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aragarnaTitle: Miles to Go Before I Sleep
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aragarna
Artist:eldorah
Word Count: 20 400
Characters, pairings: Peter, Neal, Elizabeth, Mozzie, various FBI agents.
Rating: general audience, gen.
Warnings: none
Spoilers: up to 5x13
Summary: post-season 5. Neal goes missing, El goes to DC, Peter gets restless and Mozzie steps over the line.
Author's Notes: Many thanks toelrhiarhodan for the beta work and advice, and a huge kudo to my artist eldorah, who made a wonderful art to illustrate the story. Go check her art here! Title is a quote from a poem by Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.
[...]The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
1:27 PM, Brooklyn.
Peter and Elizabeth were cuddled against each other on top of the bed. Her head was resting on his chest, his arms wrapped around her.
“Are we really doing this?” Peter finally said, trying to keep the sadness of his voice at bay.
“I guess we are…”
“Are you mad at me?”
Elizabeth eased herself out of Peter’s hold and looking up, she smiled. “I’m not mad at you, hon. To be honest, I’m actually surprised it took you so long.”
“To turn the promotion down?”
“To realize a desk job just wasn’t you.”
Peter put a delicate kiss on Elizabeth’s forehead. “You’re smarter than I am.”
“Peter, even as the current ASAC, you’ve kept going to the field with your team. You’ve created a new position just for yourself, field-ASAC.”
Peter made an apologetic face. “I tried not to…”
“But you enjoy the field too much.”
“I can’t deny I like being on the field.”
“Look, Peter, when we first talked about the promotion, I encouraged you to take it, because after everything we went through, the accident, prison, I thought it would be a way to keep you safe. And I needed that. I needed to keep you safe. So, I was a little upset at first to see that being the ASAC didn’t keep you from the danger of the field. But if I’m being honest, I can see that this is what makes you happy.”
“I guess I needed it too,” Peter said in a low voice after a short silent. “I needed to get back on more solid ground, pull myself out of that mire I’d put myself in. Put it all behind me and go forward. It felt right at the time. Now it’s clear that it’s not the right thing for me.”
“Why not?”
Peter passed a hand through his hair and sighed. “I don’t feel like I belong there, with all the big bosses. I’m not ready. I’m afraid of losing myself. I need to feel myself again.”
“Is that because of Dawson, and what Neal did?”
Peter shook his head vigorously. “It’s not because of Neal.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “But it’s still because of Dawson.”
“It’s because of what I did. What I had to do.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something, but Peter cut her off. “I don’t regret what I did, it was the only thing to do. For you, and for Neal. But I need to feel like I’m doing the right things again. I have principles. There are things I just can’t accept. Neal is right, he earned a reward, just as much as me. He deserved a promotion too. And I can’t accept that I’m given all sort of perks because I’m an FBI agent, while he’s used as a simple asset because he’s a criminal. This is not right. We’re partners. We did the same job.”
“Have you told Bruce?”
“I haven’t called him back yet. I wanted to talk to you first.” Peter let go a heavy sigh. “He pushed hard to get me this position. “Why does it always feel like I’m letting someone down?”
“I’m sure he’ll understand. Sometimes you do what you have to do for yourself. What do you want to do?”
“Get back to work, at White Collar. With Neal, and the team.”
“Good, so you do that.”
“But you?”
“Look, hon, this is what you want to do, this is fine. But all those plans for DC made me dream about it, and now I have this job at the National Gallery. I really want to do this. This is what I want. We’ll make it work. DC is not that far. We can do this. This is right, for the both of us. We both get to do what we want. It’ll probably get a little difficult at the beginning, to find a new rhythm. But we’ll manage. And I’m not sure forcing you to take that desk job will make you happier. This is the right thing.”
Peter hugged his wife a little tighter. “So you’re not mad at me.”
She took his hands into hers and looked at him right in the eyes. “Your ethics can really be a pain, sometimes. And yet, for some reasons, I find your need to be a good man inexplicably attractive.”
Peter cupped El’s face into his hands, gazing lovingly at her.
“What?” She asked.
“I’m so lucky to have you,” he whispered. “You’re so wonderful. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Peter pulled her close and kissed her, his hands sliding from her neck to her chest and waist.El kissed him back but then gently pulled away.
“Hon, the moving van comes tomorrow morning. We’d better get going, we need to repack everything, see what you need to keep here, if you’re staying.”
Peter sighed, disappointed.
El chuckled. “Keep it for tonight.” She gave him a quick kiss and dragged him out of the bed.
They went down to the kitchen to sort the things Peter would need and those Elizabeth would take.
“It sure will be a challenge to remember how to use all this stuff,” Peter smirked as he pulled some unidentified object from a box. “I guess you can keep this?”
El laughed. “Come on, honey, that’s not the first time you’ll be on your own. How did you survive when I was in San Francisco?”
“I barely survived, that’s the thing.”
“I’m sure all the neighborhood takeaways will survive just fine, too.”
El winked and Peter made a face.
“Microwave?” Peter asked.
“Definitely you.”
“What about Satch?”
El looked up from the box she was rummaging in and her gaze met the one of the big yellow lab, who had raised his head and ears at the sound of his name. Being home more than Peter, she was the one who walked the dog the most. But she had the feeling that Peter would need the company more than she did.
“You should keep him,” she said.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. We can always see how it works for the both of us. Keep him here for now. Besides, you know how he is. He has his habits here.”
Peter’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he retrieved it quickly. His smile faded away when he saw the alert message. For a moment, he just starred at the red alert message, unable to react.
“Peter, what is it?” Elizabeth asked anxiously.
He startled. “Neal cut his anklet.”
Heart pounding heavily, Peter speed dialed Neal’s number. His blood was buzzing in his ears, echoing the ringing tone. The phone rang in the void for what looked like an eternity and finally went to voicemail.
“Neal! What did you do? Pick up the phone!” His voice was rigged with panic.
Not knowing what else to say, Peter hanged up. Hand shaking, chest burning, he looked up at Elizabeth, showing an unreadable face.
1:57 PM, Brooklyn.
“Your boy Caffrey ran. Again.” Marshal Ryan shouted rather angrily over the phone.
“There is an explanation,” Peter retorted, automatically on the defensive. There had to be.
“Which is?” The Marshal’s tone was betraying his impatience. They’ve been there before, too many times, and he was clearly tired of these conversations.
“I don’t know. Yet,” Peter admitted.
“Do you know where he is?”
“I can’t reach him.”
“Neither can we.”
“Look, I’ll figure this out.”
“You’d better. Meanwhile, I’m still filling a report.” The tone was definitive, and the Marshal hung up without giving Peter any chance to argue.
He slid down the phone in his pocket, and rushed to his laptop on the dining table. Feverishly, he opened it, started the tracking program, typed in Neal’s ID, and loaded the history of his last movements. It appeared that after leaving Brooklyn, Neal had gone to one of his favorite parks in Manhattan, along the East River. He seemed to have been wandering around there for a while, until the signal suddenly disappeared.
Peter kept staring at the screen, as if waiting for the little red dot to reappear. It didn’t.
“Maybe it’s a malfunction…” Elizabeth said tentatively as she came close to watch at the computer over Peter’s shoulder.
“Maybe,” Peter repeated in a hollow voice, unconvinced.
“You think he ran?”
Peter detached his eyes from the screen and slowly turned to face El. As he couldn’t ignore anymore that thought he had refused to formulate, he felt his soul split in two. His gut was telling him it was the most likely explanation while his heart was denying Neal would do that.
“I… What else… He wouldn’t… I don’t know. He’s been so edgy the past few months. So many things have been weighting down on him. His father, Hagen, Rachel.” Me. “I think he had enough.”
Defeated, Peter buried his head in his hands. All the blood had drained from his face. His heart was pounding hard against his tighten chest. It felt like he was crashing down and would explode any moment. But he wasn’t sure if it should be from anger or panic.
“But, hon, Neal didn’t want to run.”
“I know, but…” Peter felt all miserable. There was a time where he was sure Neal wouldn’t run. It was an unspoken promise he wouldn’t break. There was a time where Neal had said he’d come to work on Monday morning, whether he’d be off anklet or not. But this was a long time ago, a time where things were simpler, easier, between them. Now Neal had asked him to terminate his sentence sooner, and even as he backed him up, Peter couldn’t ignore that nagging feeling that Neal was asking for an out. Neal didn’t want to work with him anymore, and Peter couldn’t help but think it was his fault. Still, was Neal that upset that he would run?
“If not, then what happened?” Peter said finally in a small voice.
He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Think. No was not the time for regrets and self pity. He had to find Neal, figure things out. Then he’ll try to understand. More focused, he said in a more asserted voice “We need to call Mozzie.”
Elizabeth took her phone out and dialed Mozzie’s number.
“Moz, this is El. Neal cut his anklet, Peter’s worried. Call him back. It’s urgent,” she said to the voicemail. Then glancing at Peter, “June?” she suggested.
Peter called Neal’s landlady. Unfortunately, she had not seen him. No, she didn’t notice anything special in his behavior. And no, he hadn’t told her anything about his plans for today.
Peter hung up. It was time to act. He stood up and reached for his jacket. “I need to go…”
Elizabeth just nodded. “Keep me updated,” she said simply.
Peter kissed her quickly and he was gone.
3:15 PM, Manhattan.
The conference room was packed. Marshal Ryan was pacing back and forth in front of the monitor. Peter had let him lead the meeting, start the chase, and was standing at the back of the room. Leaning against the glass frame, he had his arms crossed on his chest. He just couldn’t do it. His heart wasn’t at it. It was lying, heavy, in his chest. He was barely listening to Ryan’s briefing. Not that he really needed to. He knew everything there had to know about Neal Caffrey. And then some.
“We should focus our priority on small regional airports.” Ryan was stating. “This seems to be Caffrey’s favorite escape route.”
Peter winced. He rubbed his eyes to chase the image of Neal on the tarmac on a cold afternoon, turning around, tears running down his cheeks, calling his name. Peter. Before everything went to hell.
That was the only time Neal really meant to run. One time, a long time ago. A time when he’d do anything for Kate. Ever since then, Peter had thought Neal was done running. Of course, there had been Cape Verde. But Neal only ran because Peter told him to. Except no one knew that. It had looked like Neal had run on his own. For no reason. Of course, Philip Kramer never admitted his intention to screw the commutation hearing, so it had looked like Neal had stupidly shot himself in the foot. And now it was compromising any chance of an early release, no matter how good his work for the bureau has been. And this was all Peter’s fault, though he couldn’t simply tell them that. It would probably only make things worse, for both of them. The handler encouraging his CI to run, what a pair they made…
Diana gently elbowed his ribs, calling Peter back to the present and he focused his attention back to the conference room, he realized all eyes were staring at him.
“Burke, you with us?” Ryan asked irritably. “Any idea where Caffrey would go?”
Peter shook his head.
“What if he didn’t run?” he suddenly said.
Ryan stared at Peter, eyebrows rising and rolled his eyes.
As he didn’t seem to have anything to answer, Peter pressed on, getting more and more agitated as his own words sank in.
“What if something happened? An accident, a kidnapping… “Maybe he was attacked?”
“Burke, you can’t be serious.”
“We need to get in touch with Kidnapping and Missing Persons, ASAP,” Peter stated, straightening himself up. He was taking back the command.
“This is a waste of time,” Ryan protested.
“If something happened to Neal, focusing on his MO won’t get us anywhere. This is a waste of time,” Peter said pointing at the flat screen displaying Neal’s list of aliases and past wanted posters. He stormed out of the conference room, ignoring Ryan’s protests.
5:34 PM, New Wednesday.
“This is Burke.”
“Neal didn’t run!”
“Mozzie? Hang on.”
There were some muffled sounds, the Suit’s voice inaudible in the distance talking to someone else, a door being opened, another one being shut, and Peter came back online.
“Moz?”
“Suit! Neal didn’t run!” Mozzie shouted again.
“What do you mean? Do you know where he is?”
“No! Do you?”
“No, we haven’t been able to locate him.”
“Oh God…” This wasn’t good. Walking circles in the living room of his safe house, Mozzie tried to ignore the growing feeling of panic.
“When was the last time you saw him?” Peter asked.
“About three hours ago.”
“Where?” There was something grounding in Peter’s commanding tone – not that Mozzie would ever admit taking command from a government representative.
“Riverside Park, next to June’s.”
“Did you notice anything unusual in his attitude?”
“He was pretty upset about being refused his freedom! After everything he’s done for you, how can you let them treat him like – like a tool. Like a property! This is slavery! ” Mozzie yelled.
“Moz! Please…”
Peter’s voice wagered. Something in his tone made Mozzie stop short. There was a short silent. Peter breathed heavily.
“Did he say anything about wanting to run?” He asked in a low voice.
Would Neal run? Their last conversation seemed to indicate he wanted to. Mozzie had promised to work on cracking the new anklet. Neal had given him a week. So why would he run now? This didn’t make sense. Neal wouldn’t have run. Not without him. Or would he? Mozzie felt a cold drop of sweat running down his spine. Would Neal run without him?
“Mozzie? Do you know anything?” The Suit’s voice had suddenly turned suspicious.
“No. I know nothing,” Mozzie rushed.
“How do you know he didn’t run?”
“Because…” Mozzie started. He had to choose his words carefully. “It wouldn’t make sense.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t tell you.” The conversation was getting quite slippery.
“What were you up to?” Now this was turning into an interrogation, and the Suit didn’t seem pleased. Nor was Mozzie.
“Nothing!”
“So you’re saying Neal wouldn’t have run because you were working on something?”
“I’m not saying anything!” Mozzie protested.
“I can’t believe it. You two will never stop.”
Mozzie couldn’t believe it either. How come the Suit always guessed everything? On the other side of the line, he heard Peter heaved a frustrated sigh.
“Is there anything you could share to help us find Neal? You might be the last person who saw him.”
“Who is ‘us’?” Mozzie asked, suspicious.
“The FBI, Mozzie. His colleagues and friends.” Peter sighed, sounding suddenly uncertain. “All I want is to find him.”
“I’m sorry, Suit. I don’t know. I left him at the park. But I’ll ask around, see if anyone has heard from him.”
“Good, thanks Moz’.”
Mozzie hung up. Neal had disappeared. This wasn’t good. No good at all. Was it possible that he wouldn’t wait for his friend to crack the anklet and decided it was just as easy to cut it? But Neal always relied on Mozzie for escape plans. Or did he? Could it be possible that Neal had a secret exit strategy all set? That he wouldn’t share with Mozzie?
He shook his head. It wasn’t likely, it wasn’t making any sense. There had to be another explanation. If Neal didn’t run, then what? What were the facts? Neal had cut his anklet – no, the anklet appeared to be cut, or malfunctioning. And Neal was out of reach. Mozzie had tried all of Neal’s known numbers. All had gone to voicemail.
Neal had gone off grid. Was he hiding? Was he in danger, then? Hurt? Or was he taken? Neal was a valuable asset and an unmatched opponent, good enough to create an infinite number of jealous enemies. Neal attracted rivals, enemies, even possessive girlfriends, like a magnet. And from all sides, thieves and government seemed equally interested in not letting him live his life like he intended to.
It was time to act, definitely not the time to panic. There was little doubt that whatever happened, Neal was in danger. Mozzie grabbed his jacket and his shoulder bag and headed out.
8:00 PM, Manhattan.
The conference room had once again become their headquarters. All available personal of the White Collar division had been relocated there. This time, ASAC Peter Burke was conducting the briefing.
“We’re coordinating with Kidnapping and Missing Persons. Agent Rice has kindly lent us three agents to scavenge the area where Neal was last seen. They’re looking for any clues, signs of struggles, and possible witnesses. They are also looking for Neal’s anklet. We’ve received surveillance tapes from all the cameras in the area. There were none in the park itself but all the surrounding streets are covered. The good news is, we know exactly where and when Neal’s anklet was cut. The bad news is, it was in the park, so we have no images of what happened.”
Jones raised a hand. “What about the Marshals?”
“They still believe Neal ran.”
“But you don’t.” That was Diana.
Peter looked at her intensely. “I have reasons not to.”
“The little guy?” Jones asked.
Peter nodded slightly. “Anyway, someone has to consider other angles. We let the Marshals do their jobs, and we cooperate. We don’t protest, we don’t make waves, and we try to keep in touch with their investigation. But in the meantime, we look for Neal on our own. You’ve been all given footage to go through. Look for any suspicious person and vehicle avoiding cameras, being stationary, disappearing in blind spots. In particular, if you catch sight of Neal, look for anyone that might be tailing him. I’ve let Missing Persons know that we had been quite successful in the past commandeering tourist cameras to collect more images. Get to work, everyone, every minute counts.”
Jones shared a meaningful look with Diana. This was not the first time Neal ran – or disappeared. But there was an urgency in Peter’s voice telling them it wasn’t like the last time, when Neal had run to Cape Verde. That one time, they had always suspected Peter of being better informed on what had happened than he had let on. But not today. Today was different. Today, Peter was ready to launch the entire cavalry looking after his CI.
Things had been quite rocky these past months between Peter and Neal. It had seemed at some point that Peter had had enough of Neal. Not that Jones could blame him. Yet his boss seemed to have an infinite reserve of second chances when it came to his CI, and it hadn’t been long until he saw them patching things up, like they always did. No matter their differences, no matter the bumps on the road, Peter and Neal seemed to share a unique bond.
For his boss’s sanity, Jones hoped Caffrey indeed didn’t run. This would be the ultimate betrayal, and he was afraid that Peter would just break. He didn’t want to have to collect the piece of Peter’s shattered heart.
2:59 AM, Manhattan.
The digital clock at the bottom of her laptop’s screen changed from 2:59 to 3:00. Diana paused the video and decided it was time for a coffee refill. They had been watching video footage for hours. Her eyes were burning from too much screen time and she was feeling like her head was going to explode. She rubbed her eyes and got up.
Peter was looking pensively at the coffee machine, his mug sitting empty below the tap.
“Hey boss, you need help with the coffee machine?”
Peter startled and quickly pushed the fill button. “Hmm, no, sorry.”
“What’s the matter? “
Peter turned to face Diana but his look drifted away and she didn’t catch his eyes. “Everything is wrong.” Peter looked down at his phone he was holding, and he suddenly crashed on a chair. “Elizabeth just called. She asked me when I’d be home.”
Earlier, Peter had taken Diana and Jones aside in his office to tell them he wasn’t going to DC. Apparently the higher-ups had refused to commute Neal’s sentence and Peter had taken a stand against them. Diana had smiled. Only Peter. It was probably career suicide, but she suspected it was the last of her boss’ concerns.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, was another matter. According to Peter, she was okay with his choice, though Peter seemed to still feel guilty and worried. But Neal’s disappearance hadn’t given him much of a chance to think this through with a calm head.
“When is she leaving?” Diana asked.
“Tommo - ” Peter looked at his watch. “Well, this morning now. The moving van should be there in five hours.”
“Can’t you guys postpone?”
Peter shook his head. “El starts tomorrow at the National Gallery. This job is important for her.”
“Then go.”
“What?”
“Go to DC with you wife. Help her settle at least.”
Peter looked shocked. “But I can’t! Neal needs me here. Every minute counts.”
Diana reached out to put a hand on his arm. “And your wife needs you, too. Look Peter,” she said with a gesture encompassing the bullpen and conference room. “You’ve got the whole team here looking for Caffrey. Good agents. We know the drill. We can do without you for a few hours.”
Peter followed her movement toward the unusually busy office at such a time of the night. For every agent, in particular those who had had the opportunity to work with Caffrey, the annoyance of being called on such short notice on a Saturday afternoon had quickly been replaced by real concern for the Bureau’s most famous CI. It was three AM, and the entire team was actively looking for Neal, just as they would for any other member of the division.
Diana caught glimpse of a stirred frown on Peter’s face as his gaze lingered on all the people hard at work.
“Go home, Peter. We’ve got this.”
2:30 PM, Washington DC.
“I believe that was the last one,” El breathed as she put a large box on the floor and let herself fall on the couch. She was exhausted.
Peter’s head appeared at the door of the kitchen. He shot her a smile. “Who would have thought one person could fill so many cases and boxes? How are you going to fit it all in? Maybe we should have picked a bigger apartment,” he smirked as he leaned on the doorframe.
“Why don’t you make me some coffee with that brand new espresso machine?” Elizabeth said, ignoring the mockery.
Peter disappeared again in the kitchen.
“I fixed the sink in the kitchen and I checked the electricity and the heater. It’s all good,” he shouted as a lovely smell of fresh coffee started to fill the apartment.
Elizabeth leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes, letting her new home sinking in; the odors, the noise, the light, the space. She heard Peter’s steps coming closer. Same familiar rhythm, different resonance on the floor. But nothing will ever change the hint of deep love and care that she could detect in his voice whenever he talked to her, even to say the most trivial things.
“There you go, hon. Be careful, it’s hot.”
Elizabeth opened her eyes and took the cup of coffee Peter was holding in front of her. He smiled and joined her on the sofa, sliding an arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him and rested her hand on his thigh.
“Thank you for coming with me today, hon.”
With his free hand he brushed the top of hers. “I’m so proud of you, you know, working at the National Gallery.”
“It’s just a small position in Finance and Planning department,” El corrected.
“Still, this is one of the most important museums in the country. Heck, in the entire world.”
“I’m so stressed for tomorrow!”
“You’re going to be great.”
“I haven’t been so stressed in years. It’s like I’m fresh out of college, looking for my first real job.”
“And we’re going to commute every weekend to see each other, just like college kids,” Peter said with a smile.
He squeezed her against him and put a gentle kiss on her forehead. His phone buzzed in his pocket, putting an end to their intimate cuddling moment. The considerate husband gave way to the tenacious FBI Agent as he took his phone out. Looking over Peter’s shoulder, El read the text sent by Diana. Lead on an undescript van. Lost the trail in New Jersey. Rice coordinating with local PD.
Elizabeth felt a shiver running through Peter’s body.
“That’s good news, right? You’ve got a lead,” she said, trying to sound positive.
“Yes, it’s something.” Peter sighed. “Also, if it’s confirmed, it’s looking more and more like a kidnapping,” he said bleakly.
“You’ll find him, hon.”
“Hopefully in time…” Peter said in a small voice. “I’m so worried about him, El. I’m starting to wish he’d run…”
“Don’t be silly.”
“If they’ve hurt him…”
“You’ll kick their ass.”
A sad smile brushed Peter’s lips. He got up, offering a hand to El. She followed him to the door.
“Thank you for being there.” Elizabeth hugged her husband tight. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. “I love you,” she whispered.
“You call me tomorrow,” he said softly. I want a full report on your first day.”
They remained embraced a moment, both reluctant to let go. Finally Peter stepped back and opened the door.
“You call me too, if you have any news about Neal...” Elizabeth paused before adding: “Anything.”
Peter nodded, kissed her one last time and disappeared, again.
Elizabeth felt suddenly terribly alone. Alone and helpless. She prayed with all her heart that they would find Neal. Unharmed. Alive.
3:12 PM, one dark basement.
Neal woke up with a sore head and disoriented. It took him several minutes to make up his surroundings – a dark and unfamiliar room – and remember what had happened. He had been kidnapped. The words of the man with the boots came back to him: The last person on Earth to know where you are. Neal shivered. Making efforts to gather his memories, Neal remembered two people – probably men, given the strength – grabbing him. A dark hood had been thrown on his head. He’d been thrown in the back of a van. After that, nothing. He couldn’t recall the drive, not how he got into this room.
Neal sat up. He had no idea where he was. Or how long had he been here, though he could probably get a rough estimate of it. He felt angry, but not desperately so. He stood up carefully, and the initial dizziness caused by the brisk change of position faded fairly quickly. He was pretty thirsty however, and his mouth was dry. But lying unconscious on a dirty floor would probably do that. All in all, he wasn’t in such a bad condition physically. It couldn’t have been much more than a day.
Neal felt a lump in his throat at the thought that he had been missing for at least twenty-four hours. People were probably looking for him. Peter was, certainly. His heart clenched. Peter would probably thought he’d run. He would be so hurt. Just when things were finally getting back to normal between them… Peter wouldn’t even have a chance to sit at his cushy desk that he had to run after Neal again… How come he was ruining everything all the time for his friend? Even when he didn’t mean to?
Neal shook himself up. He would find a way to make it up for Peter later, explain he didn’t run, never meant to. First he had to get out here.
Neal looked around. The room he was in was dark and he could barely make his surroundings. Not that there was much to see. The room was empty, except for what looked like an old shaggy mattress in a corner. There was no window and the walls were all made of plain concrete. The floor was made of concrete as well. Only a very faint light was coming from under the door. It was quite a solid door, one that would be hard to break open. It was also reinforced by two bolds in addition of the regular lock. Not unpickable with the proper tools. Neal checked his pockets. Everything was gone, of course. Lockpick set, phone, even tissues. They had also taken his belt, tie clip, cufflinks and shoes. Escaping was going to be a challenge.
“Hello? Anyone here?” He screamed.
Neal banged on the door, hoping to be heard. Then, pressing his ear against the door, he listened for any noise. He didn’t hear anything but a deafening silent. He couldn’t even hear the usually muffled constant noise of the city. Sighing, Neal approached the mattress. He sat down, not without darting a look of disgust at it, and waited. If they had bothered checking his pockets and giving him a – sort of – bed, they probably meant to keep him alive. Someone would eventually come. Or so he hoped.
Passing his hand through his hair, Neal was stopped in the middle of his movement by something odd. His hair felt unfamiliar under his palm. Next to his right temple, it felt strangely short. Examining it carefully with his fingers, Neal had to face the evidence: someone had crudely cut a lock of hair off his head!
Why would someone want his hair? Plant his DNA on a crime scene as blackmail? Was someone messing up with him, wanted him arrested and sent back to prison. Was the kidnapping part of a bigger scheme, to make the FBI believe he ran and went back to his life of crime?
Neal felt a rush of blood running through his veins. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let Peter believe he had betrayed him. Images of his friend, angry, hurt, looking away from him, came floating around in the darkness, haunting. Shame on me for expecting anything else.
Neal took his head in his hands, summoning better memories: Peter smiling fondly at him with that hint of pride in his eyes that Neal couldn’t help but look for. I’m proud of you, you know. Except it had been all based on a lie. Neal chased the image. It was too painful. On one condition, you visit me and El in Washington, a lot. This time it hadn’t been a lie. All truths had come out and yet Peter had still pleaded in his favor to his friend, Bruce. Neal closed his eyes. He could see Peter’s face, barely able to contain his emotion, happy to make him happy. Neal could almost feel the firm handshake in his fingers, the strong arms wrapping around him, like a warm hug to his heart.
Despite everything, Peter still loved him. Enough to set him free.
10:05 AM, same dark basement.
They finally came. Or rather, one big thug came, bringing Neal a plain sandwich and a bottle of water – with no cap. He was so big even Peter would have looked tiny next to him. There was no way Neal could force his way out against this guy.
“I need to go to the bathroom.”
The big guy had looked at him like an annoying little spider. “Eat,” he had said pointing a finger at Neal’s food.
He came back half an hour later and escorted Neal to the bathroom, offering him the opportunity to study the place. They had climbed a flight of stairs, which confirmed Neal’s suspicion that his holding cell was in the basement, and after passing a second door, followed down a corridor. They had passed by three closed doors before stopping in front of the bathroom. Big Guy had shoved Neal inside and stood just outside, meaningfully leaving the door wide open.
Neal had tried to gather as much information as he could. Unfortunately, neither the corridor nor the bathroom offered any window and Neal didn’t get view of the outside, or any clues of where he could be. Big Guy had taken him there twice, after serving him his rations. It wasn’t much, but that trip to the bathroom was still his best option for an escape.
Left alone, Neal sat down on his mattress. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He thought about Peter. His friend had to be looking for him. Even as a Section Chief, he wouldn’t let that task to anyone else, would he? Neal hoped Peter had more leads on where he was than he had himself.
1:30 PM, Manhattan.
“Anything on that van?”
“A burned-out van was found this morning in a remote area of New Jersey,” Rice reported. “It could fit our missing van. But it was pretty well consumed by the fire. Nothing useful could be recovered.”
Peter sighed in frustration and kicked the back of a nearby chair with his closed fist. Nothing on the van, nothing from the kidnappers, nothing from Neal. Nothing.
“Okay, that’s all then. Get back to work, everybody.”
He let everyone leave the room and caught Agent Rice aside. “Thank you, Kimberly, for your help.”
Rice smiled. “I still owed you and Caffrey a big one. Besides, you’d do the same for me if one of my agents was missing.”
Peter’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Neal isn’t an agent.”
“But he’s just as valuable. I’ve heard a lot about you two since we’ve worked together. You make a damn good team. Aren’t you promised to DC sometime soon?”
Peter shook his head gloomily. “I turned it down.”
Rice raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
He didn’t really want to talk about it. “I’ll tell Neal you said he’s as valuable as an agent,” he deflected. “He’ll be pleased.”
“Oh no, please don’t. He’d be impossible…”
“He usually is anyway.”
8:00 PM, Brooklyn.
Mozzie was pacing back and forth in the Burkes’ living room. From the sofa, Peter was watching him with increasing annoyance.
“Mozzie, seat down, you’re making me sea sick,” he groaned. But the little guy didn’t seem inclined to listen. He was on a roll.
“I’ve even had to talk to that douche of Marni Paws. Marni Paws! The guy couldn’t even slip his handcuffs if he had the keys.”
In other circumstances, Peter would have actually been delighted to hear Mozzie spill so many beans about his underground activities and contacts.
“You have to understand, Suit, that kidnappers are not my usual company. We’re not that kind of crude criminals.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “You’re not above putting a price on someone’s head. Or so, I’ve heard.”
Mozzie stopped dead and turned to Peter, shooting him a dark look from narrowed eyes.
“Keller had killed Hale,” he said between his teeth.
Peter tilted his head. He still wasn’t convinced Mozzie was truly above drastic actions, but now wasn’t time to argue. He raised his hands in sign of peace.
“Fine, sorry. Did you find anything useful?”
“Nothing! I’ve been asking around. It’s not easy, I have to be careful not to ring the wrong alarm. I’m still looking. I’ve put my homeless network on it.”
“Homeless network?” Peter repeated, baffled.
“Manhattan’s best unauthorized surveillance system. Invisible and omniscient. I’ve heard things…”
Peter felt a pit in his stomach at the idea that there were so many things going on in the criminal world at that very moment.
“So far, nothing that seems linked to Neal or even potential jobs where he’d be needed,” Mozzie went on. “But the list is long, I have just been through the most obvious targets for now.”
“Has he really that many enemies?” Peter asked, alarmed.
Mozzie stood in front of Peter, crossing his arms and looking at him from above. “We live a dangerous line of work, Suit. Neal even more so since you’ve turned him into a snitch.”
Peter pinched his nose but kept quiet.
10:00 PM, Washington DC.
Elizabeth slipped into her night gown, settled in her bed and opened her laptop.
“Hey hon.”
“Hey hon. Can you see me?”
“I see your chest just fine. Not that I complain…”
Peter pushed his laptop’s screen to fix the angle of the camera. “Better?”
Elizabeth smiled. “Oh there you are. It’s good to see you.”
“You too. I miss you.”
“You look exhausted, Peter. Any news from Neal?”
Peter shook his head. “Nothing.”
“How is the investigation going?”
“Not fast enough. We’ve been looking at surveillance videos all day. We’ve been tracking a van that was spotted at the park where Neal disappeared and later in New Jersey. But it didn’t lead us very far.”
“Don’t forget to get some rest every once in a while, hon.”
Peter passed a tired hand over his face. “I try.”
Elizabeth bent forward to get closer to the screen, looking closely at her husband. “Are you having troubles sleeping?”
Peter looked down. He seemed to hesitate for a fraction of second. “I am,” he finally admitted in a small voice.
Elizabeth was pondering if she should press further on the matter, but Peter didn’t seem incline to elaborate.
“Enough about me,” he said after clearing his throat. “How was your first day?”
Elizabeth lit up as the memory of her first day brought back all its excitement. “Oh it was amazing! Just to get to go to work there, it’s magic. This majestic building, full of history… Well, okay, my office is just a tiny, dusty old office, with air blowing under the antediluvian window, but it’s the National Gallery, on the National Mall. I didn’t do much actual work. It was mainly filling the paperwork and meeting my new colleagues, everyone from the Collection Department. It’s huge! You should see it. And the amount of paintings they keep stored!”
Peter smiled, looking at her with found eyes as Elizabeth went on.
“You know, that’s a shame that no one is to see those pieces. Some of them are true masterpieces. There was that one small Picasso that would be perfect for my living-room.”
“And I happen to know just the right guy to get it discreetly for you.”
The sudden mention of their missing friend broke the spell. Elizabeth saw Peter’s face darken. Her heart sank in her chest. All her worries came back to the surface, and seeing her husband visibly miserable made her wish she could at least be there for him. Peter needed her, and she was two hundred miles away.
Peter’s phone buzzed on the table. He looked at it and looked apologetically at Elizabeth. “I’ve got to take this, hon, it’s work. I’ll call you back tomorrow. It was good talking to you.”
“For me too. I love you, hon.”
“I love you too.”
Peter shut down the communication. Elizabeth remained a moment staring at the black screen. She was worried about Neal, worried about Peter and it was making her feel even more isolated. She slowly closed her laptop and put it away. She lied down in the bed and buried herself under the cover, trying to gather heat. She was struggling at night to get the bed warm with her own body the only source of heat.
She, too, would have once again a hard time falling asleep tonight, and it wouldn’t be due to the stress of her new job.
PART TWO
Author:
aragarnaArtist:
eldorahWord Count: 20 400
Characters, pairings: Peter, Neal, Elizabeth, Mozzie, various FBI agents.
Rating: general audience, gen.
Warnings: none
Spoilers: up to 5x13
Summary: post-season 5. Neal goes missing, El goes to DC, Peter gets restless and Mozzie steps over the line.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to
elrhiarhodan for the beta work and advice, and a huge kudo to my artist eldorah, who made a wonderful art to illustrate the story. Go check her art here! Title is a quote from a poem by Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.[...]The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Saturday
1:27 PM, Brooklyn.
Peter and Elizabeth were cuddled against each other on top of the bed. Her head was resting on his chest, his arms wrapped around her.
“Are we really doing this?” Peter finally said, trying to keep the sadness of his voice at bay.
“I guess we are…”
“Are you mad at me?”
Elizabeth eased herself out of Peter’s hold and looking up, she smiled. “I’m not mad at you, hon. To be honest, I’m actually surprised it took you so long.”
“To turn the promotion down?”
“To realize a desk job just wasn’t you.”
Peter put a delicate kiss on Elizabeth’s forehead. “You’re smarter than I am.”
“Peter, even as the current ASAC, you’ve kept going to the field with your team. You’ve created a new position just for yourself, field-ASAC.”
Peter made an apologetic face. “I tried not to…”
“But you enjoy the field too much.”
“I can’t deny I like being on the field.”
“Look, Peter, when we first talked about the promotion, I encouraged you to take it, because after everything we went through, the accident, prison, I thought it would be a way to keep you safe. And I needed that. I needed to keep you safe. So, I was a little upset at first to see that being the ASAC didn’t keep you from the danger of the field. But if I’m being honest, I can see that this is what makes you happy.”
“I guess I needed it too,” Peter said in a low voice after a short silent. “I needed to get back on more solid ground, pull myself out of that mire I’d put myself in. Put it all behind me and go forward. It felt right at the time. Now it’s clear that it’s not the right thing for me.”
“Why not?”
Peter passed a hand through his hair and sighed. “I don’t feel like I belong there, with all the big bosses. I’m not ready. I’m afraid of losing myself. I need to feel myself again.”
“Is that because of Dawson, and what Neal did?”
Peter shook his head vigorously. “It’s not because of Neal.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “But it’s still because of Dawson.”
“It’s because of what I did. What I had to do.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something, but Peter cut her off. “I don’t regret what I did, it was the only thing to do. For you, and for Neal. But I need to feel like I’m doing the right things again. I have principles. There are things I just can’t accept. Neal is right, he earned a reward, just as much as me. He deserved a promotion too. And I can’t accept that I’m given all sort of perks because I’m an FBI agent, while he’s used as a simple asset because he’s a criminal. This is not right. We’re partners. We did the same job.”
“Have you told Bruce?”
“I haven’t called him back yet. I wanted to talk to you first.” Peter let go a heavy sigh. “He pushed hard to get me this position. “Why does it always feel like I’m letting someone down?”
“I’m sure he’ll understand. Sometimes you do what you have to do for yourself. What do you want to do?”
“Get back to work, at White Collar. With Neal, and the team.”
“Good, so you do that.”
“But you?”
“Look, hon, this is what you want to do, this is fine. But all those plans for DC made me dream about it, and now I have this job at the National Gallery. I really want to do this. This is what I want. We’ll make it work. DC is not that far. We can do this. This is right, for the both of us. We both get to do what we want. It’ll probably get a little difficult at the beginning, to find a new rhythm. But we’ll manage. And I’m not sure forcing you to take that desk job will make you happier. This is the right thing.”
Peter hugged his wife a little tighter. “So you’re not mad at me.”
She took his hands into hers and looked at him right in the eyes. “Your ethics can really be a pain, sometimes. And yet, for some reasons, I find your need to be a good man inexplicably attractive.”
Peter cupped El’s face into his hands, gazing lovingly at her.
“What?” She asked.
“I’m so lucky to have you,” he whispered. “You’re so wonderful. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Peter pulled her close and kissed her, his hands sliding from her neck to her chest and waist.El kissed him back but then gently pulled away.
“Hon, the moving van comes tomorrow morning. We’d better get going, we need to repack everything, see what you need to keep here, if you’re staying.”
Peter sighed, disappointed.
El chuckled. “Keep it for tonight.” She gave him a quick kiss and dragged him out of the bed.
They went down to the kitchen to sort the things Peter would need and those Elizabeth would take.
“It sure will be a challenge to remember how to use all this stuff,” Peter smirked as he pulled some unidentified object from a box. “I guess you can keep this?”
El laughed. “Come on, honey, that’s not the first time you’ll be on your own. How did you survive when I was in San Francisco?”
“I barely survived, that’s the thing.”
“I’m sure all the neighborhood takeaways will survive just fine, too.”
El winked and Peter made a face.
“Microwave?” Peter asked.
“Definitely you.”
“What about Satch?”
El looked up from the box she was rummaging in and her gaze met the one of the big yellow lab, who had raised his head and ears at the sound of his name. Being home more than Peter, she was the one who walked the dog the most. But she had the feeling that Peter would need the company more than she did.
“You should keep him,” she said.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. We can always see how it works for the both of us. Keep him here for now. Besides, you know how he is. He has his habits here.”
Peter’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he retrieved it quickly. His smile faded away when he saw the alert message. For a moment, he just starred at the red alert message, unable to react.
“Peter, what is it?” Elizabeth asked anxiously.
He startled. “Neal cut his anklet.”
Heart pounding heavily, Peter speed dialed Neal’s number. His blood was buzzing in his ears, echoing the ringing tone. The phone rang in the void for what looked like an eternity and finally went to voicemail.
“Neal! What did you do? Pick up the phone!” His voice was rigged with panic.
Not knowing what else to say, Peter hanged up. Hand shaking, chest burning, he looked up at Elizabeth, showing an unreadable face.
1:57 PM, Brooklyn.
“Your boy Caffrey ran. Again.” Marshal Ryan shouted rather angrily over the phone.
“There is an explanation,” Peter retorted, automatically on the defensive. There had to be.
“Which is?” The Marshal’s tone was betraying his impatience. They’ve been there before, too many times, and he was clearly tired of these conversations.
“I don’t know. Yet,” Peter admitted.
“Do you know where he is?”
“I can’t reach him.”
“Neither can we.”
“Look, I’ll figure this out.”
“You’d better. Meanwhile, I’m still filling a report.” The tone was definitive, and the Marshal hung up without giving Peter any chance to argue.
He slid down the phone in his pocket, and rushed to his laptop on the dining table. Feverishly, he opened it, started the tracking program, typed in Neal’s ID, and loaded the history of his last movements. It appeared that after leaving Brooklyn, Neal had gone to one of his favorite parks in Manhattan, along the East River. He seemed to have been wandering around there for a while, until the signal suddenly disappeared.
Peter kept staring at the screen, as if waiting for the little red dot to reappear. It didn’t.
“Maybe it’s a malfunction…” Elizabeth said tentatively as she came close to watch at the computer over Peter’s shoulder.
“Maybe,” Peter repeated in a hollow voice, unconvinced.
“You think he ran?”
Peter detached his eyes from the screen and slowly turned to face El. As he couldn’t ignore anymore that thought he had refused to formulate, he felt his soul split in two. His gut was telling him it was the most likely explanation while his heart was denying Neal would do that.
“I… What else… He wouldn’t… I don’t know. He’s been so edgy the past few months. So many things have been weighting down on him. His father, Hagen, Rachel.” Me. “I think he had enough.”
Defeated, Peter buried his head in his hands. All the blood had drained from his face. His heart was pounding hard against his tighten chest. It felt like he was crashing down and would explode any moment. But he wasn’t sure if it should be from anger or panic.
“But, hon, Neal didn’t want to run.”
“I know, but…” Peter felt all miserable. There was a time where he was sure Neal wouldn’t run. It was an unspoken promise he wouldn’t break. There was a time where Neal had said he’d come to work on Monday morning, whether he’d be off anklet or not. But this was a long time ago, a time where things were simpler, easier, between them. Now Neal had asked him to terminate his sentence sooner, and even as he backed him up, Peter couldn’t ignore that nagging feeling that Neal was asking for an out. Neal didn’t want to work with him anymore, and Peter couldn’t help but think it was his fault. Still, was Neal that upset that he would run?
“If not, then what happened?” Peter said finally in a small voice.
He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Think. No was not the time for regrets and self pity. He had to find Neal, figure things out. Then he’ll try to understand. More focused, he said in a more asserted voice “We need to call Mozzie.”
Elizabeth took her phone out and dialed Mozzie’s number.
“Moz, this is El. Neal cut his anklet, Peter’s worried. Call him back. It’s urgent,” she said to the voicemail. Then glancing at Peter, “June?” she suggested.
Peter called Neal’s landlady. Unfortunately, she had not seen him. No, she didn’t notice anything special in his behavior. And no, he hadn’t told her anything about his plans for today.
Peter hung up. It was time to act. He stood up and reached for his jacket. “I need to go…”
Elizabeth just nodded. “Keep me updated,” she said simply.
Peter kissed her quickly and he was gone.
3:15 PM, Manhattan.
The conference room was packed. Marshal Ryan was pacing back and forth in front of the monitor. Peter had let him lead the meeting, start the chase, and was standing at the back of the room. Leaning against the glass frame, he had his arms crossed on his chest. He just couldn’t do it. His heart wasn’t at it. It was lying, heavy, in his chest. He was barely listening to Ryan’s briefing. Not that he really needed to. He knew everything there had to know about Neal Caffrey. And then some.
“We should focus our priority on small regional airports.” Ryan was stating. “This seems to be Caffrey’s favorite escape route.”
Peter winced. He rubbed his eyes to chase the image of Neal on the tarmac on a cold afternoon, turning around, tears running down his cheeks, calling his name. Peter. Before everything went to hell.
That was the only time Neal really meant to run. One time, a long time ago. A time when he’d do anything for Kate. Ever since then, Peter had thought Neal was done running. Of course, there had been Cape Verde. But Neal only ran because Peter told him to. Except no one knew that. It had looked like Neal had run on his own. For no reason. Of course, Philip Kramer never admitted his intention to screw the commutation hearing, so it had looked like Neal had stupidly shot himself in the foot. And now it was compromising any chance of an early release, no matter how good his work for the bureau has been. And this was all Peter’s fault, though he couldn’t simply tell them that. It would probably only make things worse, for both of them. The handler encouraging his CI to run, what a pair they made…
Diana gently elbowed his ribs, calling Peter back to the present and he focused his attention back to the conference room, he realized all eyes were staring at him.
“Burke, you with us?” Ryan asked irritably. “Any idea where Caffrey would go?”
Peter shook his head.
“What if he didn’t run?” he suddenly said.
Ryan stared at Peter, eyebrows rising and rolled his eyes.
As he didn’t seem to have anything to answer, Peter pressed on, getting more and more agitated as his own words sank in.
“What if something happened? An accident, a kidnapping… “Maybe he was attacked?”
“Burke, you can’t be serious.”
“We need to get in touch with Kidnapping and Missing Persons, ASAP,” Peter stated, straightening himself up. He was taking back the command.
“This is a waste of time,” Ryan protested.
“If something happened to Neal, focusing on his MO won’t get us anywhere. This is a waste of time,” Peter said pointing at the flat screen displaying Neal’s list of aliases and past wanted posters. He stormed out of the conference room, ignoring Ryan’s protests.
5:34 PM, New Wednesday.
“This is Burke.”
“Neal didn’t run!”
“Mozzie? Hang on.”
There were some muffled sounds, the Suit’s voice inaudible in the distance talking to someone else, a door being opened, another one being shut, and Peter came back online.
“Moz?”
“Suit! Neal didn’t run!” Mozzie shouted again.
“What do you mean? Do you know where he is?”
“No! Do you?”
“No, we haven’t been able to locate him.”
“Oh God…” This wasn’t good. Walking circles in the living room of his safe house, Mozzie tried to ignore the growing feeling of panic.
“When was the last time you saw him?” Peter asked.
“About three hours ago.”
“Where?” There was something grounding in Peter’s commanding tone – not that Mozzie would ever admit taking command from a government representative.
“Riverside Park, next to June’s.”
“Did you notice anything unusual in his attitude?”
“He was pretty upset about being refused his freedom! After everything he’s done for you, how can you let them treat him like – like a tool. Like a property! This is slavery! ” Mozzie yelled.
“Moz! Please…”
Peter’s voice wagered. Something in his tone made Mozzie stop short. There was a short silent. Peter breathed heavily.
“Did he say anything about wanting to run?” He asked in a low voice.
Would Neal run? Their last conversation seemed to indicate he wanted to. Mozzie had promised to work on cracking the new anklet. Neal had given him a week. So why would he run now? This didn’t make sense. Neal wouldn’t have run. Not without him. Or would he? Mozzie felt a cold drop of sweat running down his spine. Would Neal run without him?
“Mozzie? Do you know anything?” The Suit’s voice had suddenly turned suspicious.
“No. I know nothing,” Mozzie rushed.
“How do you know he didn’t run?”
“Because…” Mozzie started. He had to choose his words carefully. “It wouldn’t make sense.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t tell you.” The conversation was getting quite slippery.
“What were you up to?” Now this was turning into an interrogation, and the Suit didn’t seem pleased. Nor was Mozzie.
“Nothing!”
“So you’re saying Neal wouldn’t have run because you were working on something?”
“I’m not saying anything!” Mozzie protested.
“I can’t believe it. You two will never stop.”
Mozzie couldn’t believe it either. How come the Suit always guessed everything? On the other side of the line, he heard Peter heaved a frustrated sigh.
“Is there anything you could share to help us find Neal? You might be the last person who saw him.”
“Who is ‘us’?” Mozzie asked, suspicious.
“The FBI, Mozzie. His colleagues and friends.” Peter sighed, sounding suddenly uncertain. “All I want is to find him.”
“I’m sorry, Suit. I don’t know. I left him at the park. But I’ll ask around, see if anyone has heard from him.”
“Good, thanks Moz’.”
Mozzie hung up. Neal had disappeared. This wasn’t good. No good at all. Was it possible that he wouldn’t wait for his friend to crack the anklet and decided it was just as easy to cut it? But Neal always relied on Mozzie for escape plans. Or did he? Could it be possible that Neal had a secret exit strategy all set? That he wouldn’t share with Mozzie?
He shook his head. It wasn’t likely, it wasn’t making any sense. There had to be another explanation. If Neal didn’t run, then what? What were the facts? Neal had cut his anklet – no, the anklet appeared to be cut, or malfunctioning. And Neal was out of reach. Mozzie had tried all of Neal’s known numbers. All had gone to voicemail.
Neal had gone off grid. Was he hiding? Was he in danger, then? Hurt? Or was he taken? Neal was a valuable asset and an unmatched opponent, good enough to create an infinite number of jealous enemies. Neal attracted rivals, enemies, even possessive girlfriends, like a magnet. And from all sides, thieves and government seemed equally interested in not letting him live his life like he intended to.
It was time to act, definitely not the time to panic. There was little doubt that whatever happened, Neal was in danger. Mozzie grabbed his jacket and his shoulder bag and headed out.
8:00 PM, Manhattan.
The conference room had once again become their headquarters. All available personal of the White Collar division had been relocated there. This time, ASAC Peter Burke was conducting the briefing.
“We’re coordinating with Kidnapping and Missing Persons. Agent Rice has kindly lent us three agents to scavenge the area where Neal was last seen. They’re looking for any clues, signs of struggles, and possible witnesses. They are also looking for Neal’s anklet. We’ve received surveillance tapes from all the cameras in the area. There were none in the park itself but all the surrounding streets are covered. The good news is, we know exactly where and when Neal’s anklet was cut. The bad news is, it was in the park, so we have no images of what happened.”
Jones raised a hand. “What about the Marshals?”
“They still believe Neal ran.”
“But you don’t.” That was Diana.
Peter looked at her intensely. “I have reasons not to.”
“The little guy?” Jones asked.
Peter nodded slightly. “Anyway, someone has to consider other angles. We let the Marshals do their jobs, and we cooperate. We don’t protest, we don’t make waves, and we try to keep in touch with their investigation. But in the meantime, we look for Neal on our own. You’ve been all given footage to go through. Look for any suspicious person and vehicle avoiding cameras, being stationary, disappearing in blind spots. In particular, if you catch sight of Neal, look for anyone that might be tailing him. I’ve let Missing Persons know that we had been quite successful in the past commandeering tourist cameras to collect more images. Get to work, everyone, every minute counts.”
Jones shared a meaningful look with Diana. This was not the first time Neal ran – or disappeared. But there was an urgency in Peter’s voice telling them it wasn’t like the last time, when Neal had run to Cape Verde. That one time, they had always suspected Peter of being better informed on what had happened than he had let on. But not today. Today was different. Today, Peter was ready to launch the entire cavalry looking after his CI.
Things had been quite rocky these past months between Peter and Neal. It had seemed at some point that Peter had had enough of Neal. Not that Jones could blame him. Yet his boss seemed to have an infinite reserve of second chances when it came to his CI, and it hadn’t been long until he saw them patching things up, like they always did. No matter their differences, no matter the bumps on the road, Peter and Neal seemed to share a unique bond.
For his boss’s sanity, Jones hoped Caffrey indeed didn’t run. This would be the ultimate betrayal, and he was afraid that Peter would just break. He didn’t want to have to collect the piece of Peter’s shattered heart.
Sunday
2:59 AM, Manhattan.
The digital clock at the bottom of her laptop’s screen changed from 2:59 to 3:00. Diana paused the video and decided it was time for a coffee refill. They had been watching video footage for hours. Her eyes were burning from too much screen time and she was feeling like her head was going to explode. She rubbed her eyes and got up.
Peter was looking pensively at the coffee machine, his mug sitting empty below the tap.
“Hey boss, you need help with the coffee machine?”
Peter startled and quickly pushed the fill button. “Hmm, no, sorry.”
“What’s the matter? “
Peter turned to face Diana but his look drifted away and she didn’t catch his eyes. “Everything is wrong.” Peter looked down at his phone he was holding, and he suddenly crashed on a chair. “Elizabeth just called. She asked me when I’d be home.”
Earlier, Peter had taken Diana and Jones aside in his office to tell them he wasn’t going to DC. Apparently the higher-ups had refused to commute Neal’s sentence and Peter had taken a stand against them. Diana had smiled. Only Peter. It was probably career suicide, but she suspected it was the last of her boss’ concerns.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, was another matter. According to Peter, she was okay with his choice, though Peter seemed to still feel guilty and worried. But Neal’s disappearance hadn’t given him much of a chance to think this through with a calm head.
“When is she leaving?” Diana asked.
“Tommo - ” Peter looked at his watch. “Well, this morning now. The moving van should be there in five hours.”
“Can’t you guys postpone?”
Peter shook his head. “El starts tomorrow at the National Gallery. This job is important for her.”
“Then go.”
“What?”
“Go to DC with you wife. Help her settle at least.”
Peter looked shocked. “But I can’t! Neal needs me here. Every minute counts.”
Diana reached out to put a hand on his arm. “And your wife needs you, too. Look Peter,” she said with a gesture encompassing the bullpen and conference room. “You’ve got the whole team here looking for Caffrey. Good agents. We know the drill. We can do without you for a few hours.”
Peter followed her movement toward the unusually busy office at such a time of the night. For every agent, in particular those who had had the opportunity to work with Caffrey, the annoyance of being called on such short notice on a Saturday afternoon had quickly been replaced by real concern for the Bureau’s most famous CI. It was three AM, and the entire team was actively looking for Neal, just as they would for any other member of the division.
Diana caught glimpse of a stirred frown on Peter’s face as his gaze lingered on all the people hard at work.
“Go home, Peter. We’ve got this.”
2:30 PM, Washington DC.
“I believe that was the last one,” El breathed as she put a large box on the floor and let herself fall on the couch. She was exhausted.
Peter’s head appeared at the door of the kitchen. He shot her a smile. “Who would have thought one person could fill so many cases and boxes? How are you going to fit it all in? Maybe we should have picked a bigger apartment,” he smirked as he leaned on the doorframe.
“Why don’t you make me some coffee with that brand new espresso machine?” Elizabeth said, ignoring the mockery.
Peter disappeared again in the kitchen.
“I fixed the sink in the kitchen and I checked the electricity and the heater. It’s all good,” he shouted as a lovely smell of fresh coffee started to fill the apartment.
Elizabeth leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes, letting her new home sinking in; the odors, the noise, the light, the space. She heard Peter’s steps coming closer. Same familiar rhythm, different resonance on the floor. But nothing will ever change the hint of deep love and care that she could detect in his voice whenever he talked to her, even to say the most trivial things.
“There you go, hon. Be careful, it’s hot.”
Elizabeth opened her eyes and took the cup of coffee Peter was holding in front of her. He smiled and joined her on the sofa, sliding an arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him and rested her hand on his thigh.
“Thank you for coming with me today, hon.”
With his free hand he brushed the top of hers. “I’m so proud of you, you know, working at the National Gallery.”
“It’s just a small position in Finance and Planning department,” El corrected.
“Still, this is one of the most important museums in the country. Heck, in the entire world.”
“I’m so stressed for tomorrow!”
“You’re going to be great.”
“I haven’t been so stressed in years. It’s like I’m fresh out of college, looking for my first real job.”
“And we’re going to commute every weekend to see each other, just like college kids,” Peter said with a smile.
He squeezed her against him and put a gentle kiss on her forehead. His phone buzzed in his pocket, putting an end to their intimate cuddling moment. The considerate husband gave way to the tenacious FBI Agent as he took his phone out. Looking over Peter’s shoulder, El read the text sent by Diana. Lead on an undescript van. Lost the trail in New Jersey. Rice coordinating with local PD.
Elizabeth felt a shiver running through Peter’s body.
“That’s good news, right? You’ve got a lead,” she said, trying to sound positive.
“Yes, it’s something.” Peter sighed. “Also, if it’s confirmed, it’s looking more and more like a kidnapping,” he said bleakly.
“You’ll find him, hon.”
“Hopefully in time…” Peter said in a small voice. “I’m so worried about him, El. I’m starting to wish he’d run…”
“Don’t be silly.”
“If they’ve hurt him…”
“You’ll kick their ass.”
A sad smile brushed Peter’s lips. He got up, offering a hand to El. She followed him to the door.
“Thank you for being there.” Elizabeth hugged her husband tight. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. “I love you,” she whispered.
“You call me tomorrow,” he said softly. I want a full report on your first day.”
They remained embraced a moment, both reluctant to let go. Finally Peter stepped back and opened the door.
“You call me too, if you have any news about Neal...” Elizabeth paused before adding: “Anything.”
Peter nodded, kissed her one last time and disappeared, again.
Elizabeth felt suddenly terribly alone. Alone and helpless. She prayed with all her heart that they would find Neal. Unharmed. Alive.
3:12 PM, one dark basement.
Neal woke up with a sore head and disoriented. It took him several minutes to make up his surroundings – a dark and unfamiliar room – and remember what had happened. He had been kidnapped. The words of the man with the boots came back to him: The last person on Earth to know where you are. Neal shivered. Making efforts to gather his memories, Neal remembered two people – probably men, given the strength – grabbing him. A dark hood had been thrown on his head. He’d been thrown in the back of a van. After that, nothing. He couldn’t recall the drive, not how he got into this room.
Neal sat up. He had no idea where he was. Or how long had he been here, though he could probably get a rough estimate of it. He felt angry, but not desperately so. He stood up carefully, and the initial dizziness caused by the brisk change of position faded fairly quickly. He was pretty thirsty however, and his mouth was dry. But lying unconscious on a dirty floor would probably do that. All in all, he wasn’t in such a bad condition physically. It couldn’t have been much more than a day.
Neal felt a lump in his throat at the thought that he had been missing for at least twenty-four hours. People were probably looking for him. Peter was, certainly. His heart clenched. Peter would probably thought he’d run. He would be so hurt. Just when things were finally getting back to normal between them… Peter wouldn’t even have a chance to sit at his cushy desk that he had to run after Neal again… How come he was ruining everything all the time for his friend? Even when he didn’t mean to?
Neal shook himself up. He would find a way to make it up for Peter later, explain he didn’t run, never meant to. First he had to get out here.
Neal looked around. The room he was in was dark and he could barely make his surroundings. Not that there was much to see. The room was empty, except for what looked like an old shaggy mattress in a corner. There was no window and the walls were all made of plain concrete. The floor was made of concrete as well. Only a very faint light was coming from under the door. It was quite a solid door, one that would be hard to break open. It was also reinforced by two bolds in addition of the regular lock. Not unpickable with the proper tools. Neal checked his pockets. Everything was gone, of course. Lockpick set, phone, even tissues. They had also taken his belt, tie clip, cufflinks and shoes. Escaping was going to be a challenge.
“Hello? Anyone here?” He screamed.
Neal banged on the door, hoping to be heard. Then, pressing his ear against the door, he listened for any noise. He didn’t hear anything but a deafening silent. He couldn’t even hear the usually muffled constant noise of the city. Sighing, Neal approached the mattress. He sat down, not without darting a look of disgust at it, and waited. If they had bothered checking his pockets and giving him a – sort of – bed, they probably meant to keep him alive. Someone would eventually come. Or so he hoped.
Passing his hand through his hair, Neal was stopped in the middle of his movement by something odd. His hair felt unfamiliar under his palm. Next to his right temple, it felt strangely short. Examining it carefully with his fingers, Neal had to face the evidence: someone had crudely cut a lock of hair off his head!
Why would someone want his hair? Plant his DNA on a crime scene as blackmail? Was someone messing up with him, wanted him arrested and sent back to prison. Was the kidnapping part of a bigger scheme, to make the FBI believe he ran and went back to his life of crime?
Neal felt a rush of blood running through his veins. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let Peter believe he had betrayed him. Images of his friend, angry, hurt, looking away from him, came floating around in the darkness, haunting. Shame on me for expecting anything else.
Neal took his head in his hands, summoning better memories: Peter smiling fondly at him with that hint of pride in his eyes that Neal couldn’t help but look for. I’m proud of you, you know. Except it had been all based on a lie. Neal chased the image. It was too painful. On one condition, you visit me and El in Washington, a lot. This time it hadn’t been a lie. All truths had come out and yet Peter had still pleaded in his favor to his friend, Bruce. Neal closed his eyes. He could see Peter’s face, barely able to contain his emotion, happy to make him happy. Neal could almost feel the firm handshake in his fingers, the strong arms wrapping around him, like a warm hug to his heart.
Despite everything, Peter still loved him. Enough to set him free.
Monday
10:05 AM, same dark basement.
They finally came. Or rather, one big thug came, bringing Neal a plain sandwich and a bottle of water – with no cap. He was so big even Peter would have looked tiny next to him. There was no way Neal could force his way out against this guy.
“I need to go to the bathroom.”
The big guy had looked at him like an annoying little spider. “Eat,” he had said pointing a finger at Neal’s food.
He came back half an hour later and escorted Neal to the bathroom, offering him the opportunity to study the place. They had climbed a flight of stairs, which confirmed Neal’s suspicion that his holding cell was in the basement, and after passing a second door, followed down a corridor. They had passed by three closed doors before stopping in front of the bathroom. Big Guy had shoved Neal inside and stood just outside, meaningfully leaving the door wide open.
Neal had tried to gather as much information as he could. Unfortunately, neither the corridor nor the bathroom offered any window and Neal didn’t get view of the outside, or any clues of where he could be. Big Guy had taken him there twice, after serving him his rations. It wasn’t much, but that trip to the bathroom was still his best option for an escape.
Left alone, Neal sat down on his mattress. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He thought about Peter. His friend had to be looking for him. Even as a Section Chief, he wouldn’t let that task to anyone else, would he? Neal hoped Peter had more leads on where he was than he had himself.
1:30 PM, Manhattan.
“Anything on that van?”
“A burned-out van was found this morning in a remote area of New Jersey,” Rice reported. “It could fit our missing van. But it was pretty well consumed by the fire. Nothing useful could be recovered.”
Peter sighed in frustration and kicked the back of a nearby chair with his closed fist. Nothing on the van, nothing from the kidnappers, nothing from Neal. Nothing.
“Okay, that’s all then. Get back to work, everybody.”
He let everyone leave the room and caught Agent Rice aside. “Thank you, Kimberly, for your help.”
Rice smiled. “I still owed you and Caffrey a big one. Besides, you’d do the same for me if one of my agents was missing.”
Peter’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Neal isn’t an agent.”
“But he’s just as valuable. I’ve heard a lot about you two since we’ve worked together. You make a damn good team. Aren’t you promised to DC sometime soon?”
Peter shook his head gloomily. “I turned it down.”
Rice raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
He didn’t really want to talk about it. “I’ll tell Neal you said he’s as valuable as an agent,” he deflected. “He’ll be pleased.”
“Oh no, please don’t. He’d be impossible…”
“He usually is anyway.”
8:00 PM, Brooklyn.
Mozzie was pacing back and forth in the Burkes’ living room. From the sofa, Peter was watching him with increasing annoyance.
“Mozzie, seat down, you’re making me sea sick,” he groaned. But the little guy didn’t seem inclined to listen. He was on a roll.
“I’ve even had to talk to that douche of Marni Paws. Marni Paws! The guy couldn’t even slip his handcuffs if he had the keys.”
In other circumstances, Peter would have actually been delighted to hear Mozzie spill so many beans about his underground activities and contacts.
“You have to understand, Suit, that kidnappers are not my usual company. We’re not that kind of crude criminals.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “You’re not above putting a price on someone’s head. Or so, I’ve heard.”
Mozzie stopped dead and turned to Peter, shooting him a dark look from narrowed eyes.
“Keller had killed Hale,” he said between his teeth.
Peter tilted his head. He still wasn’t convinced Mozzie was truly above drastic actions, but now wasn’t time to argue. He raised his hands in sign of peace.
“Fine, sorry. Did you find anything useful?”
“Nothing! I’ve been asking around. It’s not easy, I have to be careful not to ring the wrong alarm. I’m still looking. I’ve put my homeless network on it.”
“Homeless network?” Peter repeated, baffled.
“Manhattan’s best unauthorized surveillance system. Invisible and omniscient. I’ve heard things…”
Peter felt a pit in his stomach at the idea that there were so many things going on in the criminal world at that very moment.
“So far, nothing that seems linked to Neal or even potential jobs where he’d be needed,” Mozzie went on. “But the list is long, I have just been through the most obvious targets for now.”
“Has he really that many enemies?” Peter asked, alarmed.
Mozzie stood in front of Peter, crossing his arms and looking at him from above. “We live a dangerous line of work, Suit. Neal even more so since you’ve turned him into a snitch.”
Peter pinched his nose but kept quiet.
10:00 PM, Washington DC.
Elizabeth slipped into her night gown, settled in her bed and opened her laptop.
“Hey hon.”
“Hey hon. Can you see me?”
“I see your chest just fine. Not that I complain…”
Peter pushed his laptop’s screen to fix the angle of the camera. “Better?”
Elizabeth smiled. “Oh there you are. It’s good to see you.”
“You too. I miss you.”
“You look exhausted, Peter. Any news from Neal?”
Peter shook his head. “Nothing.”
“How is the investigation going?”
“Not fast enough. We’ve been looking at surveillance videos all day. We’ve been tracking a van that was spotted at the park where Neal disappeared and later in New Jersey. But it didn’t lead us very far.”
“Don’t forget to get some rest every once in a while, hon.”
Peter passed a tired hand over his face. “I try.”
Elizabeth bent forward to get closer to the screen, looking closely at her husband. “Are you having troubles sleeping?”
Peter looked down. He seemed to hesitate for a fraction of second. “I am,” he finally admitted in a small voice.
Elizabeth was pondering if she should press further on the matter, but Peter didn’t seem incline to elaborate.
“Enough about me,” he said after clearing his throat. “How was your first day?”
Elizabeth lit up as the memory of her first day brought back all its excitement. “Oh it was amazing! Just to get to go to work there, it’s magic. This majestic building, full of history… Well, okay, my office is just a tiny, dusty old office, with air blowing under the antediluvian window, but it’s the National Gallery, on the National Mall. I didn’t do much actual work. It was mainly filling the paperwork and meeting my new colleagues, everyone from the Collection Department. It’s huge! You should see it. And the amount of paintings they keep stored!”
Peter smiled, looking at her with found eyes as Elizabeth went on.
“You know, that’s a shame that no one is to see those pieces. Some of them are true masterpieces. There was that one small Picasso that would be perfect for my living-room.”
“And I happen to know just the right guy to get it discreetly for you.”
The sudden mention of their missing friend broke the spell. Elizabeth saw Peter’s face darken. Her heart sank in her chest. All her worries came back to the surface, and seeing her husband visibly miserable made her wish she could at least be there for him. Peter needed her, and she was two hundred miles away.
Peter’s phone buzzed on the table. He looked at it and looked apologetically at Elizabeth. “I’ve got to take this, hon, it’s work. I’ll call you back tomorrow. It was good talking to you.”
“For me too. I love you, hon.”
“I love you too.”
Peter shut down the communication. Elizabeth remained a moment staring at the black screen. She was worried about Neal, worried about Peter and it was making her feel even more isolated. She slowly closed her laptop and put it away. She lied down in the bed and buried herself under the cover, trying to gather heat. She was struggling at night to get the bed warm with her own body the only source of heat.
She, too, would have once again a hard time falling asleep tonight, and it wouldn’t be due to the stress of her new job.
PART TWO
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Date: 2014-09-29 12:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-09-29 01:00 am (UTC)As someone who really enjoyed season 5, I can garantee you it's definitely on the positive side. :-)
Looking forward to your thoughts on the next chapters :-)