Disclaimer: The following is a work of fan fiction
based on White Collar which belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA.
It is in no
way intended to infringe on the copyrights of Jeff Eastin and USA.
This was
actually the first White Collar story I ever wrote and I would like to
thank mam711, Antoinette,
the vampire act and Alocine
for all your interest, your help and
support you gave so freely to help me
with this story it what was a new fandom for me.
This story is for my sister, Happy Birthday, a girl couldn’t have a
better sister, with all my love Susan
A Different Present
N/P/E
N/OC non-con implied
FBI Headquarters,
New York
Diana Barrigan was
an experienced agent; she had moved to Washington, DC, five months ago to take
up an appointment with the anti-terrorist unit, but had moved back to New York
and the job that she really loved: White Collar crime working with her boss and
mentor, Peter Burke. She was all too aware of what had happened to Agent Cruz:
the probie had made one too many mistakes, and the final one, she had heard on
the grapevine, was encouraging a perp to shoot their convict consultant Neal
Caffrey when she had been in a Mexican standoff. Cruz had gone down in Peter
Burke’s eyes as not Neal-safe, and where Burke was concerned that was damning.
Peter was away from
the office at the moment, going undercover in the offices of a multi-million
dollar corporation in Dallas, Texas, helping out the regional office. Before he
had left, he had worked with Neal on a series of high-profile cases, including
nailing the elusive Dutchman; together they had brought them all to a successful
conclusion, proving that Burke was right in thinking that Neal would be an asset
to FBI. But that was where it had gone wrong. Once Peter was out of the city,
Assistant Director Freeman had taken over from Director Hughes while the older
man had been overseeing some political wrangling. Freeman hadn’t liked Neal
Caffrey having what he considered free rein, and had called her and Jones into
his office, leaving Neal watching them from his desk in the bullpen.
Diana came out of
Freeman’s office, and strode straight across to Neal, leaving Jones in her wake.
She tossed the file down on the con man’s desk. “He’s overruled us.” She shook
her head in disbelief. “I am sorry, Neal; even though Peter gave us joint
custody of you, he’s assigning his own handler.”
Neal shrugged. “I
appreciate you going in there for me,” he smiled. “How bad can it be?”
Fate had decided to take a hand, and Neal didn’t realize that he was
going to regret those words as Freeman came out of his office. “Barrigan, Jones,
what are you waiting for, do it.”
Neal looked at the
two agents he had begun to consider his friends, his smile slowly fading as
Jones pulled his handcuffs out. “I need you to stand up, Neal, and hold your
hands out.”
Slowly the slender
con man got to his feet, and then looked up at Freeman as he felt the cold steel
of the cuffs being snapped around his wrists; the man was smiling smugly. Jones
took his arm firmly and gave him a gentle pull to start him walking.
“Where are you
taking me?”
It was Jones who
answered; he was the senior agent of the two of them. “We’re to take you back to
prison until Assistant Director Freeman has allocated you a new handler.”
“June?”
“I’ll make sure she
knows,” Diana reassured him as they led him out; the other agents all stopped
what they were doing, and she could hear the comments flying through the air. If
Neal heard them he ignored them, his head up, ice cold, and the professional
mask in place.
0-0-0-0-0-0
Two days later,
Neal was out of prison; Diana had managed to sell the idea to Freeman that she
needed him for a job, so he was allowed back in their custody. But the bad news
was that Freeman had selected a new agent to act as Caffrey’s handler until
Burke returned, and it was the worst possible choice. Agent Alf Burton would use
a sledgehammer to crack a nut, and he also had a serious beef with Neal Caffrey:
the young con man had been the only high-profile failure of his career.
Alf Burton sat in
his car watching the front of the mansion, his anger building. It was bad enough
that Caffrey was out of prison again, but he was living in the lap of luxury.
Alf’s face turned ugly as he saw the stylish older woman come out of the front
door on Caffrey’s arm. It seemed that Caffrey had other skills he was using,
whoring himself out to older women, and Burke ignored it. You only had to see
the way that Caffrey dressed to know that he was selling his ass, just like some
high-class escort.
Burton knew who he
had to blame for the mess his life was in; if it hadn’t been for Caffrey, his
career wouldn’t have gone down the can, his wife wouldn’t have left him, and he
wouldn’t be living out an existence in some shoebox apartment. It was time that
Caffrey found out that payback was a bitch.
His smile was pure
evil. The next day he began to work Neal Caffrey into the ground; he was
determined to clear as many cases as possible before Burke came back and
reclaimed his pet convict.
One week later
Diana had called
around to pick Neal up, only to find that Burton was already there. The older
man was furious; he was ranting and raving as he stood in the artist apartment
of June’s mansion. The apartment was a mess; a canvas that she knew Neal was
painting was slashed into pieces, and by the red mark on his face she was sure
that Burton had used his hands on Neal.
“I should bust you
right now, going back to your old tricks, forging a painting.”
“It’s a copy.” Neal
didn’t back down even as Burton got in his face.
Without turning to acknowledge her,
Burton snapped, “keep the hell out of here, Barrigan, or I’ll have Freeman all
over your ass. You come here regularly and didn’t notice that he was forging a
painting.”
Diana fought to
hold her temper. “Agent Burke has examined the painting; it’s a copy, sir,” She
almost spat the 'sir' at him. “It’s an adaption of a Monet; Caffrey wrote across
it in white lead before he started. Agent Burke signed the canvas as well. There
is no way it could be sold as the real thing.”
Burton snorted in
disgust, pushed past Neal and upended the two bags that Neal was packing, then
started pulling the suits out and throwing them onto the floor.
June stood in the
doorway. She was angry, her voice cold with fury. “You have no right to do
this.”
Burton turned on
her. “I can come back and it will be worse for him.” He jerked a thumb at Neal.
“And his next stop is prison.”
He pulled another
suit out and waved it in her face. “Did Caffrey steal them—they must be worth a
few bucks—or did you give them to him?”
“I gave them to Mr.
Caffrey; they used to belong to my husband, Byron.” June stared him down.
“You also allow him
to stay here—nice apartment, a view to kill for—so how much is he paying you in
rent?”
“The federal
government is paying me the regulation amount.”
“Yeah, right, $700
a month for this place,” Burton scoffed, cutting her off. “Well, I am his
handler, and I have reason to believe that Neal Caffrey is working out of this
apartment for immoral purposes, namely as a male prostitute.”
June drew herself
up, regal and imposing. “How dare you say that? Agent Burk….”
“Agent Burke isn’t
here, lady; now either Caffrey shakes that tail of his and hauls ass to my car,
or I’ll arrest him and he’ll be in prison by noon, and ...” Burton smirked. “...
and they know how to treat you there, don’t they, Caffrey.”
Diana saw the color
drain from Neal’s face as he turned and began to cram the other clothes back
into his bags, his hand lightly brushing the expensive cloth of one of the
suits, before he straightened up with his hat in his hand. When Burton went to
reach for it, he managed to sidestep him and handed it to June. “Thank you.”
June held the hat
close to her as Neal turned and picked his bags up. All Diana could do was pat
her arm to try to reassure her, as she followed them down and out into the
street. It was no surprise when she saw that Neal was being taken back to the
roach hotel that Peter had first taken him to. As he got out, Burton lowered the
window. “Your tracker is now restricted to two blocks, Caffrey, and you have a
curfew of 7:00 pm. If you violate it, you're back in prison so fast your head is
going to spin. And get a suit.” Burton jerked a thumb backward. “The thrift
shop's that way.”
0-0-0-0-0
Elizabeth Burke was
just about to cook dinner when there was a knocking on the door; puzzled, she
opened it to find June there. The usually-immaculate older woman was clearly
upset and had been crying, but now there was just a look of determination on her
face as she said, “they took our Neal.”
0-0-0-0-0
The Roach Hotel
Mozzie looked
around a room that was no bigger than a shoebox, and gingerly sat down on the
sagging mattress. The television had a cracked screen and hanging wires, the
paint was peeling from the door, and it was a dump.
“Now do you believe
me?” Mozzie sighed. “Give me 24 and cut the anklet and we can be out of here.”
Neal turned from
hanging up the thrift-store suit, brushing it down with his hand as he spoke. “I
am not running, Moz.”
“For god’s sake,
Neal. The Suit is screwing you over; he won’t be happy until you’re going down
for the third time.”
“I promised Peter I
wouldn’t run; he’ll be back.” Neal’s voice hardened. “He will put this right:
there’s no way Peter would leave me here; he’ll let me go back to June.”
“How long before
he’s back?” Moz asked.
“No idea, eight to
ten weeks; they’re running a long con.”
“And you think you
can....” But Mozzie didn’t get a chance to finish, as Neal cut across him.
“I survived prison,
I can survive this.”
Mozzie didn’t
answer; he was all too aware of what had happened to Neal in prison; taking in
Neal and the room, he realized that it was happening again. When he cleared his
throat, Neal just stared him down, and the words remained unsaid.
The older man had
known Neal for a long time, and knew his history like no other person, and what
he knew was that there was steel in the young con man. People saw the good looks
and the easygoing persona, and what they missed was the man inside the gorgeous
wrapping, a man with a cool head and ice-cold nerves. A man that might hate
violence but could take care of himself if needed. Neal broke into and escaped
from places that defeated most other people, taking risks that most sane people
would walk away from.
Neal had lived
through a past that would have left most people damaged beyond repair. Okay,
Neal might not always be the poster boy for good mental stability: prone to
obsessive behavior—you just had to look at him and Kate to see that—and he
lacked impulse control where paintings were concerned. But it was all the
contradictions that made him Neal Caffrey.
“You best go, Moz;
Burton’s got the receptionist under his thumb and the guy's got standing orders
to report on any visitors I have.” Neal paused, then added, “luckily he hates
Burton enough to warn me, but not enough to lie to him.”
“Okay,” Mozzie
said, but his voice showed it was far from okay as he dug into one of his
pockets and pressed a burner phone into his friend’s hand; they both knew there
would only be one number on it, and that would be Mozzie’s one-off emergency
contact number. Mozzie paused at the door to the room just as he was about to
leave. “Lady Suit and Junior Suit: they backing you up?”
“Diana and Jones, they’re good people,”
Neal confirmed, and Mozzie nodded; it meant that he could approach Neal even if
he was with them. It also warmed Mozzie to know that even in The Man’s
Headquarters, Neal had some backup.
0-0-0-0-0
Two days later
Jones sat enjoying
a Sunday meal with his mother when he saw the advertisement on the back of the
newspaper, and a smile spread across his face. This was perfect—Neal was trapped
in his two-block radius; maybe this would help him.
During the week, he
had chatted to Diana about it and she had agreed. Peter had left standing orders
that as long as Neal had an agent willing to go with him, he could leave his
radius when he was off-duty. The exhibition wasn’t Jones’s first choice for a
great day out for himself, but for an art-loving ex-forger, it would be perfect.
Thursday, Jones had
perched on the edge of Neal’s table, looked around, and then dropped the
clipping onto the desk. “Wanna visit to the Met on Saturday?”
The look on Neal’s
face was one that made Jones smile; the clipping was examined as if it were the
Holy Grail. “The Monet Collection.” Neal savored the title: it was the biggest
collection of Monets outside of France. It was on display for the next two
months, but he had given up any chance of going to see it.
“I’ll pick you up
at eleven on Saturday.”
“Thanks,” Neal
said, but Jones could see his whole attention was on the news cutting, before he
carefully folded it up and reverently placed it into his pocket.
Saturday Morning
Jones pulled up
outside of the roach hotel, and saw Neal was already waiting for him; the con
man was wearing the thrift-store suit and gave him a smile as he crossed the
sidewalk to the car.
“Sorry, Neal.”
Jones saw Neal falter. “Something has come up.”
Neal smiled. “No problem, we can do it
Sunday.”
“Burton blocked it.
I had it cleared with the Marshals and even though it’s a standing order from
Peter, Freeman backed him; you can’t leave your radius, even if I am with you.
Hell, when Diana heard, she said she would come too, what could be more safe
than two agents? But he couldn’t buy
it.”
“That’s okay, you
tried.”
“I got you this.”
Jones reached down and pulled a thick journal out; it was the deluxe version of
the exhibition catalog. “I know it’s not the same, but….” Jones stuttered to a
halt.
Neal looked at the
catalog; he knew how expensive they were. “You didn’t have to,” but even as he
said it he was touched that Jones had thought enough of him to do it.
“I wanted to, and
it’s still got two months to run. We’re getting you there, I promise.”
Neal looked up and
saw Burton’s car parked along the road. “We’ve got company; you'd best be
getting off, and Jones, I’ll remember this.”
“Any time, Neal.”
Neal watched as
Jones drove away, and then turned and headed back into the hotel, the catalog
cradled against his chest. He would hide it away before Burton came crashing
through his door. The man was coming over more and more often, and what he was
forcing him to do was getting more violent; it could only end one way, and he
didn’t want any of his friends there when it happened.
0-0-0-0-0-0
Two nights later
The Burkes’ house
El welcomed Diana
and Jones into her home, sat them down after pouring coffee, and asked about
Neal; she saw the way they looked at each other and knew it was bad.
Diana took a deep
breath. “Burton is getting worse. He’s got Neal on a tight leash: he heard him
on the cell phone trying to call you; Burton grabbed the phone off him and
destroyed it. He began to rant in the bullpen about how you were being stalked
by Caffrey. Jones found Neal later; some of the agents had jumped him, dragged
him into the stairwell and beat him up—he was nursing his ribs for the rest of
the week.”
“But why? Peter
doesn’t mind him calling me.”
“No one cared about
that; Neal was their worst nightmare criminal going after their family—he had to
be put in his place. Burton was a pig over it; he still had Neal in the field
even though his backup would have loved to have left him hanging.” Diana put a
hand up to stop El. “It’s all right; we have his back, but it’s getting harder
to find people we trust to help us.”
El knew she
couldn’t wait any longer. Jones and Diana had done what they could to help Neal.
But they knew they were losing him; the young con man was cutting himself off
from them in his attempt to protect them from his aggressive handler.
Burton was wearing him down; also, they knew that he was using his hands
on him, as well as humiliating Neal in front of the other agents at every
opportunity, even going as far as strip searching him in one of the
interrogation rooms. El made her
mind up; she had to see Neal, make sure he understood that he hadn’t been
forgotten.
Mozzie was waiting
for her outside the hotel: it had been decided that she would go with him; El
marveled that she had made such a good friend of the small man, who always
reminded her of a paranoid Mr. Mole from Wind in the Willows.
“Burton’s just
left, so we have a clear window to see Neal; the creep shouldn’t be back any
time soon.” El hefted the bag she was carrying; June had filled it with of some
of the things that she knew Neal liked: just because for the moment he couldn’t
come to her home didn’t mean that they couldn’t go to him.
Mozzie
lifted his hand to knock on the door to room 211 when it pushed open.
“Neal,” El called his name as she came in behind Mozzie.
Turning away from
the bed Neal stormed past them and slammed the door shut. He rounded on Mozzie.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing bringing her here; you have to get her
out of here.”
“Neal, we were
worried about you.” El’s eyes widened as she took in the young man in front of
her. He was dressed only in a pair of cargo pants that rode low on his hips,
there were red welts around his wrists and a ligature mark around his throat,
and old bruising on his arms. She
started forward, only to have Neal back away from her, throwing his hands up to
ward her off; the unmistakable smell of sex permeated the room.
“Don’t touch me,
El, please, don’t.” She could see the pain and desperation in his eyes. El moved
a little closer, only to see him shy away.
“It’s all right,
Neal.” She placed the bag on the floor. “But you have to understand something.
We don’t care what happened here.” The moment the words left her mouth, she
could see the hurt in his eyes.
Angrily she closed the distance between them, catching his arms. “I don’t mean
it that way.” She shook him. “We care that he hurt you, but that won’t make me
or June turn away from you; you’re family.” She felt him sway and followed him
down onto the bed, taking his hand, linking her fingers through his, and pulling
his hand against her chest. She could feel his pulse racing; with her other hand
she lightly stroked his cheek and jaw and smiled softly as he leaned into her
touch.
Looking at his hand
she could see his knuckles were scraped. Neal had fought; his voice was soft,
the exhaustion showing through.
“It wasn’t about
sex.” Neal looked into her eyes, wanting her to understand.
“I never
thought....” she started, only for him to clutch her hand tighter.
“Burton’s all about
power.” Neal took a breath. “He blames me for all the crap in his life, and he
keeps saying that Peter had him assigned to me, to take care of me.” The look he
gave her was a silent plea for her to deny it, then he looked away.
“Neal, he would
never have assigned Burton to you, you know.” El gently coaxed Neal’s face up so
that she could look him in the eyes. “You know that he assigned Diana and Jones
to look after you. You have to remember that, no matter what crap Burton tells
you.”
Neal gave a
shudder. “Diana said he had.” He put a hand up and rubbed his face. “Sometimes
it’s hard to remember, I'm….” Neal trailed off, gave a sigh, and straightened
up. “I can stick this out until Peter comes home; I have to, and I am not going
to run.”
“I know that,
sweetie,” El said. She could see how bone-tired he was, and every maternal
instinct she had came to the fore as she coaxed his head down to lean on her
shoulder; with a soft sigh his body melted against her. At the moment all she
could do was hold him close and reassure him he was loved. El looked up at
Mozzie as she felt his gaze on her; she saw him quirk his head to one side,
examining her through his thick glasses. El lifted her head a little higher as
if challenging him to say something. But all she got was a smile, as if she had
passed some important test.
0-0-0-0-0
Four days later
Peter Burke was
back. He was exhausted, and after hugging El he had crawled into bed and slept
for the next ten hours. It was when he woke that El told him what had happened.
As much as she had wanted to help Neal, she knew that Peter needed to rest, but
she also knew that Peter would be furious if Neal suffered one more day because
he didn’t know the truth.
Peter listened
carefully to everything that El told him; when she had finally ground to a halt,
her eyes awash with tears, he had pulled his wife into his arms and held her
close. “I can understand Burton’s
beef with Neal, El. He was being fast-tracked for a senior position when he was
given his file; at that time all we didn’t even have a name for the
counterfeiter But Burton drew a blank and I was brought in, a fresh pair of
eyes. If you remember we worked the
case together for about a year before Burton was taken off it; it was after an
incident.” Peter breathed out. “Hell, I forgot all about it.”
“What happened?”
“One day Burton
went after Neal. We had him under surveillance but were running into a brick
wall; Neal was good at misdirection. One night he slipped us and we got a tipoff
that he was at the Fuller Gallery. I knew it was him, even if we couldn’t see
his face; only Neal had the balls to pull a robbery right under our noses.”
Peter shook his head in disbelief. “Anyway, he was too fast on his feet; he’s
one hell of a free runner and Burton was just about to put a bullet between his
shoulder blades as he escaped. I stopped him.
Neal might have been a notorious art thief but he didn’t deserve to die
like that. Burton tried to knock me on my ass when I stopped him; at least three
other agents saw it happen.”
El said, “What
happened to Burton?”
“He lost his fast
track, but still had enough pull to be moved sideways into Organized Crime. I
wasn’t aware he was back in White Collar, and the rest you know.”
Peter got up; he
strode to the phone, and punched in the number. “This is Special Agent Peter
Burke, and I am Neal Caffrey’s handler.” El got up and got his coat for him;
she knew that Peter wouldn’t rest now that he knew what was happening
with Neal. She stood by the door, the car keys in her hands. Peter gave her a
kiss and took the keys. “Don’t worry; he’s coming home with me.”
0-0-0-0-0
One hour later
Neal sat in the
car, his eyes fixed on whatever was going on outside rather than look at Peter.
“Why don’t you ask, Peter; I know you want to.”
Peter glanced
across at his partner. “El told me.” He saw the way that the younger man tensed.
“I didn’t do
anything, Peter.” Peter could hear the anger behind the words, but Neal was
masking it well, and it was with a heavy heart that the older man realized that
Neal didn’t expect to be believed.
“I believe you, and
the bastard is going down.”
“He’s FBI.” Neal
looked at him; Peter could feel the blue eyes burning into him, challenging him.
Peter glanced from
the road to Neal. “It didn’t stop us with Fowler, and it’s not going to stop us
now.” Reaching a hand out, he patted Neal’s knee, only to have the young con
man’s hand move to cover his. Peter felt the tension in Neal’s slender tapered
fingers as he waited for his touch to be rejected, but Peter didn’t move away,
allowing Neal to lay claim to his hand.
In a couple of days
Neal could get back to June's, but for now, he would be in their guest room.
Peter couldn’t put it into words, but he needed to know that Neal was safe, and
that meant keeping him close and letting El do what she did best: looking after
Neal; ever since she had first met the con man she had tucked him firmly under
her wing, protecting him with a fierceness that would put a mother lion to
shame.
When they arrived
at the house, the first thing El did when Peter called to her that they were
home was to take Neal in a hug; Peter saw the way that Neal froze, his hands
hanging down by his sides. Peter knew what he had to do; he put a hand onto
Neal’s shoulder, and when Neal looked at him, he nodded, “it's okay, Neal.”
Slowly Neal brought
his arms up and wrapped them around El, hugging her gently, as she guided his
head down on her shoulder and just held him. How long they stayed like that
Peter didn’t know, but when finally Neal eased back from her, he saw a look of
peace on his face that hadn’t been there before.
It was only as El led Neal by the hand upstairs to the guest room that
Peter realized that he should be feeling jealous seeing his wife in the arms of
another man. But all he could think of was it was Neal, and he was home and
safe.
0-0-0-0-0-0
Tuesday Morning
When Peter entered
the offices of the White Collar Unit, Neal was by his side; the FBI agent’s hand
rested on the small of his partner’s back, giving him physical reassurance. Neal
was dressed in a vintage Rat Pack suit, his trademark hat in his hand. The
agents stopped what they were doing then they started clapping and
wolf-whistling. Peter halted as Neal
did a 360 with a flourish and flipped his hat up his arm, so that it landed on
his head in a practiced move that got a thundering round of applause; Neal
Caffrey was back.
0-0-0-0-0-0
Peter had promised
to bring Burton down, but it wasn’t going to be easy; it would be Neal’s word
against Burton’s that the sex was non-consensual; the injuries could be
explained away as a con that likes rough sex. Burton would be reprimanded,
suspended for improper behavior, at worst allowed to resign, but it would be
Neal that would pay the price. There was enough of the top brass that disliked
the idea of a con man being given the run of the White Collar Unit, without them
being given more ammunition to use against him. Because one thing Peter knew for
sure was the blame would be put on Neal: poor Burton, seduced by Neal Caffrey.
Burton had to be brought down in such a way that there would be no risk
of Neal being blamed, and that took time.
Alf Burton’s anger
was building with each successful case they closed, and his rage had only one
target. He hadn’t been able to get close to Caffrey since Burke came back, and
it was either him or one of his cronies that kept near the con man. Hell, Jones
had even followed Caffrey into the john when he had seen him. It sickened him
that Caffrey had pulled the wool over all their eyes; for fuck's sake, was he
the only one that could see Caffrey for what he was?
Sitting in his car outside of the mansion, Burton leafed through the
photographs he had; they had arrived unannounced in his mail. They had sickened
him and at the same time excited him. Mr. High-and-Mighty Caffrey was going to
regret he was ever born.
The next morning,
Elizabeth Burke was sitting at her desk in her small office when her assistant
Yvonne came in, her face bright red. “Elizabeth, this came for you.”
“Yvonne, what’s
wrong?” The other woman hadn’t answered, just dropped it on the desk as if the
envelope was red hot and rushed out of the room. Elizabeth pulled out what
looked like a file; she opened it and saw Neal Caffrey’s face looking back at
her. She flipped the page up and then muttered an “oh my god.”
Unable to look away, she began to dial her husband.
Peter had just
opened the file on his desk as the phone rang. He answered it, only half his
attention on the file. “El, you need to slow down; what’s wrong?” It was then he
saw the file contents. “I have one here.” He paused. “Look, put it back in the
envelope and bring it in.” It was then he heard a knock at his door and Agent
Ruiz was standing there with an identical file in his hand. “El, I have to go;
it just got a lot worse.
“Ruiz.”
“Burke.” The
Organized Crime SAC didn’t like the fact that Neal was working for White Collar,
and made no secret of the matter, and now he had the file.
“This came today;
now I can’t say I like Caffrey, but ...” He paused. “... but no one needs this
being spread around the office. If you need help bringing the scumbag down that
did this, let me know.” Ruiz laid
the file down and then turned to leave. “Whether I like it or not, Caffrey is
one of ours, and we protect our own,” and with that he strode away.
When Peter came out
of his office he saw Neal looking up at him from his desk; the con man started
to get to his feet when Peter shook his head and headed straight into the office
of Director Hughes.
Reese Hughes saw
the file and then tapped with a finger the file in front of him, and then the
second copy. “This one came to me today; this one ...” He indicated the second
file. "... was sent to Agent Rice; she passed it on.”
Peter laid the
other two files down. “This one came to me, the other to Ruiz, and El just rang
to say she received one at her office.” His cell phone went off; he glanced at
the text—it was from El, simple and to the point: 'June called she has a copy of
the file.'
“That makes six
copies, Reese; someone is out to do a real hatchet job on him. I….”
Peter was cut off
as Diana knocked on the door. “Sorry, sir, there’s an email; it’s about Neal.”
Reese’s fingers
flew across the keyboard as he opened up his email account, and sure enough
there was one there. He opened it and swore; there were digital copies of the
pictures in the email. Looking
quickly, he could see it had been copied to all the departments of the FBI in
the building.
“You'd best get
Caffrey; he’s got a right to know,” Reese said, the anger barely suppressed as
he dialed the IT department, and told them what he wanted done: he wanted the
email traced and deleted from the system now.
Neal was suddenly
aware that the other agents had stopped what they were doing, and were looking
at him, hell no, staring at him, with a mixture of pity and revulsion. Then
Peter was at his side and he was being escorted to Hughes’ office.
Hughes waved him to
a seat which sent the alarm bells ringing; the Director usually gave the
impression he could barely tolerate him.
“There has been a
security breach, Mr. Caffrey.”
“I didn’t do it;
ask Peter.” Neal put in quickly.
“We know you
didn’t, but the breach concerns you. Copies of your prison medical file have
been received by people connected to this department.”
Neal’s face didn’t
show any emotions as he asked, “who?”
“Agents Burke,
Ruiz, Rice, myself, Mrs. Burke, and your landlady.”
Neal closed his
eyes for a heartbeat and then turned to Peter. “Please tell El I am sorry; she
shouldn’t have seen that.”
“Neal, it's all
right; she understands.” Peter tried to reassure the young former con man even
as Hughes continued.
“I am afraid it’s
worse than that; they also sent them as an email attachment to all the agents in
the office.” Neal buried his face in his hands; now it made sense why he was
being stared at: his prison medical record made grim reading.
Or had until the Mitchell brothers had taken him under their wing. After
that no one had dared touch him; the brothers had made sure of that. But
everything had had a price.
“I have IT tracing
it and then they’re going to delete it off the system,” Hughes added. “I promise
we will get to the bottom of this and the person responsible for it will be
caught.”
Taking a steadying
breath, Neal got to his feet, brushing a hand down his suit, then to his tie,
before tugging at his cuffs. “If that’s all, I'd better get back to the mortgage
case you gave me, Peter. Thank you
for telling me yourself, Director Hughes.” Both the agents watched him walk out
of the office, pause slightly, then go down the stairs into the bullpen, head up
high as if there were nothing the matter.
Hughes leaned back
in the chair. “That kid’s got balls, you know that.”
“He’s one of the
best, Reese, and that’s why I am going to nail the son of a bitch that did
this.”
0-0-0-0-0-0
Burton spent more
and more time staking out the mansion, waiting until he saw June leaving Caffrey
alone in the house for the first time since he’d moved back in. Getting in was
easy. He made his way up the stairs. He flexed his hands, liking the tight feel
of the leather gloves. He dropped one hand to his pocket and fingered the rope,
lube and condoms that he had in there. He was going to ride him hard, tear him
apart before he killed him, and leave Caffrey so that everyone could see what a
slut he was. Burton patted the pocket and took his gun out; one hand on the door
handle, he jerked the door open and threw down on Neal.
The con man stepped
back from the painting he was working on, and slowly brought his hands up.
“Burton.”
“Caffrey, I see
your pimp's out, so me and you, we're going to have so much fun.”
“No.” Neal said
levelly.
Burton cocked the
gun, pointing it straight at his head. “Strip, Caffrey, then get on your knees
and crawl and lick my shoes; you do it good enough, I might even use the lube.”
His laugh was fractured as he cocked the hammer back on the gun.
Neal stood there,
the bitterness burning in his eyes; Burton felt himself hardening when he saw
it: that was what he wanted, that was what he reveled in when he took Caffrey,
knowing that each time he destroyed a little more of the man’s worth. "What are
you waiting for, Caffrey? Take them off.” He waved the gun at the clothes the
younger man was wearing. “Nice and slow, Caffrey, like the whore you are.”
Neal let his head
drop forward as if he were concentrating only on the buttons, taking it slowly,
peeling the shirt off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. At the
same time as Peter and Diana stepped out from the terrace behind Neal, Jones
came through the door. “Freeze, Burton; don’t try anything.”
Even as Burton
started to pull the trigger, Peter caught Neal and sent him crashing to the
floor as the shot was fired; there was the crack of another gun, muffled to Neal
as Peter kept on top of him, shielding him with his body.
Only when Neal heard Diana and Jones give the all clear did Peter slowly
ease up off him, reaching down to pull him to his feet.
Burton was on the
floor, alive but bleeding from a shoulder wound. “It’s over, Neal; it’s finally
over.” Peter’s hand dropped on Neal’s shoulder; without looking at Burton, Peter
said, “Alf, you’re going to plead guilty; this isn’t going to court, you
understand me.”
“Why should I,
Burke?” he smirked through the pain. “Don’t want your boyfriend here in the
witness box....”
Peter ignored him.
“A one-off deal: you plead guilty and they move to sentencing and you keep out
of general population and are put in administrative segregation; you go to court
and I’ll make sure that you spend every day of your sentence in
population, Alf, and don’t think I won’t.”
For a long minute
the former partners' gaze met, and then Burton looked away. “All right, I plead
guilty.”
“Who gave you the
pictures?”
He smiled, savoring
the reaction he was going to get. “You're going to love this, Caffrey; it was
that bitch Moreau, your own precious Kate. She gave them to Fowler, only he
didn’t use them. Seems that there was one line the bastard wouldn’t cross. One
of Fowler’s old friends knew where the files were and seeing as how he hated
Caffrey he passed them along; said I would get a kick out of them, seeing as I
was his handler now.”
Neal started
forward, cutting him off. “You're lying; she’s dead, you bastard; she can’t
defend herself, she would never do that.”
“Doesn’t make any
difference, Caffrey, she still sent them to Fowler; you really think she would
want you after you got fucked over in prison?” Burton gloated with a smirk on
his face.
Peter lunged
forward and managed to get his arms around Neal and pull him back, even as the
younger man went for Burton; as Peter struggled with Neal he yelled for Diana
and Jones to get Burton the hell out of there.
Peter’s fight with
Neal was made all the harder because he didn’t want to hurt him, but he couldn’t
allow him to get to Burton; Neal was the victim here, not Burton.
It was finally a combination of his weight and skill learned at Quantico
that enabled Peter to get Neal in an arm lock and pinned face first against the
wall. “Don’t make me cuff you, Neal;
quit struggling,” Peter hissed. Neal didn’t answer him; he just kept on
struggling. “Damn it, Caffrey,” Peter swore under his breath, and brought the
younger man down to the floor in a controlled move: a knee in the small of his
back as he cuffed Neal’s hands behind his back, then, giving him a push, rolled
him over onto his back. An out-of-breath Peter got to his feet and tugged out
his cell phone and stabbed the speed dial; this situation needed the big guns.
“We’ll be with you
in about 15 at the latest. Yeah, we
got him, El; Neal....” Peter paused. “He’s a little tied up at the moment, hon,
but he’ll be with me.” For the first time since they set the trap, Peter smiled
as he said to El, “as if I would cuff him; come on, El, give me credit.” He
looked down at Neal. “He would be out of the cuffs before I could turn my back
on him.” He clicked the cell phone off, and then reached a hand down. For a long
second, Neal looked up at him, and then reached up a hand, the cuff hanging off
his wrist, and allowed Peter to pull him to his feet. He flinched slightly as
Peter wrapped an arm around him, but he didn’t pull away, and Peter chose to
ignore it. Releasing his hold, Peter patted Neal on the back. “Come on, buddy,
we can’t keep El waiting; the paperwork can wait until tomorrow.”
Peter caught the
way Neal looked at himself in the mirror: the paint-splashed cargo pants, the
undershirt, and the sneakers. Peter did a double take—Neal Caffrey actually
owned a disreputable pair of sneakers. He reached down and picked up Neal’s
shirt and held it out to him; for a long minute it hung in the air before Neal
took it.
“I need to get
changed; El....”
“Kiddo, I hate to
break it to you; El might like your suits, but she cares more about the man in
them than if you pass muster for GQ. Live with it. I do.”
Neal nodded but his
face showed he didn’t really believe it; he went to his closet and pulled out a
dark midnight-blue shirt and pulled it on, then on the way out grabbed a
battered leather jacket, as Peter shepherded his young charge out of the house
and to the car.
Neal paused at the passenger door,
looking across the roof at him.
“Yeah?” Peter
asked.
“Am I still under
arrest?”
“I didn’t arrest
you, Neal, just detained you. Are you going after Burton again?”
For a long minute
they just looked at each other. Neal shook his head.
“Then you’re not
under arrest.” Peter didn’t even check to make sure that Neal was following him
as he got into the car, but he had to admit to himself he felt a wave of relief
when the passenger door opened and Neal sat down next to him.
He might not be able to fix everything in Neal’s world but he and El
would be there when Neal needed them, and could give him a warm and safe haven.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0
There was no way
the weeks that followed could have been good; Neal was
thrown into deep depression, turning in on himself; he had lived through
the time when he thought that Kate had been murdered, fueled by his need for
revenge. But now he knew the truth: Kate had used him and deserted him; she had
never loved him. No one wanted him
for him, just for what he could give them; he wouldn’t make that mistake again.
He lost his appetite and couldn’t sleep at night, spending his time painting,
and each morning when he left for work he put the con man’s face on, to hide his
emotions. Emotions were weaknesses he couldn’t allow to show.
It was Mozzie in
the end that came to Peter and Elizabeth; he was clearly uncomfortable. He had
been pacing up and down outside of the house for twenty minutes before he made
up his mind to come in, and all the time he sat on the couch in the Burkes'
living room he fidgeted with his cravat. “I wouldn’t have come here, Suit, if I
didn’t think that you and Mrs. Suit have what Neal needs. You have to understand
a few things about him. I ... well, I never really liked Kate; she wasn’t good
for him. Neal has always been tactile, and needs to touch people he loves: just
small touches; it grounds him. Neal, well, Neal’s always been hyper, high
maintenance. But Kate never liked him touching her; it had to be on her
conditions. She would cut him off from her, pushing him away, kicking him out of
bed more than once, just to see him climb the walls.” Mozzie shrugged. “Love’s
blind and Neal was blind; I can’t tell you his past; just say that he was
starved for affection, the right sort of affection, when he was young. If you
care about him you have to show him.” Mozzie got up. “Now I have to go.”
“Mozzie, thanks,”
El said just as he reached the door, but it was Peter who stopped him, when he
said, “it’s not easy.”
Mozzie turned, but
before he could open his mouth, Peter continued. “I have too much power over
him: I can send him back to prison. I don’t want him to think that I'm like
Burton, that he’s being forced, coerced.”
“You’re not like
Burton, Suit, you and Mrs. Suit really care for him. I just ask you don’t leave
it until it’s too late. Neal has a destructive streak in him; that’s not
healthy. Just do what you can, okay.”
0-0-0-0-0
For Neal the next
couple of weeks became puzzling. Peter was more tactile with him, keeping him
close, often with a firm hand to the small of the back as he guided him around,
offering reassurance with a touch. El would take him in her arms; hugs came
readily from her, along with little pecks on the cheek or forehead.
Slowly he pulled out of his depression as his attention fixed fully on
the Burkes.
The pair of them began to invade his
dreams, and he would lay there half asleep imagining that it was Peter’s firm
hand that was stroking, touching him and bringing him off, that El’s long hair
was brushing his face as she leaned in to kiss him, her perfect hands caressing
his chest and flanks. Neal began to thrash and writhe as he came, crying out
their names at the height of his passion, before collapsing back on the
sweat-soaked bed, breathing heavily as he dashed the tears from his eyes. Who
was he kidding? They would never want him that way. During the day he would take
their friendship, reveling in it; at night he had his dreams to keep him warm.
He now spent most of his time with them, and he still found it hard to believe
that they allowed him to visit them anytime he wanted without it having to be
work-related, just so that he could spend time with them, just for the sake of
being with them; not many people would welcome a known felon into their homes
like that. But they did and made him feel he was one of the family.
But one of his
biggest surprises had taken place about a week later when Director Hughes had
called him into his office. Peter had stood there smiling like a proud father,
as Director Hughes explained in that gruff manner of his that he was being given
a small extension to his radius.
Neal had smiled happily; any increase in his radius was a godsend. But it was
then that Hughes had looked at him. “That exhibition you wanted to go to,
Caffrey, I can’t authorize any agents to take you, on or off the clock.”
Neal had tried to
keep his disappointment from showing. It was then Hughes had smiled. “Your
radius now includes the Met, so you'll be able to visit whenever you want.”
It had taken all
his powers to avoid his jaw dropping, as Hughes continued, “I’ve reviewed your
case files and over the last six months you have been instrumental in closing
some major cases with Agent Burke. Therefore in recognition I have authorized
this inclusion in your radius.” He leaned forward and pointed a finger at Neal.
“If so much as a postcard disappears from the Met, I will be looking at you,
Caffrey.” He paused, then added, “now get; I have to talk to Peter.”
Neal got to his
feet and started for the door, then turned. “Director Hughes.” He waited for the
older man to look at him, and then said, “thank you.”
Hughes just nodded.
“Just keep up the good work, and we might be able to add the Fuller Gallery to
your radius next time.”
For the next week,
whenever he was off the clock, Neal could be found at the Met, in his own
personal seventh heaven, but all the time he was waiting for the other shoe to
drop, not allowing himself to believe that it wasn’t some con that Hughes was
running. But gradually, Neal started to believe that Hughes might have been
sincere.
Six weeks later
Neal was seated at
his desk in the bullpen, working on a file, and looked up at the light touch of
Peter’s hand on his shoulder to see Director Hughes give him the famous
two-finger wave, indicating he wanted him in his office. It was then Neal’s
heart sank; he guessed that this was payback time.
Peter chivied Neal
up the stairs, his hand resting on the small of the con’s back; Neal found his
touch reassuring but at the same time frustrating.
His love life was zero; oh, he knew that if he wanted, he could get a
woman into his bed; he just didn’t want to. What he wanted was something that he
knew that he couldn’t have, or could he?
“On the 28th,
Caffrey, you are going to be leading a prison break.”
Neal did a double
take; he had allowed his mind to wander. “Prison break.” He latched onto that
one word, 'prison'. “Hell no.” He was nearly out of the chair when Peter’s hand
clasped down on his shoulder, pinning him in place.
The next thing he knew Peter was pushing his head down between his knees
and telling him to breath; the only plus side was that Peter’s other hand was
rubbing his back, soothing him. Neal tried to brush his hand away; as much as he
needed Peter’s touch, it was a sweet torture to him, and a taste of something he
could never have. “I am all right, Peter.”
The older man
looked slightly flustered. “You looked as if you were going to keel over, Neal.”
But before he could
answer, Hughes did: he shook his head. “Caffrey....” He paused. “It’s all right,
Neal, it’s all right.”
“I am not going
back in there.” Neal’s voice was harsh, as he looked up through his hair that
had fallen forward over his eyes.
“You are not going
back to prison, Neal,” Peter said firmly. “Director Hughes didn’t mean it that
way.” Peter glared at Hughes, one of the few people Neal knew that could get
away with doing that. “Every year
the FBI holds a charity event and raises money through sponsorship.”
“A charity event,”
Neal took a deep breath; that was the last thing he had expected Hughes to say.
He tried to concentrate on what Hughes was saying, but then there was Peter’s
hand on the back of his neck, those strong fingers that touched him so gently,
caressing him, petting him. Slowly Neal felt himself relaxing into the touch,
and it was then he realized that it wasn’t the only part of him that liked this
attention; he crossed his legs to try and hide his growing erection. Dead mice,
Hughes and dead mice, Bambi as venison. To Neal’s relief it seemed to do the
trick; it was then he caught Peter’s half-smile and realized that the older man
had seen his erection and was amused by it, not disgusted but amused.
Hughes coughed. “Caffrey,
as I was saying, the aim of the event is to travel as far as you can in 24 hours
without using money, just your skill, to hitch rides; we haven’t won in the last
five years, so you are going to be our ringer.”
“Isn’t that
cheating?” Neal asked.
“If it was a
singing contest and Pavarotti was a member of the team, would that be cheating?
No, Mr. Caffrey, it would be using his gifts.” He paused. “Now to the
rules: they state that the team is made up of two agents and a civilian. We are
fielding two teams. Agent Jones, Agent Barrigan and her significant other are
team A; Peter, Elizabeth, and you, Caffrey, are Team B.”
“I am not an
agent.” Neal said.
“You’re a
consultant; that’s close enough.” Hughes smiled as he added, “as a wise man once
said, all's fair in love, war and inter-department rivalry, Caffrey.”
Peter picked up
when Reese nodded at him.
“The rules state we
can’t use friends and family, or their personal vehicles or do anything illegal;
anything else is fair game. Also, you can sabotage another team if you have the
chance, and during the course of the event, we would have six challenges to
complete. The winner is the one that travels the furthest distance inside of the
tri-state area and have six items collected.
“And the items
are?” Neal asked.
“That’s the rub,”
Peter said. “They don’t tell us until the last minute because of the risk of
someone cheating, and we have to be dressed in prison clothes.”
“I don’t look good
in orange.” Neal’s tone had flattened again slightly.
“Nothing like that;
think stripes, think Laurel and Hardy; no one is out to humiliate you here,
Neal; you have to trust me on that.”
Hughes had been
watching the two men, and saw the way that Peter had been acting without
conscious thought; the older man was acting protectively about Caffrey. It had
nothing to do with the fact he was the man’s handler. For Hughes, the telling
moment had been when Peter and Neal had had to trade places for a case;
Elizabeth Burke had brought the informant in, and Neal had given her a greeting
kiss on the cheek. It was a perfectly innocent action that no man would normally
take exception to. Only problem was, this was a convict kissing the wife of an
FBI agent, and there were enough men in the White Collar bullpen that would have
taken offense, and once the situation was back to normal would have wanted to
put Caffrey back in his place. But
not Peter Burke; he acted as if it was the most natural thing in the world: he
trusted Neal and that showed. There was a look that Hughes was sure that only he
had seen because of his knowledge of Peter; it was there for only a fleeting
microsecond: it was a hunger, and it was aimed at his wife and Caffrey. For a
long minute Hughes sat there, and then decided that he didn’t care as long as it
didn’t interfere with Burke’s work, and there was no denying that Peter and
Elizabeth were a steadying influence on the flighty Energizer Bunny of a con
man. He would let it go.
Two weeks later
Neal looked around
at the people crowded into the office; he was surprised to see Ruiz until Jones
whispered that Organized Crime had won the cup for the last two years. All of
them wore the same striped suit that he did.
He looked at
Elizabeth; she caught his gaze and smiled at him and then looked away, and he
felt a jab of pain in his heart as he saw the smile that she gave Peter, the way
she leaned forward, gave him a kiss, and slipped an arm through his, and to his
surprise slipped her other arm through his own, and pulled him closer.
Director Hughes
came out of his office with the four people chosen to referee the challenge; he
stood looking down at the different teams crowded into the White Collar unit
office.
“The rules of the
competition are straightforward: you have 24 hours to travel the furthest
distance away from FBI headquarters as possible, while remaining in the
tri-state area, and you will have to use your skills at persuading and charming
people to get you on your way. You will not have any money; the winner will get
the Challenge Cup and bragging rights for the next year.” Reese put a hand up to
stop the catcalls as the highly-qualified FBI agents became children again.
He continued, “I
would like to thank the Marshals Service for their help this year; they’re going
to be monitoring the Challenge. If you cut the anklet, it’s coming out of your
wages, people,” Hughes joked.
It was then that
Neal noticed that every third person had a tracking anklet on. He could see they
were enjoying the novelty of it; he caught the look Peter gave him, and matched
the older man’s smile, knowing that Peter had left this as a surprise for him.
Peter had told him that he would be treated the same as any other team
member during the prison break, and he had laughed it off with a shrug, making a
crack about the others not being on an anklet. Now he knew different; he
accepted that, okay, tomorrow their anklets would come off and his would stay
on, but today he could just join in the fun and be one of the crowd, no radius
and the whole of the tri-state area to play in and that was priceless.
Hughes continued.
“Each team will be made up of two agents and a civilian.” He looked at the sea
of faces. “Franklin, Murdock, nothing illegal, and the aquarium better not be
missing a fish this year; remember, if it says pick up a Swedish Fish it means
the candy, not the fish.” He looked around at the different teams. “Okay. Ladies
and gentlemen, the clock is now officially running, and good luck to you all.”
As Peter ushered El
and Neal to the elevator, he kept his voice low, “Neal, you and Mozzie....”
“Mozzie and I have
a few ideas that we came up with last night, Peter, that might fit the bill.” He
smiled at his own personal FBI agent with a megawatt smile. “I think you’re
going to like them.”
The Burke’s home
The escapee teams
had returned back to the federal building after the 24 hours, each of them
handing over the digital camera they had taken with them so they could take a
picture of all the objects they had been tasked to find during the 24 hours of
the prison break. While the mileage
was worked out, and the photographs checked, the escapees dug into a meal of
pizza and beer, or in Neal’s case a rather-nice bottle of wine, even if it was
complete with a screw top courtesy of Peter and swapped stories of what had
happened during the escape.
Finally the judges
announced the winner: White Collar Crime Unit, the team of Burke, Burke and
Caffrey; they had accepted the cup to cheers and good-humored banter from the
other teams, but for Peter it was worth it to see the acceptance that Neal was
getting from the other FBI agents. When they had finally left the party it was
Peter who had refused to let Neal go home to June's, and instead propelled him
into a cab to take them back to the Burke family home.
The moment that
they walked through the front door, Peter could feel the tension rising, and he
looked across at El for support; she smiled softly and nodded her agreement,
without a word being spoken. Over the weeks Peter and El had spoken of their
attraction to Neal and argued it from all angles. Peter voiced his concern that
as much as he wanted Neal, he didn’t want to destroy his marriage. El had been
sweet reason; she had kissed him tenderly and told him firmly that if Neal felt
the way they thought he did, then it was only going to get better.
Neal was walking
around the living room picking up pictures, his fingers lightly brushing
knick-knacks as if it was the first time he had seen them. But he kept shooting
Peter and El looks as if trying to fathom what was going on. He paused and
looked up at a painting on the wall, leaning into it; it was Elizabeth’s
favorite picture, the water lilies. He gave a huff of disgust: it was a print.
He would soon put that right: she deserved only the best. In his mind he
began to plan out a copy of it in oils for her.
Hearing his name
called, Neal turned; Peter and El had closed the distance between them. Peter’s
arm was wrapped around El’s waist and Neal couldn’t help feel a stab of sadness;
he loved them, and it hurt to see what he wanted but knew he could never have.
Peter reached a
hand out as El did the same, “you can have what you want, Neal; you just have to
tell us.” He paused. “I can’t do this for you, Neal. You have to ask.”
“If you say no, we
will respect it, sweetie; no one is here to force you, and the power lies with
you,” El said.
Neal slowly reached
his hands out and Peter and El drew him close into a embrace; his body started
to shake as he brushed against Peter and felt the older man’s hardness pressing
against his hip, then El’s hand was gently stroking the back of his neck and
back. She was speaking softly, telling him how much he was loved by them, and
that he had nothing to fear from them; they would never force him to do anything
he didn’t want too. Peter lowered his head so that it rested against Neal. “We
want you, Neal. It doesn’t matter if you only want to sleep with us, and all we
do is hold you and nothing more; we can do that. But we want you here with us
now. I think we’ve all waited too long to go back now.”
Neal raised his
head from Peter’s shoulder so that he could look him in the eyes. Peter smiled,
his lips quirking into the boyish smile that had melted Neal’s heart the first
time he saw it. “Hell, it’s going to give me the bluest balls in New York, but
if it’s what you want, what you need for now, it’s okay; this goes at your
speed, Neal.”
Stepping back from
them, Neal broke the embrace and looked from Peter to El and back again; he
could feel the fear churning in his stomach. Memories of Burton, the belt, the
handcuffs, of feeling as if he was being split open washed through him, and all
he wanted to do was run. Run, get the hell out of there, he.… Then he looked at
Peter and El, and all he saw was understanding and love, not lust or the need to
hurt him, just love, and he knew then that they would wait for him, that he was
safe and finally he was home. This time it was Neal that stepped forward and
held out his hands to them, and they pulled him gently back into their loving
embrace.
It was Neal that
led them upstairs to the master bedroom; they moved at his pace: kisses that
were light and tender, touch that gave pleasure without the pain he expected.
Neal panicked when Peter’s weight rested on him; he flashed back to Burton
pinning him down as he raped him. He pushed Peter back, and would have fallen
out of the bed if El hadn’t been on the other side of him and caught him. When
Peter reached out for him, he buried his face against El’s shoulder, clinging
onto her for dear life.
Peter edged closer.
“It's okay, Neal, I am sorry; you know I wouldn’t hurt you, don’t you?”
Neal slowly lifted
his face up, he felt embarrassed; he knew in his heart that Peter wouldn’t hurt
him but something had kicked in and…. He nodded, trying to banish the memory of
Burton from his mind. He couldn’t
allow it to spoil what he had now, so when Peter eased back and opened his arms,
this time Neal moved into them to rest against him, his body tense. But slowly,
as Peter’s warm firm hands stroked over his back and shoulders, his body relaxed
and he melted against him at the same time as he reached back and took El’s hand
and pulled her close, as Neal nestled between the two of them feeling loved and
protected.
Early morning
Peter lay on his
side in bed, his head propped up on one hand, looking at El who mirrored his
position; their eyes meeting, they smiled and looked at the silver cup on the
table, and then down at the young ex-con man that was lying between them.
Neal Caffrey was
asleep, his face buried in the pillow; both of them knew that the true prize
they had won yesterday wasn’t the tarnished cup, it was Neal Caffrey. Finally he
was where he belonged, in their bed. Neal was their lover; it didn’t matter that
all they had done was hold him: he was their lover: this handsome, brilliant
young man who was so damaged it made their hearts ache for him, he was part of
their family now and they were going to make sure that he understood that.
In the morning,
Neal would try to pull back from them: it was what he did; he'd try to make out
that it was harmless fun born out of one too many drinks, but they knew him and
knew where his heart lay. Together
they would make sure he knew how much he was loved. Now that he was in their
bed, they never wanted to let him go.
The End