elrhiarhodan

Title: We Shall Come Home - Chapter II
Author: elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing/Characters: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Reese Hughes, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Mozzie, Satchmo, plus other characters.
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Word Count: ~3700 (this chapter) ~61,000 (total)
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Summary: Transformed beyond recognition, beyond comprehension, Peter and Neal are lost in the woods and desperately try to get home. A tale of friendship, sacrifice, loss and ultimately, of love. The White Collar team learns something is wrong and mobilizes. Peter and Neal survive their first day.

We Shall Come Home is not a work in progress. New chapters will be posted once a week, on Tuesdays. Chapter One

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Wednesday Afternoon

ELIZABETH BURKE WAS A PRACTICAL WOMAN, NOT GIVEN TO FLIGHTS OF FANCY OR UNWARRANTED WORRYING. That was one of the reasons that her marriage to Peter was at the start of a second and very strong decade. If he didn’t call, she didn’t automatically assume something bad had happened. He worked in white collar crime, and despite the occasional interesting issues that cropped up when Neal was involved, he was rarely in physical danger. Elizabeth wasn’t the type of woman who panicked or became hysterical at the hint of bad news. But today, something just felt off, and it kept scratching at the back of her neck like a tag on a new blouse. Something was wrong and she couldn’t put her finger on it.

She called Peter’s personal cell a few times, and it went straight to voice mail. She called his FBI-issued phone, and got the same thing. She called Neal, and it too went straight to voice mail. She sent text messages to Peter’s personal cell and to Neal’s, but they were not answered. By three PM, the itching at the back of her neck had become a hard knot of worry for which she had no explanation. The anxiety was irrational, she had no reason to believe that Peter was in any trouble, and the lack of contact wasn’t that unusual. He did say that they were heading out to rural Pennsylvania to interview a suspect but he wouldn’t be home too late, maybe even for dinner if traffic wasn’t too bad. So, there really was no reason to worry. No reason at all.

Elizabeth kept telling herself that as she dialed another number.

Diana answered on the first ring.

“Mrs. Burke, what can I do for you?”

Elizabeth skipped right over the pleasantries. “Diana – have you heard from Peter today?”

“No, I haven’t. Peter and Neal are in Pennsylvania, interviewing a suspect.”

“I know that, but I haven’t heard from Peter – and he’ll usually call me once or twice. His phone is going right to voice mail.” She didn’t mention that she’d called Neal, as that would have sounded, well, odd.

Diana sighed, and Elizabeth could hear just the tiniest bit of irritation.

“Diana, something just doesn’t feel right.”

There was no response for a few moments, but Diana must have picked up the urgency in her voice. “Hold on, let me check Neal’s tracking data.”

Elizabeth heard the wheels on Diana’s chair roll as she pushed back, followed by the click of heels across the floor, then the tap-tap-tap of nails across a keyboard. Then nothing.

“That’s strange.” Diana didn’t seem to be talking to Elizabeth.

“What’s strange?” The knot of worry grew harder and colder.

“Ummm – nothing. Can I call you back?” Diana’s studied nonchalance didn’t fool Elizabeth one bit.

“Diana, what’s going on?” All she got was dead air.



DIANA FELT TERRIBLY GUILTY ABOUT ENDING THE CALL THE WAY SHE DID, but there was no way she could give out this information, even to Peter’s wife, without checking it out and then clearing it through Hughes. Fortunately, Hughes was in his office, and he gestured for her to come in before she even knocked.

“Agent Berrigan, is there a problem?”

Diana was rarely intimidated, but there was always something about Hughes that made her feel like she was talking to her father, in full ambassador mode. She tried not to appear nervous and schooled herself against licking her lips.

“I just got a call from Elizabeth Burke, Peter’s wife.” She paused a bit under that gimlet stare.

“I know who Elizabeth Burke is.” Hughes’ tone was steely, but polite.

“She said she hasn’t heard from Peter all day, and his phone keeps going to voice mail. I wanted to let her know where Peter was, so I checked Neal’s tracking data.”

Hughes just raised his rather impressive eyebrows. “And?”

“There’s a problem, sir. Neal’s tracker has been stationary for over five hours.”

“Stationary? How stationary?” Hughes sat up, concerned.

“Stationary as in it hasn’t moved – not a single yard. And the location is even more troubling – it’s on a dead-end road that cuts through the Delaware Forest and the State Game Lands, about sixty miles from their destination.”

“Did you call the Marshals’ office and have them check for a malfunction?”

“Yes sir, I did. I also called the motor pool and asked them to run a locator on the vehicle’s GPS. It’s within ten feet of Neal’s tracker. It’s also been stationary for about five hours.”

“Call the local PD or state troopers’ office there – wherever there is – and tell them to check out the location and report back to you immediately. Let them know that we’ll be onsite within two hours.”

“Sir? Two hours?”

“I’m calling for helicopter transport. You and Agent Jones will meet me on the roof in fifteen minutes.”

“What should I tell Mrs. Burke?”

Hughes closed his eyes and sighed. “Tell her nothing, for the moment.”

Diana nodded. She didn’t like it, but she understood.



THE PENNSYLVANIA STATE POLICE STATION IN BLOOMING GROVE WAS A HOTBED OF INACTIVITY AT THE MOMENT. That’s not to say that the troopers were wasting taxpayer money, but it was less than an hour before shift change on a Wednesday afternoon in June, and the last thing that anyone wanted to do was take a call from New York City. Not that anyone had an issue with the Big Apple, but a call from a 212 number was never a good thing. The desk sergeant, two officers and the lieutenant watched the number blink on the general incoming line. Finally, the senior officer on duty sighed and picked up the call.

“Pennsylvania State Police, Lieutenant Michael Reitman speaking.” Reitman hoped he kept most of the boredom out of his voice.

“This is FBI Special Agent Diana Berrigan out of the New York City Field Office. Am I speaking with the officer in charge?”

Reitman put the phone on speaker and raised his eyebrows as if he was impressed.

“Yes, ma’am. You are.”

“Is this station responsible for Fire Tower Road?”

“I believe so, ma’am. What is the problem?”

“I have an agent and a federal employee missing, and their last location was on that road.”

Reitman could hear the worry in the woman’s voice. “How do you know that?”

“One of the men has a GPS tracker and there is also a tracker in the car. Both units have been reported as stationary for over five hours.”

Reitman was curious as to why a federal employee would be wearing a GPS, but he refrained from asking. It sounded like the Feebs were in some serious trouble. “Do you have the exact location?”

The agent read out a set of coordinates and then gave him the miles from the main road and from Route 84.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll send a car over to check it out.” He wondered what they were doing on that road; it went nowhere, just stopped in the middle of the woods.

“We’ll meet you there within the next two hours.”

“Ma’am?”

“We’ll be taking a helicopter in. It’s the quickest way from Manhattan.”

Now Reitman was impressed. “We’ll see you there, ma’am.”

The fed gave him her contact information and quickly disconnected. Reitman looked at his officers. “Looks like we’ve got something. Anyone want to ride with me on this?” Neither of the on-duty officers volunteered; it was now a half-hour from shift change and they knew he wouldn’t be offering overtime. But three troopers from the evening shift came in and he commandeered the youngest, newest officer on the squad, Sylvia Marlowe, to ride with him.

Reitman was grateful it was June and sunset wasn’t for another four hours. Fire Tower Road was an interesting drive in daylight, but difficult at night, and if they were looking for a wreck, darkness wouldn’t help the situation. He let Marlowe drive while he relaxed.

“Shit, this doesn’t look good.”

Reitman looked up – he really wasn’t dozing off – and Marlowe was right, it wasn’t good. There was a large deer, a large dead deer, in the middle of the road, surrounded by dozens of buzzards. There was also a beige sedan that looked like standard Fed issue. Both front doors were open. He told Marlowe to stop about 50 feet away and to pop the trunk. He retrieved a shotgun, loaded it and fired in the air to scatter the carrion feeders. Most of the birds took off with squawks of protest, and he fired a second round to get rid of the rest of them.

As he approached the car, he noticed that both the front airbags were deployed and deflated, and since the doors were open, it wasn’t hard to conclude that the passenger and driver had left the vehicle under their own steam. But he didn’t see any sign of them.

“Sir, this is weird.”

Marlowe was kneeling on the ground next to what looked like a pair of pants. Reitman then noticed more clothing scattered across the side of the road. He pulled on a pair of gloves and examined a shirt caught inside a very expensive suit jacket. Weird wasn’t the word for it, for while the jacket was intact, the shirt was ripped apart at the seams. He gently patted the jacket, hoping to find a wallet or some ID. He hit the jackpot: a set of FBI credentials for “Neal Caffrey, Consultant.”

Marlowe walked over to him, holding out a shiny gold shield. She was shaking her head in puzzlement. “What happened here, sir?” She pointed to the other side of the road. “Those clothes were ripped apart, but there’s no blood.”

Reitman didn’t want to speculate. He had nearly twenty years with the State Police and had seen a lot of strange things. This one was shaping up to be the strangest. A pair of missing and probably naked federal agents – that was going to bring down a lot of heat on his sleepy little kingdom. Heat he neither wanted nor needed.

Reitman went back to his car and retrieved a camera and a crime scene kit. He figured the Feds would have their own, but this was still his jurisdiction. Marlowe set up the evidence markers and he started taking pictures. It was funny how looking through the isolation of the viewfinder made you notice things you ordinarily didn’t see, like how both pairs of pants were still belted, and the ends of the belts were still tucked into the belt loops. How did they get these pants off without unbuckling the belts? Or that one of the shoes was filled with a sock and what looked like a GPS tracking anklet, as if the body wearing it had simply melted away.

Reitman and Marlowe worked on the scene for over an hour before they heard the sound of helicopter blades. Reitman looked up. It was the Feds, and the pilot did have the sense God gave him (or her). The chopper flew off and landed about a half-mile away. About five minutes later, two men and a woman jogged up the road.

“Lieutenant Reitman?” The woman he presumed was Agent Berrigan held out her hand to him. He took it and appreciated the firm, no-nonsense handshake. She introduced the obviously senior-ranking Agent Hughes and Agent Jones, and stepped back to let Hughes take over. The three of them were grim-faced, expecting the worst.

“What happened here, Lieutenant?” Reitman appreciated that Agent Hughes asked, rather than demanded.

“I really can’t tell you more than that this is a very strange scene, Sir. Your agents’ car hit a deer.” He pointed to the dead buck. “The driver and passenger got out, and for some completely unknown reason, tore their clothes off and disappeared. Or possibly had their clothing torn off involuntarily.”

“What do you mean by ‘disappeared’?”

“There are no bodies, no blood trails, no footprints.” He walked Hughes and the other agents through the scene, and Marlowe followed behind him, bagging and marking the scattered clothing and shreds of fabric. When they came to Peter’s shoulder holster and weapon, he handed the Glock to Hughes, who had donned a set of gloves. He carefully examined it, down to a sniff test.

“This has been fired, recently.”

“I expect that would be the deer, Sir.” Marlowe piped up.

“The deer?” Hughes handed the weapon back to Reitman, who passed it to Marlowe for bagging. Reitman led the three agents to the dead buck that was still lying in the middle of the road. He could see that the Feds were all urban warriors, too much at home with the dirt and grime of the city streets but not at all comfortable with nature red in tooth and nail. Berrigan and Jones were mouth-breathing, and even the senior Fed was a little pale at the sight of the deer, entrails exposed by the buzzards. Marlowe pointed out the exit site for a GSW at the back of the buck’s head.

“It looks like your agent made a kill shot after hitting the animal.” Marlowe was impressed, and so was Reitman. It wasn’t often that he saw city folks with enough compassion to put a wounded animal out of its misery. Usually, they drove off or called 911 to deal with the mess.

They continued to walk carefully through the scene, and Reitman was seriously impressed by the Feds. They were respectful and methodical; he never felt that they considered him anything less than a fellow law enforcement agent.

Eventually, the old man pulled him away from the scene. “Lieutenant Reitman, can you offer any rational explanation for what happened here?”

He shook his head. “No, sir. I’ve never seen anything like this. I mean, there are all sorts of stories about people going crazy and attacking each other, or even getting attacked by bears, but there’s nothing to back up either of those scenarios. Except for the torn clothing, there are no signs of struggle, and even that doesn’t make sense. If it wasn’t for the lack of blood anywhere, I’d have said that your people were stripped naked and kidnapped, but I don’t see a federal agent allowing that to happen without a fight.”

Hughes nodded his agreement. “I’d like for the FBI to take the lead on this, at least on the forensics and the search and rescue. If it turns out to be a homicide….” Hughes paused, looked down and swallowed. “A homicide, the FBI will cede jurisdiction back to your department.”

Reitman agreed that the FBI should take the lead, especially with the forensics: while the State Police had decent resources, they were nothing compared to what the FBI had. Same with the search and rescue operation – he was a compassionate man, but he’d rather have the Feds foot that bill, or at least most of it. He didn’t hold out much hope that they’d find the two men alive, but like most LEOs, he was a professional pessimist.

“The two men, you are close to them?” Reitman couldn’t help but ask.

“Peter Burke was my probationary agent half a lifetime ago and someone I am proud to call a friend. Neal Caffrey is a rather extraordinary young man, especially now that his talents are being put to use on the right side of the law.”

Reitman noticed that the Fed was careful to use the present tense when talking about the two missing men, and while he was intrigued by the description of Neal Caffrey, he forbore from asking for additional details. Right now, they weren’t relevant.

As Marlowe and the two other Feds finished gathering up the evidence, a flatbed truck arrived to take the Feds’ vehicle and full dark started to settle in.

“Sirs?” It was Marlowe. “What about the carcass?”

Hughes answered. “It’s evidence. We’ll need to take it back with us.”

Marlowe looked at him, perhaps expecting a different set of orders.

“You heard the agent, Officer Marlowe. It’s evidence and it needs to be tagged and bagged. You may want to call for backup on that.” Marlowe flushed at the reprimand.

Hughes gave him a tight smile, perhaps in appreciation for how he handled his subordinate. “I’m going to head back to New York, get a search and rescue team down here.” Hughes turned and looked at the dense forest. “We should be searching for them already, but where the hell to begin?”

Reitman watched as the three Feds conferred. Agent Jones got in the tow truck and Berrigan started piling up the bags of evidence. Marlowe put them in the back of the squad car and drove back down the road, presumably to transfer the evidence bags to the waiting helicopter.

Hughes held out his hand. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll see you at your barracks first thing tomorrow morning to start the search and rescue.”




PETER WAS HUNGRY, HIS FEET, HIS PAWS, HURT, SO DID HIS HEAD, AND HE WASN’T SURE IF HE COULD TAKE ANOTHER STEP. At least he wasn’t thirsty. Neal seemed to find fresh water for them every few hours. The trees had thinned out enough that he could tell that the sun was setting – they were running into the dark. He stopped, waited for Neal to catch up, and then just dropped.

You okay?

Yeah, just tired. Dog tired.

Very funny, Peter.

Having a sense of humor is a hallmark of humanity.

Neal dropped down beside him and rested his head on his paws. What now?>

We’ll stop for the night.

Do you have any sense of how far we’ve come?

Peter tried to drift a little bit, to find that bright-arrowed compass inside his head. Unfortunately, it didn’t have an odometer attached to it. But it did tell him that they weren’t too far from the main east-west highway.

Neal scooted up close to him. Well? Anything?

We’re on track, but that’s all I can tell you. We’re going to need to eat soon. Without food, we can’t keep up this pace.

Hmmmm, wouldn’t mind a fillet right now – with some new potatoes, some sautéed greens. The bottle of Shiraz I’ve got stashed away.

Is that a meal you’d dream about in prison?

Nah – never dreamed about food in prison. If there was something I wanted badly enough, I could have gotten it. Food was never high on my list.

What was?

What do you mean?

Peter looked at Neal, concern, curiosity and something else in his eyes. What did you dream about when you were in prison?

Neal paused in his thoughts, and Peter could almost feel a curtain draw around his partner. He didn’t like it, not one bit.

Neal? His tone was sharp, echoing like a clap in an empty room.

Peter? What’s the matter?

You almost disappeared on me.

Sorry, your question was kind of personal. I guess I just wasn’t expecting it.

You don’t have to answer.

No, that’s okay. I dreamed about Kate. A lot.

Peter felt the sadness rolling off of Neal.

I’m sorry.

No, that’s okay. I used to think about you too, you know.

Me? Peter didn’t know how to feel about that.

Yeah, you didn’t think I’d just forget about the only person who ever caught me? I used to wonder what happened to you, how you got along after I went to prison. If you were bored or you were chasing someone more interesting or smarter than me.

You are such a narcissist.

Well, you always interested me. You were a puzzle, a challenge.

I’m flattered … I think.

I liked you. I still do. Even though you seem to get me in all sorts of trouble.

Me? Get you in trouble? Not likely. It shouldn’t have been possible, but Peter smirked at Neal.

Ummm, let’s see, since I’ve met you, I’ve had guns pulled on me on a regular basis. I’ve even been shot at a few times. Never had that when I was on my own. Ran with a better element, I guess. And now ... I’m a dog. I don’t think this is something that would have happened to me if I was on my own.

Then you should have stayed on the right side of the law. If anything, the smirk widened.

But that wouldn’t have been as much fun.

That’s true. That’s very, very true.

Neal scooted even closer. And rested his head on Peter’s flank.

Peter twisted his neck down and they touched muzzles, a small reassurance before falling asleep.

To Be Continued - Chapter III