Rediscovery
Their contribution to the case doesn’t take as long as expected, so they have nearly a full day and night before their flight home from San Francisco. The bureau had tried to transfer their tickets to an earlier flight, but as it is the peak of the summer vacation season they are on standby and find themselves with time to kill. Though most people on a business trip to California would be ecstatic to effectively have a vacation day courtesy of the FBI’s expense account, Diana is more anxious than pleased, knowing that it would be disastrous for them to relax and drop their guards - especially now.
***
The trip had taken days to prepare for; after hours of paperwork, numerous meetings to agree a plan of action for every eventuality and three conference calls, Neal was finally cleared to travel to California in Peter’s custody. He had been specifically requested by the West coast bureau to aid in the investigation on the infiltration of The Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco. Although the west coast agents were keeping the details on a ‘need to know’ basis, Diana had been told it was suspected that the security features of the new hundred-dollar bill had been leaked from a source within the bank; information regarding the micro printing, security fibres and watermarking. The authorities were divided over the evidence and with a potential public relations catastrophe in the making, let alone the potential forgery of millions of dollars, another ‘specialist’ evaluation had been urgently required.
For security reasons Neal had been told nothing of the request and the preparations for the trip had all been done in secret, the theory being that it wouldn’t allow him to put any escape plans together in advance. If he did use it as an opportunity to run it would at least be on the fly. So, five hours before their flight, Diana had watched as Neal was called into Hughes’ office to be told he would be leaving New York for the first time in over five years. He was briefed on the field office’s request, had his cell confiscated and was read the riot act. A very stressed looking Peter had then taken a positively bouncing Neal (minus anklet) home to pack before they would meet Jones and herself at JFK. Ironically, the early arrival at the airport was for the security procedures for their guns, not their felon.
At check-in, an immaculately dressed Neal was charming and flirty and before they knew it, they were heading for security holding Business Class boarding passes. Peter, much to Neal’s (and secretly, Diana’s) disdain, had refused to let him accept the First Class tickets that were initially offered. Neal couldn’t have missed the tense mood of the three agents at the airport, but he chatted away excitedly regardless until Peter’s finally patience ran out and he was told to “sit still and shut up”. Under Hughes and Bancroft’s instructions, Neal was not to be left unattended at any point during the trip, from the time they left JFK, to the time they returned. Shortly before boarding, a very fidgety Neal had got up from his seat to find the bathroom and was dismayed when Peter escorted him there and back.
Neal’s good mood continued as they made their way down the jet bridge, but walking behind him, Diana could see his whole body tense up as they approached the plane and the whine of the jet engines became audible. Peter had gently put a hand on Neal’s back and it had seemed to be all the reassurance he needed to continue in his usual confidant stride; Diana imagined those last few metres to the plane must have felt like miles.
Diana had never been particularly fond of flying; in her opinion it was just another tedious way to get from A to B interspersed with moments of anxiety. But watching Neal’s expression as the plane took off provided a welcome distraction. While most of the passengers around him read newspapers or books, Neal was virtually plastered to the window watching as the grey footprint of New York gradually disappeared from sight and the vast, rich patchwork of the American landscape spread out before them in the hazy sunlight. The bright light had cast his profile in partial silhouette, but she could see something in his demeanor relax and lighten, a contented smile playing on his lips. It was the look of a man rediscovering the world outside. Even when they had leveled out above the thick white clouds he barely looked away and Diana wondered how he could stand to look out into the blindingly bright sky for so long.
Peter, she could tell, was also watching him carefully. He had confided in her before they left that he was unsure whether this sudden experience of freedom would be too overwhelming for Neal; to Diana, he had sounded more like a parent anxious their child was about to do something stupid rather than a FBI agent wary of their charge making an impulsive bid for freedom.
“Neal,” Peter’s voice was soft, but carried a note of warning. Neal turned around in his seat and looked at Peter questioningly, eyes blinking as they adjusted to the relative darkness of the cabin.
“This is important, Neal.”
“The case? I know - “
Peter shook his head and held up his hand to stop him.
Whatever Peter said next was suddenly swallowed up by the noise of the passing flight attendants and a pilot announcement, but from where she was sitting with Jones in the centre row Diana could see Neal’s face as Peter spoke; his expression was inscrutable, to her at least. He nodded once and then seemed to make a concerted effort to read the case file Peter had shoved into his hands.
***
Despite their fears, once they arrived in San Francisco Neal put all his focus into the complex case, although he was clearly thrilled to be in the city and dropped hugely unsubtle hints about art galleries and museums he wanted to visit. Diana had to admit he worked tirelessly, putting in long hours and was perfectly brilliant as usual. As she and Jones were not officially part of the sensitive investigation, they helped out where possible but were mainly responsible for ensuring Neal was where he was supposed to be when Peter couldn’t, trading shifts with each other as he worked. As she escorted him out to get a coffee on the third day, Neal had joked that he would name his anklet ‘Diana’ in her honour. She didn’t take it as a compliment.
After five long days of pouring over the information, Neal had determined that the security information had not been leaked, but hacked from the computer system using a sophisticated programme that made it appear that it had been leaked from inside the bank, thereby making it virtually impossible to trace the hackers. Virtually impossible, Neal had said with typical aplomb when reporting his findings to the agents and bank officials, before launching into a detailed explanation of how the system had been hacked, deciphering the code and the mirror sites to get a computer IP address. On further investigation using Neal’s evidence, Interpol traced the IP address to a large organised gang in Russia; it was a big win. The west coast office and Federal Bank officials, many of whom were deeply skeptical about having a con in their midst were extremely pleased, meaning that Hughes and Bancroft were extremely pleased.
As they left, the bank President, a plump man in his sixties, could be heard loudly congratulating his employees on a job well done. He had thanked Peter, even Jones and Diana herself, but he struggled to thank Neal directly, seemingly embarrassed that it had taken a young felon in a cartoonish fedora to avert the career-sinking crisis.
“That was good work, Neal. Very good work,” she heard Peter say to him as they emerged from the cool, dimly lit bank, out into the heat of the day.
***
They were all in good spirits as they drove back towards the hotel, despite the combination of Peter’s driving, an unfamiliar rental car and the extreme hills of San Francisco conspiring to give them all whiplash.
“Jesus, Peter,” Neal splutters from the back seat after a particularly violent stop at the bottom of a hill.
“What?” Peter asks, before tearing up the next hill and veering around a cyclist, causing Diana to grab hold of the dash.
“Er, Caffrey’s looking a little green, Boss,” Jones supplies when Neal doesn’t answer.
Peter pulls over to the side of the road and Neal scrambles out and leans against a nearby wall, composing himself just enough to avoid throwing up. Peter just gives them a perplexed shrug and goes to buy Neal a bottle of water as she and Jones struggle to keep from laughing.
“You ok, Neal?” she asks sympathetically. He really does look pale.
He nods, letting out a breath, “I don’t think I’m the only criminal in that car.”
Diana laughs, “Yeah, I’d forgotten Peter thinks he’s Ayrton Senna reincarnate.”
As they wait for Neal to recover, conversation turns to what they should do until their flight tomorrow, no one wants to sit around at the hotel on such a glorious day. Neal makes the suggestion of going to the beach, but despite his brilliant work they know they still have to be careful with him. However, after a lot of persuading, whining and negotiating they somehow find themselves back in the car (mercifully with Jones driving) headed south via the hotel.
***
Dressed entirely inappropriately in FBI slacks and armed with hotel towels, they park the rental car near surprisingly uncrowded beach that Neal knew of, thirty minutes drive down the coast across the Golden Gate. The weather is unusually balmy for northern California and the heat of the sun shimmers on the ground, the scent of the surrounding pine trees heavy in the air. Diana had wondered if going to a beach Neal suggested was a bad idea in case he had something planned; she was half expecting Mozzie to come canoeing around the bay in a garish Hawaiian shirt to rescue Neal from their ‘bureaucratic clutches’. Peter, however, had reasoned that it would be easier for Neal to slip away in the crowds of the tourist spots.
They lay out the towels and sit down on the hot sand, enjoying the relief of the cool ocean breeze.
“Gotta say, this does beat being at the office,” Jones says.
“What, even better than fluorescent lights and stale coffee?” Neal deadpans, while lying back, resting his head on his arms and closing his eyes.
“It’s a near thing,” he jokes, “Though I hated the beach when I was younger, the way the sand got into the food, into my shoes…”
“Really? I used to love it when I was a kid,” Diana says, “Having the freedom to run around, eating too much ice cream, trying to bury my little brother in the sand...”
“Yeah, I can just imagine you being the type to torture your little brother,” Neal says and Diana gives him a hard smack on the arm.
“Now, now, play nice,” Peter warns wryly.
“How about you Neal? You go to the beach when you were a kid?” Jones asks.
“Nope, didn’t live near one. Sometimes went down to the river though."
“And which river was that?” Peter asks.
“The long, blue one,” Neal says neutrally and Peter rolls his eyes.
“So where did you grow up?” Diana asks, curiously. They know so little about Neal, the real Neal and there was rarely a casual, relaxed opportunity like this to try and glean information. Even Peter doesn't know anything about him before he started running cons.
“Oh, all over the place really,” he says dismissively, not opening his eyes. Despite his relaxed, playful demeanor, she can sense his tension and knows that’s all they’ll get.
“Could you be more vague?” Peter replies, not unkindly.
“I could try.”
The group fall quiet for a while, relaxing in the heat and lulled by the sound of the waves. Diana fishes around in her bag for the book she bought at the airport. She wonders why it’s so hard for Neal to give up any information about himself. What does he think he’ll loose if they know where he’s from or if he spent summers on the beach? It’s a strange thing to work closely with a person you know virtually nothing about. When Neal first started consulting for the unit she thought she knew all she needed; he was a felon, an arrogant conman and for her that coloured everything he said or did. But the minute glimpses into his life he’s allowed her to see or that she has observed are forcing her to question her assumptions. They know he’s a fraud, for all intents and purposes his hand has been dealt - so why is he still conning them?
“I’m going for a swim,” Neal suddenly announces to the languid group after a while, pulling his t-shirt over his head.
Jones looks at him like he’s grown two heads. “It’s the Pacific - the water will be freezing.”
Neal just shrugs. “I don’t care, it’s been so long since I’ve been in the ocean.”
“Stay where I can see you," Peter warns, only to receive a withering look from Neal, his patience clearly beginning to fray after five days of constant supervision and virtually no sleep.
Diana watches him over the top of her book as he walks away towards the glistening water wearing the black surf shorts he had inexplicably thought to pack. Without the fancy suits and hats, he looks incredibly young and it fuels her suspicion that he’s lied about his age. He is undeniably beautiful, Diana allows herself to admit, though God help her if Neal (or Chrissie) ever found out. He is even more muscular and well built than she would have expected, but lean like a boxer, designed for both fight or flight. She has always noticed he’s a light eater and she suddenly wonders if it’s a hang up from prison, after all, you can’t spend four years in supermax and just emerge back into the world as well adjusted as Neal outwardly appears.
Neal walks down the sandy beach at a leisurely pace before he reaches the water’s edge, testing the temperature with his foot as he looks out over the Pacific. He seems just as at home here on the beach as he does in the city, though Diana isn’t really surprised; the list of exotic countries and places Neal was thought to have traveled to is a mile long, ranging from Brazil and Tanzania to Vietnam and Borneo. The ocean is evidently less than tropical and he allows himself time to acclimatise, wading in up to his waist slowly before diving gracefully under a wave.
Jones, seeing him dive in as well, just shivers, “Oh! Caffrey’s insane, that’s proof right there.”
“You needed more proof?” Peter says with a laugh, briefly looking up from his case report. Only Peter would write a report while at the beach.
Diana watches Neal swim parallel to the shore for a moment before she returns her focus to her book. When she looks up again some time later he’s nowhere in sight.
“Guys,” she says after a minute of searching, her panic growing, “Do you see Neal?”
Both Peter and Jones look up immediately.
“No, I don’t,” Peter replies worriedly, as they all scan the water and the beach for a long minute. It is more or less empty aside from a few joggers further along and a number of surfers in the larger waves at the far edge of the small bay.
“It’s only been what, ten, maybe fifteen minutes? He can’t have gone that far,” Jones says, leaving the other, far worse option hanging in the air.
Peter just shakes his head, eyes not leaving the horizon, concern written across his face.
Then after another tense moment or two, Diana sees him; his head suddenly popping up from under the water a relatively long way out and they all share a look of relief as he starts swimming confidently to the shore. No FBI agent wants to be on the receiving end of a Neal Caffrey Escape Special. He returns shivering but looking happy, carrying something in his hand. When he gets closer she can see he’s picked up a shell off the ocean floor.
Jones laughs and throws him a towel, “Bit chilly was it?”
“I’d go with refreshing,” Neal grins, catching the towel gratefully and wrapping it around his shoulders, the sunlight glimmering on his soaking hair.
“Yeah well your version of ‘refreshing’ looks like hypothermia to me,” Peter grumbles affectionately as he passes Neal his shirt.
They let Neal warm up in the sun for a while before Peter decides they should head back to the hotel.
***
Driving back along the winding coastal road affords them one last, long look at the Pacific in the watery golden light of the early evening. Diana has taken over the driving from Jones, who is reading in the backseat behind her. The radio is playing quietly in the background and she chats sporadically with Peter about the latest game results or news items that periodically interrupt the music.
Every so often she glances in her rear view mirror and catches sight of Neal. He has rolled his window right down and is resting his head on his arms against the door, catching the breeze on his face. His eyes are closed and his breathing deep and even, but she can tell he’s not asleep. She has been surprised by her own reaction to seeing Neal outside the confines of New York. Although she knows he is not from the city and has traveled, probably even more than she has with her father’s diplomatic work, it had been so easy to forget that it was not his natural state; that he had existed and belonged in the world outside too. There are places he likes to go and people he knows, some who may even truly know him too. Somewhere, there is a place where it all began and a person who knows why. Diana’s not sure when she really started seeing Neal as a complex human being, as opposed to a complex case to solve, a complex criminal to catch; she’ll have to blame Peter’s influence for that. They continue to drive down the highway with the ocean air flowing freely through the car.
Later, whenever she sees that little white shell on Neal’s desk at the bureau, she will remind herself to dive a little deeper below the surface.
End.
***
The trip had taken days to prepare for; after hours of paperwork, numerous meetings to agree a plan of action for every eventuality and three conference calls, Neal was finally cleared to travel to California in Peter’s custody. He had been specifically requested by the West coast bureau to aid in the investigation on the infiltration of The Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco. Although the west coast agents were keeping the details on a ‘need to know’ basis, Diana had been told it was suspected that the security features of the new hundred-dollar bill had been leaked from a source within the bank; information regarding the micro printing, security fibres and watermarking. The authorities were divided over the evidence and with a potential public relations catastrophe in the making, let alone the potential forgery of millions of dollars, another ‘specialist’ evaluation had been urgently required.
For security reasons Neal had been told nothing of the request and the preparations for the trip had all been done in secret, the theory being that it wouldn’t allow him to put any escape plans together in advance. If he did use it as an opportunity to run it would at least be on the fly. So, five hours before their flight, Diana had watched as Neal was called into Hughes’ office to be told he would be leaving New York for the first time in over five years. He was briefed on the field office’s request, had his cell confiscated and was read the riot act. A very stressed looking Peter had then taken a positively bouncing Neal (minus anklet) home to pack before they would meet Jones and herself at JFK. Ironically, the early arrival at the airport was for the security procedures for their guns, not their felon.
At check-in, an immaculately dressed Neal was charming and flirty and before they knew it, they were heading for security holding Business Class boarding passes. Peter, much to Neal’s (and secretly, Diana’s) disdain, had refused to let him accept the First Class tickets that were initially offered. Neal couldn’t have missed the tense mood of the three agents at the airport, but he chatted away excitedly regardless until Peter’s finally patience ran out and he was told to “sit still and shut up”. Under Hughes and Bancroft’s instructions, Neal was not to be left unattended at any point during the trip, from the time they left JFK, to the time they returned. Shortly before boarding, a very fidgety Neal had got up from his seat to find the bathroom and was dismayed when Peter escorted him there and back.
Neal’s good mood continued as they made their way down the jet bridge, but walking behind him, Diana could see his whole body tense up as they approached the plane and the whine of the jet engines became audible. Peter had gently put a hand on Neal’s back and it had seemed to be all the reassurance he needed to continue in his usual confidant stride; Diana imagined those last few metres to the plane must have felt like miles.
Diana had never been particularly fond of flying; in her opinion it was just another tedious way to get from A to B interspersed with moments of anxiety. But watching Neal’s expression as the plane took off provided a welcome distraction. While most of the passengers around him read newspapers or books, Neal was virtually plastered to the window watching as the grey footprint of New York gradually disappeared from sight and the vast, rich patchwork of the American landscape spread out before them in the hazy sunlight. The bright light had cast his profile in partial silhouette, but she could see something in his demeanor relax and lighten, a contented smile playing on his lips. It was the look of a man rediscovering the world outside. Even when they had leveled out above the thick white clouds he barely looked away and Diana wondered how he could stand to look out into the blindingly bright sky for so long.
Peter, she could tell, was also watching him carefully. He had confided in her before they left that he was unsure whether this sudden experience of freedom would be too overwhelming for Neal; to Diana, he had sounded more like a parent anxious their child was about to do something stupid rather than a FBI agent wary of their charge making an impulsive bid for freedom.
“Neal,” Peter’s voice was soft, but carried a note of warning. Neal turned around in his seat and looked at Peter questioningly, eyes blinking as they adjusted to the relative darkness of the cabin.
“This is important, Neal.”
“The case? I know - “
Peter shook his head and held up his hand to stop him.
Whatever Peter said next was suddenly swallowed up by the noise of the passing flight attendants and a pilot announcement, but from where she was sitting with Jones in the centre row Diana could see Neal’s face as Peter spoke; his expression was inscrutable, to her at least. He nodded once and then seemed to make a concerted effort to read the case file Peter had shoved into his hands.
***
Despite their fears, once they arrived in San Francisco Neal put all his focus into the complex case, although he was clearly thrilled to be in the city and dropped hugely unsubtle hints about art galleries and museums he wanted to visit. Diana had to admit he worked tirelessly, putting in long hours and was perfectly brilliant as usual. As she and Jones were not officially part of the sensitive investigation, they helped out where possible but were mainly responsible for ensuring Neal was where he was supposed to be when Peter couldn’t, trading shifts with each other as he worked. As she escorted him out to get a coffee on the third day, Neal had joked that he would name his anklet ‘Diana’ in her honour. She didn’t take it as a compliment.
After five long days of pouring over the information, Neal had determined that the security information had not been leaked, but hacked from the computer system using a sophisticated programme that made it appear that it had been leaked from inside the bank, thereby making it virtually impossible to trace the hackers. Virtually impossible, Neal had said with typical aplomb when reporting his findings to the agents and bank officials, before launching into a detailed explanation of how the system had been hacked, deciphering the code and the mirror sites to get a computer IP address. On further investigation using Neal’s evidence, Interpol traced the IP address to a large organised gang in Russia; it was a big win. The west coast office and Federal Bank officials, many of whom were deeply skeptical about having a con in their midst were extremely pleased, meaning that Hughes and Bancroft were extremely pleased.
As they left, the bank President, a plump man in his sixties, could be heard loudly congratulating his employees on a job well done. He had thanked Peter, even Jones and Diana herself, but he struggled to thank Neal directly, seemingly embarrassed that it had taken a young felon in a cartoonish fedora to avert the career-sinking crisis.
“That was good work, Neal. Very good work,” she heard Peter say to him as they emerged from the cool, dimly lit bank, out into the heat of the day.
***
They were all in good spirits as they drove back towards the hotel, despite the combination of Peter’s driving, an unfamiliar rental car and the extreme hills of San Francisco conspiring to give them all whiplash.
“Jesus, Peter,” Neal splutters from the back seat after a particularly violent stop at the bottom of a hill.
“What?” Peter asks, before tearing up the next hill and veering around a cyclist, causing Diana to grab hold of the dash.
“Er, Caffrey’s looking a little green, Boss,” Jones supplies when Neal doesn’t answer.
Peter pulls over to the side of the road and Neal scrambles out and leans against a nearby wall, composing himself just enough to avoid throwing up. Peter just gives them a perplexed shrug and goes to buy Neal a bottle of water as she and Jones struggle to keep from laughing.
“You ok, Neal?” she asks sympathetically. He really does look pale.
He nods, letting out a breath, “I don’t think I’m the only criminal in that car.”
Diana laughs, “Yeah, I’d forgotten Peter thinks he’s Ayrton Senna reincarnate.”
As they wait for Neal to recover, conversation turns to what they should do until their flight tomorrow, no one wants to sit around at the hotel on such a glorious day. Neal makes the suggestion of going to the beach, but despite his brilliant work they know they still have to be careful with him. However, after a lot of persuading, whining and negotiating they somehow find themselves back in the car (mercifully with Jones driving) headed south via the hotel.
***
Dressed entirely inappropriately in FBI slacks and armed with hotel towels, they park the rental car near surprisingly uncrowded beach that Neal knew of, thirty minutes drive down the coast across the Golden Gate. The weather is unusually balmy for northern California and the heat of the sun shimmers on the ground, the scent of the surrounding pine trees heavy in the air. Diana had wondered if going to a beach Neal suggested was a bad idea in case he had something planned; she was half expecting Mozzie to come canoeing around the bay in a garish Hawaiian shirt to rescue Neal from their ‘bureaucratic clutches’. Peter, however, had reasoned that it would be easier for Neal to slip away in the crowds of the tourist spots.
They lay out the towels and sit down on the hot sand, enjoying the relief of the cool ocean breeze.
“Gotta say, this does beat being at the office,” Jones says.
“What, even better than fluorescent lights and stale coffee?” Neal deadpans, while lying back, resting his head on his arms and closing his eyes.
“It’s a near thing,” he jokes, “Though I hated the beach when I was younger, the way the sand got into the food, into my shoes…”
“Really? I used to love it when I was a kid,” Diana says, “Having the freedom to run around, eating too much ice cream, trying to bury my little brother in the sand...”
“Yeah, I can just imagine you being the type to torture your little brother,” Neal says and Diana gives him a hard smack on the arm.
“Now, now, play nice,” Peter warns wryly.
“How about you Neal? You go to the beach when you were a kid?” Jones asks.
“Nope, didn’t live near one. Sometimes went down to the river though."
“And which river was that?” Peter asks.
“The long, blue one,” Neal says neutrally and Peter rolls his eyes.
“So where did you grow up?” Diana asks, curiously. They know so little about Neal, the real Neal and there was rarely a casual, relaxed opportunity like this to try and glean information. Even Peter doesn't know anything about him before he started running cons.
“Oh, all over the place really,” he says dismissively, not opening his eyes. Despite his relaxed, playful demeanor, she can sense his tension and knows that’s all they’ll get.
“Could you be more vague?” Peter replies, not unkindly.
“I could try.”
The group fall quiet for a while, relaxing in the heat and lulled by the sound of the waves. Diana fishes around in her bag for the book she bought at the airport. She wonders why it’s so hard for Neal to give up any information about himself. What does he think he’ll loose if they know where he’s from or if he spent summers on the beach? It’s a strange thing to work closely with a person you know virtually nothing about. When Neal first started consulting for the unit she thought she knew all she needed; he was a felon, an arrogant conman and for her that coloured everything he said or did. But the minute glimpses into his life he’s allowed her to see or that she has observed are forcing her to question her assumptions. They know he’s a fraud, for all intents and purposes his hand has been dealt - so why is he still conning them?
“I’m going for a swim,” Neal suddenly announces to the languid group after a while, pulling his t-shirt over his head.
Jones looks at him like he’s grown two heads. “It’s the Pacific - the water will be freezing.”
Neal just shrugs. “I don’t care, it’s been so long since I’ve been in the ocean.”
“Stay where I can see you," Peter warns, only to receive a withering look from Neal, his patience clearly beginning to fray after five days of constant supervision and virtually no sleep.
Diana watches him over the top of her book as he walks away towards the glistening water wearing the black surf shorts he had inexplicably thought to pack. Without the fancy suits and hats, he looks incredibly young and it fuels her suspicion that he’s lied about his age. He is undeniably beautiful, Diana allows herself to admit, though God help her if Neal (or Chrissie) ever found out. He is even more muscular and well built than she would have expected, but lean like a boxer, designed for both fight or flight. She has always noticed he’s a light eater and she suddenly wonders if it’s a hang up from prison, after all, you can’t spend four years in supermax and just emerge back into the world as well adjusted as Neal outwardly appears.
Neal walks down the sandy beach at a leisurely pace before he reaches the water’s edge, testing the temperature with his foot as he looks out over the Pacific. He seems just as at home here on the beach as he does in the city, though Diana isn’t really surprised; the list of exotic countries and places Neal was thought to have traveled to is a mile long, ranging from Brazil and Tanzania to Vietnam and Borneo. The ocean is evidently less than tropical and he allows himself time to acclimatise, wading in up to his waist slowly before diving gracefully under a wave.
Jones, seeing him dive in as well, just shivers, “Oh! Caffrey’s insane, that’s proof right there.”
“You needed more proof?” Peter says with a laugh, briefly looking up from his case report. Only Peter would write a report while at the beach.
Diana watches Neal swim parallel to the shore for a moment before she returns her focus to her book. When she looks up again some time later he’s nowhere in sight.
“Guys,” she says after a minute of searching, her panic growing, “Do you see Neal?”
Both Peter and Jones look up immediately.
“No, I don’t,” Peter replies worriedly, as they all scan the water and the beach for a long minute. It is more or less empty aside from a few joggers further along and a number of surfers in the larger waves at the far edge of the small bay.
“It’s only been what, ten, maybe fifteen minutes? He can’t have gone that far,” Jones says, leaving the other, far worse option hanging in the air.
Peter just shakes his head, eyes not leaving the horizon, concern written across his face.
Then after another tense moment or two, Diana sees him; his head suddenly popping up from under the water a relatively long way out and they all share a look of relief as he starts swimming confidently to the shore. No FBI agent wants to be on the receiving end of a Neal Caffrey Escape Special. He returns shivering but looking happy, carrying something in his hand. When he gets closer she can see he’s picked up a shell off the ocean floor.
Jones laughs and throws him a towel, “Bit chilly was it?”
“I’d go with refreshing,” Neal grins, catching the towel gratefully and wrapping it around his shoulders, the sunlight glimmering on his soaking hair.
“Yeah well your version of ‘refreshing’ looks like hypothermia to me,” Peter grumbles affectionately as he passes Neal his shirt.
They let Neal warm up in the sun for a while before Peter decides they should head back to the hotel.
***
Driving back along the winding coastal road affords them one last, long look at the Pacific in the watery golden light of the early evening. Diana has taken over the driving from Jones, who is reading in the backseat behind her. The radio is playing quietly in the background and she chats sporadically with Peter about the latest game results or news items that periodically interrupt the music.
Every so often she glances in her rear view mirror and catches sight of Neal. He has rolled his window right down and is resting his head on his arms against the door, catching the breeze on his face. His eyes are closed and his breathing deep and even, but she can tell he’s not asleep. She has been surprised by her own reaction to seeing Neal outside the confines of New York. Although she knows he is not from the city and has traveled, probably even more than she has with her father’s diplomatic work, it had been so easy to forget that it was not his natural state; that he had existed and belonged in the world outside too. There are places he likes to go and people he knows, some who may even truly know him too. Somewhere, there is a place where it all began and a person who knows why. Diana’s not sure when she really started seeing Neal as a complex human being, as opposed to a complex case to solve, a complex criminal to catch; she’ll have to blame Peter’s influence for that. They continue to drive down the highway with the ocean air flowing freely through the car.
Later, whenever she sees that little white shell on Neal’s desk at the bureau, she will remind herself to dive a little deeper below the surface.
End.