White Collar Fic - Collateral Damage
Nov. 23rd, 2014 07:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elrhiarhodanTitle: Collateral Damage
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey, Matthew Keller, Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke, Peter/Elizabeth
Word Count: ~4800
Spoilers: S6.03 - Uncontrolled Variables, all of Season 6 to date
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Beta Credit:theatregirl7299
Summary: Neal doesn't much like the man he sees in the mirror. Episode tag to S6.03 - Uncontrolled Variables.
Author’s Note: See end for author's notes.
__________________
Collateral damage is the con man's by-product.
Neal looked in the mirror and didn't much like the ugliness he saw.
Oh, the surface was very pretty indeed, that he wouldn't deny. But what was just below the surface was something revolting. A user, a twisted and selfish man who had never learned that being a conman meant that innocent people always ended up paying the price for his desires.
Amy was just one of the many people – mostly women – who had lost something important, something valuable, because she crossed Neal Caffrey's path. It was amazing how much Amy was like Rebecca Lowe, who'd lost her job because Neal needed to steal something she was responsible to watch over. And no matter how many times Neal told himself that Rebecca was nothing more than a clever piece of fiction, and every word that came out of her mouth was a lie, he still couldn't reconcile the truth of Rachel Turner with the dead woman on the sidewalk in front of the FBI Building. Kate, too, was a victim of his greed. A pretty girl who wanted to be an artist and came to New York with big dreams and a certain amount of talent. But he corrupted her and she ended up becoming little more than a grifter, a prison widow and then a pile of ashes.
Kate wasn't the only woman who died because of him. He couldn't forget about Ellen. If he hadn't made that headlong rush into his past, she would still be alive. The Flynns wouldn't have found her if Neal hadn't started digging. She was another person who paid the price for his recklessness. And then there was Elizabeth. His greed nearly cost her everything – her life, her sense of security, her trust. Despite Peter's words – Peter's too-ready, too-easy absolution, Neal was responsible for what happened.
How many other innocents that got burned along the way? How many people did he hurt in order to get what he wanted? Dozens? Hundreds? Men and women whose faces and names were not even important enough to remember.
Neal went out to the terrace and watched the city come to life as night took the field. Even though it had been a typical summer day in New York – hot and humid, the summer night was pleasant. Four stories up and the heat from the streets below was supplanted by a comfortable breeze. How many times had he stood here and wished for a different skyline? Probably as many times as he'd sipped a glass of wine and congratulated himself on taking a bad situation and twisting it around to his benefit. He was a master at that.
What had Clinton said to him? That he was living the dream, the dream with a goddamned tracking anklet. Except that Clinton was wrong – it wasn't a dream, it was a nightmare for everyone who cared about him.
A long time ago, Neal told Peter that the con was a rush, an addiction, that you couldn't give it up until you really hit rock bottom. It had seemed, for a while, that when Keller took Elizabeth, he'd found his nadir - that he'd hit the bottom of the deepest, darkest hole in his life. He'd been ready to give everything up - to go back to prison, quite possibly for life in order to make things right. But once again, someone else took the fall for him - ironically, his worst enemy.
The good feeling, the need for virtue and the desire to repent, lasted for a while, but the pull of the con grew stronger with each heartbeat, until there came a point when it was impossible to resist. And then he started hurting people all over again.
Neal barely sipped his wine. While getting drunk might help him escape from the demons in his brain, it would only be a temporary surcease. Besides, he'd need something stronger – brandy or whiskey or vodka – and a lot of it, to blot out Keller's words to him the other day.
Keller's vicious little speech was like a cut from a very sharp knife. Neal didn't realize he was bleeding until hours, days later.
The darkness claimed the city in full now, but the city was still awake. There was no rest for people like him.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
These days, Peter was way too inclined to indulge Elizabeth. She barely had to ask before he did what she wanted. It might have been the baby. Or it might have been the reappearance of Matthew (he should only drop dead) Keller in their lives.
For the most part, Elizabeth liked this highly attentive version of her husband, although he was driving her a little crazy with his lists of things he needed to do. For example, he'd stopped at the paint store on his way home and picked up a half-dozen different colors for the walls of what had been her mostly disused office, which would become the baby's room. She didn't mind getting a head start on it; her stuff had been packed in anticipation of their move to D.C. and it would probably stay packed up. But the thing was, she wanted to go with Peter to pick out paint chips and bicker a little over which shade of yellow or green or pink or blue would be best for their baby. She didn't want Peter to do everything and that was what he was trying to do.
The more she thought about it, the more she realized that Peter wasn't just indulging her, he was wrapping her in layer after layer of bubble wrap and she didn't particularly like the feeling.
Like tonight, for instance. He'd come home, bodily removed her from the kitchen and made dinner. Then did the dishes. Then put up the laundry. And bathed Satchmo, who really didn't need a bath – just a good brushing. He stopped her when she tried to take the laundry out of the washer and put dryer. He wouldn't let her fold it, either.
When she protested, he overrode her. "Let me pamper you. You worked hard today."
Truth was, she really hadn't. When she'd started the plans to move to D.C., she'd put Yvonne in fully charge of all the events on the company's calendar. They'd even talked about her buying Elizabeth out, and it was fair to say that Yvonne had been disappointed when she'd come back from D.C. within a week. That disappointment hadn't lasted when she'd shared the news. Smart woman that she was, Yvonne knew that her boss would not be taking up the reins again for good.
Right now, she was sitting on the couch with a cup of herbal tea and a couple of shortbread cookies within easy reach, reading one of the horror books that Diana dropped off. Peter was upstairs, fixing the sink. She heard something drop, followed by a string of very un-Peter like curses.
She wished he'd relax. It was nearly ten o'clock, a bit too late to be doing home repairs.
Also a bit too late for visitors ringing her doorbell. At least it wasn't Matthew Keller – he hadn't bothered to knock when he'd broken into her home, and was unlikely to do so now – given the FBI agents parked across the street.
El was pretty sure she knew who was at the door, but she checked nonetheless before opening it. "Neal. What brings you out to the wilds of Brooklyn so late on a Friday night?"
He kissed her cheek and handed her a wrapped package. "It's not that late. I wanted to bring you a present."
She joked, "This impending motherhood thing is quite the racket. Getting gifts right and left."
"I saw the doll Moz gave you. Frankly it gives me the willies."
"Yes – I think it's the lack of eyes. Diana stopped by, too. She dropped off some of her mother-to-be books. Which are, honestly, just as frightening as that doll."
Neal gave her a slight, almost diffident smile and rocked back on her heels. "Well, I hope my gift gives you a little more pleasure."
El put the parcel onto the table – it didn't take a psychic to figure out that it was a painting. She wanted to make a small joke about hoping that Neal hadn't relieved some museum of a favored work, but given his slightly nervous behavior, she said nothing. "You know, if Peter wasn't upstairs, with his head under the bathroom sink, he probably insist on opening this himself."
"Huh? Why?"
"He's being a little over-protective at the moment. He barely lets me feed myself."
"He loves you and wants to take care of you." Neal sighed and cast a quick look up the stairs, when Peter let lose another stream of curse words. "He's also freaked out by Keller's involvement in the case."
El nodded. "I know." What she didn't say was that Peter was also sublimating some impending grief. Once the Panthers were caught, Neal would have his freedom. He'd probably be gone before the mug shot photos had been taken. Peter didn't talk about it, but she knew just how much he was going to miss Neal. She would, too.
"Are you going to open it?" Neal nodded at the package.
"Oh, yes!" She pulled the string and unfolded the brown paper to reveal the back of a small canvas and frame. She flipped it over and caught her breath. "Neal!"
"Do you like it?"
"Like it, I love it!" He'd taken one of her favorite paintings – Mary Cassatt's A Kiss for Baby Anne and replaced the mother's face with hers. "It's exquisite. Neal, thank you." She gave him a tight hug, and was surprised at the tension she felt in his body. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure?"
Neal looked like he was about to say something, then closed his mouth and performed one of those diversions that he excelled at and lifted up the painting. "I wasn't sure you'd like it. It's not terribly original." Neal let out a bitter laugh. "Originality is not, as you know, my forte."
El wasn't sure what to say to that. Neal was behaving strangely. In all the years she'd known him, in good times and in some pretty bad times, he wasn't one to let his emotions show. But right now he seemed a heartbeat away from shattering.
"Hon, The upstairs sink is working, but I'll need to get a new trap and an elbow joint …" Peter came bounding down the stairs, his tee shirt damp, his face smeared with some substance she didn't want to know about, and pieces of plumbing in his hands. He stopped midway. "Neal, I didn't know you were here."
"Neal came by to bring me a present." She showed him the painting, and something crumpled ever so slightly in Peter's face. The expression was infinitesimally brief, but she understood pain when she saw it.
Peter put down the pieces of pipe he'd brought downstairs, wiped his hands on his damp shirt and picked up the painting. "It's beautiful, Neal - maybe your best work."
Neal just said, "I was inspired." He went over to the window that faced the small backyard and stared out into the darkness. El exchanged a meaningful look with Peter.
She joined Neal at the window. "I think I'm going to head up to bed. But don't rush home. I think Peter could use a little male bonding time.
Neal's lips quirked in parody of a smile. "Is it that obvious?"
She nodded and said in a voice only meant for his ears. "Whatever's going on in your head, talk to Peter. You know what happens when you don't talk about the important stuff."
That earned a laugh, if one tinged with a bit of bitterness. "Thanks, Elizabeth. Go pamper yourself. I'll make sure that Peter doesn't tackle any more home improvement jobs tonight."
She kissed his cheek, then went over to Peter, who was staring at the painting. "It's really something, isn't it?"
Peter nodded tersely. "It is." The words sounded choked, filled with emotion.
"Something's bothering Neal - you need to talk to him."
Peter looked over at Neal, who was still staring into the empty blackness of their garden. "Yeah, I do."
She kissed Peter on the lips. "Get it sorted out, whatever it is. However long it takes."
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter knew there was something bothering Neal. The past few days, ever since the thing with the girl, Amy, he'd been distracted and visibly worried. Both Clinton and Diana had commented how subdued Neal had been.
He needed to talk to Neal, to help him understand that sometimes you couldn't prevent the collateral damage. The girl - thankfully - wasn't hurt, and Neal should know that it was his intervention that saved her. What happened afterwards was unfortunate, but unavoidable.
If things were a little different, if El didn't need him at home every night, he might have gone over to Neal's with a bottle of cheap wine and let him pour out his soul.
He joined Neal at the window. "Beer or wine?"
"Nothing, I'm good." Neal didn't turn around.
"Let me wash up and we'll talk." His tone didn't brook any disagreement.
That got Neal to look at him and Peter was surprised at what he read in his expression - gratitude, guilt, and something that looked like fear.
"Outside?" Neal tilted his head towards the patio.
"Fine with me." Peter flipped on the lights and Neal went out, taking Satchmo with him. He washed up and grabbed an open bottle of a better than decent Cabernet and two glasses before joining Neal on the patio.
"Nice night." Neal had leaned back in the chair and was watching the planes cross the sky.
"Yup. Looks to be a nice summer - not too hot, not too wet."
"Early days yet. Still have the rest of July and all of August to get through."
"Hmm, true." Peter poured the wine and pushed the glass over to Neal.
Of course he took a sip and laughed, just as Peter had expected. "Why is it that when you bring me a bottle, it's barely drinkable, but your own wine is pretty damn good? And don't tell me that Elizabeth buys all of it."
Peter looked at him with a smile and a raised eyebrow.
Neal laughed again. "You do it just to irritate me."
"Can't believe it's taken you this long to figure that out."
"I can't, either."
They sat there drinking and Peter didn't push. Neal was here, he would open up when he was ready.
"I'm glad to see that there are still agents staked out in front of the house, even though you're home."
"I'd thought about dismissing them, now that we know that Keller's on a leash."
Neal shook his head emphatically. "Don't. Renaud isn't holding that leash very tightly. He doesn't care what damage Keller wreaks so long as the Pink Panthers are brought down."
"I'm sorry about Amy."
"Maybe it was for the best."
"You liked her."
"I did. But I would have only ended up hurting her in the long run. I would have had to tell her the truth at some point." Neal sighed and Peter almost wept from the pain he could hear. "I destroy everyone I touch."
"No, Neal - that's not true."
"Isn't it, Peter? Kate died because of my lies. Ellen, because I needed something from her. Mozzie nearly died twice because of me. And even though Rebecca was only a construct designed to trap me, she's still dead. And lest we forget, I've done a pretty good job on you and Elizabeth, too."
"Neal, no. You can't think that."
"But I can. I have to. The evidence is all there. Elizabeth almost lost her business because of me. She was kidnapped because of me. How many times have you been suspended because of me? How many times did you nearly lose everything because of your faith in me? Because you were foolish enough to think that I could be a better man."
Peter shook his head. "I'm not a fool, Neal. I know you - I know you are a good man."
"Really? I burn you every time you stick your neck out for me. And you cover for me. You protect me and I just keep doing it all over again. You try to teach me what is right - but all I end up doing is screwing everything up."
Peter wasn't going to let Neal keep flaying himself. "Remember that day - just before we tried to outmaneuver Calloway and Pratt? Remember what I said to you?"
Neal didn't answer. So Peter did. "I have no regrets. Not about anything. I still don't."
"Bullshit." The acid in Neal's voice shocked him.
"What do you mean?"
Neal pushed his wineglass away, his hands shaking. "I heard what you told Clinton."
"Huh?" Peter had no idea what Neal was talking about.
"The day that Hagen took Rebecca - " Neal shook his head. "And it doesn't matter that the whole thing was a set up. I'd planted a bug on the gallery owner - the one who called us in about the William Blake painting. You took him back to the office and he'd left his jacket in the conference room. Clinton told you that he'd be willing to take me on, to be my handler. You told him not to, that he'd regret it."
Peter remembered that moment with all too stunning clarity. He'd been furious at Neal - an anger that had been simmering for weeks - and it had come to a head just a few days before, when he'd found out just how Neal had gotten him exonerated. And just a few hours before, Neal had done everything he could to stoke that anger. "I'm sorry. I know I probably should say something about the price of eavesdropping, but I can't. I was pissed off at you and … and I - " Peter shook his head. "I still don't regret anything. What I said to Clinton was said in anger. Forgive me."
Neal blinked, his jaw hung open slightly.
"Have I finally figured out how to shut you up?"
"I - I wasn't expecting that."
"Is that what this is about - is that what's been bothering you?"
"No." Neal picked up his wine and drained the glass. "I really never intended to say anything about that. And I know you were angry at me. I deserved that."
"Then what's wrong, Neal? Why this introspection? You're not the type to wallow in regret."
"Yeah, I know. I'm pretty shallow." Neal poured out the rest of the wine into his glass. "Scratch the surface, there's not much there."
"I didn't say that. You've been kicked around your whole life. This is part of your armor. You smile and pretend and keep everything buried. You protect yourself that way."
Neal gave him a slight smile before turning his attention back to the night sky. Peter waited.
"I've been thinking."
"Oh?" Peter had no idea what was going through Neal's head.
"What if we back away from the Pink Panthers? Let Keller and Renaud take them down."
"Neal?" This was the last thing he'd expected to hear.
"It's another eight months until my sentence is up. I think I can manage that. And it's not like I don't enjoy working with you and the Bureau."
"I don't understand. Last week, you were like an animal in a trap trying to chew his leg off if it meant your freedom."
"That was last week."
"So, what's changed?"
Neal shrugged and didn't look at him.
"Neal?"
"You're going to be a father, Peter. The Panthers are dangerous. I don't want anything to happen to you."
"I'm an FBI agent, Neal - I can take care of myself."
"But what about Elizabeth? Your baby? They could get hurt."
"I don't follow. Woodford certainly doesn't know you're working for the FBI, he has no reason to link anything back to me. And if Keller says anything, he knows you'll tell Woodford about his own deal with Interpol. Besides, this will be all wrapped up before the baby comes. You'll have your freedom and I won't need to call the Marshals when you come to wait at the hospital when Elizabeth's in labor." Peter stared at Neal over the rim of his wine glass, before casually adding, "Unless you're not planning on sticking around."
Neal shook his head slightly and Peter's heart sank. "You're not staying in New York - of course not."
"No - that's not – . It's not what I mean."
"Then tell me."
"Woodford might be the head of the Panthers, and even if we bring him down - there's no telling who'll step into his shoes, and even from jail, they can make things happen. There's bound to be repercussions. You take them down, you'll become a target. My freedom isn't worth that. Let Keller and Renaud get the glory."
Peter thought Neal was being a little melodramatic, but his fear was quite real. "Where is this coming from? We have no intel about this."
"Let's just say I got it from a very reliable source."
Mozzie was the first thought that came to Peter, but he immediately discounted it. If Moz had information about the Panthers, then he would have shared it with Neal weeks ago. This was new. "Keller. You talked with that vicious little bastard."
Neal nodded.
"And he's convinced you that if you bring down Woodford, he'll come after you from a jail cell, or the people who take over from him."
"No just me - they'll come after you and Elizabeth and the baby. After Diana and Theo and Clinton and Mozzie and June. Probably Sara, too. Everyone I love will be a target. My freedom is not worth that."
"Don't you think that Keller was telling you this just so you'll clear the field - that you'll step back and let him take the honors? If you and I bring down Woodford, Renaud slinks back to Paris and Keller's dragged kicking and screaming back to his Russian prison. He has every reason to get you out of the picture."
"Of course I thought of that. Of course I know that he wants me out of this. But I know Matthew Keller, I know when he's lying and I know when he's telling the truth. He wasn't playing me, Peter. He was warning me."
"Neal…" Peter wasn't sure what to say. He didn't want to believe that Keller had been honest with Neal, but he knew that if there was one person who understood the mind of Matthew Keller, it was Neal Caffrey.
"Just let it go, Peter. I'll tear up the contract, I'll work for you for the rest of my sentence. I'll be a model CI - just what you always wanted."
"Let's work through this." Neal started to speak, but Peter held up a hand, cutting him off. "The goal is not to just chop off the head of the gang, but to bring down the entire organization, worldwide. This isn't some mythical Hydra - cut off one head, two grow back. We cut off all of the heads and burn the body so nothing can grow back. We get them all and lock them away where they can't get to anyone."
"It's not possible. This is an organization that no one's ever gotten even this close to - we have no idea what contingencies are in place. It's just too dangerous. I'm sick and tired of all the collateral damage. It stops now."
Peter could tell that there was nothing he could say - at least right now - that would change Neal's mind. They sat in silence, the cicadas and the muffled rumble of the cars driving by provided a calming counterpoint to the tension between them. Neal drained his glass and got up.
Peter stopped him "Stay the night."
"Huh?"
"The guest room's actually made up. Tomorrow's Saturday. Stay the night, cook breakfast for us, and then help us decide on paint colors for the nursery. El wasn't particularly pleased with the samples I brought home."
"Peter – "
"Come on, Neal. I need you. You and your artist's eye."
Neal caved in. "And you'll probably want my help with some of the other household repairs, right?"
"The upstairs sink is working, but not very well." Peter paused for a moment. "It's really a two-man job."
Neal laughed. "Okay, sure. I'll stay. And I'll fix breakfast. And help with the chores."
"Come on." Peter opened the door to let Satchmo in, picked up the glasses and let Neal take the wine bottle in and drop it in the recycling container.
He locked the back door, checked the windows, stepped out the front door, checked that the two-agent team on watch was awake and doing its job. He locked the front door and set the alarm.
Neal stood there, hands in his pockets. "Glad you're talking this seriously."
"I am, believe me."
"But you're not willing to give up on the Panthers."
Peter ushered Neal upstairs. "Not quite yet, but if we have to stand down, we will."
At the top of the stairs, Neal turned around to face him. In the dim light, Peter couldn't read his expression. Neal opened his mouth, then looked towards the closed door that lead to the master bedroom and just shook his head.
"We'll talk tomorrow." Peter rested a hand on Neal's shoulder, squeezing lightly, willing him to take comfort from him. He felt some of the tension ease as Neal smiled.
"Good night, Peter. And thank you - for everything."
"You're welcome - always."
Neal went into the guest room and shut the door behind him. Peter stood there for a moment before going to join Elizabeth. She was still awake, reading one of Diana's terrible expectant mother books.
"You boys talk?"
"Yeah."
"And?"
"Neal's spending the night."
Elizabeth laughed. "That's quite the non sequitur. What's going on?"
Peter grimaced, torn between his need to talk this through and get El's common sense perspective, and an equally powerful need to protect her. He decided to protect her. "Neal's a bit nervous - Keller's involvement is like a hand grenade with a loose pin."
"I understand just how he feels."
Peter stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed. "We'll get this done and before you know it, Keller will be back in that Russian hellhole and Neal will be free."
El frowned and tucked herself against him. "Why do you sound so doubtful, then."
"I'm not. Just worried about Neal."
"What else is new?"
Peter kissed Elizabeth, drinking in the miracle of her. Things might have progressed, except she yawned.
"Baby hormones, sorry."
"Nothing to apologize for." Peter turned off the light and wrapped his arms around Elizabeth. The minutes passed and her breathing evened out, deepened, as she fell asleep.
But sleep didn't come so easily for him. Neal might have been honest with him, opening up in a way he hadn't in a very long time. But he hadn't returned the favor - a lie of omission was still a lie.
He hadn't told Neal that there was a price for that signature on his contract. If they didn't catch the Panthers, Peter's resignation would not just be expected, it would be required.
Sometimes, you couldn't avoid the collateral damage.
FIN
The painting that Neal reproduced with Elizabeth's face: A Kiss for Baby Anne (No. 3) by Mary Cassatt.
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey, Matthew Keller, Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke, Peter/Elizabeth
Word Count: ~4800
Spoilers: S6.03 - Uncontrolled Variables, all of Season 6 to date
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Beta Credit:
theatregirl7299 Summary: Neal doesn't much like the man he sees in the mirror. Episode tag to S6.03 - Uncontrolled Variables.
Author’s Note: See end for author's notes.
Collateral damage is the con man's by-product.
Neal looked in the mirror and didn't much like the ugliness he saw.
Oh, the surface was very pretty indeed, that he wouldn't deny. But what was just below the surface was something revolting. A user, a twisted and selfish man who had never learned that being a conman meant that innocent people always ended up paying the price for his desires.
Amy was just one of the many people – mostly women – who had lost something important, something valuable, because she crossed Neal Caffrey's path. It was amazing how much Amy was like Rebecca Lowe, who'd lost her job because Neal needed to steal something she was responsible to watch over. And no matter how many times Neal told himself that Rebecca was nothing more than a clever piece of fiction, and every word that came out of her mouth was a lie, he still couldn't reconcile the truth of Rachel Turner with the dead woman on the sidewalk in front of the FBI Building. Kate, too, was a victim of his greed. A pretty girl who wanted to be an artist and came to New York with big dreams and a certain amount of talent. But he corrupted her and she ended up becoming little more than a grifter, a prison widow and then a pile of ashes.
Kate wasn't the only woman who died because of him. He couldn't forget about Ellen. If he hadn't made that headlong rush into his past, she would still be alive. The Flynns wouldn't have found her if Neal hadn't started digging. She was another person who paid the price for his recklessness. And then there was Elizabeth. His greed nearly cost her everything – her life, her sense of security, her trust. Despite Peter's words – Peter's too-ready, too-easy absolution, Neal was responsible for what happened.
How many other innocents that got burned along the way? How many people did he hurt in order to get what he wanted? Dozens? Hundreds? Men and women whose faces and names were not even important enough to remember.
Neal went out to the terrace and watched the city come to life as night took the field. Even though it had been a typical summer day in New York – hot and humid, the summer night was pleasant. Four stories up and the heat from the streets below was supplanted by a comfortable breeze. How many times had he stood here and wished for a different skyline? Probably as many times as he'd sipped a glass of wine and congratulated himself on taking a bad situation and twisting it around to his benefit. He was a master at that.
What had Clinton said to him? That he was living the dream, the dream with a goddamned tracking anklet. Except that Clinton was wrong – it wasn't a dream, it was a nightmare for everyone who cared about him.
A long time ago, Neal told Peter that the con was a rush, an addiction, that you couldn't give it up until you really hit rock bottom. It had seemed, for a while, that when Keller took Elizabeth, he'd found his nadir - that he'd hit the bottom of the deepest, darkest hole in his life. He'd been ready to give everything up - to go back to prison, quite possibly for life in order to make things right. But once again, someone else took the fall for him - ironically, his worst enemy.
The good feeling, the need for virtue and the desire to repent, lasted for a while, but the pull of the con grew stronger with each heartbeat, until there came a point when it was impossible to resist. And then he started hurting people all over again.
Neal barely sipped his wine. While getting drunk might help him escape from the demons in his brain, it would only be a temporary surcease. Besides, he'd need something stronger – brandy or whiskey or vodka – and a lot of it, to blot out Keller's words to him the other day.
"You're living in a fairytale. No matter what happens, me and you - we're hunted men. We take down Woodford and his crew, it's never over. Even in prison, they'll come looking for us. Their reach, my friend - it is far and it is wide. The Panthers don't stop looking for rats until they're dead. And then guess who'll they'll go after. The people closest to you. They'll make it hurt, they'll make it hurt so bad that you'll wish they'd found you. So you enjoy this freedom you're working so hard to get. When you're footloose and fancy free, those people that you love so much. They're on death row."
Keller's vicious little speech was like a cut from a very sharp knife. Neal didn't realize he was bleeding until hours, days later.
The darkness claimed the city in full now, but the city was still awake. There was no rest for people like him.
These days, Peter was way too inclined to indulge Elizabeth. She barely had to ask before he did what she wanted. It might have been the baby. Or it might have been the reappearance of Matthew (he should only drop dead) Keller in their lives.
For the most part, Elizabeth liked this highly attentive version of her husband, although he was driving her a little crazy with his lists of things he needed to do. For example, he'd stopped at the paint store on his way home and picked up a half-dozen different colors for the walls of what had been her mostly disused office, which would become the baby's room. She didn't mind getting a head start on it; her stuff had been packed in anticipation of their move to D.C. and it would probably stay packed up. But the thing was, she wanted to go with Peter to pick out paint chips and bicker a little over which shade of yellow or green or pink or blue would be best for their baby. She didn't want Peter to do everything and that was what he was trying to do.
The more she thought about it, the more she realized that Peter wasn't just indulging her, he was wrapping her in layer after layer of bubble wrap and she didn't particularly like the feeling.
Like tonight, for instance. He'd come home, bodily removed her from the kitchen and made dinner. Then did the dishes. Then put up the laundry. And bathed Satchmo, who really didn't need a bath – just a good brushing. He stopped her when she tried to take the laundry out of the washer and put dryer. He wouldn't let her fold it, either.
When she protested, he overrode her. "Let me pamper you. You worked hard today."
Truth was, she really hadn't. When she'd started the plans to move to D.C., she'd put Yvonne in fully charge of all the events on the company's calendar. They'd even talked about her buying Elizabeth out, and it was fair to say that Yvonne had been disappointed when she'd come back from D.C. within a week. That disappointment hadn't lasted when she'd shared the news. Smart woman that she was, Yvonne knew that her boss would not be taking up the reins again for good.
Right now, she was sitting on the couch with a cup of herbal tea and a couple of shortbread cookies within easy reach, reading one of the horror books that Diana dropped off. Peter was upstairs, fixing the sink. She heard something drop, followed by a string of very un-Peter like curses.
She wished he'd relax. It was nearly ten o'clock, a bit too late to be doing home repairs.
Also a bit too late for visitors ringing her doorbell. At least it wasn't Matthew Keller – he hadn't bothered to knock when he'd broken into her home, and was unlikely to do so now – given the FBI agents parked across the street.
El was pretty sure she knew who was at the door, but she checked nonetheless before opening it. "Neal. What brings you out to the wilds of Brooklyn so late on a Friday night?"
He kissed her cheek and handed her a wrapped package. "It's not that late. I wanted to bring you a present."
She joked, "This impending motherhood thing is quite the racket. Getting gifts right and left."
"I saw the doll Moz gave you. Frankly it gives me the willies."
"Yes – I think it's the lack of eyes. Diana stopped by, too. She dropped off some of her mother-to-be books. Which are, honestly, just as frightening as that doll."
Neal gave her a slight, almost diffident smile and rocked back on her heels. "Well, I hope my gift gives you a little more pleasure."
El put the parcel onto the table – it didn't take a psychic to figure out that it was a painting. She wanted to make a small joke about hoping that Neal hadn't relieved some museum of a favored work, but given his slightly nervous behavior, she said nothing. "You know, if Peter wasn't upstairs, with his head under the bathroom sink, he probably insist on opening this himself."
"Huh? Why?"
"He's being a little over-protective at the moment. He barely lets me feed myself."
"He loves you and wants to take care of you." Neal sighed and cast a quick look up the stairs, when Peter let lose another stream of curse words. "He's also freaked out by Keller's involvement in the case."
El nodded. "I know." What she didn't say was that Peter was also sublimating some impending grief. Once the Panthers were caught, Neal would have his freedom. He'd probably be gone before the mug shot photos had been taken. Peter didn't talk about it, but she knew just how much he was going to miss Neal. She would, too.
"Are you going to open it?" Neal nodded at the package.
"Oh, yes!" She pulled the string and unfolded the brown paper to reveal the back of a small canvas and frame. She flipped it over and caught her breath. "Neal!"
"Do you like it?"
"Like it, I love it!" He'd taken one of her favorite paintings – Mary Cassatt's A Kiss for Baby Anne and replaced the mother's face with hers. "It's exquisite. Neal, thank you." She gave him a tight hug, and was surprised at the tension she felt in his body. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure?"
Neal looked like he was about to say something, then closed his mouth and performed one of those diversions that he excelled at and lifted up the painting. "I wasn't sure you'd like it. It's not terribly original." Neal let out a bitter laugh. "Originality is not, as you know, my forte."
El wasn't sure what to say to that. Neal was behaving strangely. In all the years she'd known him, in good times and in some pretty bad times, he wasn't one to let his emotions show. But right now he seemed a heartbeat away from shattering.
"Hon, The upstairs sink is working, but I'll need to get a new trap and an elbow joint …" Peter came bounding down the stairs, his tee shirt damp, his face smeared with some substance she didn't want to know about, and pieces of plumbing in his hands. He stopped midway. "Neal, I didn't know you were here."
"Neal came by to bring me a present." She showed him the painting, and something crumpled ever so slightly in Peter's face. The expression was infinitesimally brief, but she understood pain when she saw it.
Peter put down the pieces of pipe he'd brought downstairs, wiped his hands on his damp shirt and picked up the painting. "It's beautiful, Neal - maybe your best work."
Neal just said, "I was inspired." He went over to the window that faced the small backyard and stared out into the darkness. El exchanged a meaningful look with Peter.
She joined Neal at the window. "I think I'm going to head up to bed. But don't rush home. I think Peter could use a little male bonding time.
Neal's lips quirked in parody of a smile. "Is it that obvious?"
She nodded and said in a voice only meant for his ears. "Whatever's going on in your head, talk to Peter. You know what happens when you don't talk about the important stuff."
That earned a laugh, if one tinged with a bit of bitterness. "Thanks, Elizabeth. Go pamper yourself. I'll make sure that Peter doesn't tackle any more home improvement jobs tonight."
She kissed his cheek, then went over to Peter, who was staring at the painting. "It's really something, isn't it?"
Peter nodded tersely. "It is." The words sounded choked, filled with emotion.
"Something's bothering Neal - you need to talk to him."
Peter looked over at Neal, who was still staring into the empty blackness of their garden. "Yeah, I do."
She kissed Peter on the lips. "Get it sorted out, whatever it is. However long it takes."
Peter knew there was something bothering Neal. The past few days, ever since the thing with the girl, Amy, he'd been distracted and visibly worried. Both Clinton and Diana had commented how subdued Neal had been.
He needed to talk to Neal, to help him understand that sometimes you couldn't prevent the collateral damage. The girl - thankfully - wasn't hurt, and Neal should know that it was his intervention that saved her. What happened afterwards was unfortunate, but unavoidable.
If things were a little different, if El didn't need him at home every night, he might have gone over to Neal's with a bottle of cheap wine and let him pour out his soul.
He joined Neal at the window. "Beer or wine?"
"Nothing, I'm good." Neal didn't turn around.
"Let me wash up and we'll talk." His tone didn't brook any disagreement.
That got Neal to look at him and Peter was surprised at what he read in his expression - gratitude, guilt, and something that looked like fear.
"Outside?" Neal tilted his head towards the patio.
"Fine with me." Peter flipped on the lights and Neal went out, taking Satchmo with him. He washed up and grabbed an open bottle of a better than decent Cabernet and two glasses before joining Neal on the patio.
"Nice night." Neal had leaned back in the chair and was watching the planes cross the sky.
"Yup. Looks to be a nice summer - not too hot, not too wet."
"Early days yet. Still have the rest of July and all of August to get through."
"Hmm, true." Peter poured the wine and pushed the glass over to Neal.
Of course he took a sip and laughed, just as Peter had expected. "Why is it that when you bring me a bottle, it's barely drinkable, but your own wine is pretty damn good? And don't tell me that Elizabeth buys all of it."
Peter looked at him with a smile and a raised eyebrow.
Neal laughed again. "You do it just to irritate me."
"Can't believe it's taken you this long to figure that out."
"I can't, either."
They sat there drinking and Peter didn't push. Neal was here, he would open up when he was ready.
"I'm glad to see that there are still agents staked out in front of the house, even though you're home."
"I'd thought about dismissing them, now that we know that Keller's on a leash."
Neal shook his head emphatically. "Don't. Renaud isn't holding that leash very tightly. He doesn't care what damage Keller wreaks so long as the Pink Panthers are brought down."
"I'm sorry about Amy."
"Maybe it was for the best."
"You liked her."
"I did. But I would have only ended up hurting her in the long run. I would have had to tell her the truth at some point." Neal sighed and Peter almost wept from the pain he could hear. "I destroy everyone I touch."
"No, Neal - that's not true."
"Isn't it, Peter? Kate died because of my lies. Ellen, because I needed something from her. Mozzie nearly died twice because of me. And even though Rebecca was only a construct designed to trap me, she's still dead. And lest we forget, I've done a pretty good job on you and Elizabeth, too."
"Neal, no. You can't think that."
"But I can. I have to. The evidence is all there. Elizabeth almost lost her business because of me. She was kidnapped because of me. How many times have you been suspended because of me? How many times did you nearly lose everything because of your faith in me? Because you were foolish enough to think that I could be a better man."
Peter shook his head. "I'm not a fool, Neal. I know you - I know you are a good man."
"Really? I burn you every time you stick your neck out for me. And you cover for me. You protect me and I just keep doing it all over again. You try to teach me what is right - but all I end up doing is screwing everything up."
Peter wasn't going to let Neal keep flaying himself. "Remember that day - just before we tried to outmaneuver Calloway and Pratt? Remember what I said to you?"
Neal didn't answer. So Peter did. "I have no regrets. Not about anything. I still don't."
"Bullshit." The acid in Neal's voice shocked him.
"What do you mean?"
Neal pushed his wineglass away, his hands shaking. "I heard what you told Clinton."
"Huh?" Peter had no idea what Neal was talking about.
"The day that Hagen took Rebecca - " Neal shook his head. "And it doesn't matter that the whole thing was a set up. I'd planted a bug on the gallery owner - the one who called us in about the William Blake painting. You took him back to the office and he'd left his jacket in the conference room. Clinton told you that he'd be willing to take me on, to be my handler. You told him not to, that he'd regret it."
Peter remembered that moment with all too stunning clarity. He'd been furious at Neal - an anger that had been simmering for weeks - and it had come to a head just a few days before, when he'd found out just how Neal had gotten him exonerated. And just a few hours before, Neal had done everything he could to stoke that anger. "I'm sorry. I know I probably should say something about the price of eavesdropping, but I can't. I was pissed off at you and … and I - " Peter shook his head. "I still don't regret anything. What I said to Clinton was said in anger. Forgive me."
Neal blinked, his jaw hung open slightly.
"Have I finally figured out how to shut you up?"
"I - I wasn't expecting that."
"Is that what this is about - is that what's been bothering you?"
"No." Neal picked up his wine and drained the glass. "I really never intended to say anything about that. And I know you were angry at me. I deserved that."
"Then what's wrong, Neal? Why this introspection? You're not the type to wallow in regret."
"Yeah, I know. I'm pretty shallow." Neal poured out the rest of the wine into his glass. "Scratch the surface, there's not much there."
"I didn't say that. You've been kicked around your whole life. This is part of your armor. You smile and pretend and keep everything buried. You protect yourself that way."
Neal gave him a slight smile before turning his attention back to the night sky. Peter waited.
"I've been thinking."
"Oh?" Peter had no idea what was going through Neal's head.
"What if we back away from the Pink Panthers? Let Keller and Renaud take them down."
"Neal?" This was the last thing he'd expected to hear.
"It's another eight months until my sentence is up. I think I can manage that. And it's not like I don't enjoy working with you and the Bureau."
"I don't understand. Last week, you were like an animal in a trap trying to chew his leg off if it meant your freedom."
"That was last week."
"So, what's changed?"
Neal shrugged and didn't look at him.
"Neal?"
"You're going to be a father, Peter. The Panthers are dangerous. I don't want anything to happen to you."
"I'm an FBI agent, Neal - I can take care of myself."
"But what about Elizabeth? Your baby? They could get hurt."
"I don't follow. Woodford certainly doesn't know you're working for the FBI, he has no reason to link anything back to me. And if Keller says anything, he knows you'll tell Woodford about his own deal with Interpol. Besides, this will be all wrapped up before the baby comes. You'll have your freedom and I won't need to call the Marshals when you come to wait at the hospital when Elizabeth's in labor." Peter stared at Neal over the rim of his wine glass, before casually adding, "Unless you're not planning on sticking around."
Neal shook his head slightly and Peter's heart sank. "You're not staying in New York - of course not."
"No - that's not – . It's not what I mean."
"Then tell me."
"Woodford might be the head of the Panthers, and even if we bring him down - there's no telling who'll step into his shoes, and even from jail, they can make things happen. There's bound to be repercussions. You take them down, you'll become a target. My freedom isn't worth that. Let Keller and Renaud get the glory."
Peter thought Neal was being a little melodramatic, but his fear was quite real. "Where is this coming from? We have no intel about this."
"Let's just say I got it from a very reliable source."
Mozzie was the first thought that came to Peter, but he immediately discounted it. If Moz had information about the Panthers, then he would have shared it with Neal weeks ago. This was new. "Keller. You talked with that vicious little bastard."
Neal nodded.
"And he's convinced you that if you bring down Woodford, he'll come after you from a jail cell, or the people who take over from him."
"No just me - they'll come after you and Elizabeth and the baby. After Diana and Theo and Clinton and Mozzie and June. Probably Sara, too. Everyone I love will be a target. My freedom is not worth that."
"Don't you think that Keller was telling you this just so you'll clear the field - that you'll step back and let him take the honors? If you and I bring down Woodford, Renaud slinks back to Paris and Keller's dragged kicking and screaming back to his Russian prison. He has every reason to get you out of the picture."
"Of course I thought of that. Of course I know that he wants me out of this. But I know Matthew Keller, I know when he's lying and I know when he's telling the truth. He wasn't playing me, Peter. He was warning me."
"Neal…" Peter wasn't sure what to say. He didn't want to believe that Keller had been honest with Neal, but he knew that if there was one person who understood the mind of Matthew Keller, it was Neal Caffrey.
"Just let it go, Peter. I'll tear up the contract, I'll work for you for the rest of my sentence. I'll be a model CI - just what you always wanted."
"Let's work through this." Neal started to speak, but Peter held up a hand, cutting him off. "The goal is not to just chop off the head of the gang, but to bring down the entire organization, worldwide. This isn't some mythical Hydra - cut off one head, two grow back. We cut off all of the heads and burn the body so nothing can grow back. We get them all and lock them away where they can't get to anyone."
"It's not possible. This is an organization that no one's ever gotten even this close to - we have no idea what contingencies are in place. It's just too dangerous. I'm sick and tired of all the collateral damage. It stops now."
Peter could tell that there was nothing he could say - at least right now - that would change Neal's mind. They sat in silence, the cicadas and the muffled rumble of the cars driving by provided a calming counterpoint to the tension between them. Neal drained his glass and got up.
Peter stopped him "Stay the night."
"Huh?"
"The guest room's actually made up. Tomorrow's Saturday. Stay the night, cook breakfast for us, and then help us decide on paint colors for the nursery. El wasn't particularly pleased with the samples I brought home."
"Peter – "
"Come on, Neal. I need you. You and your artist's eye."
Neal caved in. "And you'll probably want my help with some of the other household repairs, right?"
"The upstairs sink is working, but not very well." Peter paused for a moment. "It's really a two-man job."
Neal laughed. "Okay, sure. I'll stay. And I'll fix breakfast. And help with the chores."
"Come on." Peter opened the door to let Satchmo in, picked up the glasses and let Neal take the wine bottle in and drop it in the recycling container.
He locked the back door, checked the windows, stepped out the front door, checked that the two-agent team on watch was awake and doing its job. He locked the front door and set the alarm.
Neal stood there, hands in his pockets. "Glad you're talking this seriously."
"I am, believe me."
"But you're not willing to give up on the Panthers."
Peter ushered Neal upstairs. "Not quite yet, but if we have to stand down, we will."
At the top of the stairs, Neal turned around to face him. In the dim light, Peter couldn't read his expression. Neal opened his mouth, then looked towards the closed door that lead to the master bedroom and just shook his head.
"We'll talk tomorrow." Peter rested a hand on Neal's shoulder, squeezing lightly, willing him to take comfort from him. He felt some of the tension ease as Neal smiled.
"Good night, Peter. And thank you - for everything."
"You're welcome - always."
Neal went into the guest room and shut the door behind him. Peter stood there for a moment before going to join Elizabeth. She was still awake, reading one of Diana's terrible expectant mother books.
"You boys talk?"
"Yeah."
"And?"
"Neal's spending the night."
Elizabeth laughed. "That's quite the non sequitur. What's going on?"
Peter grimaced, torn between his need to talk this through and get El's common sense perspective, and an equally powerful need to protect her. He decided to protect her. "Neal's a bit nervous - Keller's involvement is like a hand grenade with a loose pin."
"I understand just how he feels."
Peter stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed. "We'll get this done and before you know it, Keller will be back in that Russian hellhole and Neal will be free."
El frowned and tucked herself against him. "Why do you sound so doubtful, then."
"I'm not. Just worried about Neal."
"What else is new?"
Peter kissed Elizabeth, drinking in the miracle of her. Things might have progressed, except she yawned.
"Baby hormones, sorry."
"Nothing to apologize for." Peter turned off the light and wrapped his arms around Elizabeth. The minutes passed and her breathing evened out, deepened, as she fell asleep.
But sleep didn't come so easily for him. Neal might have been honest with him, opening up in a way he hadn't in a very long time. But he hadn't returned the favor - a lie of omission was still a lie.
He hadn't told Neal that there was a price for that signature on his contract. If they didn't catch the Panthers, Peter's resignation would not just be expected, it would be required.
Sometimes, you couldn't avoid the collateral damage.
The painting that Neal reproduced with Elizabeth's face: A Kiss for Baby Anne (No. 3) by Mary Cassatt.
