elrhiarhodan

Title: We Shall Come Home - Chapter XX of XX - Conclusion
Author: elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing/Characters: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Reese Hughes, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Mozzie, Satchmo, plus other characters.
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Word Count: ~ 4000 (this chapter) ~61,000 (total)
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Summary: Transformed beyond recognition, beyond comprehension, Peter and Neal are lost in the woods and desperately try to get home. A tale of friendship, sacrifice, loss and ultimately, of love. In the final moments of life, Neal comes to a startling realization.

This is the final chapter of We Shall Come Home, and everyone who has read and enjoyed it has my deepest thanks. This was a work of love and pain and joy, and I hope this ending was worth the journey.

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | Chapter V | Chapter VI | Chapter VII | Chapter VIII | Chapter IX | Chapter X | Chapter XI | Chapter XII | Chapter XIII | Chapter XIV | Chapter XV | Chapter XVI |Chapter XVII | Chapter XVIII | Chapter XIX |


CHAPTER XX - SATURDAY

IT HAD BEEN THREE DAYS SINCE PETER WAS DISCHARGED FROM THE HOSPITAL. Three days since he rushed to Mozzie’s to find Neal – still a dog – waiting for him. Three days of waiting for Neal to become a man again. Three days of watching as Neal faded away, listening as his breathing grew more and more labored – three days of agony and grief and helplessness. For three days and as many nights, Peter refused to leave Neal’s side. Elizabeth shared his vigil. So did Moz. Satchmo, too. The Lab seemed to recognize who the strange dog was, and simply curled up next to him, giving all of the comfort he could.

Peter couldn’t understand why Neal hadn’t transformed back into a man – he didn’t know what had gone wrong. “Why won’t he change? What have I done?” Peter asked these questions over and over again. El had no answers. Moz looked at him, eyes sorrowful behind the thick frames.

Neal was running out of time. Peter didn’t know how Mozzie did it, but he convinced the canine cardiac specialist to pay a house call. It was a fruitless effort, though. All the tests the doctor ran simply confirmed that Neal’s heart was far too damaged by genetic cardiomyopathy and the trauma from the Taser for there to be any hope at all of long term survival. Hell, or even living for another week. Both Moz and Peter almost came to blows with the vet when he recommended euthanizing Neal “for his own well-being.”

How could Peter tell the man that Neal was not really a dog? Or at least, that this dying Irish wolfhound used to be a young, healthy human being, and there was no way he would put him down – that would be murder.

All day long, Peter sat on the floor next to Neal, waiting and watching, praying to a god he didn’t believe in, hoping for a miracle that wouldn’t come. His hand rarely left his friend’s body – that contact was as essential to him as breathing. The few times he had gotten up – to use the bathroom, to relieve a cramp in his legs – he felt the lack of attachment like a physical pain.

The irony of the situation would have been laughable if it wasn’t so damned tragic. To have come all this way, to have suffered through everything they had been through, together and separately, only to come to this. Whatever the key was that would turn Neal back into a man again, he was missing it. Something in the back of his head said that the answer should have been obvious, but Peter just couldn’t figure it out. Maybe because he didn’t have Neal to bounce ideas off of. Again, how ironic.

Over and over again, he obsessively replayed his own homecoming – what he could remember of it. He questioned El and Moz time after time, but there was nothing more that they could tell him, no clues for him to follow. Since the moment of his original transformation, he had known, with bone-deep certainty, that coming home to Elizabeth would turn him back into a man. Neal never shared that belief – he just trusted that following Peter home would do the same.

The more Peter thought about it, the more he blamed himself. If he hadn’t let Neal hunt for him, if he hadn’t let Neal risk his humanity – if he hadn’t been so damned selfish – they would never have gotten separated, and surely the wave of magic that turned him back into a man would have caught Neal too, bringing him back.

Every moment was painful to watch. He could see Neal slipping away, moment by moment. But no matter how weak he was, Neal’s eyes never left him – even though the bright blue had faded to a weak, watery gray. This was why Peter needed to be close. Neal seemed to be trying to say something to him, and as hard as Peter tried, as quiet and as open as he tried to leave himself, he couldn’t hear Neal – not even the faintest murmur. He shouted and cajoled and begged and pleaded with Neal inside his own head – all one-sided conversations. The communication they had shared in the forest was gone, as if it had never been.

In the heart of the night, when Peter closed his eyes against the dark, when Elizabeth curled up next to him in a sleeping bag, her hand resting on his back, and Mozzie paced in the small garden, he wept. His tears were bitter, his anger turned inward, at himself – for all the mistakes he made, for letting Neal go, for letting Neal try to save him. That was his responsibility, and no matter what, he should never, ever have forgotten that.



NEAL KNEW HE WAS DYING AND HE WAS GOING TO DIE TODAY. He stopped wondering why he hadn’t changed back into a human being and just relaxed. He was okay with what was happening, he could accept it now. No more fear, no more pain, no more worry. He was surrounded by the people he loved and he understood that they were trying their best to save him, like they always did.

It pleased him, viscerally, that Peter and Elizabeth were now so clearly friends with Mozzie. His biggest fear was relieved – that Moz, who pretended that he didn’t need anyone, would end up all by himself. Even if Peter didn’t actively seek his company afterwards, after he died, Elizabeth would make sure that Moz was a frequent and welcome guest.

He had no real regrets anymore, at least not about the small stuff. He had prepared for an eventuality that he never expected to happen, leaving instructions that would be delivered to Moz about his stash. Moz would do the right thing and see that everything was properly disposed of. Moz would talk to Alex, he’d let her know what happened. The messy tangles of his life would all be smoothed out eventually.

Except for Peter. He would take that sorrow to his grave. The one true regret was that he never really talked to Peter about them – what Peter meant to him, what he felt. It was too complex for words.

In his zeal to make him a better person – a man and not someone who just lived for the thrill of the game – Peter became the father he should have had and the brother he always wanted. And yet, there was something more – something that Neal had shied away from but now wished he could embrace and never let go.

Neal loved Peter, more than a father, more than a brother. Maybe “more” wasn’t right – his love was not really filial, nor fraternal. The truth, as he finally admitted to himself, was that he loved Peter as a man. He wanted to be with Peter forever, and yet he knew how impossible that was, and not for the obvious reason.

He loved Elizabeth too, albeit not with the same overpowering intensity. She brought him happiness, like an overflowing basket filled with rainbows and flowers and everything that was good with the world. If Peter tried to mold him into a better man, Elizabeth made him a better one just by her kindness, her acceptance. He thought that if he could have lived – even for just a little while longer – he would have been content to share a space at her feet with Satchmo.

Elizabeth would have been okay with Neal’s feelings, and now Neal could understand why. Elizabeth knew, somehow, or maybe she had learned early on that love doesn’t have to be an exclusive emotion. She was strong enough, centered enough to admit Neal into their lives, and he only wished he hadn’t been such a coward and seen the invitation she had given to him so many times.

In this last hour of his life, Neal realized finally why they were transformed – it wasn’t punishment, it wasn’t even a test. It was a gift. The mind-to-mind communication enabled by their change entailed more than words – it gave them the ability to truly feel each other. But from the beginning, they both cut that off. It was too intense, too painful. It was just too much to bear, and in rejecting that gift, they lost something infinitely precious.

And so, he would die today, incomplete. He felt as sorry for himself as he did for Peter and Elizabeth. He wished, oh how he wished, for one moment, one chance to tell them how much he loved them, how much they meant to him. No matter what would have happened in the rest of their lives, the three of them would always have had each other.

Everything hurt now. It hurt to breathe, and he had a hard time seeing. He tried to keep his eyes on Peter, who anchored him to life by a fine, thin thread. Neal knew that that thread was strong, but it wasn’t going to be strong enough to heal him, to fix what was broken.

He heard Elizabeth and Mozzie talking to Peter, but he couldn’t understand the words over the unsteady pounding of his heart. They must have been important words, because Peter became agitated, he could feel that. And he could see the tears flowing down Peter’s face. This was not right – Peter was too strong, he shouldn’t cry. He wanted to comfort him, to let him know that it was all right. That he wasn’t alone.

Neal tried to lick Peter’s hand, to give him a kiss. But his mouth was too dry and Peter was too far away. He could barely move when Elizabeth knelt down and kissed him, and he more sensed than felt Mozzie’s hand on his back.

It was almost over.

Peter must have realized that too, because he bent over and started whispering to him, and then time stopped.



AT DAWN ON THE FOURTH DAY, PETER KNEW THAT NEAL WASN’T GOING TO LIVE TO SEE THE SUN SET. His body was shutting down, his heart was failing and so was Peter’s hope. He damned himself with every breath. If only, if only, if only…

“Peter…”

He scrubbed at his face, too many days unshaven, his eyes crusted with sleep, with tears.

“What?” He looked up at Elizabeth. She had left their vigil – the deathwatch – to shower, to get them coffee, some food – food he couldn’t eat or even stand the sight of. Peter supposed he reeked. He hadn’t bathed since leaving the hospital; he couldn’t bear the thought of Neal dying without him there. Moz was standing next to her, obsessively wiping his glasses, his own eyes bloodshot from the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

“You need to tell him.”

Maybe it was the exhaustion, but he didn’t understand.

“You need to tell him what you feel. Even though he won’t understand you, you still need to tell him. For your own sake, before it’s too late.”

Her words echoed his greatest fears. “El?”

“Peter – I’ve watched the two of you for years. You don’t think I haven’t seen it? What you feel for each other? What you feel for Neal, what he means to you?”

He froze – everything in him shied away from what Elizabeth was saying, much as he had when he thought about Neal’s sacrifice in the forest. No – this wasn’t true. She was wrong. “No – no.” Please god, no.

Moz spoke up. “Suit – stop denying what you know is true.”

Peter ignored Neal’s friend – his friend, too – and spoke directly to his wife. “El. I love you. I will always love you.”

“I know that.” She laid a small, gentle hand on his head. “This is okay. I understand, so much more than you think. I always have. You came home – to me. You went through hell to do that, and I will never – I have never – doubted your love. But the human heart is not a finite vessel: you don’t love someone and declare it full, that there’s no room for anyone else.” She bit her lip, to stop the tears.

“You have to tell Neal – you have to tell him. Please, if just for your own peace. So you can remember, afterwards, that you did what was right. Please, before it’s too late.” Her fingers brushed his cheek, smearing the wetness of his tears. She turned to look at Neal, lying on the rug, every breath an effort. “Please, Peter, for both your sakes…be honest.”

El sat down next to him, she whispered something into Neal’s ear and kissed him. She was kissing him goodbye. Moz joined her. Peter closed his eyes. Despite everything, his supreme discomfort with this near-public confession, he knew that they were right. And they deserved to be here too – Neal was so much a part of all their lives.

Neal’s breathing was labored, the wheezing harsh and painful to listen to. Peter could feel the heat burning off his body. He bent over him, pressing his cheek against Neal’s snout, and as weak as he was Neal had enough strength to flick out his tongue and give a lick against his cheek. Peter shuddered at the contact. He wished. Oh, how he wished things were different. Neal had sacrificed everything to save him, to get him home, and Peter was unable to do anything but watch him die. Why had he waited so long?

Yes, as El said, there was one last thing he could do. He could honor Neal with the truth of his feelings.

Peter cupped his hands behind Neal's ears, stroking the rough fur, feeling the pulse race irregularly. As Neal’s heart was failing, Peter’s heart was breaking, and he didn’t know how he was going to live when Neal died. His eyes filled with tears again, and this time he made no effort to stop them. They flowed down his cheeks, and he caught a harsh breath on the edge of an aching sob.

“Neal – it may be way too late, and I should have told you years ago – I love you, I love you. I love you.” Say a thing three times and it’s true.

Peter’s thumbs stroked the tops of Neal's ears, down and across his eyebrows, teasing the still comical tufts of fur. “I don’t know where we could have gone with this, and I can’t imagine that you feel the same way. And I have no clue if you can even understand what I’m saying, but I have to keep saying it. I love you and I need you and my life without you will be very difficult.”

He felt El’s hand stroke his back, a comforting gesture. She whispered, “It’s all right, it’s all right.”

He leaned over and pressed a hard kiss between the furry brows. A tear fell, and then another, slipping through the fur, soaking into Neal’s hot skin. Peter’s eyes clouded with grief as he felt the pulse fading, breaking rhythm, stuttering, then speeding up. He kissed Neal again, and rested his forehead against Neal’s bony brow and closed his eyes, whispering his love, wanting, needing to be as close as possible when that last moment came.

And between one breath and the next, the magic came back. The room filled with a heavy and unnatural silence, broken only by the sound of his heart beating and the feel of Neal’s pulse, racing and wavering, then slowing down, getting stronger, finding the same rhythm as his own heartbeat. Peter couldn’t move, he could barely breathe, the connection between him and Neal was electric and unbreakable, they were locked together and he wondered if he was about to die, too.

The pulsing stopped abruptly and Peter lifted his head. The hands that had held fur-covered ears were cupped around a human head, his fingers were laced through lank, greasy hair. Neal’s face was gaunt, bruised, covered with more than a week’s scruff. Peter didn't want to blink, he didn’t want to move. He was afraid – afraid that this was an illusion born of his own desperate desires.

Neal opened his eyes.

“Peter … ”

He thought he would never hear his name spoken like that again – the desperate cadence, like a curse, like a prayer. He pressed his hand lightly against Neal’s chest, feeling his heart beat in a slow and regular rhythm.

His face was wet, the tears kept coming. It didn’t matter.

Neal grabbed weakly at Peter – his arm, his shoulder – and pulled him closer; his lips were moving and he was whispering something. Peter strained to hear his voice over the joyful pounding of his own heart.

He brought his ear to Neal’s moving lips and he heard the words he had never expected but so longed to hear.

“Peter, you weren’t too late. I love you, too.”


IN THE MONTHS THAT FOLLOWED, A LOT OF HIS MEMORIES ABOUT THEIR WEEK IN THE WOODS BLURRED, the way memories should. But Neal would carry the hour of his transformation – his rebirth – with him for the rest of his life. Maybe it was because death had been so close at hand. He would never forget the frightening feel of an erratic heartbeat, the need for air that he didn’t have the strength to breathe in, the shaming weakness of a body that could no longer function. And most of all, the painful regret of a life unfulfilled, of the promise of love that would never be reciprocated.

And then, the release – from pain, from fear (because yes, he was frightened of dying, even if he was willing to accept it). He didn’t understand why – maybe this was death, the cessation of everything except the mind. But that couldn’t be right – he heard Peter’s heartbeat, strong, steady, strong enough to beat for both of them. Then he heard Peter’s words, and even if he forgot his own name, forgot everything that he ever was, he could never forget those words. Neal – I love you, I love you. I love you. Repeated three times, like a charm, a talisman.

He knew it wasn't just Peter's words, or even the kiss on his brow, it was Peter finally admitting to himself, without the burden of guilt or shame, that what lay between them was real, true and lasting. That was the key.

As his eyes adjusted to light and color, he realized that he wasn’t alone with Peter. Elizabeth was there, and if he’d had any doubts about her feelings, they evaporated at the sight of her sparkling eyes and wide smile, and the feel of her warm body as she wrapped her arms around him.

Mozzie was there, too. He should have realized that he wouldn’t leave his side – not now, not this time. Neal reached out and Moz clasped his hand, a brief, weak squeeze of reassurance before letting go. In that release, Neal understood what Moz was doing, but it was unnecessary – there could be no replacement for him. He had the time now, and they’d talk.



MOZ BLINKED AND TRIED TO TELL HIMSELF THAT HIS RUNNING NOSE and watery eyes were just allergies, but he knew he shouldn’t lie to himself like this. It didn’t matter that it was Peter’s kiss that saved Neal – all that mattered, all that should have mattered, was that Neal was alive and looked to stay that way for a long while.

Or at least until the next time he got himself mixed up in some damn stupid government mess.

He pulled out his phone and made the call. Hughes answered it before the first ring ended.

“It’s good news, Suit.”

“Neal’s back?”

“Yes.” Moz looked at his watch and timed the call out of habit.

“How is he?” That question was far more complex than just three words.

“He’s Neal.” Those two words conveyed everything that the Old Gray Suit wasn’t asking.

There was silence on the other end, or maybe a prayer of thanks. Moz watched the second hand and counted down the time for a trace.

“I’m hanging up now, Suit.”

“Wait — tell Peter that I’ll be there in half an hour.”

Mozzie looked over at Neal, weak, filthy and diaper-clad, still wrapped in the Burkes’ arms, but his face aglow with happiness. “You may want to meet them at the emergency room.”

“Okay. And, Havisham?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Mozzie hung up and resisted the urge to pull the SIM card. The Suits knew who he was, and at least one of his safe houses. Killing another cell phone wasn’t going to keep them out of his life.

The Burkes’ dog wandered over to him and dropped a toy at his feet and sat down, panting and wagging its tail – it was probably pleased that its humans were happy again. He reached out and patted the animal. And sniffed. Nope, nothing – no adverse reactions. The dog woofed at him, and he patted it again, this time with a scratch at its ears. The beast nosed the toy – a slobber-coated thing made of who-knows-what that might once have been a teddy bear or a stuffed-sheep – and it brushed up against his feet. Moz shuddered and thought about all of the nice disinfectant back at his safe house in Williamsburg.

And then he sighed. The shoes could always be replaced, and after twenty-four hours with an incontinent wolfhound, a little dog spit was meaningless. He picked the toy up and gave it a shake. It made a noise which seemed to please the yellow dog, because it grabbed the thing out of Mozzie’s hand and went over to its bed and started playing with it, snuffling and chewing and doing disgusting doggie things to it, thankfully leaving him alone.

He stood in the middle of the room, feeling foolish. There really was no place for him here, now. El was happy, Neal was human, Peter was … in love. It was time for him to go.

He was halfway to the door when Neal called his name. He didn’t stop, and he might have made it out to the street if it hadn’t been for Elizabeth.

“Mozzie, where do you think you’re going?”

He froze. That voice could command entire Roman legions. He raised his chin, stiffened his spine and pretended for all it was worth. “My work here is done.”

“No, it’s not.” Peter spoke.

“Look, the three of you are in the middle of your happily ever after. This is where Shane gets to ride off into the sunset.”

“Mozzie, please. Don’t go.” That was Neal. When he sounded that pathetic, it was hard to say no – but he had to be strong.

“Get yourself cleaned up – you’re probably full of exotic and deadly microbes. I’ll be back tomorrow. We do have all sorts of things to discuss.”

Neal nodded, blue eyes blazing out of his gaunt face. Of all of them, Mozzie understood that this was almost too much for him to bear.

“Okay. Tomorrow? You’ll be back tomorrow – promise?”

He pulled off his glasses and wiped them, a compulsive tell that he could never seem to bring himself to break. He went over to the tangle of humans on the floor, kissed El on the forehead and gave Peter and Neal a speaking look. “Of course I will.”

He kept his head down and made it out the door and down to the street before the tears came.

They weren’t tears of sadness or of hurt, but nor were they tears of pure joy.



AFTERWARDS, THERE WERE A MILLION PRACTICALITIES THAT THEY HAD TO DEAL WITH. There was a long, difficult process to go through to “officially” return. Questions would be asked, answers given, lies told and truths covered up. But that was for another time. All Neal cared about was that he was here, with Peter, with Elizabeth. They were alive and safe.

Peter held onto him and Neal never wanted to leave his arms. He tucked his head into the crook of Peter’s shoulder and lay there as Peter rocked him, whispering, “I’m here for you, I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here.”

When Neal tried to wrap his arms around Peter, his hand clinging weakly at his back, Peter shifted and made it easier for Neal to hold onto to him. El sat at his back, rubbing Neal’s bare skin and stroking Peter’s arm. She too murmured that she was here and that everything would be all right.

Neal tried not to think about later or tomorrow or even the next minute. For the moment, it was just enough that he could lean into Peter’s body, bury his head against the other man’s neck and feel safe.

That he could feel like he truly belonged somewhere.

That he was home.



FIN