can't prove it. I still can't even figure out how he pulled off the theft." He thought briefly. "How would you have done it? I know you didn't," he said quickly, "but if you had."
Neal considered it. "I'd go for the alarm. But forensics said the alarm wasn't tampered with. That should be impossible, unless--"
"Unless he never left the vault," Peter finished for him. "At least, not the way we've all been assuming. This is good. We may have something. I need to go back to the scene of the crime."
"We need to go back to the scene of the crime," Mozzie corrected him. "I may catch something that your government controlled tunnel vision misses."
Peter wouldn't have put it like that, but Mozzie did have a point. You were supposed to set a thief to catch a thief, and if Neal wasn't available, then Mozzie would have to do. Even if the idea of taking Mozzie into the most expensive boutique in the city made Peter cringe. "Fine." He turned to Neal. "If this works, you'll be out of here by this time tomorrow."
"Good to hear." Neal smiled, but there was an uncomfortable edge to it. And if Neal's conman smile was failing him, then something must be very wrong.
"Neal, what aren't you telling me?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Neal."
"I've seen a couple of unfriendly looking people in dark sunglasses. They've been talking to the guards about having me transferred."
"Dammit Neal, why didn't you tell me earlier?"
Neal shrugged. "There wasn't anything you could do. But maybe you could hurry?"
"I'll hurry," Peter promised.
"Don't worry, mon frère," Mozzie assured Neal. "I'm dedicating myself completely to this. And you know that I'm a genius capable of astounding feats. I won't be outwitted." He waved a hand at Peter. "And the Suit has his uses as well."
"Thank you." Peter injected as much sarcasm into the two words as possible.
Neal laughed, tired but genuine. "Seems I have nothing to worry about."
Peter looked straight at him. "We're going to fix this. Trust us."
After a momentary hesitation, Neal met Peter's eyes. "Okay."
At Le Joyau Precieux, Peter introduced Mozzie as a security consultant, which got them past the manager and security guards. "Don't come back here on those credentials," Peter warned him.
Mozzie snorted. "As if I need your help breaking into some store."
Peter decided to pretend he hadn't heard that. He could only investigate so many crimes at once.
Once inside, they both started investigating every inch of the vault. "Hey," Mozzie got Peter's attention. "This light wasn't flickering on the security tape."
"You're right." Peter did a double take. "Wait, when did you see the security tape?"
"Questions later! Or never. Help me get this off."
Peter pried off the panel. "Nothing."
Mozzie looked across the room. "Trying to throw us off the scent, maybe." Sure enough, behind the opposite panel was a bricked up tunnel. "A prohibition tunnel!" Mozzie smiled. "Good to know that some things last."
"Convenient that the investigation missed this," Peter murmured.
"It did seem like awfully shoddy detective work. I wasn't going to say anything."
"Yes you were."
"All right, but I was going to wait."
The tunnel led them up to the street and, in the first piece of luck Peter had had, a security camera. "You have to admit," he said to Mozzie, "Big Brother has its uses." Mozzie folded his arms and huffed.
Peter was less than comfortable letting Mozzie watch the tape with him, but he couldn't say no. The little guy had earned it, and besides, he'd probably find another way to view it. Better that Peter was there to supervise.
"We've got him." Peter grinned as the Tulane on the video turned around. "He just couldn't resist a pretty face."
"It's been known to happen," Mozzie said. "There are some incredibly stupid geniuses out there. And I'm not talking about me," he added.
Peter laughed. "I know who you're talking about."
After that, it was only a matter of obtaining a warrant, the execution of which revealed the missing diamond, and bringing Tulane in.
"We've got you dead to rights," Peter informed him. "We've got the diamond, and we've got you leaving the boutique. But I can make this easier for you."
Tulane looked amused. "Easier? How?"
"Why didn't you leave New York?" Peter asked him. "Seems to me the smartest thing to do would be to leave the country before you were even on our suspect list. But you stuck around. Did someone want to keep a close eye on you?"
Tulane's lips thinned. "Hypothetically speaking, if someone, a benefactor, was behind this job, then they must be very powerful indeed. More powerful than you."
"Do you think they'll get you out of this?"
"I think you definitely can't. And that helping you would do me more harm than good."
"Why did you take this job?"
"I never said I did. But if I had... perhaps the profit was too good to pass up. Or perhaps I didn't have a choice. Hypothetically."
"They offered you the entire profit from the necklace, didn't they? They didn't want a cut. Did you wonder what they were really after, what could be more valuable than 3.2 million in diamonds?"
"As I said, if I had taken a job, I might not have had the luxury of wondering."
Peter nodded. "I see. It's too bad that you got caught up in this." He meant it. Tulane was a thief, a forger, and a smug bastard, but he was just another piece on the board, being moved at the whims of the players. Peter could relate.
Peter left the interrogation room and went straight to Hughes. "We have everything we need to charge Tulane," he said. "The case is a slam dunk."
Hughes nodded. "Then somebody better go get Caffrey. And Peter," he added as Peter turned to go, "congratulations. It's an impressive victory."
Peter knew he meant more than just the case. "Thank you, sir."
They had a small party for Neal in the conference room, just the two of them, Jones, and Diana. However, part of Peter only relaxed once he and Neal and walked through the door to his house, where Elizabeth was waiting for them.
"Cabernet Sauvignon and blue cheese encrusted filet mignon," she said, gesturing to the table with a flourish.
"Blue cheese?" Peter made a face.
Elizabeth smacked him lightly. "When you're released from jail after being wrongly accused, I'll make what you like."
Neal was looking more and more like his regular self. He kissed Elizabeth on the cheek. "Thank you. It looks delicious."
After dinner, Peter and Neal wandered over to the patio, Peter with a beer, and Neal with another glass of wine. "We had a win today," Peter said.
"Yeah," Neal agreed. But his eyes were troubled.
"I know," Peter told him. "We won this time."
"They're never going to stop." Neal's voice was distant.
"No. But neither are we." Peter rested his hand on Neal's shoulder.
Neal leaned into the touch. "You owe Mozzie a thank you card."
"No, I don't. I already paid his exorbitant lunch bill."
"Oh, god." Neal shook his head.
"You're telling me. He can eat enough oysters for ten body builders."
From there, the conversation moved to less fraught topics. Satchmo's latest antics, Jones's new girlfriend, Peter's supposedly atrocious taste in ties. (Neal never got tired of that one.)
It was far from over. It was only beginning. They both understood that. But on that balmy evening, even if only for a little while, it didn't seem impossible.
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