elrhiarhodan

Title: We Shall Come Home - Chapter XVII
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: ~ 3400 (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. Moz and Diana finally understand the full scope of Neal's predicament, and Elizabeth has an epiphany.

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 | Chapter X | Chapter XI | Chapter XII | Chapter XIII | Chapter XIV | Chapter XV | Chapter XVI |

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CHAPTER XVII – WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON

“COME ON, LET’S GET NEAL OUT OF HERE.” Moz pulled out the leash and collar, but Diana stopped him.

“Moz, no. We don’t know what’s wrong with Neal and he may need medication, a doctor’s care.” She understood Moz’s anxiety – they all could – but Neal was safe now. Or as safe as he could be, as a dog.

“Lady Suit – he has to become human again. What use is a vet when he’ll be a man again?” Moz whispered.

Moz had a point, but she still wanted to make sure that Neal had what he needed for as long as he remained a dog.

The little vet’s assistant came back with her boss. Diana stood up.

“Shoshana tells me that this is your dog – he’s called Neal?”

Diana shushed Moz as he was about to go into a diatribe about property and ownership and free will. This wasn’t the time or the place. She gave the vet the speech she had prepared when Moz told her he’d found Neal. “Well, the actually dog is a key piece of evidence in an investigation, but Moz, here – they’re close. The lead agent on the case would have come for Neal himself, but he’s in the hospital.”

Moz was nearly knocked on his feet when Neal tried to stand up – he seemed definitely agitated now, as if he understood that Peter was ill. But it was a struggle and the big dog only managed to get halfway out of a seated position before he slid back down to the floor with an exhausted whimper.

“What’s wrong with him?” Diana and Moz spoke simultaneously.

Salish gave them a pitying look. “Your dog – Neal – is very ill.” The vet shook his head. “He’s dying.”

Moz crashed to the floor next to Neal and Diana grabbed a chair and sat down.

“What – why?” She could barely find her voice.

Shoshana joined Moz on the cool tile floor, gently petting Neal, her strokes in time with Mozzie's. The vet took another chair, resting his hands between his knees. He looked up at Diana, eyes filled with compassion.

“Your dog was shocked twice by a Taser – once on the throat, near the carotid artery, and once right over his heart. After the second shock, his heart went into ventricular defibrilation. In other words, he had a heart attack.”

“But he’ll be all right, won’t he?”

The vet shook his head. “Cardiac arrest in canines is a difficult thing to treat in general. And given that Neal here is an Irish wolfhound, his situation now is extremely dire. Many of his breed suffer from congenital cardiomyopathy, and a very large percentage of these dogs die of heart disease before their seventh year. And with your dog’s case – the Taser shock did a tremendous amount of damage – he’s very, very weak now. I didn’t think he was going to make it through the night.”

Diana felt her own heart stutter – Neal was trapped in a body that was going to kill him.

“How long? How long does he have?”

“That’s going to be up to his owner. From a humane perspective, your dog shouldn’t be made to suffer because his owner can’t bear to let him go.”

“You’re saying that Neal should be put down?” Moz bit his lip at Diana’s words, clearly fighting against his own shouts of denial. Diana herself fought to keep calm.

“I’m saying that your dog here is in a very critical state. His heart is compromised and he doesn’t have a long time left. He’s going to need a lot of care – and right now, he’s so weak, he can’t stand.”

Diana got down out of her chair and joined Moz and the vet’s assistant on the floor. She looked into the dog’s – into Neal’s – blue eyes and thought she saw a spark of understanding – proof that the brain inside that long canine skull was Neal Caffrey, brilliant (former) conman, not simply a dog driven by instinct.

“It’s not my choice. What can we do for him now?”

Salish sighed. “He’s going to need a lot of specialized medical care. When animals are this sick, they usually aren’t under care long term.”

The vet paused; this was a difficult subject for him.

“Please tell the person responsible for Neal that it’s really not fair to put an animal this sick through the testing and the rest of the treatment. And so many of the tests require sedation that could end up causing other, equally serious problems. The best you can do is give palliative care until you decide ...”

Diana’s hands shook as she stroked Neal’s head. To come so close to getting him back, only to lose him like this.

“If we take him home, can you write up what medicines, what treatment he’ll need?”

The vet nodded. “I know a specialist who may be able to handle cardiac issues as severe as Neal’s, but I’m not positive that he can treat your dog. He’s part of a clinic here in Brooklyn and you should get Neal in to see him as soon as possible. But I can’t guarantee that he’ll be able to help.”

“I understand.” Diana struggled not to cry.

As he was writing down a list of medications and treatment instructions, he asked Diana and Moz a question. “I’m curious – why hasn’t this dog ever been vaccinated?”

She looked at the little guy, who froze. Neither of them had an answer.

“I have to tell you, my assistant –” he nodded towards Shoshana “ – insisted that your dog wasn’t a stray. But frankly, I can’t say that I’m at all impressed with how he’s been treated. Not only is the failure to vaccinate a serious problem, but he’s malnourished as well.”

Diana opened her mouth to offer explanations, but nothing she could say would even come close to the truth. The doctor held out the discharge instructions, and she took them without a word.

He grimaced and then licked his lips nervously. “I ... I took the call to help your dog because I am committed to the welfare of all animals in this community, and as a volunteer, I don’t expect to be paid, but...” He wiped a hand across the back of his neck, clearly ill at ease with asking for money.

“Oh. OH.” Diana reached for her wallet, but Moz beat her to the punch, standing up and pulling out a thick stack of bills from his pocket. He peeled off a few twenties from the top, shoved them back in his pocket and handed the rest to the vet. Diana didn’t figure that Moz was walking around with a wad of singles.

The vet looked as if he were about to refuse Moz’s generosity.

“No, keep it all. You saved Neal life. That’s worth far more than money.”

Salish took the cash. “You’ll need some help with Neal.” He looked down at the big dog, and shook his head. “Maybe he should stay here until you can get him transferred.”

Diana thought it was a good idea, but she knew if she left Neal here, Moz would raise the roof, and if Peter found out that she didn’t bring Neal home, her life wouldn’t be worth living.

“No, we’ll take him.” She looked at the little guy. “We’ll take him to Peter and Elizabeth’s?”

Moz started to agree – then shook his head no. “Not with the Suit in the hospital – someone is going to need to take care of Neal. I’ve got just the place. And it isn’t far.”

Diana was mildly shocked. Peter had told her how Moz lived – in a series of safe houses and bolt holes. That he was willing to let her bring Neal to one was very, very surprising.

The vet’s assistant was trying to get Neal up on all fours, and after a few minutes of breathless struggle, Neal was on his feet. He took one step, another cautious step and a third. Diana wanted to cheer. He made it from the treatment area all the way to the waiting room before collapsing in a heavy, panting heap.

She left them to get the car – the Ford Explorer she’d grabbed from the motor pool right after getting the call from Moz. It was the last available car, and wasn’t something she would usually have accepted – too difficult to park on city streets – but right now, she was extremely grateful for the big gas guzzler, with its large cargo area.

By the time she drove up to the front of the vet’s clinic, they were waiting outside. Neal was sitting up and panting, and she watched as the vet, his assistant and Moz carefully lifted the dog into the back. Moz followed, sitting next to Neal, talking to his friend in a low, soft voice.

As she pulled away, Moz gave her an address near the Brooklyn Bridge. He didn’t say anything else – no quips, no quotes, no snide remarks. She drove carefully. Once they got Neal settled, she’d head back to the hospital. This news she couldn’t deliver to Peter over the phone.


THE MOOD IN THE OFFICE WAS STILL SUBDUED, BUT FAR LIGHTER THAN IT HAD BEEN SINCE PETER AND NEAL HAD DISAPPEARED. One half of the pair had been found – returned – safely, but they were all concerned what the separation meant. Was Neal still alive?

Hughes had quietly spread the word that Peter had been dropped off – dumped – in front of his home, and that Neal had been alive when Peter had last seen him. At least the last of that was true – Peter was adamant that Neal was alive, albeit a dog. The problems this created were endless. How the hell was he going to explain this to the higher ups? My lead case agent and his CI were magically transformed into wolfhounds. The agent’s human again, but his CI’s wandering around Brooklyn, pissing on fire hydrants and car tires and quite possibly humping every bitch in smelling distance.

He had told Bancroft the truth – there was something about his boss, something that made it impossible to even slightly mask the truth. And, quite surprisingly, James didn’t say anything derogatory or tell Reese take a few days, see a doctor, maybe spend some time in a private clinic. Bancroft simply suggested that they find an alternative explanation for Burke and Caffrey’s disappearance.

Watching the White Collar team at work in the bullpen – focusing on the criminal investigations within their working mandate rather than scrambling to solve the disappearance of their teammates – Hughes let himself breathe a small sigh of relief. Caffrey was out there, and he knew they’d find him soon. A hundred and fifty pound dog – one that’s nearly four feet tall – doesn’t wander around Brooklyn unnoticed. Someone was going to report it soon. He had Jones working the phones; now that they knew where Neal was, roughly, there were a finite number of vets and agencies to reach out to.

He wondered where Berrigan was – he hadn’t seen her in a few hours. He was going to have her take over from Jones. He needed a lawyer’s help – and as competent as Berrigan was, she wasn’t an attorney and she didn’t have the seasoning that Clinton Jones had. Hughes made a mental note to talk with Peter about promoting the young man; it was past time that he was allowed to be more than just a supporting cast member or, god forbid, a “special guest star” in the department operations. He called Jones into his office.

“Where’s Diana?”

“She went to follow up on a lead.”

“A lead?” He liked that Peter didn’t micromanage his team, but considering the seriousness of the operation, she should have let him know.

Jones must have read something on his face, because he came to his colleague’s immediate defense. “She got a call from Neal’s friend – the little guy. He gets easily spooked.”

“I’ve met him – I know just how ‘easily spooked’ he really is. Don’t be fooled by the paranoia. Mr. Havisham – as he chooses to call himself – is a very smart, very resourceful man.”

Jones nodded, taking the comment to heart.

“We are going to have some trouble with the Marshals again. You know that.”

“Yes, sir. I’ve gotten a call from Judge Holloway’s clerk that the Marshals Service attorneys are trying to get a hearing to quash our motion. She’s putting them off, but they are going to get a slot on His Honor’s calendar by next week, or they are going to go over his head.”

“Where the hell can Caffrey be?”

“Well, as long as Neal’s a dog , the Marshals will never find him.”

Hughes smiled at the thought, but that wasn’t going to solve all of their problems, and he was going to need Clinton’s help to put his plan in motion.

But before he could say another word, his cell phone chimed with an incoming message. Jones’ did too.

It was Berrigan.

Found the dog, but there are problems. He’s with the little guy now. See you at the hospital?

Hughes didn’t want to speculate about the problems, and as he put his jacket on, Jones replied to Berrigan’s text. They’d meet her at Peter’s room in the hospital. At least they didn’t have to worry now about the Marshals finding Neal.

On the ride down to the parking garage, Jones interrupted his train of thought. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“You had called me into your office for something? What can I do for you?”

Hughes knew why he liked this agent – thorough, conscientious, respectful. Yes, it was more than time for him to be promoted. “I am going to need your help in presenting a credible explanation for Burke and Caffrey’s disappearance.”

“Certainly, sir. Whatever I can do.”

“Ryan Wilkes.”

“Wilkes?”

“He’s in Lewisberg, right?”

“A life sentence for the double kidnapping.”

“I don’t think he’d much like the idea of being transferred to Marion and put into permanent lockdown.”

Jones smiled, absolutely understanding what Hughes was suggesting. “Eric Whitman did say he had heard that Wilkes wanted to kill Caffrey. We do have that in a sworn statement.”

“Yes, that we do.”

“Wilkes isn’t stupid – and he also has a strong sense of self-preservation.”

“We’ll just have to present him with all of the options. A word to the Department of Prisons about the threats to Peter and Neal, and Mr. Wilkes is be transferred to Marion within a week. That I will guarantee.”

“I’ll have his statement drafted tonight, sir.”

“Good - everything being equal, we’ll head down to Lewisberg tomorrow morning for a little friendly conversation with Ryan Wilkes.”



ELIZABETH WALKED TO THE WINDOW IN PETER’S HOSPITAL ROOM AND LOOKED OUT, BLINDLY GAZING ON THE FIELDS AND TREES OF FORT GREENE PARK. She desperately wondered where Neal was and what he was going through – alone, lost. Peter hadn’t told her much – it was so difficult for him to talk about it, but what he did say frightened her. Her imagination could fill in some of the trauma of their experiences, but she knew that there was much more than what Peter relayed, and she wondered if she’d ever know the full story.

Elizabeth looked away from the park and prayed that they Moz, the FBI – someone, anyone – found Neal soon. She didn’t know what was going to happen to Peter otherwise. He couldn’t rest, even drugged to the gills. When he did sleep, he was tormented by nightmares, crying out for Neal, and his anguish broke her heart.

She paced around the confines of the small hospital room, always coming back to Peter. His physical condition had improved enough that he was out of ICU, but his doctor was adamant that Peter’s condition was still critical, on the knife edge of disaster.

Dr. Stein had made it clear that what Peter needed most was to rest, to let his body heal; his constant anxiety over his partner was very detrimental to his recovery. She told him he needed to relax and let his colleagues do what they were trained for. Elizabeth wanted to smack the doctor – she had no clue what Neal meant to her husband.

But what exactly were they to each other? Neal was more than a partner, more than a friend. What came after that? Now, at this late hour, Elizabeth knew she shouldn’t have to wonder about that. They were lovers in all but name and deed – and they didn’t even realize it. And the tragedy was that they might never realize it. Her own heart clenched in grief at the sheer, utter waste.

Peter moaned, once again caught up in the throes of a nightmare, crying out for Neal. El went to his side and took his hand. He calmed a bit, but she could feel the anxiety radiating out of him.

Elizabeth supposed that she should be angry that her husband loved someone else. Conventional morality would give her every right to be bitter, hurt. But she wasn’t, and not because of recent events. Somehow, she had always known. From the first, it seemed, she had recognized Peter’s fascination with Neal – his worry, his concern, the way Neal had become a locus of his existence. And yet, that had taken nothing away from his relationship with her. She had no doubt that he loved her as much as he did when they were first married, if not more. He just loved Neal too.

She brushed her fingers through Peter’s hair and he turned his face into her palm, comforted by her touch.

She also didn’t doubt that the bonds between Peter and Neal were going to be even stronger now, that the trials they must have endured would only bring them closer. This was something else she supposed she should resent. Peter was her husband. But she couldn’t – she never could.

She stood next to her husband’s hospital bed and considered the problem – or rather the fact that there was no problem. It boiled down to a very simple fact: she loved her husband and she wanted him happy. And…

There was a corollary there. And what?

She loved Neal too.

Elizabeth gripped the rails of Peter’s hospital bed hard enough to bruise her palms. When the hell did that happen?

She wanted to sob, to scream, to cry out at the unfairness of it. And yet, as quickly as the turmoil of this sudden realization overtook her, it was soothed by a rising tide of peace. She couldn’t envision Peter taking Neal as a lover without her, and she could never see herself with just Neal, but she could see them, the three of them, together.

Everything that had been confusing her became obvious now.

Peter made Neal a better man, that was so very clear. From the beginning, Peter had carefully harnessed the passions that ruled Neal. He didn’t break him; he offered choices and they both learned to live with the consequences. And as Peter improved Neal, so Neal made Peter a better man, too. At the start – when Peter was considering Neal’s offer – she could see how rule-bound he was becoming, how a world filled with shades of gray was becoming more and more black and white, right and wrong – no middle ground. She wouldn’t have loved Peter any less if Neal had never exploded into their lives, but the man he became because of Neal was so much more than the man that was.

When Neal came back, and Peter was healthy, they were going to have a lot to talk about. She smiled at the thought of bringing the two of them – no, the three of them – together. Peter and Neal would never see what was as plain as day – they were men, after all – and she didn’t have the patience for pussyfooting around. Not after how close she had come to losing Peter. No, sometime in the very near future, they were going to have a long and frank talk. And maybe, just maybe, they’d all get to live happily ever after.

As she stroked her husband’s hand, careful not to disturb the IV lines inserted into the back it, she refused to consider that Neal might not come back to them. That was never a possibility.


To Be Continued