elrhiarhodan

Title: We Shall Come Home - Chapter IX
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: ~ 3,200 (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. Help arrives for Peter and Neal in the most unexpected of places. This is an odd chapter – but it’s important for the narrative.

We Shall Come Home is not a work in progress. New chapters will be posted once a week, on Tuesdays.
Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | Chapter V | Chapter VI | Chapter VII | Chapter VIII

__________________


CHAPTER IX – SUNDAY MORNING

EDUARDO MONTOYA DOUBLE CHECKED THE ADDRESS HIS SISTER HAD GIVEN HIM. Her fiancé’s family’s “summer cottage” was in a place called Ridgebury. It was a two hour drive from his home in Brooklyn and light-years away from the working class neighborhood where he raised her after their parents died. His truck made an obscene amount of noise on the peaceful, tree-lined street. Everything about this area screamed money, old money, and lots of it, and he didn’t like it. But Constanza was always a girl looking to have more, to have better, and he always nurtured that ambition.

In the mid-1970s, his parents had moved them out of the barrio into an area of Brooklyn populated mostly by Italians and Eastern Europeans. His papa called it a real “Archie Bunker” neighborhood, and it took years before they stopped feeling like interlopers in their own home. But by the time that Connie was born, with her strawberry blonde hair and light eyes – and the spitting image of his papa’s own abuela – they were pretty much accepted by everyone.

His papa worked like a dog to provide for his wife and two children. Just as he pushed his family into a strange neighborhood where no one spoke Spanish, he became a business owner in a “field” where his kind of people were the laborers, not the bosses. But then his wife died, and something died within him too.

When Eduardo was eighteen and about to start college, his father dropped dead of a heart attack. There was a little insurance, but not enough – certainly not enough to see him through four years of college and take care of nine-year-old Connie too. He could have gotten loans and dumped his sister on the family that still lived in the barrio. But he wouldn’t do that – he wouldn’t condemn his baby sister to a life of resentment and poverty (because that’s what his relatives in Washington Heights were all about).

He graduated high school, sent a polite letter to Fordham University declining their offer of admission, and took over his father’s business. He went to night school and learned basic business practices. He educated himself in every possible way, making sure that he could never be cheated, that he would never lose what he built. It wasn’t just for him; he had to make sure he could provide for Connie too. By the time Eduardo Montoya was thirty, he had one of, if not the, largest independent landscaping company in the Tri-State area, providing services for residential and commercial properties from White Plains to West Hampton. He owned nearly a hundred trucks and employed three times as many men, and he was proud to tell clients that all of them were legal. As big as his business was, he still worked eighteen hours a day to keep it going – he hedged against rising fuel costs, invested in more energy-efficient equipment and made certain that by the first of December, all of his lines of credit were fully paid off.

What he didn’t reinvest in his business, Eduardo used to put his brilliant baby sister through college, and no local school would do for her. Connie went to Harvard, and now worked on Wall Street. Tall and fair haired, she carried herself like a princess and spoke like one too. It didn’t surprise him that she managed to get engaged to an old-money Anglo, or that she never introduced him to her fiancé’s family.

Since she was a teenager, Connie had hated being reminded of her Latina heritage. She refused to speak Spanish. If he forgot himself and did speak Spanish to her, she didn’t ignore him. Instead, she’d respond in French or Italian or Russian. He understood why she rejected her heritage, he really did. They even talked about it before she went off to college. She felt that a self identified Latina could too easily be consigned to a niche role in the business world – and she had ambitions that ranged beyond labels. While she could use her background as a lever to pry doors open, she argued that it would simply be easier to let people judge her on her smarts and her looks. When he countered that using her looks was the same thing as using her heritage, she disagreed. The Anglos did it all the time.

When Connie called to invite him to a barbecue at her future in-laws’ this weekend, part of him wanted to decline. He knew that his baby sister was a little embarrassed by him. That had been obvious at her graduation, when she introduced him as “Ward” and told everyone he was a landscape architect, not that he owned a landscaping business. He was okay with that. What he was not okay with was the name she had put on her diploma, Constance Montaine. They had a short, fierce argument that abruptly ended when she shoved the court documents in his face. They’d barely spoken since.

None of this explained why he was rattling down a quiet road in this exclusive lakefront enclave in one of his oldest trucks. Even though his Mercedes was in the shop, he certainly could have taken the Ford Explorer he used when meeting clients, or rented a car for the day. Something in him, something mean and small and angry, wanted to embarrass Connie. He wasn’t proud of himself for doing that, which was why he’d brought a peace offering with him – a cooler filled with dry-aged porterhouse steaks for the barbecue.

And embarrass her was something he certainly was going to do. He pulled up to the top of the circular driveway to find that his hosts had valet parking.

One of the valets, little more than a snot-nosed kid, looked at the broken down truck with the landscaping gear in the back, “Montoya Green Service, Brooklyn New York” stenciled on the door panel, and said, “There’s a party today, you’ll have to come back and cut the lawn tomorrow.”

“I’m a guest.” Eduardo expected this.

“Yeah…and so am I.” The little shit was giving him attitude.

“You got a guest list, hijo?” He rarely spoke Spanish anymore, at least outside of work.

“Yeah, I do…and I don’t see any gardeners on it.” The boy was really trying to piss him off.

“Do you have an ‘Ed Montoya’ on that list?” He figured that Connie wouldn’t put his real name down.

“Nope, no Eds, no Edwards, no Montoyas.”

Eduardo thought for a moment. “What about ‘Ward Montaine’?”

The boy checked again, looked at him and called out to an older man who’d just got back from parking another car. “This guy says he’s ‘Ward Montaine’ – but he first said his name was Ed Montoya. Sounds hinky to me.”

The kid left to go park the red Lamborghini that pulled up behind his truck. The new guy gave him a dirty look and asked him to pull over. “Wait here, I’ll have to check with the house.”

Five minutes turned into ten and ten minutes into a half hour. Fed up, Eduardo turned off the engine, got out and retrieved the cooler. He pushed his way past the parkers and into the foyer of a very grand house. Someone said “Excuse me” as if she smelled something bad and quickly left. He stood there, feeling like a fool, when he spotted Connie through the windows. She saw him at the same time and rushed inside.

“Connie…”

“Ward, what are doing?”

He gritted his teeth against that god-awful pretentious name. “I’m here for your party.” He shoved the cooler at her.

“What the hell is this?”

“Steaks – I didn’t want to come empty handed.”

“You are an idiot…this is a catered affair. We don’t need raw meat. You want to bring something, you bring a bottle of wine.”

Eduardo felt the burn of embarrassment flush over his entire body. “I wanted …”

“I don’t care what you wanted… you’re ruining my day. Someone said that there’s a beat-up old gardener’s truck in the driveway – is that yours?”

He didn’t say anything.

“You did this deliberately, didn’t you? You really do want to ruin my day, ruin my life. You selfish prick.”

His temper, already on a short leash, exploded. “Selfish? I’m the selfish one? Funny – who was the one who didn’t go to college because he had a baby sister to take care of? Who was the one who didn’t go on a date for eight years because his little sister got jealous? Who was the one who went without a new car for a decade so he could save money to put his sister through Harvard? Funny, if I really was the selfish one, I’d have dumped you in Washington Heights with Tia Luisa and never looked back. You’d be working with your cousins in the maintenance department at Columbia-Presbyterian, cleaning up other people’s shit and grateful you had a job.”

Connie flushed at his words. “You take your steaks and your beat-up old truck and get out of here. Find a gas station or something and park there, I’ll send someone to pick you up.”

“No way, hermana. That’s not happening. We’re done. I’m sick and tired of being a dirty secret. You think you’re so lucky, with your blonde curls and pale eyes. What’s going to happen when you pop out babies as dark as I am? Your esposo will to start looking really hard at the gardener, the pool boy and every dark-skinned man who crosses your path and will wonder if you’re fucking him.”

When she slapped him, Eduardo knew he’d gone too far. Connie didn’t say a word as she turned on her heel and left. He picked up the cooler, walked back to his truck and drove off.

He drove on autopilot, as angry at himself as he was at Connie. He cursed his temper in three languages, and decided that he had to make this right. He pulled into a gas station just before the on-ramp to the highway and called her cell phone. She didn’t answer. He waited a few minutes and called again. He left a message, abjectly apologizing. He sent a text message, and another, and another. He sat in his truck, waiting and praying for some response, but when the phone rang, he nearly dropped it in surprise.

“Connie!”

“No. This is Steven Cartwright, Connie’s fiancé.”

“Um, hi…” Eduardo didn’t get a chance to say anything else.

“Connie asked me to talk to you, to tell you that she doesn’t ever want to hear from you again. She’s not interested in your apologies or your excuses, and frankly, I completely support her in this. She doesn’t need the negativity you seem intent on bringing into her life. Please stay away from her.”

The man’s tones were clipped and polished, and Eduardo instantly despised him, and despised his sister for choosing him. “Tell my sister to have a nice life.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say, and he ended the call without another word.

He got out of his truck, numb and shaking. Sitting on the tailgate, Eduardo buried his face in his hand and thought about his mother. She’d developed breast cancer when she was pregnant with Connie, and rather than risk her baby’s life, she delayed treatment. That cost her everything. Before her baby girl was five months old, the cancer had spread to her bones and no amount of radiation or chemotherapy could help her. The night before she died, he went into her bedroom. She was all skin and bones, but her eyes burned as she fought for each breath. “Eduardo, promise me that you’ll always look after your sister, no matter what.” He remembered looking at baby Constanza, tucked in a crib next to the bed. She was so fat and healthy, almost obscenely so when compared to his mother’s wasted body.

He promised her that he would, no matter what, and for over twenty years he kept that promise. But now…Connie would have to stand on her own. There was nothing more he could or would do for her. A wave of grief passed over him, for his mother, for his father, for himself. For the little girl whose knees he had bandaged, whose homework he had checked, whom he had loved like no one else.

Eduardo scrubbed at his face, feeling the tears on his cheeks. He patted his pockets for a handkerchief. When he blew his nose, a dog barked. It was so deep it sounded unreal, and it startled the crap out him.

“Madre de Dios!” From out of nowhere, two dogs had appeared and were sitting at his feet. These were the biggest fucking dogs he’d ever seen and where the hell did they come from? The brownish one barked at him again, not quite so loudly this time, almost like he was introducing himself. The gray one with the blue eyes had a goofy expression, like he was just happy to be happy. Eduardo loved dogs, and would have had a houseful of them if he hadn’t worked such long hours. He stuck out a hand, palm to the ground, for the dogs to sniff.

The brown one was a little cautious, but the gray one sort of dove in, sniffing and then licking like he was his best friend, or just very tasty. He turned his hand up and it was instantly filled with an enormous and very dirty paw. The brown one apparently decided he was okay and nosed his way under his arm. Unlike the gray one, there was a lot of intelligence in this beast’s eyes. Eduardo felt measured and judged and not found wanting at all.

Besides being the biggest, these were the funniest looking dogs he’d ever seen. Their faces, with the brushy fur going in all directions, were kind of silly. Their long snouts should have been elegant, but weren’t. The floppy ears that seemed too small for such giants added to their almost comical appearance.

“You’re wolfhounds, aren’t you?” The brown one barked as if in agreement and the other one just stared at the ground. They certainly seemed friendly, but he didn’t want to spook them. He reached out again, slowly, and scratched the brown dog’s ears. The massive head leaned into his palm, and he kept scratching. Oddly, when he tried to pet the top of his head, the brown dog kept moving away, but he let him scratch and pet under his ears and chin. The fur was rough and dense, and as he scratched, the softer undercoat began to shed and his hand was quickly coated with dog hair. He didn’t mind at all, and when the gray one shoved his head under his other hand, he gave it – him – the same treatment.

The pain from his confrontation with Connie slipped away as he focused on the dogs.

“Where are you from, perros?” The brown one looked at him, then walked around the truck. The gray one stayed under his hand, too content to move, at least until his compadre barked. “Well, I’ll be…” Eduardo didn’t complete the thought. The brown dog had answered his question – his paw was on the word “Brooklyn.”

As stupid as that thought was, he had to ask. “You’re really from Brooklyn?” The dog barked and pawed at the stenciled lettering on the door. “No…you’re not from Brooklyn.” Again, the dog barked, and this time seemed angry. He scraped and pawed at the door, just under the word. Eduardo looked at the gray beast. “Are you from Brooklyn too?” At least that one just cocked an ear at him, like a dog.

He couldn’t help himself. “Do you want to go home?” The damn brown dog started barking again, and this time sounded like he was saying “yes, yes, yes.” The beast actually began to dance around in excitement. The gray dog seemed puzzled, but still happy, and Eduardo wondered if there was something wrong with him – compared to his friend, he seemed a little slow, a little stupid.

Neither dog had collars or tags, but they clearly were not wild animals. He wondered how they’d got from Brooklyn (and he really did believe they were from the Borough) to the outer edge of Orange County. He figured he‘d take them home and see if there was anything posted about two lost wolfhounds. They were certainly distinctive animals. If worse came to worst and no one claimed them, he’d have them fixed and keep them himself. They’d be a trip to take on the job sites and he could certainly use the company. But what to call them?

He looked at the brown one, standoffish and full of fierce intelligence, while the gray one was friendly and a little dumb. Laurel and Hardy? Nah... Abbott and Costello? Nope. Eduardo then remembered the old classic he read in high school about the two friends – one slow, the other smart. Lennie and George. That fit.

Both dogs looked awfully skinny, like they hadn’t had a good meal in a long time. The meat…he suddenly remembered the fortune in prime aged beef he had in the cooler. “You hungry?” George stopped and looked at him with almost terrifying intensity. Eduardo backed off and kept his hands palms down until he could reach into the cooler and pull out a package. He slowly unwrapped one of the porterhouses and placed it on the ground between the two animals.

If he thought things were weird before, what happened next was the oddest, freakiest thing he ever saw in his life. Lennie sniffed the meat, licked it – as if to test its flavor – and then dragged it to George. Lennie nosed at his friend, licking him across the mouth, as if to tell him it was all right to eat, then backed off. George looked at Lennie, looked at Eduardo, and then tore into the raw steak. He finished about three quarters of it before stopping and giving a sharp bark at Lennie. Lennie stayed where he was, his long gray tail wagging against the pavement. George barked again and nosed the rest of the meat towards the other dog.

Eduardo laughed and both beasts looked at him.

“Finish your steak, George. I’ve got one just for Lennie.” He fished out a second package, unwrapped it and put on the ground, close to the big gray beast.

George didn’t move to finish his food, and Lennie wouldn’t even look at the new piece of meat. Instead, George took the uneaten chunk over to the other dog and dropped it in front of him. Lennie whined and refused to eat. Eduardo sat on the tailgate and watched, rapt. George kept nudging at his friend, finally nipping him – once on the ear and once on the shoulder.

Lennie licked George’s mouth, George nuzzled him back. After what seemed like an age, Lennie finally ate the small piece of meat. Eduardo couldn’t figure out what this meant, but he was utterly fascinated. These two dogs were caring for each other as if they were human.

George ate some of the other steak after Lennie nosed it over to him. At least he was able to coax Lennie into eating a little more of that one. Of the pair, Lennie was definitely skinnier. He wondered how long they’d been out in the wild and what had happened to them along the way.

“Come on, boys. Daylight’s wasting here.” He opened the passenger door and the two beasts climbed in. It was a tight squeeze, but Eduardo was used to that. In the early days, he’d often worked with his crews and they’d pile in six to a truck, and these dirty dogs still smelled a hell of a lot better than five men who'd been laboring for twelve hours. The windows were rolled down, it was a nice day and early enough that they shouldn’t hit too much traffic on the way back to Brooklyn. If he was lucky, they’d be back at his house off of DeKalb Avenue by 4 pm.