elrhiarhodan

Title: Return and Rebuild the Desolate Places – Chapter Twenty
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 – ~2200
Beta Credit:

coffeethyme4me,

miri_thompson,

sinfulslasher,

Art by

kanarek13

Sometime in Late January – Early Thursday Afternoon

Neal had been sleeping on and off for the better part of the last day. He’d doze off and wake with a start, his heart racing with anxiety. Then Peter would tell him to relax, that everything was all right, that he was safe. That was all he needed to calm down, knowing that Peter was really here, in the chair next to his bed, sleeping or reading or just watching him. That he wasn’t an illusion borne of fear and longing and drugs.

When Neal opened his eyes this time, however, his heart wasn’t racing, he wasn’t frightened. But he still looked for Peter, who wasn’t in the room. That didn’t worry him, though. Peter’s coat was on the radiator, the newspaper he’d been reading was folded and on the chair. The man was probably in the bathroom or getting a bite to eat. It was unreasonable to expect him to stay glued to his side.

At that, Neal blinked and realized that his thoughts were clearer than they had been for days. Maybe when Peter came back, they’d finally be able to talk.

He took a deep breath, carefully filling his lungs. They ached, but he could breathe; it didn’t feel like he was drowning or being stabbed.

Before Peter came back, a nurse came in to check his vitals. “How are you feeling today?”

“Better. A lot better.” He took another deep breath.

“Breathing is easier?” She strapped a cuff around his arm and he tried not to wince as she pumped it so full that his hand went numb. Neal could actually hear and feel his blood pulsing until she released the pressure.

“One-ten over sixty-five, that’s pretty good.” She held his wrist and looked at her watch. “Heart rate’s fifty-five. Mr. Caffrey – I’d say you’re on the road to recovery.”

Neal felt himself smiling, muscles stretching into a long-forgotten shape. The nurse poked a thermometer in his ear and a few seconds later pronounced him fever free. She changed the bag on his IV, checked the bandages from his surgery and then the point where the tube was stuck in him. The bag collecting fluid from his lung was almost empty.

“That’s a good sign – I bet they’ll spring you soon. Maybe even tomorrow. You’ll finally get to go home.”

Neal’s stomach flipped a bit. Home.

The nurse pulled the blanket up and asked him if he needed anything for the pain.

“No, I’m pretty good.”

“Okay. I’m going off shift soon, Dmitria will be taking over. She’s not a soft touch like I am, just so you know.”

Neal chuckled and it didn’t even hurt.

The nurse headed for the door, then paused and said, “I think your friend is back.”

Sure enough, the door opened and Peter was there. Neal’s smile broadened, the expression feeling natural for the first time since – forever.

Peter took possession of the chair again, dropping the newspaper into the garbage. He was holding a small aluminum case. Neal had seen one like that before, on that terrible night when Peter had come to his apartment after he’d stolen the Welsh gold. It had contained a new tracker. Back then, Neal had steeled himself against the anger, the sick feeling that he was forever going to be a dog on a leash. Now – he found himself longing for that leash, especially if Peter was the one holding the other end. As long as Peter was there, he was safe.

But Peter just set the case down on the floor and looked at him with a curious expression. “How are you feeling?”

“Believe it or not, a lot better. I can breathe.” He demonstrated. And coughed.

“I can tell.”

Neal struggled and caught his breath, cleared his throat and tried again. This time, he inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled without coughing or choking. “See?”

Peter laughed, a short but happy sound. “Good. You’re making progress.”

“What’s in the box?” Neal couldn’t help but ask.

“Nothing important. Just something I need to take home.”

Despite everything he’d been through, he could still read Peter like a book. Peter was lying. Whatever was in that case was important and Neal couldn’t shake the feeling it contained a new tracker. He didn’t press the issue, though. He had other questions. More important ones. “Have you and Elizabeth separated?”

Peter’s mask was firmly in place. “Why do you ask that?”

That reaction wasn’t what he’d expected. He was certain that Peter would instantly deny the question, that he’d reassure him that all was well between him and his beloved wife. “Because you’re here in New York, Elizabeth is working in D.C. And Elizabeth seemed so very unhappy when I saw her on Sunday.”

Such a wave of sadness crossed Peter’s face that Neal instantly regretted his question. “I’m sorry – it’s none of my business.”

Peter didn’t deny that, either. But he opened and closed his mouth once, twice – as if he couldn’t find the right words. Finally he did answer. “El and I are going to be fine. She comes back to New York or I go down to D.C. on the weekends - we see each other as often as we can manage. We just need to settle into the routine a bit better.”

Neal didn’t believe a word of that, and he didn’t like the way Peter’s lies were stacking up. “I don’t understand why you didn’t go to D.C. – you were so looking forward to the promotion.”

Peter sighed. “I think I did a good job of convincing myself I wanted it.”

“Or that you wanted to get out of New York and all the headaches.”

Peter gave him a look, one he’d been on the receiving end of for over three years. It made Neal happy in so many ways. But that look wasn’t the answer he needed. “Come on, Peter, why didn’t you go to Washington?” Hughes had told him that Peter had been angry about the Bureau’s refusal to release him, but he needed to hear the real story from Peter’s own lips.

“When you stormed off, I was so – ” Peter sighed. “So sick and angry and disappointed. I had reconciled myself to a desk job, but when I realized that I’d be part of a system that had little connection to what went on in the field, a system that had no qualms about keeping you chained up because you were too valuable to let go, I couldn’t take that promotion.”

Even though his tone was casual, there was so much anger in Peter’s answer that the hair on the back of Neal’s neck stood up. “Peter – I’m sorry.”

Peter’s words echoed the ones he’d said to Elizabeth a few days ago. “No, Neal – you have nothing to be sorry about. While their refusal to release you opened my eyes, it was still my decision to stay here. I couldn’t live with what I’d have become if I had gone to D.C.”

But Neal couldn’t let it go. “Even though you and El are living in different cities?”

“The job at the National Gallery was too good of an opportunity for her to pass up.”

“But still…”

“It’s fine, Neal. We’ll be fine.”

“But you’re not, now. And it’s my fault.”

This time, Peter’s denial was swift and absolute. “No! Absolutely not – why would you even think that?”

Neal shrugged. It was hard to explain, but the feeling was inescapable. “Elizabeth said that she’d thought I’d run, but that you hadn’t.”

“No, I never did.”

“No?”

Peter shook his head. “No. Not for a second. You promised me you were going straight. If you tell me you’re going to do something, you do it. You don’t lie to me, Neal.”

“Not unless your wife asks me to.” Neal gave Peter a hopeful smile.

That got the reaction he’d been hoping for. Peter smiled back and said, “Yeah.”

“I was thinking about it, though.”

“What?”

“Running. That day – after I’d left your house. I was so furious.” Neal decided that there was no need to hold back anymore. “I asked Moz to work on blocking the signal for the new tracker.”

“Like he did with the old one? When you stole the Welsh gold?”

Neal nodded, relieved that there was no heat or anger in Peter’s reply.

Then Peter dropped a bombshell. “I know that Hagen was behind that, Neal. That he and Rachel Turner had manipulated you into stealing the gold to pay off Dawson.”

“Ah.” After Rachel had been captured the first time, after he’d gotten the copy of the recording of him stealing the gold, he and Peter had never talked about it. They’d cleaned out the evidence in her apartment, boxed it up without really looking at it, and found their own version of “normal” again. Like so much of their problems, it was easier to ignore and pretend to forget than to actually talk about what happened.

“We were both set up. If I hadn’t been arrested for shooting Terrance Pratt, it would have been something else. I had combed through Rachel’s files after you’d disappeared, I thought she might have been involved.”

Neal swallowed, feeling slightly sick to his stomach. “What did you find?”

“A lot – and nothing. She and Hagen had this in the works for months before your father showed up. There were notes about corruption schemes, witness-tampering, pay-offs.” And then Peter chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Neal couldn’t imagine anything amusing about Hagen and Rachel’s schemes to destroy their lives.

“One of the plans that they’d considered.” Peter laughed again and there was something very sweet about his smile, but he didn’t continue.

“Come on, tell me. I’m a sick man and the suspense might hurt me.”

At that, Peter gave a bark of laugher. “Okay, okay. Remember Jack Franklin and Rebecca Vitale?”

Neal blinked at the apparent non sequitur. “Huh? What do those two have to do with Hagen and Rachel?”

Peter just lifted an eyebrow at him and the light dawned. “Oh. Oh. Oh.” He looked at Peter again. “Us?”

Peter nodded and Neal was surprised by the light flush on his cheeks. And the heat in his own. Once upon a time, he’d considered trying to seduce Peter, but that was before he’d gotten to know the man and his complete devotion to Elizabeth. The devil was on his tongue, however, and he couldn’t keep from asking, “Why didn’t they go through with that one?”

“Hagen thought you’d be willing to play me – to use me to get privileges and to manipulate the system, but Rachel was convinced that you were unlikely to have a relationship with a man, no matter what was at stake – that you’d be more likely to try to seduce Elizabeth. Her notes on that were a little … bizarre. It seemed like she was already infatuated with you.”

“Really – me and Elizabeth. Tell me you have to be kidding.”

“I’m not. Not that you’d have had a snowball’s chance…” Peter chuckled again, and Neal laughed too.

“True.”

“Anyway – ” Peter changed the subject. “They would have snared us with something. They were determined to get you to steal that chapter of the Mosconi Codex. My arrest and Andrew Dawson’s gambling habits played right into their hands. You were set up.”

“I don’t like the idea that I could be so easily manipulated.” Neal leaned back and stared up at the ceiling, remembering one of the most hurtful moments of his life – at least before he’d been kidnapped. “But you’d called it. I’m a criminal and why shouldn’t anyone expect me to do anything but think and act like a criminal?”

“Neal – no. I didn’t mean that. I was angry, and I didn’t know what was going on.”

Neal closed his eyes. This was getting to be too much. “If I wasn’t a criminal, Peter, if I wasn’t who I am, none of this would have ever happened.” He lifted the hand with the IV attached and touched the bandage covering up the wounds on his throat to illustrate his point.

Peter got up, lowered the rail on the side of his bed, and did something that Neal had been longing for almost since the moment he’d woken up. Peter gathered him into his arms and gently, carefully hugged him. Memories cascaded though him, good ones and bad – Peter’s arms around him, holding him back from the fireball, the moment when they’d found him free and safe after he’d been kidnapped, that moment in the FBI offices – before everything turned to shit. And of course, that bright afternoon on top of a stone tower on a small island in the Atlantic Ocean.

He sank into that embrace, holding Peter tight and trying not to cry. But he couldn’t stop the tears. He couldn’t stop the sobbing, and despite the ache from his wounded lung, the old bruising, the release felt good. He held onto Peter and let the tide carry him out to sea.

TO BE CONTINUED