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.
Thank you mam711 for all your help and support with
this story.
MIRROR IMAGE
White Collar
Pre N/P/E. M/M
Lauren gave a huff of
frustration, and glared at the man that sat opposite her. Neal Caffrey,
convicted of bond forgery, but suspected of art forgery, art theft, and multiple
counts of counterfeiting. The man had no right to be sitting here in the New
York office for White Collar crime; he should be sitting in prison serving out
the remainder of his sentence. But no, instead her boss, Agent Burke, had taken
him out of prison on a work release program; for four years he would be Burke’s
consultant. Reluctantly she recognized that Caffrey was good, and that he had
been responsible for helping them close some high-profile cases.
Burke’s Crew, as Caffrey
liked to call them, much to Jones' amusement and her disgust, had been working
hard for the last three months, handling high-profile jobs that had started with
taking down the Dutchman; she had missed that one. There had been a succession
of arrests and only one high-profile failure, a particularly-nasty white collar
criminal, JR Ryan; the man had slipped through their fingers, but they had
gotten his brother in a sting involving a Raphael. But the underworld was
talking of Ryan returning to New York with revenge on his mind.
Well, they hadn’t had
time to worry about that. Another job had come up and Caffrey had been working
undercover: he had been setting up an art dealer by the name of Mark Taylor when
he had been kidnapped on route to their meeting. It turned out that Taylor had
recognized him and wanted to get his hands on the paintings that he believed
Caffrey had hidden away. Caffrey had been bundled into a car and driven off to a
warehouse on the outskirts of an industrial area, where he could be questioned
at their leisure.
Caffrey had been off the
anklet but had been carrying the high-tech transmitter pen they had issued him
for the sting, and they had heard everything that had gone on in the warehouse.
There was no mistaking the look of concern that had shadowed Burke’s face
as they had heard the distinct sound of fists hitting flesh. They had already
been suiting up when Neal’s voice came over the wire; there was a note of terror
to it that none of them had ever heard before, as Taylor had gloated about how
Nick Halden, or should I call you Neal Caffrey, was going to sing like a bird
once he got him juiced up.
When they got into the
warehouse and started moving in on Caffrey, one of Taylor’s men had seen them
and there had been a firefight; Lauren clenched her fist to try to still the
tremor that still ran through it. She had pulled her weapon before, but had
never had to discharge it in the line of duty, let alone shoot someone; now her
weapon was with forensics and there was a man in the morgue because of her. All
because Neal Caffrey’s past had reared up and bit them in the ass; she glared at
him, but it had no effect: by the time they secured him Caffrey had already been
pumped full of a hybrid drug cocktail.
Burke had taken him to
the hospital. The doctors had been reluctant to go into too much detail about
Caffrey’s medical condition, they had been told the bare bones that they had
done blood tests, and formed a profile of the drug; the good news was that it
was non-addictive, but it was a hybrid truth drug, laced with rohypnol to name
but one: it was a regular cocktail. The doctor had then explained that any
further details could only be released to Mr. Caffrey’s family members.
It was then Peter had
told them that he was Neal’s medical proxy now that had been news to her and
that he could produce the relevant paperwork if required. She had seen the way
the doctor had hesitated but stuck to his guns, family members only.
Peter had just looked him in the eye and said that he would be back, and
ordered her to remain with Caffrey. From her vantage point in the corridor she
had seen Burke return; he had located the doctor and pushed the papers in his
hand. She didn’t have to be a lip reader to know he said “okay, now tell me.”
A few minutes later Peter had thanked him and then called her over.
“How is he?”
“He’s going to be okay,
but that was one hell of a drug they pumped in him, Lauren. It’s going to take
24 hours at least to pass out of his system. It’s going to affect the way he
acts; best you know that up front, he’s going to be … well let’s say that it’s
going to play hell with his inhibitions.” It was then that Peter had looked at
her with an intensity, making sure that she understood, “I don’t care what Neal
says, short of confessing to murder, you forget it."
She had tried to hide
it, but she had been disgusted by the way that Caffrey had been so clinging and
needy with Burke in the hospital, for god’s sake he had been hanging onto
Burke’s arm and wrapping himself around him and in the car he had all but
crawled onto her boss's lap, but Burke had treated it as if it was the most
natural thing in the world. The only problem was that once they got back to the
office Burke had been called out with Jones on a related matter, so she had been
stuck with Caffrey. Lauren swore under her breath as she noticed the growing
pile of wallets in front of him; god, the man was a magpie anything bright and
shiny he was attracted to.
Standing up, she cleared
her throat and for the second time that afternoon said, “Ladies and gentlemen,
check your wallets, please.”
Instead of being angry,
her fellow agents just shook their heads in amusement and came across to reclaim
their possessions from Neal’s desk, and went back to work as if this wasn’t
anything out of the ordinary.
Just then the phone rang
and Lauren answered it; she felt the color drain from her face, it was the OPR:
they wanted her in their office by 4:00 pm for an interview about the shooting.
Lauren looked up at the
clock; she had less than an hour to go and there was no sign of Burke and Jones;
she tried to concentrate on the file in front of her, only to have Caffrey on
his feet again and heading down the office. She slammed her hand down on the
desk; how the hell was she supposed to concentrate with him wandering round like
a lost soul all the time. She suddenly
knew she had to get out of there. Quickly she took off down the office and
caught Caffrey’s arm and dragged him back to the chair, and pushed him down.
“Sit and stay, Caffrey.”
“Woof,” he leaned back
in his chair, and nearly fell out of it, grinning at her as if that had been the
greatest joke in the world.
That was the last straw.
Looking around, she saw Agent Jeff Miller; like her he was a probie, but unlike
her he didn’t have Peter Burke as his mentor.
She hesitated and gave another look at the clock. “Jeff, keep an eye on
Caffrey for me, okay? I would but I have an appointment; I can’t wait until
Burke comes back.”
“Agent Burke.”
“It won’t be a problem,
just make sure that Caffrey stays put, and for god's sake don’t lose him; he’s
off the anklet.”
Jeff Miller nodded and turned back to his
file, and then out of the corner of his eye he saw Neal Caffrey get up on his
feet again, swaying; jumping up, he caught hold of him and spun him around,
dropping him back into the chair. “Stay put, okay.”
Miller had only just sat
down again and begun on the file when sure enough he looked up and Caffrey was
gone again; he frantically looked around for him, then he saw him the man was
picking the lock of one of the agent’s desks.
The young probie couldn’t understand why none of the other agents were
stopping him. Quickly he took off after his wayward charge, grabbing Caffrey’s
arm, spinning him around and away from the desk. The last thing he was expecting
was Caffrey to smile and offer him a treat from an opened red and white packet,
as he asked, “cookie?”
“You picked a lock to
get some cookies?” Miller said it as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“They're triple blended
Belgian chocolate cookies; Agent Cox buys them for me,” Caffrey said as if it
was the most obvious thing in the world.
Taking a bite from one of the cookies, Caffrey leaned into him as he
added in a whisper that could be heard half-way across the room, “the shop is
outside of my radius.”
Miller knocked the
cookie from his hand and grabbed the packet.
“Hey, no snatching, you can’t have all of
them,” Caffrey said indignantly, then pointed a finger at him, waving it under
his nose, as the con man added, “I
am telling Peter you grabbed my cookies, he won’t like that; he likes to get his
hands on them himself.”
Miller tried to ignore
the female agents as one of them stage whispered, “Forget Burke, I wouldn’t mind
getting my hands on his cookies,” and high fived her friend.
Miller slammed the packet down on the
desk, and frog marched Caffrey back to his chair but not before the con man blew
a kiss at the female agent, as Miller, trying not to make eye contact with any
of the other agents, could feel his face heating up.
Pulling out his
handcuffs, he cuffed Caffrey’s hands in front of him that, he decided, would
restrain him, but wouldn’t be too uncomfortable and pushed him down to sit on
the chair, and then settled down to work on his file. Only to hear a voice next
to his ear, “what're you reading?”
Spinning, he found
himself nose to nose with Caffrey; the con man smiled at him, and then dropped
the cuffs on the table. “That was fun, want to do it again.”
Getting up, Jeff led
Caffrey back to his chair. “Turn around.” The con man did as he was told,
offering the other wrist once Jeff had cuffed the first, and then allowed
himself to be pushed back into the chair.
He had just settled back
down; “want another go?” It was Caffrey and he was free again.
Jeff colored as he heard
the other agents laughing; this time he was less than gentle as he bundled
Caffrey back into the chair and this time handcuffed him through the upper rung,
this way Caffrey’s hands were tethered uncomfortably high behind his back, and
he tightened them close around his wrists. He wasn’t going to be made a fool of
for a third time.
When he straightened up,
Miller found himself looking into Caffrey’s face; the look the con man gave him
was one of total loss, then sheer panic.
Caffrey pulled roughly at the cuffs, rocking the chair. Miller clamped
his hand down on his shoulder. “Stay put or you're back in prison,” Miller
threatened, in a harsh whisper, pleased when he saw the flicker of fear flash
across Caffrey’s face. Miller nodded
his approval; now he could get some work done.
Agent Carr came up; he
dropped a hand onto Neal’s shoulder. “Miller, let him loose; he’s not going
anywhere.”
“He’s off his anklet;
you want to explain to Burke when he goes into the wind, because I am not.”
“He’s not going to run,”
Carr leaned into Miller and dropped his voice, “if he wanted out of here you
think this cracker box is going to hold him, he busted out of prison using the
magnetic tape off a cassette; get real.”
“The cuffs stay on,”
Miller said firmly.
Carr nodded but went
back to Caffrey; Miller heard the click of cuffs being opened, and was on his
feet. “Look, Carr.”
The other agent ignored
him as he removed them, and helped Neal sit back in the chair; the anger was
plain as he took in the broken skin around the con man’s wrists from where he
had hurt himself, when he had struggled. He re-cuffed him, this time his hands
in front and loosely; he caught Neal’s face and made sure that the other man was
focusing on him. “Don’t slip them, okay.”
“Okay.”
Carr was just starting
to walk away when he turned back. “I know picking cuffs are like a compulsion
with you, Peter told me, so don’t pick them either.”
“Okay, spoilsport,” Carr
was just turned away when Caffrey added, “hey, you left your wallet.”
Caffrey beamed at him, holding it up in his cuffed hands.
Miller was on his feet
when someone tapped him on the shoulder.
He turned fast, ready to give them a piece of his mind; his mouth dropped
as cold gray eyes bore into him. “What the hell are you doing to Mr. Caffrey,
Agent Miller, he is a member of this department and an official consultant.
Bring him to my office now.”
Miller stood there
watching Director Hughes take the stairs to his office.
Two hours later....
Peter came out of the
elevator and looked around; not only was Lauren missing, so was Neal. He saw
Director Reese Hughes step out of his office and wave him up.
“I was just …” he
trailed off as he saw Neal lay stretched out on the old couch in Hughes’s
office; by the side of it was a zoo of origami animals, made from sheets from a
yellow legal pad.
“It seems you misplaced
something, Peter,” Hughes said drolly.
“Neal wasn’t any
trouble, was he?"
“Apart from stealing
everyone’s wallets, no, he didn’t do anything.” Hughes paused. “Of course there
was the medley of Rat Pack tunes that he sang.” Hughes allowed a trace of a
smile. “He’s actually got quite a good voice on him.” The older man paused again
and there was a look of annoyance on his face now. “When I found him he was
handcuffed to the chair; even though he is still out of his anklet, in his
current condition that is extreme.”
“What?” Peter snapped.
“Lauren was babysitting him.” He looked at Neal and saw the bandages around his
wrists. “What the hell happened to him?”
Hughes raised an eyebrow
at that, and then continued. “Caffrey was bleeding from the wrists when I got
in; they had been put on too tightly.
So I had him brought up here; it was either that or call the Marshals and
put him in lockdown.” He held a hand up when Peter was about to apologize. “Caffrey
did good work today, kept his head together, so none of this will go against
him. Take him home, Peter; you can email your report in. And Peter, get a
tracker on him; it makes the whole department nervous when he runs free he’s
just too good.”
Peter knelt down by the
side of the sleeping con and gently shook him awake; the smile he got from Neal
was bright and unguarded, and in his hand Neal was clutching his wallet.
“Okay, time to go home.”
“I’ve got your wallet.”
Neal waved it, an earnest expression on his face as he added, “I didn’t steal
it.”
“I know; why don’t you
keep hold of it for the moment, Neal; I keep on losing it,” Peter said
straight-faced, fighting the urge to grin.
Neal nodded his head
solemnly and held it tighter against his chest. Peter helped him to his feet.
The con man swayed and leaned into the older man, throwing his arm around Peter
to keep himself upright as his legs gave way under him; at the same time, Peter
grabbed him around the waist to keep him from falling, leaving them nose to
nose.
The younger man grinned
at him. “Whoops, is that your gun or are you just pleased to see me,” and began
to giggle in a completely un-Neal-like way.
Peter gave a
long-suffering sigh and looked up to the heavens for help, as Hughes shook his
head in total disbelief, trying to stifle a chuckle at the sight of his best
agent and said agent's wayward, but brilliant, consultant locked in an embrace.
But to give him his due, Peter just rode with it, and soon had Neal Caffrey
standing on his own feet again, even if he still had to have an arm wrapped
around Caffrey’s waist to keep him upright.
Hughes looked at the
heavily-blood-stained shirt that Neal was wearing the head wound had been more
bloody than serious and took his own FBI jacket down from off its peg behind the
door as he said, “you keep hold of him while I get this on him.”
It was like trying to
put pants on a pig, near impossible since Neal was refusing to let go of Peter’s
wallet which he was clutching, so his hand wouldn’t fit down the sleeve, and his
other hand was locked tight on Peter’s shirt and he was equally reluctant to
release his hold on the FBI agent that had become his friend and rock.
Finally Hughes managed to get the wallet off him, only to find that Neal
was inconsolable, but its loss quieted him just long enough to get the jacket on
him, then Hughes pressed it back in Neal’s hand.
The smile he got was breathtaking, as Neal made a great show of putting
the wallet into the pocket of the jacket, then patted the pocket to double check
it was still there, then, just as solemnly, as Peter led him out of the office,
Neal handed Hughes his own wallet back.
Hughes watched the two
men leave, and the Director couldn’t help but muse on how fast the young ex con
man had managed to integrate himself into the department so quickly, as he saw
the looks of concern that Neal was getting from his agents.
0-0-0-0-0
Neal had always been
comfortable invading his personal space, and in fact routinely gave small
touches to his arm and wrist to get his attention. Peter mused but like this in
the elevator under the influence of the drugs he was plastered right against
him, his head resting on his shoulder, his arm loosely wrapped around him. He
gave a sigh; any other person would have gotten the rough edge of his tongue,
but this was Neal, and he wasn’t himself.
But even so, Peter couldn’t help a soft sigh of relief when he finally
got him out of the elevator and into his car.
Even that wasn’t easy as
Neal kept undoing the seatbelt, only for Peter to have to lean over him and do
it up again. In the end he caught Neal’s face and tugged it so that he was
looking into the owlish eyes of his friend. “You really aren’t feeling any pain,
are you, kiddo?” Peter drawled as he saw the way Neal’s pupils were blown. “You
don’t touch the belt again, okay.”
When he didn’t get a reply, he added, “you do that and I’ll promise we'll do
whatever you want to do.”
“Promise,” Neal breathed
the word as if it was the most important thing in the world.
“Yeah, sure, Neal; I
promise.” Peter released his hold
and then took out his cell phone. “El, its okay, honey, we're both safe. Neal
got drugged.” He paused. “Hon, it’s okay, he’s okay; I’ve got him, and he’s a
bit spaced out.” Peter rolled his eyes and looked up to the heavens and loved
her all the more as he answered her. “Of course I'm bringing him home, like I
said he’s totally spaced out, so if he say anything....” He heard his wife
laugh, and then added, “Thanks, see you in 15.”
Neal snuggled down in
the seat and rested his head against the window, closing his eyes as they drove
out into the sunlight; he was going home, and that was all that mattered.
0-0-0-0-0-0
Burke Home
Getting Neal up the
steps to his front door had been interesting, to say the least; it was like
wrestling an octopus: the younger man’s hands had been everywhere. El had opened
the door, which had been the signal for Neal to push away from him and
immediately engulf her in a hug, as the younger man had buried his face into her
long dark hair.
El hadn’t panicked; she
had just returned the hug, holding him for as long as it had taken, until he was
ready to pull away. He cocked his
head to one side and then leaned forward and gave her soft kiss to the cheek.
When he tried to sit down on the couch, Peter caught his arm, “Not yet, Neal;
let me get the blankets down first. El wants to make it really comfortable for
you.”
When Peter turned
towards the stairs, Neal was in front of him again, blocking him; when he move
to the right Neal mimicked it, only to be saved by El. “You stay with him, I’ll
get them.” Neal moved in close again, wrapping one arm around his neck, giving a
soft sigh as Peter held him, and allowed him to rest his head on his shoulder.
If this was what Neal needed, Peter had no problem giving it to him.
Five minutes later El
was back downstairs and had finished laying the blankets onto the couch, and
turned to Neal and her husband. “I’ll put some soup on, see if we can get Neal
to eat something; I am sure he’ll feel better for it.”
Peter nodded his thanks
and helped Neal over to the couch as El headed into the kitchen. Neal was
swaying back and forward; Peter slowly eased away from him, but kept one hand
out just in case he was going to lose his balance and fall.
The next thing Peter knew Neal has closed the distance and was in his
face, and then a hard push and he found himself sprawled back on the couch with
Neal straddling his thighs, hands pressing down on his shoulders holding him in
place.
Peter caught Neal around
the waist to stop him from falling, and looked up into the vivid blue eyes that
now pinned him in place, as he leaned into him.
“Question, Peter?”
“Let’s get you
comfortable then I’ll answer it, Neal.”
“NO!” Neal’s voice went
up, “want an answer now, you promised.”
Peter shook his head;
now wasn’t the time but if it would keep Neal calm. “Okay, what’s the question?”
“What do you want from
me?” Neal cocked his head to one side, staring at his face as if he was one of
his beloved impressionist masterpieces. “Do you want to fuck me, Peter, is that
your price?”
Peter laughed out loud;
drugged out of his head, Neal had lost the guard he usually had on his emotions,
and the pain and sadness showed plainly on his face. It was then that Peter knew
that this was no con Neal was serious, totally serious.
Neal raised a hand
slowly, just like he did when Peter had arrested him for the second time, when
he hadn’t wanted him to react or see his actions as threatening, and with the
back of his hand stroked down Peter’s cheek and jaw. Whatever he had thought
Neal was going to do, he wasn’t prepared for the younger man leaning forward and
kissing him. The first touch of Neal’s lips was soft, and then he deepened it;
Peter pulled back, breaking the kiss, as Neal breathed, “you’re the only one I
trust, the only one I would willingly let touch me.”
“I trust you too, Neal.”
Peter held Neal’s gaze; the odds were that the younger man wouldn’t remember any
of this, but if he did, he didn’t want him to think that Peter was disgusted by
what he had done or said.
But something must have
shown on his face because Neal suddenly panicked, and began to pull at his belt.
“I can do better, make you feel real good; don’t send me back.” His words had
become garbled and he was talking faster as he tried to undo Peter’s pants.
Peter caught his wrists
in a tight grip; Neal pulled against him, trying to free himself.
“I can’t go back, I….”
“No one’s sending you
back, Neal. Oh, hell,” Peter could
see that in this state Neal wasn’t taking in what he was saying, so he did the
only thing he could think of: he quickly tugged Neal down by his side and
wrapped his arms around him, holding him close.
Neal struggled and then slowly calmed as Peter spoke softly to him, and
with one hand stroked his back and shoulders, soothing him. Finally Neal gave a
contented sigh and Peter felt him bury his face against his neck.
Neal yawned and said,
his voice muffled against his skin, “you got me out; can’t give you anything
else, only got me,” then he yawned again and snuggled down and within minutes
was asleep.
Elizabeth was standing by the stairs. The
last thing she had expected was to see her husband lip-locked with his
consultant; her husband’s face had been a perfect picture. But then the smile
had faded away as she heard what Neal had said. It had made her heart break for
him. Neal was a young man, she realized, that had lost too much of himself along
the way; he needed a sturdy moral rock to cling to and people that wouldn’t walk
away from him. She was determined that would be them; Neal just had to learn
that there wasn’t always a price to pay.
0-0-0-0-0
Late Afternoon
Peter knelt down by the
couch and lightly put a hand to Neal’s forehead; the doctor had told him that he
would run a fever and that as long as it didn’t go over 100 to just keep him
comfortable. “Looks like his fever's broken.” Seeing Neal’s eyes open he added,
“Hi, buddy, you’re back with us again.”
“Peter,” Neal’s voice
was dry and croaky.
Elizabeth was by his
side with a cup of water. Neal’s hand was shaking and the water was slopping
over him, so Peter took the cup and helped him drink. “Better in you than down
you, buddy.” Neal sank back down on the pillow; his hair was plastered around
his face, the sweat glistening on his skin, and he looked uncomfortable and as
weak as a kitten.
“Okay, come on, Neal,
let’s get you squared away.” Peter leaned over him and managed to get him to his
feet with El’s help and together they half carried, half walked him upstairs
into the bedroom. Neal would rest more easily once he had had a shower.
There was no way that
Neal could stand, so quickly, while Elizabeth was getting the water temperature
right, Peter stripped down to his boxers and then sat Neal on the side of the
bed and got him out of his clothes, and helped the slender naked con man into
the shower.
Elizabeth stripped down
to her slip, and stepped under the water; Peter started to position Neal so that
she could help support him while he did the washing. But Neal was heavier than
he looked and began to drag her down. Quickly Peter changed position with her;
taking Neal in his arms supporting him, as Neal rested his head on his shoulder,
with a soft sigh, and wrapped himself around Peter.
Soaping up the
washcloth, Elizabeth began to wash him, the back of his neck, across his
shoulders, then down his back and flanks, she paused looked at Peter and
shrugged, smiled at him, then worked her way down Neal’s buttocks and legs.
Peter managed to ease Neal onto one arm; taking the cloth he
quickly wash the younger man’s throat, chest and stomach, before dropping
it into the corner of the shower stall. Neal, eyes closed, tilted his head up
and sighed contently as the water splashed down on his face, as he reveled in
the feeling of the warm water on his skin and the feel of fingers carding
through his hair as it was washed.
Elizabeth turned the
water off, then between them dried Neal off and wrapped him in warm towels and
helped him into the bedroom, sitting him on the edge of the bed. Quickly
changing into dry clothes, she began to dry Neal’s hair as Peter changed.
Neal was nearly falling
asleep under her gentle touch, but when El tried to move away enough to give him
a chance to lie down, he caught her hand. “It's okay, sweetie, I am not going
anywhere,” she said to reassure him. El climbed onto the bed and pulled the
pillows behind her, and then opened her arms; it didn’t take much more
encouragement for Neal to crawl into them, and wrap his arms round her and bury
his face against her throat. Peter
stood at the door watching him; he knew he should be jealous of seeing another
man resting in his wife's arms, but this was Neal and somehow it made it
different. Once Neal was comfortable, El waved Peter over and he climbed on to
the other side of the bed, and carefully curled his body around the younger man,
protectively.
Peter met El’s gaze and
then, leaning over Neal, kissed her sweetly on the lips, as they settled the
younger man between them, silently acknowledging Neal’s importance in their
lives.
0-0-0-0-0
The next morning....
The drug was still
burning through Neal’s system, opening doors in his mind that he had long closed
as the truth drug continued its insidious work.
Kyle Ryker woke to the
sunlight streaming through the window, and to the smell of a decent roast coffee
bean. Blinking to focus his eyes, he saw a pretty brunette sitting on the edge
of the bed, holding a steaming mug of coffee; he knew her but he couldn’t put a
name to her.
“Morning,” her voice was bright and
breezy, but there was nothing fake in her concern for him. She held out the mug
of coffee, but when she saw how his hand was shaking she helped him drink; when
he had had his fill she placed the mug on the floor and reached a hand out and
felt his forehead as he tried to pull back. She frowned. “How are you feeling?”
“I'm fine.” But when he
caught the look she gave him, he amended. “I feel a bit shaky.”
“An honest answer;
you’re doing well, sweetie,” the woman said, trying to reassure him as she
coaxed him back down on the pillows.
Things were really
getting puzzling; what the hell had happened? She was his type, but he didn’t
sense any sexual history with her in the way she spoke to him or touched him.
Kyle wracked his brains;
the last thing he remembered was going down in a hail of gunfire, the hospital
and a man helping him escape. Memories of being in prison came back to him,
fragments of a fight in a shower room, breaking a man’s neck as he dropped the
man’s cronies. Kyle shook his head, and a headache began to hammer behind his
temple. He allowed himself to close his eyes as a wave of nausea swamped him,
and he fought to not bring the coffee back up, but before he could panic, he
felt her soothing hand stroke his face. The world began to spiral and he let
himself drift back to sleep.
El waited until Neal was
asleep and then made her way downstairs; she would check up on him later, that
is, if Peter didn’t beat her to it first.
0-0-0-0-0-0
When Kyle next woke the
pounding headache was gone; he slowly sat up in bed, then padded over to the
chair, and pulled on the clothes he found there. They smelled freshly laundered.
Looking around the room, without even having to think about it he found the gun
safe. It was ridiculously easy to open. Inside it were two boxes: one was empty,
the other housed an automatic; he checked the clip that lay near it, and slapped
it in place. Sitting back down on
the bed, he picked up the phone and began to punch in a well-remembered number.
0-0-0-0-0-0
June’s House
Mozzie was sitting with
June in the middle of their book club when his phone rang; this was the one that
he never expected to hear ring. It was a phone from the past, but for some
reason he had never let it go.
“Hello,” Mozzie said
carefully as if the phone was a bomb that might go off at any minute.
“Hello, Moz-man, long
time no hear.”
Mozzie swallowed hard.
It was as if he had been hit in the stomach; it was a name he hoped not to hear
again, that could only mean one person. “Hello, Kyle.” Over the phone he heard
the slide of an automatic being cocked. He added quickly, “don’t do anything
rash. Where are you?” He heard Kyle walk around, and the sound of curtains being
pulled back.
“Looks like a town
house, and....”
Mozzie tuned him out as
he tugged a second cell phone from his pocket; there were two missed calls on
it, a quick check of the calls showed Burke’s cell phone number.
“The people you’re with
are not in the game, they don’t know who you are, your cover is intact. They
know you as Neal Caffrey, con man, art forger, counterfeiter, the usual. The man
is FBI agent Peter Burke; you’re on parole work placement.” Mozzie paused. “Long
story, Kyle, but he’s your handler, you're working White Collar Crimes. The
woman is his wife Elizabeth, she’s a real good friend; they both are. Listen to
me, I am on my way over. Sit tight and you are on amber hold, repeat amber
hold.”
The phone call cut off, and Mozzie found
himself looking at a concerned June.
“I don’t understand what
you just said, Mozzie, but is Neal in trouble?”
June’s face showed her concern for the young con man; she treated him
more like a favorite nephew rather than a tenant.
“It’s going to be okay,
I just have to get to Neal now.” Mozzie picked up his bag and hurried out; the
situation had just gone to defcon 1.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0
Kyle tucked the gun into
the small of his back, pulled his shirt down over it, and made his way barefoot
down the stairs, one hand clamped to the banister to keep himself upright. As
his head began to spin, he paused to take a couple of deep breaths.
Before he could stumble,
the man Mozzie had called Peter Burke was there catching his arm and helping him
to the couch, allowing him to sink down. A dog came up and bumped against his
knees to get his attention; Kyle rubbed him behind the ears as he watched Burke
answer the phone, striding up and down as he took the call.
“That was Hughes, Neal.
We have to stay here and batten down the hatches; there’s a possibility that
Ryan is going to come after us, because of the Raphael sting. He’s going to post
some agents outside of the house.”
He paused. “I won’t let him get to you, Neal.” As he spoke, his wife came in
from the kitchen. She looked worried; Peter slipped his arm around her, and
hugged her close.
Kyle cocked his head to
one side, and frowned slightly. He could feel emotions for them. He wanted them
to be safe; he wanted to go to bed and….
Just then the back door came flying open and three men came in hard and
fast. Peter was unarmed and started to lunge towards his gun on the table but
pulled up short as he saw the guns now trained on them.
Kyle knew he couldn’t get to his weapon in time so had to bide his time.
Ryan came in; the man
was smug and swaggering. “You cost me, Burke, now I am going to make you pay.”
“Get out while you can,
Ryan; backup's on its way.”
“Good try, Burke.” Ryan
said, “Now I had to choose, and leave my brother behind, so you get to choose as
well, your boyfriend or your wife: which one are you going to save?”
“Neal’s not my
boyfriend.” Peter started to protest, needing Ryan to understand and leave the
younger man out of whatever his sick game was.
“Sure, and the way you
were holding him in the hospital didn’t mean anything. Surprised? I’ve been
having you watched. He’s your partner, your fuck buddy; hell, man, according to
that little sweet treat from your office everyone in your unit calls him your
boyfriend, does the wife know about him?” He gloated, turning to Elizabeth,
“how’s it feel, to know your husband is fucking his consultant? What do you do,
Burke, bend him over the desk when you work late? He’s prison-trained, got a lot
of practice there, getting down on his knees; he blow you, Peter? “
Ryan looked the young
con man up and down and then Elizabeth. “So you get to choose, Peter, which one
we fuck, Caffrey or your wife, your choice; if you don’t, we do them both in
front of you. So what’s it going to be?”
Before Peter could
answer, Kyle got to his feet, “You want to fuck, you do me, or aren’t you and
the boys man enough to take me on.” Kyle sneered at him.
“Neal.” Peter grabbed at
his arm, only to have it shaken off.
“It’s not your choice,
Burke, I’ll be all right." He turned back to Ryan. "You want me, then take me.”
Ryan grinned. “Boys,
take our toy upstairs, and Caffrey, if you're good enough, maybe we won’t need
the lady.” Kyle was caught hold of and they started to drag him upstairs. “Their
bedroom, fuck him on their marriage bed, and leave some of him for me.”
Elizabeth’s fingers dug
into Peter’s hands and tears ran down her face, but facing the guns there was
nothing that he could do. Peter understood what Neal had done; he knew that he
would choose El, his wife, over him, but in doing that it would destroy him, so
Neal had volunteered so that he didn’t have to say the words. Upstairs they
heard a cry of pain and then the heavy sound of a body hitting the floor, and
the crash of something being overturned. Peter started up from the couch, only
to have El catch his hand as Ryan’s gun leveled straight at his face, and the
man laughed.
0-0-0-0-0
Peter saw Neal suddenly
appear behind Ryan, blood running down his face from a reopened wound. The first
thing Ryan knew of it was when the cold metal of a gun was pressed against the
back of his neck.
“Drop the gun now.”
Kyle’s voice was ice cold and deadly.
“You won’t do it,
Caffrey, you shoot me and Burke dies, a bullet to the stomach.”
“My first bullet will
sever your motor control function, Ryan; you won’t even be able to twitch, so
drop the gun now.”
“I’ll count to five,
Caffrey.” Ryan tried to bluff.
“I don’t count,” Kyle
said,
Ryan swallowed hard, as
he suddenly knew that Caffrey wasn’t bluffing, he threw the gun away from him,
just as a fist slammed into his kidney and doubled him over, only to have a foot
stamp on the back of his knee, sending him crashing down.
Kyle had been trained to
take the threat out, fast and permanently; he caught Ryan’s hair, arched his
head back, and ground the barrel of the automatic under his jaw, as he heard
Peter Burke call him.
“Neal,” Peter called his
name, but when the younger man looked at him, Peter saw the eyes that burned
into him were cold and emotionless; it wasn’t Neal it was a stranger wearing
Neal’s face that looked back at him.
The voice was hard and
deadly as Kyle hissed into Ryan’s ear, “you don’t get to hurt them, you
bastard.” He increased the pressure on Ryan’s throat with the gun, his finger
tightening on the trigger.
“Neal, no.” Peter took a
step forward. “You can’t kill him, and you’re not a killer.”
“Huh, Peter, Peter, you
don’t really know me, do you?” Kyle drawled.
“I know you don’t like
guns, I know you had to use one to save us; let me take him, and get the cavalry
here.” Moving slowly, Peter got the cuffs from the pocket of his jacket and
moved forward. Then the younger man stepped back and pushed his foot between the
shoulder blades, forcing Ryan down onto his belly, as Peter roughly pulled
Ryan’s hands behind his back and cuffed him as Elizabeth called 911.
Kyle started to walk
away when Peter caught his arm. “Neal, the gun, you can’t have that when the
police arrive.” Ryan rolled onto his side and started to mouth off; Kyle
expertly kicked him in the head to silence him, and then pressed the gun into
Peter’s hand.
“You need your gun, G
man, there’re another two upstairs, remember.”
Peter handed the
automatic to his wife, “both of you keep your eyes on him,” he jerked a thumb at
the unconscious Ryan, “and if he tries anything, shoot.”
Before she could open her mouth, he added, “backup's on its way, Neal
can’t be seen with a weapon, and I can’t leave you unprotected, but I have to
see to those others.” She nodded her understanding, as Peter collected his own
gun, and went upstairs.
Elizabeth gave a shudder
as the reaction at what had happened came home to her; she reached out with her
free hand, her eyes never leaving Ryan’s crumpled form, and took Neal’s hand,
hanging onto it as she drew comfort and support from him.
0-0-0-0-0-0
The Burke House
Mozzie was worried;
there wasn’t a moment when he didn’t have some real concerns, about the
government, how many shooters were on the grassy knoll, the postal service, to
name but a few. But they paled compared with the one thing that he knew wasn’t a
conspiracy, that was in fact cold hard facts. The secret was one he had kept for
the last ten years, and now it looked as if the lid was coming off that
particular Pandora’s Box.
He had had to wait for
the police and the FBI to go, before he could approach the house, but whatever
had happened there, Neal, or rather Kyle, hadn’t been taken away in handcuffs.
For the tenth time since
it had gone quiet he marched up and down outside of the house of possibly the
only suit that he trusted, Agent Burke, and his lovely wife, Elizabeth; the
problem was would they believe him. Or would they laugh at him, until the body
count got into double digits. He had a story to tell, and Peter Burke was
possibly the only person that had a vestige of interest in helping him make sure
that it all came out okay.
Finally he went up the
steps and knocked on the door; it was Elizabeth Burke that answered. He took a
deep breath. “Mrs. Suit, we need to talk.” Looking past her, he asked, “anyone
die?”
“No.” Elizabeth was
shaking and Mozzie patted her arm, doing his best to comfort her.
“Then he’s showing
restraint.”
“Who?” Elizabeth asked.
“It’s a long story, and
…” he broke off as he saw Kyle Ryker coming down the stairs; the smile he had
was one that reminded him just how dangerous Ryker was.
Just then the younger
man’s hand went to his head and his legs gave away and he would have hit the
floor, only Peter’s quick reactions stopped him.
Carefully Peter laid him on the couch as Elizabeth called 911 for the
second time that day.
0-0-0-0-0-0
General Hospital
Mozzie was twitching as
he paced; he didn’t like hospitals and for the fourth time in half an hour he
washed his hands with an antiseptic wipe, but he refused to leave his friend.
Peter finally blocked
him, “Mozzie, you have to talk to us; that wasn’t Neal, no way was that Neal. I
chased him for three years; he’s not violent."
“That wasn’t Neal
Caffrey; it was Kyle Ryker. Ten years ago, I was working a certain job in Miami,
and my crew crossed the path of White River One, a black ops department of the
Agency.” When Mozzie saw the look on
Peter’s face he added, “This isn’t paranoia, Suit, this is real. Ryker was one
of their operatives; he specialized in wet work, but he had a cover and a very
real talent. That cover was Neal Caffrey. I met him first as Caffrey, and he
allegedly provided me with a painting. The payoff with the third party went sour
and he saved my life and told me to get the hell out of there.”
Mozzie lapsed into
silence; he walked towards the window and stared out of it. “The next time I saw
Neal was in New York; he scared the hell out of me, I thought he had come to
finish me off. But he hadn’t he had gone rogue, we talked, Suit, and he told me
his name was Kyle Ryker. Later, as he went to leave I gave him a cell phone
number told him I owed him, then he turned back at the door and said, 'call me
Neal'.”
Mozzie looked back from
the window “One night I got a call on that number. It was a hospital. A man had
been brought in with no ID; he was in a coma, serious head injury. All they had
was that number. It was Kyle Ryker. I paid for his medical bills and when he
woke up six weeks later he was Neal Caffrey and living his cover, only now it
was his life.
"I never saw any trace
of Ryker in Neal, until one night when we were in Italy. Neal had to get close
to a mark; the man liked what he saw he was rich and slipped Neal rohypnol, only
it didn’t go the way he thought. That night Ryker came back, and it wasn’t
pleasant.” Mozzie threw his hand up. “He didn’t kill anyone, just protected
himself. Once the danger was over, Neal came back, but he didn’t remember
anything that had happened when he was Kyle.”
“Ryker is he dangerous
to us?”
“No, he would never harm
you; he feels a connection to you. What he did in the house giving himself up so
that you didn’t have to choose was very much based on the emotions that Neal has
for you both. Kyle was channeling
them; he was there to protect you. If he hadn’t, then Neal would have done the
same, only ...” at the point Mozzie’s eyes glistened with emotions, “Neal would
have given himself up, given his body to protect you, and to hell with the
consequences.”
Mozzie gave a shudder,
“I can’t believe I told you all that, Suit. You tell anyone I’ll deny it, but
you needed to know.” He paused. “Because Neal needs you.”
Just then El came
rushing up, a smile on her face. “Peter, Mozzie, Neal’s coming around.”
0-0-0-0-0-0
Four hours later
Peter watched as Neal,
or rather Kyle, paced up and down in his front room. He could see the exhaustion
that was leaching the energy from the younger man, as the last of the drug
cleared his system. Each time they
coaxed him to lie on the couch and walked out of the room, they would turn
around to find him standing behind them; they would lead him back, only for it
to be repeated. Peter was thoughtful; if Kyle couldn’t sleep then perhaps they
could talk.
For a minute they sat
there in strained silence, then with a sigh Peter said, “let me fill in the
blanks for you and you do the same for me.”
Elizabeth curled up on
the couch near Peter as she heard him tell Kyle about the deal he had with Neal
Caffrey, the good work that he was doing, and how he had taken down criminals,
and the partner he had become to him, and the friend that he had become to both
of them.
“So Neal was a cover for
you, but he’s more than that to us,” Peter shook his head. “I still find it hard
to think how you could fit everything into your life that you did; you're what,
31?”
“It wasn’t hard, Peter,”
Kyle cocked his head slightly as if testing to see if it was all right; he
wasn’t as confident at using Peter’s first name as Neal was, so Peter nodded.
“I lost my parents when I was young; I knocked around the foster homes, a
few good one.,” He smiled softly. "They looked after me, helped me with my
drawing, but others....” Elizabeth saw the shudder that went through him, and
every maternal instinct she had made her want to hold him close. “I did some
time in juvi, escaped, and joined the Army before I was legal, and when I was
tested they detected I had a certain mortal flexibility.”
Kyle leaned forward and
yawned. “White River One recruited me, and given my artistic abilities, Neal
Caffrey was born; the rest you know or think you know.”
Elizabeth asked, “is it
true you stole the Monet from the Met?”
“Elizabeth,” Peter put
in quickly.
She smiled, pleased to
see the smile return to Neal’s face; there was just no way could she think of
him as anything but Neal.
“Hypothetically I might
have for god, country and the CIA”
0-0-0-0-0
Neal woke warm and with
a feeling of being safe; it took him a moment to realize two things: one, his
pillow was breathing and two, arms were wrapped around him and there was a soft
weight on his back.
“Hi.”
Neal jolted but was held
close with a firm hand keeping his head in place against what he suddenly
realized was Peter Burke’s chest; it was then the panic set in.
“Easy, Neal, you're
safe,” Peter said.
The con man felt like
laughing, he was lying in bed in the arms, correction he was lying near naked in
bed with …
“Morning, Neal.” A
woman’s voice.
Elizabeth, Neal mentally
corrected; he was lying near naked in bed with the FBI agent that had caught him
and his wife: god, he was so screwed.
But at the same time he felt safe; the weight of Elizabeth’s head was on
his back, and the light stroke of Peter’s hand was making him relax and he felt
himself pulled towards sleep. He would worry about it later.
Just as he closed his
eyes he heard Peter’s voice soft against his ear. “Welcome back, Neal.”
Peter ran his hand
lightly over the younger man, who was nestled against him, reassuring himself
that Neal was safe, then he yawned; it was still early, they could afford to
sleep for a little longer. Confident that Neal couldn’t leave without both of
them knowing, Peter tried to follow him back to sleep, only sleep wouldn’t come
for him. Peter knew they had come so close to disaster in the last 24 hours, and
it made him sick to his stomach: it had been too close. Without thinking about
it he cuddled Neal closer, as he buried his face into the younger man’s hair.
One thing Peter knew was
that it didn’t matter what Neal called himself; he had shown the depth of his
feelings for them when he had offered himself up to Ryan in return for keeping
them both safe. What had shaken him
was the knowledge that Neal would have done the same thing even without Kyle’s
combat skill; he would have given his body up to protect them both and to hell
with the consequences.
He remembered clearly
how surprised Kyle had been when they had offered to share the bed with him,
rather than let him sleep on the couch.
Kyle had pulled back slightly, and in a very un-Neal like way muttered
softly that he would take the floor instead; it was then that El had taken
charge, and before Kyle could turn away she had caught his hand. She had
understood that for all Kyle’s training, there was still a part of him that must
have been terrified when he had been attacked; he hadn’t spoken of it, but Kyle
was only human and he had nearly been raped, and no one walked away from that
without it leaving some sort of mark on them. El had gently overridden his
protest and brought him into their bed, settling him between them, and like that
he had finally gone to sleep.
Overnight, Peter mused,
the last of the drug must have left Kyle’s system because that had been Neal
that had woken up with them. As much as he hated having to do it he knew that he
would have to talk to Neal about what had happened, and how much he remembered
from when he had been Kyle Ryker.
“Hon,” El’s voice called
him back to the present; she had propped herself up and was peering at him from
over Neal’s shoulder. With his free
hand Peter reached out to her, and linked his hand with hers as she made herself
comfortable against Neal. “It’s going to be all right, Peter; between us, we'll
look after him.”
“Doesn’t he get a say in
it?” Neal said, yawning, his face pressed to Peter’s shoulder, his breath warm
against his throat.
Together they said,
“NO”, then Peter added almost accusingly, “you’re awake.”
“Duh, how could I sleep,
you thinking so hard it would keep anyone awake?”
Neal said as he pulled back enough so that he could look him in the face.
Time seemed to stand still for Peter; it was as if he was waiting for something
to happen that would set the world on its head.
“Either you’re going to
like this or my ass is going to be grass.” Neal said softly and then he leaned
forward and the next thing Peter knew he was being kissed.
Hell, he wasn’t just
being kissed by him, Neal was putting everything he had into that kiss, as if he
was scared that it was the only chance he would ever have; his hands clutched at
him tightly. At the moment he felt Neal start to pull away, Peter took control
of the kiss, rolling Neal over and onto his back, as he began to kiss him back,
plundering the younger man’s mouth, giving Neal back what he had given him,
passion for passion. When he finally eased back it was to look down into Neal’s
stunned breathless face.
Peter grinned; it looked
like he had robbed the smart-talking con man of his abilities to string words
together. “Wow, you certainly are…. Wow.” He trailed off, then to Peter’s
dismay, Neal lost all his color. “El.”
But before he could
panic, El leaned down and then dropped a kiss onto Neal’s lips; it was soft and
tender. She pulled back. “You, mister, are going nowhere; you need to rest, and
it’s still early, and we need to talk.
So rest now, talk later.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Neal said,
then added softly, “I could get to like this.”
“You better, because now
we’ve got you we're not letting you go,” Peter said and his tone showed he meant
it.
Peter tugged Neal so
that he rested in the crook of his arm, and then reached across him with his
other hand and took El’s hand again, interlacing their fingers as she leaned
over and kissed him before curling up around Neal, their hands protectively
resting across his waist.
Peter and El didn’t need
words; their eyes met over the younger man and they silently vowed that they
would make sure that Neal knew clearly his place in their lives.
It wouldn’t be easy; Peter was all too aware that for Neal words were his
coin in trade as a con man—he could spin them into a bouquet of lies actions to
Neal spoke more clearly to him. In the morning Neal would try to distance
himself from them, try and make out that his kiss had been nothing more than the
aftereffect of the drug. But Peter wasn’t stupid; he now recognized the longing
and sadness in Neal’s eyes for what it was.
A yearning for something he thought he couldn’t have, that he didn’t
deserve. Well, Peter thought, that ends now.
In the morning they would talk and leave him in no doubt that he was
loved and wanted; with a yawn Peter dropped a kiss on his forehead and went back
to sleep.
The End