Title: Return and Rebuild the Desolate Places – Chapter Twenty-Nine
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. No spoilers for Season 6, A/U from S5 finale forward.
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Kidnapping, torture (off-camera), rape (off-camera),
Word Count: This chapter – ~6900 / ~90,000
Beta Credit: sinfulslasher
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: Time doesn't stand still, but three months after Neal comes home from the hospital, he finds that he can't move on. Peter's there to help him every step of the way, but Neal wonders why.

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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 | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty | Chapter Twenty-One | Chapter Twenty-Two | Chapter Twenty-Three | Chapter Twenty-Four | Chapter Twenty-Five | Chapter Twenty-Six | Chapter Twenty-Seven | Chapter Twenty-Eight


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 April – Friday Afternoon

Peter glanced at the clock, it was well after five and he needed to get going. Neal had a physical therapy appointment at seven and it was going to take time and patience to get him downstairs and outside.

Physically, Neal had made tremendous progress. Over the past three months, the wounds from his ordeal and the subsequent surgeries had healed and the scars from many of the visible wounds had started to fade. But it was the multitude of invisible wounds that were refusing to heal. The damage to Neal's psyche seemed irreparable.



His cell phone buzzed, distracting him from the bleak thoughts. He didn't recognize the number. "Hello?"

"Peter, it's Landon."

His heart skipped a beat. They'd spoken a few times since Neal had gotten out of the hospital. Landon had called to thank him for his generous donation. At El's insistence, he'd doubled the amount she'd asked him to contribute. She called again to let him know that she was still working on getting the U.S. Attorney General to sign off on a full commutation, and if he would be interested in having her start the paperwork for a pardon for Neal. That would take years, but it wouldn't be much more work than what she was doing now.

Peter had told her he'd discuss it with Neal, and he had. Neal seemed highly disinterested and Peter told Landon not to bother. She then told him that the next time he heard from her, she'd be calling with good news.

He swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat. "Well?"

"It's done. The Attorney General has signed the papers releasing Neal Caffrey from his continuing obligations as a felon on work release. In recognition of his service, the balance of his sentence – all three months of it – have been commuted. Neal Caffrey is a free man."

"Thank god. Thank you, Landon." Peter chuckled at the unintentional humor of his words.

To Peter's surprise, she didn't laugh with him. "Peter …"

The way she said his name, with a combination of pity and concern, made him ask, "What's the catch?" But he had a feeling he knew the answer.

"This didn't come cheaply. I tried to keep you out of it, but I couldn't. That's why it's taken so long."

"What do they want?" Peter didn't even know why he was asking.

"I'm sorry, but they want your badge. You have your twenty and will be able to retire at full pension and retirement benefits. But you'll have to go. I am sorry."

In a way, Peter was relieved. It would be easier if he was asked to go rather than make the decision himself. "It's okay. This isn't unexpected. I burned a lot of bridges when Neal disappeared. And even more when he was found."

"Your boss didn't want this, just so you know. He fought as hard as I did."

"Bruce is a good man, he deserves better than what I've put him through." That wasn't precisely the truth, but it was appropriate for the moment. Bruce had been among the first to insist that Neal had run and had stonewalled his efforts to find him, but he'd come around once he'd seen the damage those animals had done to Neal.

"I've forwarded a copy of the signed paperwork to you. It should be in your email now."

Peter looked at his computer and yes, there was a message from Landon. "Got it." He opened the attachment – a letter and a legal document from the Bureau of Prisons, signed and sealed by Eric Holder, the U.S. Attorney General, affirming the commutation of Neal's sentence, effective today.

"I don't know when they'll get around to requesting your resignation, but I think it will be soon." Landon paused. "I want to remind you of my offer. I know we'd work well together. I need someone with principles like yours. Someone who can remind me that it's more than a game. That people aren't simply marks on a scorecard."

"I'll think about it."

"Please do."

"I need to go, but I'll catch up with you soon."

"You probably want to go tell Neal the good news. If traffic isn't too bad, you might even beat the Marshals to his place."

"What?" Peter was shocked. "Why would the Marshals be going to see Neal?"

"To collect the tracker. Valuable government property."

"Are you joking?"

"No, I'm not. Is this a problem?"

"U.S. Marshals dropping in on Neal without warning, after everything he's been through? Given their history with Neal, of course it's a problem."

"Ah, yes. Well, then you'd better go."

Peter hung up, having the distinct feeling that Landon was amused by his concern. He shut down his computer and took a quick look at the pile of files that needed his attention, and realized that they didn't matter anymore. This part of his life was almost over. He grabbed his jacket and sprinted down the stairs. Jones approached with a folder but Peter waved him off. "Not now, got to run."

"Okay, this can wait until Monday."

"Thanks."

The trip uptown felt like it was taking twice as long as it usually did, even for a Friday evening at rush hour. It was close to six-thirty when he pulled up behind a nondescript gray Ford sedan with U.S. government plates.

"Damn it." He took a deep breath and fought for control. Barging in on a situation, one that should be happy for everyone, with a temper wasn't a good idea. But his hands were shaking as he rang the doorbell. June herself answered and she had a very worried look on her face.

"I was just about to call you, Peter."

"There are Marshals here?"

"Yes, and they won't tell me what they want with Neal."

"They haven't gone upstairs?"

"I wouldn't let them. They don't have a warrant."

"It's okay. Let me talk to them."

June led him into the front parlor. The waiting Marshals looked up expectantly and Peter introduced himself. He also admonished them. "I am Mr. Caffrey's handler; you should have contacted me first before coming over."

The younger of the pair, a woman who looked about Neal's age, gave her partner a look that all but screamed I told you so. She held out her hand. "I'm Corrine Williams and this is Arty Jenks. We got the orders to retrieve Mr. Caffrey's tracker about an hour ago."

"And you should have called me before turning up at a private home."

"You’d think that Caffrey would be happy to see us," Jenks muttered.

"He would be, if you didn't just show up." Peter turned to June. "Let me go up and talk to Neal, make sure he's okay. Either we'll come down or I'll let you know if you can send one of them up."

Peter thought he heard Jenks mutter something about pain in the ass special snowflakes, but he didn't pursue it. Punching a U.S. Marshal wasn't how he wanted to end his career.

He went upstairs and found Neal sitting by the French doors, a sketchpad in his lap. The page, though, was blank. Neal was dressed in wool pants and a turtleneck sweater – not exactly the best attire for physical therapy. This was one of the many ways he'd taken to evading Peter's efforts to get to therapy.

But that wasn't what mattered right now.

"What's going on? I heard some commotion downstairs."

"A few unexpected visitors." Peter sat down next to Neal. He licked his lips. "I heard from a friend today."

"Oh?" Neal displayed the same amount of interest in Peter's statement as he did when Peter asked him if he wanted to go outside.

"Yeah. Remember Landon Shepherd?"

That got Neal's interest piqued. "Of course I do. I'm surprised you consider her a friend."

Peter made a noncommittal sound. "She's helped me with something."

"Should I be jealous? I'd have to think that her services cost more than seven hundred a month."

During the evenings that Peter spent with Neal, they discussed a few cases and despite everything that had happened to him, despite his on-going problems, Neal still had the power to stun him with his insight. Insight that helped him close more than a half-dozen cases.

"No need to be jealous. She hasn't provided that kind of help." Peter wasn't sure why this was making him so nervous, maybe because he hated talking about those days. "I called her, back when you were found, when your status was uncertain."

"You mean back when the Justice Department wanted to toss me back in prison."

"Yeah."

"Peter, you didn't go to her for help?" Neal seemed both outraged and worried. "Do you have any idea what it will cost you?"

"It's okay, Neal. It's costing me nothing more than what I'm willing to pay."

Neal shook his head. "She's a shark, she's going to sink her teeth in you and never let go."

"I've gotten to know her a little better, and I don't think that's really the case."

Neal's expression screamed doubt, but he didn't say anything more.

"Anyway, I heard from Landon today. The AG has signed off on your commutation. You're a free man, Neal."

Neal blinked at the momentous news.

"I haven't gotten the chance to print out the paperwork, but I've seen it." He fished out his Blackberry and called up Landon's email. The attachment was barely legible, but barely was just enough. "Here."

Neal took the phone from him and looked at the document. "I don't know what to say. Does thank you work?"

Peter smiled slightly and shook his head. "There's nothing to say. I promised you your freedom, and I'm a man of my word."

"Yes, you are." Neal handed the phone back to him. "Freedom." He stretched his left leg out. "What if I don't want to give this back?"

"I don't think you have a choice, Neal. The visitors downstairs? It's the Marshals. They've come to collect the tracker."

That earned him a laugh. "Seriously? They sent the Marshals for this?"

"Yup. Apparently the tracker is valuable government property and needs to be reclaimed as quickly as possible. Do you want to go down or should I have one of them come up?"

"You could take it off, you know."

"I could, but I don't have the key," he reminded Neal.

For a while, Peter hadn't been sure that Moz had told Neal that he'd given him the key. For the first few weeks, Peter had come each evening and expected Neal to be gone. After the third week, when Neal caught him checking his ankle, he'd finally mentioned it.

"I'm not sure that giving this to Moz was such a good idea. He might try to hack the entire system." Neal had retrieved the key from the bowl of fresh fruit that had always graced his dining table and handed it over to Peter.

Peter had pushed it back to Neal. "Hold onto it, you never know what tomorrow brings."

That was the one and only time they'd talked about it.

Now, Neal got up and went over to a small painting by his bed – one of the many hidden compartments in this place. He came back with the key. "Here. If you're going to take it off, do it now. Before I change my mind."

As threats went, that one was a little ridiculous, but Peter didn't point that out. He knelt and lifted the cuff of Neal's trousers. "For the very last time." He sighed and was almost moved to tears. For all the times he'd imagined this moment, he'd never imagined it would happen like this. "There should be cake. And champagne."

"And balloons and silly hats?"

"And silly hats." He put the key in the slot. The lock disengaged and the light went out. Peter pulled the tracker away. "Let me give this to the Marshals and get them out of June's parlor. You have a physical therapist appointment tonight."

"Maybe I can skip it? After all, we have something to celebrate."

It was a good excuse and while Peter knew that giving in tonight would only make it easier to giving in the next time, maybe Neal earned a reprieve. "Okay. I'll let you call the therapist's office. But no getting out of Monday's appointment."

Neal was dialing when Peter left the apartment. June was still sitting with the Marshals, Bugsy in her arms. The little dog was growling, just loud enough to set the hair up on the back of Peter's neck. Williams and Jenks stood as he entered the room. "Here, this is what you came for." He handed Williams the anklet and the key. "I presume there's paperwork that needs to be signed?"

Jenks pulled a sheaf of papers out of his jacket. "Yeah – Caffrey's got to initial the release forms. Any reason why he won't come down?"

Peter took the papers and ignored the question. He looked them over; the papers were nothing more than a standard release, that all property had been returned and there were no claims against the U.S. Marshals Service. "I'll have these signed, copied and sent back to you on Monday."

Jenks looked like he was about to argue but Williams simply said, "That will be fine."

"Then you're done here. There's the door. Don't come back." Peter didn't care how rude he sounded.

Jenks, though, wasn't going to let Peter have the last word. "Not without a warrant."

June took control of the moment. "I need you to leave my home now." She marched to the front door, still holding Bugsy, whose growls were becoming steadily more audible, and opened it. The two Marshals finally left and Peter breathed a sigh of relief.

"Did that just happen? Did they just take Neal's tracker back?" June seemed as flabbergasted as Peter felt.

He nodded. "I got the word about five-thirty that Neal's sentence had been commuted. It was quite a shock to hear that the Marshals Service was sending agents to come here and retrieve the tracker today."

"I think we need to celebrate. If Neal's up to it." June was all too aware of Neal's reluctance to leave the apartment. "Maybe just a small party here."

"Sounds like a good idea. Let me go ask him." Peter gestured for June to precede him.

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

Neal wasn't sure what to feel. Once, he longed for this moment. He'd dreamed about the day the tracker came off for good. So many different scenarios had played out in his mind. After the debacle with the treasure and Keller and the notice from the Commutation Board, he'd dreamed of a career with the FBI, that he'd be an agent in all but name.

That version of the dream lasted only as long as it took for Philip Kramer to run roughshod over his rights.

He'd had some idea of staying with the Bureau after he came back to New York, more as a freelancer – someone who had the expertise to solve the unsolvable. He'd had yearned for a role that would keep him within Peter's orbit, because no matter how much he ached for his freedom, he couldn't quite bear the idea of a permanent separation from Peter Burke.

But that dream had also died – in a moment of bitter resentment and angry words. The months after Peter's release from prison were filled with self-disgust and loathing. He loved Peter, the man was his family in ways that were impossible to define. Moz might have taught him how to live, but Peter had taught him how to be a man. Peter respected him.

And then he didn't.

When that happened, all of the dreams, all of the inchoate longings of a life to be lived in the orbit of Peter Burke vanished. Like an ice cube on the sidewalk in July.

He hadn't blamed Peter for his anger, but the unreasonable child inside of him had wanted Peter to understand just what he'd sacrificed for him, just what his cooperation with Hagen was costing him. He didn't want to have to tell Peter, he wanted Peter to see. And of course Peter hadn't.

So he'd demanded his freedom. He might have led Moz to believe he'd gone through all of his resources, but that was far from the truth. He had more money that he knew what to do with, and had thought, once the tracker was off for good, that he'd have the rest of his life to enjoy it. Crime would be just a hobby, not a means to an end.

And look how well that had turned out …

Neal stood in front of the French doors leading out to the terrace and watched the spring breeze tease the planters, the tubs filled with just-blooming flowers. It was so enticing and so terrible. A big part of him ached to go back out into the world, but he couldn't. He was too frightened. There was too much risk, too much chance that someone would want him to do something, want his talents for their own twisted ends.

And now that Peter had taken the tracker off, there was no way he could watch out for him, make sure he was where he was supposed to be, doing the things he was supposed to be doing.

He'd have to trust that Peter would be able to keep track of him.

Trust. Such a funny thing between them.

He never forgot the words he'd said to Peter that day, when he'd been stoned to the gills.

"Out of all the people in my life, Mozzie, even Kate, you know, you're the only one."

Peter hadn't understood. "The only one what?"

"The only person in my life I trust."

What a terrible burden he'd placed on Peter's shoulders. Especially when their relationship was defined by a lack of trust. He was a conman, a professional liar, a thief. Peter was an FBI agent, a man who was the living embodiment of Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity.

Another memory teased at his brain. A dark room, but not the cell where he'd been kept and tortured. There were noises – mechanical pings and whooshes, the sound of people coming and going, both outside the room and in it. He hadn't been restrained, but there were lines holding him down.

It was a memory from the hospital. But why was he remembering this now?

The cop – Benson – was there. He'd seen her a few times since he'd come home, but that wasn't relevant. What was relevant was the memory of Peter standing behind her, wearing an expression of terrible hope that shone from his face despite the dim light.

Neal wiped his mouth, feeling slightly nauseous. It felt like he'd been trying to recall this memory for a while. In conversations with Peter, with the psychiatrist at the hospital, conversations with Moz and June and Elizabeth. It had been there, haunting him.

He rested his head against the glass and when he stopped fighting it, he could hear himself screaming.

“This is your fault. Your fault!” Neal could hear himself screaming and the pain was a thing trying to rip itself out of his gut. “You did this, you bastard. You forgot about me and left me to die!”

No, no – he couldn't have said that to Peter, he couldn't have blamed Peter for what had happened to him. For not finding him.

But he did. He had. The memory was true and as painful as any of the tortures inflicted on him.

He knew that Peter had never stopped looking for him. Clinton and Diana had told him that Peter had all but abandoned his own career to look for him, using resources he'd been directed not to use, constantly fighting with his own boss, with the brass in D.C., insisting that he – Neal – hadn't run.

Neal could only imagine how he'd hurt Peter with those accusations.

Then another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Peter's mysterious absence the first few days after his recovery. He had asked everyone where Peter was, he'd been hurt that Peter hadn't come to see him. Hughes had said that things were complicated for Peter and he had to stay away for a while, but Neal hadn't been so far gone that he couldn't smell the bullshit.

And then Peter was there and the hurt vanished. It seemed like from that moment forward, he'd started to heal.

The glass, hard and unyielding, warmed against his forehead. But he didn't step away. The world was so close – a few millimeters away. Why couldn't he just open the door and go outside?

Behind him, the door opened. He still didn't move. He knew who was there, who would always be there, no matter what he did, no matter how badly he behaved. At that moment, he hated Peter. Hated the burden of trust, of friendship, of obligation.

"Neal? Are you okay?"

He turned, at last. "You're such a fucking saint, Peter Burke. Always here, always saving me, no matter what I do, no matter how badly I fuck things up."

"Neal? What's the matter?"

And there it was, the hurt, the fear, the love. He could hear it so clearly. "I remember."

June was there too. He could bear her love. "Neal?"

"Please go, June. I need to talk to Peter."

She looked from him to Peter and back to him. "I'll be downstairs, call if you need me." The door closed quietly behind her as she left.

Peter asked, "What do you remember?"

He licked his lips, trying to control the flood of emotions. "What I said to you."

Peter's face collapsed into lines of deep grief. "I hoped you never would. I hoped that you'd just forget, or chalk it up to a bad drug-induced dream."

"How could you forgive me?"

"What?"

Neal repeated, "How could you forgive me for what I said? I blamed you for what happened. For not finding me. I was horrible and cruel."

"You were in pain, Neal. You'd been through something so terrible I still can't wrap my brain around it. Whatever you said that night doesn't matter. I've forgotten it."

"You have? I don't believe you. How can you?" Neal didn't hold back the venom. Which was so strange. What right did he have to be angry?

Peter didn't answer him. Ironically, he went over to the French doors, where he'd just had his own epiphany.

"Peter?"

"Maybe because everything you said was true."

"What do you mean?"

"I failed you."

Neal's anger – as foolish and unreasonable as it was – disappeared. "How can you say that? You looked for me, I know you did. You were never going to find me, they made sure of that."

Peter sighed. "I know, but that's not where everything went wrong. When you ran, after I signaled you that day, I should have let you go. I should have never tried to find you. If I hadn't found you, you'd be safe and free and no one would have kidnapped you."

Neal couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You really think that all of this is your fault?"

And Peter nodded. "Ellen would still be alive. Hell, so would Terrance Pratt. Nothing that happened over the last fifteen months would have occurred if I'd just let you go."

Neal still couldn't believe that Peter thought this. "You came after me because Collins was on my tail. He would have killed me and brought back my body as a trophy."

"If I hadn't convinced Ellen to send you that text, you never would have called her. We never would have talked. I never would have been able to pin down your location. Collins would never have found that map and …" Peter shook his head. "You were right that night. It was my fault."

Neal buried his face in his hands. "I can't deal with your guilt, Peter."

"I'm not asking you to. We've always had a problem with the truth, you and me. You wouldn't lie to my face but you had no problem with going around my back. For my part, I did a grand job of keeping important things from you. I swore that I'd never do that again. You asked me how I could forgive you for your words, and I told you. Maybe I should have sugar coated it, but I'm not really all that good with that. I'm a dick, remember?"

"Not funny, Peter."

"Look, Neal – there's no point to this. Whatever you said that night was important for a moment, for a few days. It's not important now. Do I really believe that I have some culpability in what happened to you? Yes I do, and I don't think I'll ever feel otherwise."

Neal felt a curious sort of rage. It wasn't a deep burning anger, but something worse, something bitter and corrosive. "Two years ago, you stood there – probably in that exact same spot – and told me that I wasn't responsible for Elizabeth's kidnapping. Matthew Keller was. Were you lying then or are you lying now?"

"I don't think it's a matter of truth or lies, Neal. It's how I feel and I can't change that. Just as I can't change the fact that I'd missed my friend more than I thought possible and when I got the chance to find you and bring you home, I jumped on it. Call it misplaced guilt, but it's the truth."

Neal knew he was behaving like a child, but for the first time in months, it seemed like he felt real – that his emotions weren't driven by fear. He felt alive. "And everything you've done for me since the hospital, all the ways you've helped me get back on my feet, to find 'Neal Caffrey' again, is that because you've felt guilty?"

Peter looked like he'd been slapped. "How can you even ask that?"

"Because – " Neal took a deep breath. "Because it feels like that, sometimes. Because all I've done is wreck your life. I've wondered, more than once, why you keep coming back here. Now I think I understand why."

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

Peter felt like he could shatter with one well-placed blow. "You're wrong, Neal. You're my friend and that's the only reason why I've done what I've done."

The skepticism in Neal's eyes made him feel sick. That Neal could believe this of him. That he was acting out of a sense of obligation, not friendship. Not love.

But maybe it was his fault. He should have ripped a page out of Neal's playbook and deflected. He should never have told him how guilty he'd felt.

His head hurt. His heart hurt. So he did the only thing he could do, he retreated. "Maybe we both need a little distance."

"Some perspective?" Neal's comment was a deliberate allusion to that terrible moment last year, after Peter had come over with a new tracker and a heart filled with suspicions.

"No, just a little time. We've been just about living on top of each other the past few weeks and I think it might be a good idea for both of us to take a breather."

Neal nodded. "You should go to D.C., go see Elizabeth."

"Yeah, good idea." El was supposed to be coming up tomorrow morning, but it would be easy enough to change those tickets.

Instead of celebrating Neal's release, he'd have a quiet weekend with Elizabeth. They'd continue with the house hunting. He wasn't quite ready yet – even after what had just happened between them – to give up the idea that they'd find a place for the three of them, a place that Neal could call home base, if he ever left New York.

If he ever left this apartment.

"You're right, Peter. I think we need a break."

To Peter's astonishment, Neal went to the door and opened it, gesturing for him to leave.

A dozen different thoughts crowded on his tongue, things like reminders about upcoming doctor and therapist appointments, about getting a little fresh air – even if just on the terrace – about remembering to eat enough. But the only thing he could say was, "The Marshals left these for your signature." He pulled the packet of papers from his back pocket. "Sign them and send them over to the office. I'll also have a copy of your discharge papers sent here – you should keep a copy."

It was illogical and stupid to feel like this was going to be the last time he'd see Neal, but there seemed something too final about this moment.

Neal continued to hold the door open, his face set in angry, almost mulish lines. Peter tapped the papers and just said, "Take care of yourself, Neal. Please." He left and the door closed behind him with an emphatic thud.

June was waiting for him in the front parlor. "Is everything all right?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"Are you all right?"

Peter managed to summon a smile at her misplaced concern. "I'm fine. I'll be gone for a few days, though."

"I'll keep an eye on Neal."

"Thank you."

"There's nothing to thank me for, Peter."

Peter wasn't sure he agreed with that. "Can you do a favor for me?"

"Anything."

Another time, he might have made a quip that she should know better than to make such rash promises. This time, he just asked, "If Neal leaves – "

"Leaves the apartment?"

"No, if he leaves for good, don't stop him. Don't even ask where he's going. Just let me know when he's gone."

"Peter!" June was stunned by his request.

"Neal has no reason to stay, now."

"Except that he can't seem to walk out his apartment door." June snapped uncharacteristically. "He's not going anywhere, Peter."

Peter shook his head, not so certain of that. "But just in case he does, let me know."

"I will." Her agreement was laced with skepticism.

"Thank you, June. Thank you for everything." He kissed her cheek and wondered if this was another last time.

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

"Neal?"

June hadn't bothered to knock.

He stared out onto the terrace. The sun was almost completely lost behind the skyline. The shadows outside seemed even more threatening than usual. "Has Peter left?"

"Yes, and we had the most unusual conversation."

"Oh?" Neal couldn't begin to imagine what Peter had told her.

"Peter seems to think that you are going to leave New York. And he has the distinct impression that you're going to leave without telling him. Without saying goodbye." There was just a touch of censure in her voice.

"I've done it before."

"Before, things were different. You were running away. You have no reason to run now." She looked down at his ankle. "You're a free man."

"But not exactly free, June." Neal sighed and flopped into a chair. "I picked a fight with Peter."

"I gathered, from your comment when I came upstairs before."

"I accused him of taking care of me because he felt guilty about what had happened to me."

"And do you really believe that?"

"Sometimes it seems like the only plausible explanation. I've done a pretty good job of wrecking his life. Sometimes I can't fathom why Peter keeps coming back."

"Because he loves you, Neal. Because he's your friend."

"Moz is my friend, too."

"Moz will go to the wall for you, but he can't change a bandage. He'll bring you wine, but he'll forget the food. His friendship is constrained by his own emotional limitations. He can't give you the support that Peter can."

"I all but kicked him out. We should have been celebrating and I treated him like shit." A bubble of bitter laughter escaped. "What else is new?"

"You can still celebrate, Neal. This is a terrific milestone, even if you can't appreciate it right now."

"Maybe when Peter gets back. He's going to D.C., to see Elizabeth."

June sat down next to him. "I know things seem very bleak right now; I know that you feel like everything you want is just out of reach. But that will change, trust me."

He nodded. "One part of me wants to run – to get out of here so fast I'd leave scorch marks on the floor. But another part just wants to stay and have back the life I used to dream of. But I can't have that either. Not when I can't walk out that door without some pretty steady coaxing and some serious medication."

June squeezed his hand. "Give it time, Neal."

The problem was that time was the only thing he had."

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

Sometime in Late April – Wednesday Afternoon

"I can't believe they're doing this to you, Peter." Clinton stood in the doorway, hands on his hips, an angry expression on his face.

"They're not doing anything to me. This was my decision."

"That's bullshit, boss, and we all know it," Diana chimed in from her position against the wall. "Caffrey gets his release and three days later, you're retiring? It stinks like the far side of Staten Island in July."

Clinton continued with the refrain. "Peter, we all know that when agents of your stature retire, it doesn't happen overnight, or within a few days. There's succession planning, an orderly transfer of responsibilities. This is like when Hughes was pushed out."

"I'm asking you to drop it, both of you."

Diana caught the hole in his request. "Ah, so you admit there's something to drop."

Peter sighed, defeated by his friends' well-meaning concern. "Come in and shut the door."

Clinton sat down but Diana maintained her position, arms folded across her chest.

"Yes, I was 'asked' to retire. But even if that hadn't happened, I still would have left. I was only waiting out the rest of Neal's sentence."

"You're kidding me, right? You're giving up your career for Caffrey?" Diana's outrage was like a furnace blast. "I don't believe it – after everything you've fought for – you're just throwing it away?"

"I'm not throwing anything away, Di. Elizabeth has built a good life in D.C., and it's time that I joined her there."

"So why not transfer?"

"For the same reason why I didn't go to D.C. in the first place. I'm not a bureaucrat. Besides, the brass wants me gone. I've ruffled too many feathers."

Clinton kept shaking his head, like he didn't believe this was actually happening.

"I'm done, guys. I don't expect you to understand it, but please believe me when I say that I'm happy with this." He had reasons for this happiness. It was more than simply saying goodbye to a part of his life that was no longer able to bring him pleasure. But he wasn't quite ready to share those reasons. Not even with these two, not quite yet.

"You know, I think I believe you." Diana pushed away from the wall and stared into his face. "I really do think you're happy about this."

"Thank you, Diana. That means a lot to me."

Clinton still seemed stubborn, and hung back when Diana left the office. "I don't know, Peter. The man I've worked with for almost a decade wasn't a quitter."

Peter raised his eyebrows at that. "I'm not quitting. I'm retiring. I have my twenty – you know what that means."

Clinton sighed. "Yeah. That puts you at the top of the list when it comes to budget cuts and regime changes. But your record – "

"My record stands. And so does yours."

"What do you mean?"

Peter smiled. "I know you're a little young, but I think that's what this office needs. I've put your name in for ASAC here."

"Peter! That's ridiculous. That's – "

He held up a hand. "It's not ridiculous. You're a born leader, Clinton Jones, and it's time that the FBI recognized that. There's no one more qualified for this seat than you. I don't know if my recommendation has any value, considering everything that's happened, but if it does, and they do ask, take it."

"Why me? Why not Diana?"

Peter shook his head slightly. "Diana's not the agent you are."

Clinton opened his mouth to interrupt but Peter held up a hand.

"She's a brilliant agent, but she's not a leader – yet. You know how to see potential, nurture talent. Diana's not quite there."

"Okay. Okay." Clinton rubbed his mouth. "I'll need to think about this. I'm not so sure I'm there yet, either."

"I disagree." He reminded Clinton, "They may never ask."

"I know, but if they do…"

"Take it."

Clinton held out his hand and Peter grabbed it, pulling him into a brief hug. "You'll do fine. Trust me."

Clinton nodded, looking like he was about to cry, and left the office.

Peter looked around, checking that he'd put all his personal items in the box he'd brought with him. Photos of El, check. "World's Greatest ASAC" coffee mug, check. Diplomas and commendations, check. He looked in his drawers and found his Quantico pen, the one he'd taken back from Neal, and put that into his jacket pocket. And from underneath the gun safe, Peter pulled out a file filled with bits and pieces of Neal – origami animals, notes that didn't go into case files, a photo of the entire team making the two-figure summoning gesture. Neal had printed it out and added obscene comments. In Latin.

He sighed, feeling a lot less sad than he expected he'd feel at this moment. This office had never felt comfortable, not like the smaller one on the other side of the conference room. There was no point in lingering.

He'd gotten word on Monday – Bruce had come up from D.C. to deliver the news personally. Tuesday, he filed his paperwork and had his exit interview. This morning, they'd punched holes in his badges and took away his ID. He told Diana and Clinton privately, before making his farewell speech, which he'd kept to a minimum. His assistant, Andrea, was more than a little distressed. She said that she was ready to throw in the towel, too. She didn't have it in her to go through another regime change.

The entire office stood as he walked down the stairs for the last time, and he made it a point to shake everyone's hand, and it seemed like they all waited with him at the elevator. It finally arrived and Peter had to say something, if just to make the moment a little less awkward.

"Like I said before, it's been an honor and a pleasure working with you. Take care."

The doors closed and he breathed a sigh of relief.

This was it. The end. And a beginning.

TO BE CONTINUED - GO TO CHAPTER 30