elrhiarhodan

Title: Return and Rebuild the Desolate Places – Chapter Nineteen
Author: elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Mozzie, Reese Hughes, Clinton Jones, Diana Berrigan, Olivia Benson (L&O: SVU), Section Chief Bruce (McKinsey) Original Characters
Spoilers: White Collar, all of Season 5; no specific spoilers for L&O: SVU, but set in Season 15
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Kidnapping, torture (off-camera), rape (off-camera),
Word Count: This chapter – ~3500
Beta Credit: coffeethyme4me, miri_thompson, sinfulslasher, theatregirl7299
Story Summary: Six months after Neal disappears, Peter still has no answers and his decision not to go to Washington has had significant repercussions for both his career and his marriage.
Chapter Summary: Reese can relax, his mission has, mostly, been accomplished. Peter both gives and receives an apology.

__________________

Previous Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen |

A/N: Title from Alan Hovhaness’ wind concerto, which takes it from the Old Testament. New chapters will be posted to my LJ every Thursday and to the relevant communities on Fridays.


Art by kanarek13




Sometime in Late January – Early Thursday Morning

Reese was exhausted. He felt like he hadn’t slept in days and it was quite possible that he hadn’t. Since Saturday, he’d been spending the better part of his days with Caffrey, or trying to call in favors to get Caffrey out from under the Treasury Department’s glare. Those efforts had been fruitless - they’d been determined to pin everything on the man, pointing to his record and deliberately ignoring the physical evidence. Reese felt like he was banging his head against a brick wall. On Tuesday, he’d even gone down to D.C. to plead his case but had been soundly rebuffed. He’d only been home for an hour before his doorbell rang.

It hadn’t been Peter, but Caffrey’s very strange friend, Moz. Almost against his better judgment, Reese had let the man in.



At some point, Moz had disappeared from the station house, scurrying back to wherever place he called home, but Reese had uniform drive him back to Yorkville. He’d let himself into the house, disengaged and re-engaged the alarm, and went upstairs without bothering to turn on a light. It was January, and there were still too many hours until dawn. Reese stripped and fell face-first into his unmade bed. As exhaustion claimed him, his last thought was that they did good.

Neal Caffrey wasn’t going to go back to prison.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Sometime in Late January – Late Thursday Morning

Bruce was beginning to loathe New York.

It was snowing again – a mix of stinging icy pellets and snow that somehow found a way under his hat and scarf, whipping against his face and at the bare skin at the edges of his gloves. It didn’t help his mood that when he arrived at the White Collar office, Peter Burke wasn’t in and he wasn’t answering his phone or responding to text or email. To make matters worse, his assistant had no clue where he was. She hadn’t seen him since yesterday afternoon.

Berrigan – one of Burke’s most trusted agents - was at her desk. He wasn’t such a slavish follower of protocol that he wouldn’t lower himself to ask her if she knew where her boss was. She was polite and respectful, of course, but Bruce’s gut told him that she knew something.

“He’s with Caffrey, isn’t he?”

Berrigan shook her head in denial. “No – I really don’t think so. He has been …”

“What?” Bruce didn’t have patience for her prevarications.

“Reluctant to see Neal. He hasn’t been to the hospital since Neal was interviewed over the weekend.”

Bruce blinked. “Are you sure?”

Berrigan nodded. “I saw Neal yesterday afternoon and he didn’t understand why Peter hadn’t been to see him.”

That didn’t even make sense, but Berrigan had no reason to lie. Caffrey might lie, but as lies went, this one seemed pretty pointless. “Okay, if Burke does bother to show up, tell him I’m looking for him and to answer his goddamned fucking phone.”

“Yes, sir.” She seemed a little cowed at his abruptness.

“Sorry – didn’t mean to curse at you.”

Maybe he was mistaken, because she laughed. “It’s okay – I’ve heard worse. I’m just worried. About Peter.”

That he could understand. “I’m going to head over to the hospital. Need to talk to Caffrey. Wanted to talk to Burke first, but …” Damn, he hated explaining himself to a subordinate.

Berrigan blinked and turned back to her work, equally uncomfortable. He picked up the small case he’d brought with him and left.

The weather was still foul as he walked the half dozen blocks west to the hospital. He tried to reach the detective who was handling Caffrey’s case - Sergeant Benson - but she wasn’t answering her phone. He’d heard whispers that Treasury was working with the NYPD, but nothing concrete and he was hoping she had some answers for him. Or that maybe she’d talked with Burke.

Bruce cursed as he stepped into a puddle of unspeakably filthy slush and the liquid soaked through his shoe and sock to his skin. Bruce fought for control of his temper. He was going to see a man who’d been tortured and left for dead, a man who was, according to the reports he’d received, still gravely ill. A man who didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of his bad mood.

He’d save that for Peter Burke, when he found him.

Bruce didn’t argue with the medical staff who told him that he needed to put on the equivalent of a hazmat suit. Not because he understood about anti-infection protocols, but because they gave him a clean pair of skid-proof socks and were kind enough to try to dry out the wet shoe.

They did ask him to leave the case with them. In fact, they really didn’t ask as much as order him to. It was locked, so it didn’t matter.

Caffrey was still in the same room, not that he would have had any trouble finding it - not with the blue-jacketed U.S. Marshal still standing guard. The woman looked tired and bored and she’d probably be very relieved to know that this particular assignment was about to come to a close. He identified himself and she all but rolled her eyes at him.

“I’ll need to see some ID.”

“Of course.”

He lifted up the yellow gown he’d put on, fished out his badge and showed it to her.

The Marshal gave him a thin smile. “Sorry, sir. But Agent Burke chewed me out a little while ago about not checking IDs. He was right - I had made a rookie mistake and had let a cleaner come into the room just because she was wearing scrubs.”

“Agent Burke? Peter Burke? He’s been here?”

“He’s in Caffrey’s room now. He’s been there since yesterday afternoon. Hasn’t left since I came on shift. Marshal Willards, who I’d relieved this morning, said he had been here all night.”

Bruce ground his teeth in frustration. He should have figured.

“Are you going in, sir?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He lifted the paper mask over his face and the cap over his hair, feeling like he was wearing a Halloween costume. The Marshal held the door open for him.

Burke was there, in a chair next to the bed, his hand resting on top of Caffrey’s. Both men were sleeping. Both men looked like shit.

Bruce cleared his throat, hoping that the sound would wake Peter. It did. He blinked and as he realized who was in the room, his expression turned wary. Bruce was surprised that Peter recognized him under this get-up.

He let go of Caffrey’s hand and the other man shifted restlessly, but didn’t wake. Peter got up and silently gestured for both of them to leave the room.

He followed Peter down the hall to the small waiting room where they’d talked - where Peter had lost his temper at him - last Saturday. Just six days ago. This was the third time he’d been to New York in less than a week and Bruce hoped it would be the last trip for a long time.

He pulled off the mask and cap and stripped off the gloves; he had to wonder if any of this was still necessary. Peter wasn’t wearing a gown or gloves. But that really wasn’t the point. “I’m a little surprised to find you here. Your agent, Berrigan, said you were staying away.”

Peter nodded and sighed and scrubbed at his face. “I thought it was best, I thought I’d be more useful trying to keep Neal out of prison than sitting at his bedside. But I’m guessing, since you’re here, that the Justice Department has made a decision?”

Just a few days ago, on Monday, Bruce had watched and listened and mostly kept silent during Peter’s showdown with the Justice Department’s lawyers. Peter had been close to breaking then, a hair’s breadth from tossing his badge on the table and walking out. He’d been furious with everyone, including him. Bruce didn’t really blame Peter. The attorneys, particularly the one from the Pardon Office, had been shockingly unreasonable. Bruce wasn’t sure why she had been so adamant that the man be returned to custody. Caffrey was an asset, yes - but he wasn’t a violent felon, or one who’d give the government nightmares if he didn’t serve the last few months of his sentence. When he’d caught wind that someone from the U.S. Attorney’s office wanted him back in prison for life, Bruce had put his foot down. There was justice and then there was petty, cruel, mean-spirited revenge because Neal Caffrey had once made fools of them.

He’d been about to call in too many favors and go right to the Attorney General himself, when he'd gotten the call that sent him back to New York.

Right now, though, the look in Peter Burke’s eyes was heartbreaking. He was clearly expecting the worst possible news. “Yes, they’ve made a decision. It’s not final, though.”

“What do you mean, not final?”

“Before you go ballistic, let me tell you what’s going on, okay?”

Peter didn’t quite relax, but he seemed less likely to commit mayhem. “Okay.”

“The attorneys that we met with on Monday have all been reassigned, and Caffrey’s file is under review. It’s actually been escalated to the senior counsel in the Office of Professional Responsibility. But there’s no question that he’ll remain out of prison. I’ve been told, categorically, that Caffrey’s re-incarceration is not on the table and never should have been.”

The relief on Peter’s face was worth the hassle of this whole damn trip.

“But in the interim, Caffrey’s back on the anklet.” He waited for Peter to explode, but he didn’t. He just nodded.

“You’re okay with that?”

“As long as Neal’s not going to be sent back to prison, I am. Right now, that’s all I care about.”

Bruce understood. “Good. You have to fight that that battles you can win. I don’t know what the outcome will be - they may want him on the tracker for the rest of his sentence. And they may still want his services.”

Not surprisingly, that angered Peter. “Do you really think that he’ll be going back to his old job?”

“No - not for a while, of course.”

Peter laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Not ever, Bruce. Neal Caffrey is terribly damaged - physically and emotionally. It’ll be months before he’ll be able to do anything more than sit at a desk and doodle, if he’s able to do that much. His career as a criminal informant is over. As long as everyone understands that. You’re positive that there are no expectations that he’ll ever be put back into the field?”

“There were no conditions or expectations on this requirement. Technically, Caffrey’s still on work-release because – ” Bruce trailed off.

“Because there’s no Federal parole. Any chance for clemency? The AG has been making a lot of noise about reducing sentences for non-violent offenders. Maybe he should put his money where his mouth is.” Peter’s tone was scathing.

“I think that’s what’s going on. But you have to realize that by the time a clemency petition makes its way through the system, Caffrey will be done with his sentence.”

Peter nodded and scrubbed at his face. “Yeah.” He sighed and looked him right in the eye. “Look – I’m sorry. For being such a disappointment. I know you didn’t expect any of this mess when you tapped me for a promotion.”

“Apology accepted. And for the record, I’d been warned – ” At Peter’s startled look, Bruce added, “not about you – your record speaks for itself – but about the potential for chaos that Neal Caffrey could bring to the table. He was one of the reasons why I wanted you out of New York. And don’t get angry at me. You know just what Caffrey’s cost you. Not just now, but since you got him his deal.”

Peter seemed to deflate, almost collapsing in on himself. “Okay, all right. And yeah – I know just what you mean about Neal and chaos. But I have no regrets, Bruce. Not for any of the decisions I’ve made. Not for getting Neal his deal, not for fighting to keep him out of prison, not for turning down the promotion. And certainly not for what’s happened over the last few weeks.”

“You’re not the type of man who would, Peter. I do understand that.”

“So, what now?”

“I have the tracker and the key. The box is at the nurses’ station – they wouldn’t let me bring it into Caffrey’s room.” Bruce picked at the yellow gown he was still wearing. “Why aren’t you in this getup?”

“I did when I first got here, but now …” Peter shrugged.

Bruce had to laugh. “I guess it’s better to be on the safe side.”

They walked past Caffrey’s room and Peter stopped for a brief moment and looked like he wanted to go in. But he shook his head and continued walking back to the nurses’ station. Bruce asked for the case he’d left with them. They handed it over, and he, in turn, gave it to Peter and then fished the key to the case out of his pants pocket. “Do you want me to come back in and talk to Caffrey with you?”

“No, I think it might be best for me to tell Neal.”

“Without me hovering like a bad smell?” Bruce joked.

Peter gave him a wry smile. “Yeah, something like that.” He sighed and turned to head back to Caffrey’s room.

“Peter – ” Bruce stopped him. “You haven’t burned all your bridges, you know. When this is over, when Caffrey’s sentence is over – there will be a place for you in D.C. You’re one of the best agents in the Bureau.”

“Thank you, Bruce.” Peter was appreciative, but clearly unenthusiastic about his offer.

“But you’re not interested, right? Not even with Elizabeth working there?”

“No. I’m not cut out for that life. I never was and I shouldn’t have tried to make myself believe otherwise.”

Bruce looked at Peter, really looked at him. Beneath the physical weariness, he saw the depth of suffering that the last six months had taken. He wondered how much longer Peter could hold on like this.

“You apologized to me, Peter. It’s my turn to apologize to you. I should have listened to you, I should have helped you when you fought to look for Caffrey – ”

“Neal. His name is Neal.”

Bruce nodded. “Neal, right. I was angry with you – for turning down the promotion, for being so insistent that Caffrey – sorry, Neal – hadn’t run. I was still angry with you when he’d been found. That anger kept me from remembering what fighting for justice was really about. Not budgets and headcount and conviction rates, but the people. The ones that we’re supposed to protect is what matters.” He shook his head. “Monday, when that cop – Benson – rattled off the list of cases where Neal had been directly in the line of fire, I was ashamed of myself. We don’t let agents do things like that, but we’ve pushed an untrained CI into harm’s way over and over again with little recognition. That says something about us, something unpleasant. When you talk to Neal, please tell him that we should have done more and that I’m sorry for everything he went through.”

Peter stared at him, and for a moment, Bruce thought he might just walk away. Instead, Peter held out his hand.

“Thank you, Bruce. That means a lot.” At that, Peter went back to Caffrey – Neal’s – room.

Bruce wondered, though, if it was going to be enough.

TO BE CONTINUED