White Collar Fic: Conspiracies (Part I)
Sep. 27th, 2013 09:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sheenianniTitle: Conspiracies – Part I
Author’s Name:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sheenianni
Fandom: White Collar
Spoilers: Minor from all seasons
Characters/Pairings: Mozzie, Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke, FBI Team, Sally, Hale, June Ellington; mostly gen
Rating: PG-13
Content Notice: None
Word Count: ~ 23,900 in total
Summary: His childhood nickname is Mozzie, but his colleagues and neighbors know him under a different name. He is a respectable member of society, until one day his whole world is turned upside down. After Mozzie contacts him with a plea for help, Neal knows that he will have to use all his skills as a con man to protect his friend. However, what he doesn’t realize is that the man on their trail is Peter Burke, the agent who had already captured him once. AU.
Author's Note: This story probably never would have been written if not for all the people who had helped me on the way:
- First of all, there’s the amazingtheatregirl7299 who beta-read the story and had patience with me while I was writing this.
- Then there are all the folks from the nightly chats who listened to my whining, provided support and advice and helped me whenever I got stuck. You’re all completely undeniably awesome!
- Finally, there is my absolutely wonderful artisttreonb, who made me the most awesome vid I could have asked for and cheered on me the whole time.
Disclaimer: I don’t own White Collar or any of the characters. White Collar is the property of Fox Television Studios and USA Networks.
PART I
It was a cold night in late autumn. The sky was clouded; people on the streets were pulling their coats closer and hurrying to escape the harsh wind. A nasty storm was brewing, and whoever didn’t need to be outside wanted to reach their destination as fast as possible. Standing on the rooftop of the Channing Museum, Neal Caffrey smiled.
It was the perfect night for a robbery.
For a moment, he enjoyed the sight of the New York lights surrounding him. It’d been a while—just four days since he had gotten back from Las Vegas. Once again, he felt a wave of contentment and fondness as he stared at the familiar skyline. It was here where he’d met Hale, the gentleman fence who’d once taken him under his wing and given him lessons about high society and class. It was here where he’d met June, the lovely old lady who’d helped him during the first few rough months after getting out, opening both her home and heart to him when she accepted him into her little family. And Ellen—Ellen had moved here a few years back, and Neal visited her as much as he thought they could afford without endangering her safety. And then there were the dozens of less important contacts—people he’d meet for the occasional friendly game of poker; bartenders, curators, acquaintances in museums, theatres, concert halls, dance halls and sport stadiums; policemen, judges, fixers, fences, thieves, forgers.…
And of course Special Agent Peter Burke lived here. Neal felt the familiar mixture of fond amusement and irritation as he imagined Peter’s reaction when he had first learned of Neal’s current job. Apparently, Peter didn’t believe that this line of work was good for Neal’s “rehabilitation”, and he had expressed that opinion rather vocally. Neal had replied very politely that he had cleared his debt to society fair and square, and that Neal’s rehabilitation was none of Peter’s business. Peter had expressed his concern for Neal’s future. Neal had changed the topic and asked Peter to join him for a drink.
Rehabilitation. The counselor back at prison had spoken of it in great lengths. Neal had humored her, attended the suggested courses, played by their rules. But in the end, the concept just fell flat with him.
The first month inside had been one of the lowest points of Neal’s life. Being stripped of his freedom, dying of boredom, starving by the lack of beauty… but the worst of it was the sheer heart-shattering loneliness. Ellen couldn’t come because of the risks to her safety. Alex had disappeared God knew where. Hale and his wife sent him an occasional letter, but the old man couldn’t bring himself to visit – and their association wouldn’t have earned Neal any goodwill with the law anyway. And Mozzie… Mozzie would have visited him every week if he could make it happen. It had taken several fights between them before Neal finally persuaded him not to. Although he desperately yearned for company, he also knew that his criminal life had left with enemies, and he couldn’t risk any of them finding out about Moz. Besides, his friend was rising fast in the academic circles, making a legitimate life for himself unlike anything Neal had ever managed. Neal didn’t want him to be tainted by being associated with a known felon.
Somehow though, Mozzie had still found an excuse to visit every once in a while, especially on Neal’s birthdays and for Christmas. Neal couldn’t find it in himself to deny them those few precious reunions.
He had seriously considered escaping, even made the necessary preparations. He wasn’t sure what had eventually led him to discard the idea. Maybe it was the fact that with time served before his trial and being released early for good behavior, he only had to do three years and two months. And so Neal had focused his whole being on survival and getting out as fast as possible. And in the end, he had succeeded.
Neal took a deep breath of the cold air. Then he released it, enjoying the feeling of freedom as he stood on the rooftop of the museum and stared at the New York lights below.
Yes, there were many cities, but New York … New York was kind of special.
The sound of thunder broke Neal from his musings. It was time to get to business.
After one last glance at his surroundings, Neal turned his attention to a nearby manhole cover; a closed air shaft whose only safety mechanism was a padlock attached at the top. Pulling out his lockpicks, he overcame the obstacle in a matter of seconds. Working fast and quiet, he put on a ski mask and rig of straps and buckles, opened the trapdoor and attached a reel with thin metal cable to the inner side of the manhole. Clipping the cable to his waist, he climbed over the edge of the vent, closed the lid and began lowering himself into the gaping darkness underneath. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he unclipped the buckle from his front and turned on a flashlight. He took a quick look around before swiftly walking to the closed door on the other side of the room. Turning off his flashlight, Neal opened the door the tiniest bit and took a look outside.
The coast was clear. Good.
Getting the plans for the gallery had been way too easy, and so far, the information had proven accurate. After waiting another second just to be safe, Neal slipped out into the corridor and made his way to a nearby room, already pulling out his lockpicks again, only to find the door unlocked. He got inside unseen and turned his flashlight back on. He looked around for the electricity maintenance box—and found it right where he had expected it to be. Thank you, Jack-the-maintenance-man from the pub downtown.
Opening the box to see the mess of wires and switches, Neal almost sighed. It was interesting—though a bit disconcerting sometimes—how much people would tell you at the right moment, especially once you had earned their trust. Chasing that thought away, he focused back on the problem at hand. He needed to buy himself some time with this—a whole minute so that he could take care of the cameras in the lower level and put them on a loop.
Neal pulled out metal clamps and a digital box with numbers and check-digits. He briefly hesitated as he stared at the wires—over the course of his glorious criminal career, making mistakes with technology had almost gotten him caught at least three times—and then he attached the clamps to two clusters of the exposed wires and cast a quick look at the digital box. When everything seemed okay, Neal allowed himself a breath of relief and then a mischievous smile. This was the part when the real fun began.
Ten minutes later, he made it as far as the chamber with his prize when he felt his phone buzz. Neal ignored the vibrations and focused on entering the eight-digit code to open the door, reassured when the buzz stopped a moment later. Then, he entered the chamber.
Even though this wasn’t the reason he’d come here, Neal still took a moment to look at everything. Jewelry of all kinds was resting inside showcases; beautiful, sparkling, inviting … no, begging to be admired and taken. But that was not the job tonight. From the moment he entered, Neal had seen the reason he’d come here—a necklace with a huge diamond, the exhibition’s most expensive piece that had only recently been added to their collection. He allowed himself another boyish grin and began to unpack his tools.
Lying under the showcase with the diamond, Neal became so focused on his job that the new buzz of his cell phone caught him unprepared. Only years of experience stopped him from jerking in surprise and destroying all of his hard work in a moment of inattention. He released a frustrated breath and quickly arranged things into a temporary makeshift state that wouldn’t set off any alarms. Then he finally took out his phone and checked the calling number.
‘Jeez, Moz, not this again!’ This wasn’t really the time to listen to Mozzie’s excited rambling about his latest calculations or his newest batch of lab rats.
Neal almost decided to turn the phone off when he realized that this wasn’t Mozzie’s usual number, but the burner phone that Neal had got him a while back. Then he noticed that his friend had also sent him a text message. With a mild frown and some curiosity, he clicked on the envelope icon to find what this all had been about.
The message made his blood turn cold.
‘CODE RED. CALL ME!!!’
He quickly dialed the return call. “What’s going on, Moz?” he asked in a muted voice.
“Neal? Is that really you? … Oh my God, I said your name. Did I – wait…What if…what if you’re – ” Mozzie’s voice wavered and then abruptly cut short.
Neal would have rolled his eyes in amused exasperation, if not for the scared undertone he heard in Mozzie’s words. “It’s okay, Moz. What’s going on? Why did you text me?”
There was a long silence.
“Moz?”
Nothing.
Impatiently, Neal cast a look at his watch. “Look, I’m really busy there. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“NO!”
Neal almost dropped the phone at the yell from the other side of the line. “Jeez, don’t do that!”
“Are you alone? How do I know it’s really you? ... What’s your code phrase?”
His code phrase?
They had made those up as kids, when they played games in the old neighborhood. Later, they had used it when Neal was running from the law to make sure that both he and Mozzie remained safe. However, to ask for it now…
Neal’s irritation at being interrupted in the middle of a heist won his concern and curiosity. He gritted: “‘The swallow’s back from Paris’, yes, I’m alone and you know it’s me by my voice, or thanks to the code phrase or maybe because you just called me on this number. What do you need, Moz?”
“But what if they tricked you into revealing it, or if they’re using a voice changer? You’ve said -”
“I know what I have said,” Neal interrupted him tiredly. He had never thought that teaching
Mozzie to take precautions would become so… bothersome sometimes.
“You could be a decoy to lure me out! What if they already got to you?”
Neal wanted to snap and hang up, but something stopped him. It took him a second before he realized what it was.
Fear. There was genuine panic and terror in his friend’s voice. Neal didn’t know what caused it, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t hang up on Mozzie in this state, even if it should lead to him being back in cuffs.
And who the hell were “they”?
In a gentler voice, he asked: “Hey, why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?”
Mozzie didn’t reply.
Neal silently counted to ten. “Look, you can ask me a question only I’d know an answer to. You know I’d never betray you, right?”
“What was the first thing you ever gave to me?” asked Mozzie hesitantly at last.
“Your Rubik’s cube,” answered Neal immediately. “Josh and his gang took it away from you. I stole it back.” That was when we became friends.
A pause. “For the record – I could have done it myself,” said the voice on the other line eventually and Neal smiled in relief. “Neal, I’m sorry that I —”
“It’s okay,” Neal interrupted him. He took a deep breath. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“I’m at your safehouse. The one in—the yellow one! I’m at the yellow safehouse.”
“What?” asked Neal in disbelief.
He had told Mozzie about several of his safehouses. However, he had never expected him to actually use one.
“It’s ‘cheesecake’. Wait, scratch that—it’s ‘Bermuda shorts’! Sweet Moses—what if they’re tracking this? Can they be tracking us?”
“Mozzie, CALM DOWN!” said Neal urgently before his friend got all worked up all over again. “Whatever it is, it’s gonna be fine, okay?”
For a moment, there was quiet.
“You’re right; it’s a burner phone, so they shouldn’t know. And I don’t think they followed me here.… Look, Neal, I’m not good at this stuff!” Mozzie swallowed. “There are these people, and ... I don’t know what to do. I need your help.”
“Okay,” said Neal after a pause. “Okay, I’ll be there. Give me.…” He checked the time and made some quick calculations. “Give me four hours, okay? Just wait there and I’ll get there as fast as I can.”
“I’ll wait.” And then Mozzie hung up, and there was just silence at the other side of the line.
For a second, Neal just stared at the display of his cell phone. When he finally realized he was still lying under the showcase with the diamond, a short grim smile passed over his face at the irony of the situation. However, the job had just jumped a long way down on his list of priorities.
‘Cheesecake’ had once used to mean ‘green aliens attacking’ while ‘Bermuda shorts’ stood for ‘Imperial takeover’. Neither of these really gave him a good clue about Mozzie’s problem.
This was not good. The last time Mozzie made a distress call like this was after the death of his adoptive mother. Something was obviously going on, and Neal didn’t like it one little bit. To make matters worse, he still had to take care of that bloody diamond.
Well, at least that one he could deal with right away, thought Neal as he picked up his tools once again.
Two minutes later, he held the diamond in his hands. He tore a page out of his notebook and scribbled some quick words. Then he put the diamond back together with the note and quickly worked to restore the showcase to its former state. Precision was no longer a priority.
As he walked out of the Channing, he heard the sound of thunder. The storm had just broken out.
His family needed him. He had to get to Moz as fast as possible.
* * *
Peter was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling while listening to the raindrops pondering the window outside. El had fallen asleep nearly an hour ago; however for Peter, sleep still evaded him, despite the fact that it was well past midnight. He couldn’t stop thinking about his day, which had been... well, the nicest way to call it would be “bad”. Peter thought “a freaking nightmare” would be a more accurate description.
Their takedown of a suspect had been one of the worst of Peter’s career. Gabriela Ponder had decided that she wouldn’t go quietly and turned the situation into an armed confrontation. She had ended up almost killing one of their agents before Jones’s shot took her down. The situation took an even more tragic turn when they found that Ponder’s seven year old son had been in the apartment and witnessed the whole thing.
The kid shouldn’t have been there. He should have been staying with his father on the other side of the city. They’d come to arrest an embezzling CEO; it should have been a peaceful and quiet surrender – Peter shouldn’t have had to hold a screaming child while they took his mother away in an ambulance. The poor boy should have never witnessed his mother being arrested, much less being shot and bleeding on her over-expensive carpet.
Jones looked like he might throw up afterwards. Gregory, the injured agent, had thankfully been only grazed and was expected to make a full recovery. Gabriela Ponder’s state was still uncertain. When – if – she recovered, she was going to face an attempted murder charge on top of the previous embezzling.
When Peter finally got home, it was very late. It was only when he saw Elizabeth’s stiff expression that he remembered that they should have had a dinner together. Once he explained, El immediately turned from annoyed to understanding and sympathetic. Yet Peter didn’t miss how she tensed up when he talked about the takedown gone awry.
Peter sighed.
While El would never try to talk him out of being an agent, she hated it when his cases turned dangerous. What’s more, this was the third time in a row he had cancelled on her. Peter didn’t want to become the kind of man who couldn’t keep his word and neglected the woman he loved.
Suddenly, El shifted in the bed next to him. “P’tr? Wha’z it?”
Peter smiled at her. “Nothing. Go back to sleep, hon.”
“Love you…”
Peter’s throat tightened. “Me too.”
I love you.
He watched the outline of her face in the dim light of the street lanterns. She looked gorgeous with her hair spread on the pillow, her face eased except for a tiny smile. Gently touching her hand, Peter broke into a full-blown grin when El squeezed his fingers.
For a long while, he remained content just watching her sleep. She was so incredible…
The sound of thunder was so loud that Peter snapped up in his bed and cast a wild look around.
Elizabeth fidgeted a bit next to him.
Belatedly, Peter realized the source of the disturbance. However, that didn’t stop him from climbing out of the bed and looking around for anything suspicious or out of place.
He went to check the window. The rain was heavy now, the earlier drizzle turning into full-blown streams of water that kept hitting the glass in a myriad of huge drops. However, the street was quiet, and so seemed the surrounding houses. There was no apparent reason for Peter’s anxiety.
And yet the feeling wouldn’t leave him. Something was nagging at his mind, an unknown disturbance was yelling at him that something was horribly wrong.
It was the case, he thought as he listened to the wind blowing outside. It was no wonder he had trouble falling asleep after a day like that. He hoped that Jones was alright, and his heart felt heavy as a stone whenever he thought of the little boy (Tommy had been his name, he remembered, Tommy with wide brown eyes who screamed and kicked and stared at them in horror and hatred until the boy’s hurriedly called father finally arrived and took him home).
Casting one last look at Elizabeth, Peter slipped out of the room to get a cup of water or maybe a glass of something stronger. He turned on the small lamp in the kitchen and leaned against the fridge. His eyes fell on several invitations for an upcoming charity event, four different options that El had brought home with her with the intention of showing them to her client tomorrow.
Peter recalled her mentioning that June Ellington would be present for that event. That meant that Neal Caffrey would likely be there as well.
Caffrey.
Staring at the invitations, Peter allowed himself to temporarily forget the tragic takedown. Instead, he thought of the man who he had first met about ten years ago, slipping into the soothingly familiar mindset of fondness and exasperation.
Their chase had been fun – more fun than Peter would probably admit aloud. At first, catching Neal had been only about arresting the con man – but that was before the notes; before pizza and wine deliveries, before the late-night phone calls, before Neal reminding him of his wedding anniversary. It had become personal; a challenge, an exciting competition between the two of them. However, in the end, it came down to the fact that Neal was a con man and Peter an FBI agent, and Peter had a job to do.
He had been chasing Neal for nearly four years when he noticed something on the cards that Neal had been sending him – specifically, their postmarks. Neal was too smart to send the cards from the place where he was staying. However, there had been a pattern… and finally, combined with a slip Neal had made during one of their phone calls, Peter had figured it out.
He didn’t know where exactly Neal was staying, but he could significantly narrow down the options. And that, combined with his gut feeling, his knowledge of the con man and the considerable resources on his disposal, had finally paid off. In the end, he had arrested Neal – not during an exchange as he had hoped, but as Neal was about to exit his hotel room and leave for the airport. Trapped between the full White Collar force, the Marshals and a SWAT team, Caffrey had attempted one last escape – and run straight into Peter who had been waiting there for him. With a smile on his lips that almost masked the fear in his eyes, a dozen guns aimed in his direction and with a nod of head as he finally acknowledged his defeat, Neal surrendered to him and let himself be led away in cuffs.
Peter felt victorious for winning the challenge that had left so many other agencies helpless, felt almost smug for finally beating Neal in their cat and mouse game. And yet after he had arrested Neal, a small part of him mourned the expected loss of his and Neal’s relationship as playful adversaries. Although he had always believed that catching Neal was the only possible outcome, he had used Neal’s postcards to track him and that probably came with a price.
Except Neal kept sending him cards from prison, and when he was finally released, he greeted Peter with his tell-tale smile and genuine happiness in his eyes. The only acknowledgment of the past was that Neal’s notes never had postmarks anymore.
Peter could live with that.
He and Neal had met several times over the past two years when Peter had accompanied El to her events. Once or twice, they’d even had a couple drinks together. Neal still liked to needle him, like when he left his latest birthday card directly on Peter’s desk at the FBI (and Peter still had no idea how it had gotten there). Bantering with Neal was always fun. Which was why Peter secretly hated Neal’s new job as a “security consultant”.
Breaking into places, studying flaws in “unbreakable” security… Peter feared that ultimately, this line of work would make Neal once again succumb to temptation and return to his old line of job. And while the chase had been fun, Peter much more preferred seeing Caffrey free and happy rather than putting him back behind bars.
With a shake of his head, Peter finished his glass of water. Then he put it on the counter and returned upstairs to join Elizabeth in her sleep.
* * *
It was five a.m. in the morning when Paul Handerson, known to his closest friends as Mozzie or just Moz, was standing in the bathroom of a rather poorly looking apartment. His back pressed to the wall right next to the door, Paul – Mozzie – was intently listening for the slightest disturbance. In his hand, he was clutching a small but surprisingly heavy stoneware vase – not the best defense in the world, but Paul had thought it would give him at least some feeling of safety.
‘The house of delusions is cheap to build but drafty to live in.’
In other words, Paul was silently cursing Neal up and down for his attitude about guns and weapons in general.
The scientific part of Paul’s brain that always calculated the statistics told him with an equable certainty that no weapon would help him against the group of obviously trained professionals who had turned his life upside down just a few hours ago. The same part of his brain also stated that the chances that Neal would make it there before the men in black suits were very slim. Paul was no master of diversion. He may think he had lost them, but it was far more likely that they were already outside and that any time now they would burst inside. And this time, the guns aimed at his face wouldn’t stay silent.
He wished he hadn’t left the burner phone on the other side of the room. He wanted to call his dad and tell him how much he loved him.
‘In the end, we all die alone...’
Suddenly, he heard the hallway door click. With determination, Paul firmly clutched the vase and pressed his back even closer to the wall.
“Moz?” called the voice from the hallway.
Still clutching the vase, Paul pushed the bathroom door open and stumbled into the hallway. A second later, his stomach dropped when he saw a figure dressed in all-black – he realized that he might have made a horrendous mistake in revealing his position – but then he saw the newcomer’s face and broke into a huge relieved smile.
“Neal!”
“Hey!” With a few swift steps, Neal closed the distance between them and pulled Mozzie into a tight hug. “It’s so good to see you. It’s been what – six months?”
“‘Every parting gives a foretaste of death, every reunion a hint of resurrection.’” Taking a deep breath, Mozzie allowed himself to envelop his shaking hands arms around Neal and giddily rest his head against Neal’s shoulder. “Thanks for coming.”
“You’re family. What was I going to do, not come?” Neal held him for a few seconds before he pulled away. He stared at the vase in Mozzie’s hand before he gave him a curious smirk. “A vase but no flowers? Moz, I’m hurt.”
“Seriously? You’re such a girl sometimes,” replied Moz with a roll of his eyes.
“Oh really? I wasn’t the one who had–”
“We’ve agreed to never ever speak of that again!” exclaimed Moz loudly. “Ever!”
“Really?”
“Yes!” nodded Mozzie empathically.
“Fine.” Neal chuckled before he turned serious. “Okay, as much as I love to see you again, I don’t think you called me because you wanted to reminisce about our misspent youth. So what’s going on?”
Mozzie took a deep breath. “I think you better sit down, Neal.”
Neal lifted his eyebrows before his expression turned to one of concern. “Is it your dad?” he asked quietly.
“No, it’s...” Mozzie shook his head. “Let’s sit down,” he repeated.
“Okay.”
They took place on a couch.
“So what is it?” asked Neal finally when Moz couldn’t bring himself to open the subject.
“Is this place safe?” asked Mozzie.
“I have someone watching, if that’s your concern. And it’s clean. I’m sure. We’re gonna be safe here at least until dawn.”
Until dawn. That gave them some two or three hours. That should be more than enough to tell Neal everything. Except...
Saying it aloud would make it feel real.
“Moz?”
But it already was real. And now that he had involved Neal, he didn’t have a choice but to tell him.
Mozzie took a deep breath. “I – it started like this...”
When he finished his tale half an hour later, Neal was gaping at him with disbelief in his eyes.
“Jeez Moz, that’s... What do you need me to do?” he asked at last in a strained voice.
Mozzie touched Neal’s hand. “I need your help,” he replied, his heart beating so fast he thought it would burst out of his chest. “I need the help of the great Neal Caffrey. ... Neal, I need you to help me disappear.”
Seconds ticked away and the silence in the room grew impossibly heavy. Then Neal finally nodded his head.
“Okay.”
* * * Part II – On LJ | On DW
Author’s Name:
sheenianniFandom: White Collar
Spoilers: Minor from all seasons
Characters/Pairings: Mozzie, Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke, FBI Team, Sally, Hale, June Ellington; mostly gen
Rating: PG-13
Content Notice: None
Word Count: ~ 23,900 in total
Summary: His childhood nickname is Mozzie, but his colleagues and neighbors know him under a different name. He is a respectable member of society, until one day his whole world is turned upside down. After Mozzie contacts him with a plea for help, Neal knows that he will have to use all his skills as a con man to protect his friend. However, what he doesn’t realize is that the man on their trail is Peter Burke, the agent who had already captured him once. AU.
Author's Note: This story probably never would have been written if not for all the people who had helped me on the way:
- First of all, there’s the amazing
theatregirl7299 who beta-read the story and had patience with me while I was writing this.- Then there are all the folks from the nightly chats who listened to my whining, provided support and advice and helped me whenever I got stuck. You’re all completely undeniably awesome!
- Finally, there is my absolutely wonderful artist
treonb, who made me the most awesome vid I could have asked for and cheered on me the whole time. Disclaimer: I don’t own White Collar or any of the characters. White Collar is the property of Fox Television Studios and USA Networks.
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PART I
It was a cold night in late autumn. The sky was clouded; people on the streets were pulling their coats closer and hurrying to escape the harsh wind. A nasty storm was brewing, and whoever didn’t need to be outside wanted to reach their destination as fast as possible. Standing on the rooftop of the Channing Museum, Neal Caffrey smiled.
It was the perfect night for a robbery.
For a moment, he enjoyed the sight of the New York lights surrounding him. It’d been a while—just four days since he had gotten back from Las Vegas. Once again, he felt a wave of contentment and fondness as he stared at the familiar skyline. It was here where he’d met Hale, the gentleman fence who’d once taken him under his wing and given him lessons about high society and class. It was here where he’d met June, the lovely old lady who’d helped him during the first few rough months after getting out, opening both her home and heart to him when she accepted him into her little family. And Ellen—Ellen had moved here a few years back, and Neal visited her as much as he thought they could afford without endangering her safety. And then there were the dozens of less important contacts—people he’d meet for the occasional friendly game of poker; bartenders, curators, acquaintances in museums, theatres, concert halls, dance halls and sport stadiums; policemen, judges, fixers, fences, thieves, forgers.…
And of course Special Agent Peter Burke lived here. Neal felt the familiar mixture of fond amusement and irritation as he imagined Peter’s reaction when he had first learned of Neal’s current job. Apparently, Peter didn’t believe that this line of work was good for Neal’s “rehabilitation”, and he had expressed that opinion rather vocally. Neal had replied very politely that he had cleared his debt to society fair and square, and that Neal’s rehabilitation was none of Peter’s business. Peter had expressed his concern for Neal’s future. Neal had changed the topic and asked Peter to join him for a drink.
Rehabilitation. The counselor back at prison had spoken of it in great lengths. Neal had humored her, attended the suggested courses, played by their rules. But in the end, the concept just fell flat with him.
The first month inside had been one of the lowest points of Neal’s life. Being stripped of his freedom, dying of boredom, starving by the lack of beauty… but the worst of it was the sheer heart-shattering loneliness. Ellen couldn’t come because of the risks to her safety. Alex had disappeared God knew where. Hale and his wife sent him an occasional letter, but the old man couldn’t bring himself to visit – and their association wouldn’t have earned Neal any goodwill with the law anyway. And Mozzie… Mozzie would have visited him every week if he could make it happen. It had taken several fights between them before Neal finally persuaded him not to. Although he desperately yearned for company, he also knew that his criminal life had left with enemies, and he couldn’t risk any of them finding out about Moz. Besides, his friend was rising fast in the academic circles, making a legitimate life for himself unlike anything Neal had ever managed. Neal didn’t want him to be tainted by being associated with a known felon.
Somehow though, Mozzie had still found an excuse to visit every once in a while, especially on Neal’s birthdays and for Christmas. Neal couldn’t find it in himself to deny them those few precious reunions.
He had seriously considered escaping, even made the necessary preparations. He wasn’t sure what had eventually led him to discard the idea. Maybe it was the fact that with time served before his trial and being released early for good behavior, he only had to do three years and two months. And so Neal had focused his whole being on survival and getting out as fast as possible. And in the end, he had succeeded.
Neal took a deep breath of the cold air. Then he released it, enjoying the feeling of freedom as he stood on the rooftop of the museum and stared at the New York lights below.
Yes, there were many cities, but New York … New York was kind of special.
The sound of thunder broke Neal from his musings. It was time to get to business.
After one last glance at his surroundings, Neal turned his attention to a nearby manhole cover; a closed air shaft whose only safety mechanism was a padlock attached at the top. Pulling out his lockpicks, he overcame the obstacle in a matter of seconds. Working fast and quiet, he put on a ski mask and rig of straps and buckles, opened the trapdoor and attached a reel with thin metal cable to the inner side of the manhole. Clipping the cable to his waist, he climbed over the edge of the vent, closed the lid and began lowering himself into the gaping darkness underneath. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he unclipped the buckle from his front and turned on a flashlight. He took a quick look around before swiftly walking to the closed door on the other side of the room. Turning off his flashlight, Neal opened the door the tiniest bit and took a look outside.
The coast was clear. Good.
Getting the plans for the gallery had been way too easy, and so far, the information had proven accurate. After waiting another second just to be safe, Neal slipped out into the corridor and made his way to a nearby room, already pulling out his lockpicks again, only to find the door unlocked. He got inside unseen and turned his flashlight back on. He looked around for the electricity maintenance box—and found it right where he had expected it to be. Thank you, Jack-the-maintenance-man from the pub downtown.
Opening the box to see the mess of wires and switches, Neal almost sighed. It was interesting—though a bit disconcerting sometimes—how much people would tell you at the right moment, especially once you had earned their trust. Chasing that thought away, he focused back on the problem at hand. He needed to buy himself some time with this—a whole minute so that he could take care of the cameras in the lower level and put them on a loop.
Neal pulled out metal clamps and a digital box with numbers and check-digits. He briefly hesitated as he stared at the wires—over the course of his glorious criminal career, making mistakes with technology had almost gotten him caught at least three times—and then he attached the clamps to two clusters of the exposed wires and cast a quick look at the digital box. When everything seemed okay, Neal allowed himself a breath of relief and then a mischievous smile. This was the part when the real fun began.
Ten minutes later, he made it as far as the chamber with his prize when he felt his phone buzz. Neal ignored the vibrations and focused on entering the eight-digit code to open the door, reassured when the buzz stopped a moment later. Then, he entered the chamber.
Even though this wasn’t the reason he’d come here, Neal still took a moment to look at everything. Jewelry of all kinds was resting inside showcases; beautiful, sparkling, inviting … no, begging to be admired and taken. But that was not the job tonight. From the moment he entered, Neal had seen the reason he’d come here—a necklace with a huge diamond, the exhibition’s most expensive piece that had only recently been added to their collection. He allowed himself another boyish grin and began to unpack his tools.
Lying under the showcase with the diamond, Neal became so focused on his job that the new buzz of his cell phone caught him unprepared. Only years of experience stopped him from jerking in surprise and destroying all of his hard work in a moment of inattention. He released a frustrated breath and quickly arranged things into a temporary makeshift state that wouldn’t set off any alarms. Then he finally took out his phone and checked the calling number.
‘Jeez, Moz, not this again!’ This wasn’t really the time to listen to Mozzie’s excited rambling about his latest calculations or his newest batch of lab rats.
Neal almost decided to turn the phone off when he realized that this wasn’t Mozzie’s usual number, but the burner phone that Neal had got him a while back. Then he noticed that his friend had also sent him a text message. With a mild frown and some curiosity, he clicked on the envelope icon to find what this all had been about.
The message made his blood turn cold.
‘CODE RED. CALL ME!!!’
He quickly dialed the return call. “What’s going on, Moz?” he asked in a muted voice.
“Neal? Is that really you? … Oh my God, I said your name. Did I – wait…What if…what if you’re – ” Mozzie’s voice wavered and then abruptly cut short.
Neal would have rolled his eyes in amused exasperation, if not for the scared undertone he heard in Mozzie’s words. “It’s okay, Moz. What’s going on? Why did you text me?”
There was a long silence.
“Moz?”
Nothing.
Impatiently, Neal cast a look at his watch. “Look, I’m really busy there. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“NO!”
Neal almost dropped the phone at the yell from the other side of the line. “Jeez, don’t do that!”
“Are you alone? How do I know it’s really you? ... What’s your code phrase?”
His code phrase?
They had made those up as kids, when they played games in the old neighborhood. Later, they had used it when Neal was running from the law to make sure that both he and Mozzie remained safe. However, to ask for it now…
Neal’s irritation at being interrupted in the middle of a heist won his concern and curiosity. He gritted: “‘The swallow’s back from Paris’, yes, I’m alone and you know it’s me by my voice, or thanks to the code phrase or maybe because you just called me on this number. What do you need, Moz?”
“But what if they tricked you into revealing it, or if they’re using a voice changer? You’ve said -”
“I know what I have said,” Neal interrupted him tiredly. He had never thought that teaching
Mozzie to take precautions would become so… bothersome sometimes.
“You could be a decoy to lure me out! What if they already got to you?”
Neal wanted to snap and hang up, but something stopped him. It took him a second before he realized what it was.
Fear. There was genuine panic and terror in his friend’s voice. Neal didn’t know what caused it, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t hang up on Mozzie in this state, even if it should lead to him being back in cuffs.
And who the hell were “they”?
In a gentler voice, he asked: “Hey, why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?”
Mozzie didn’t reply.
Neal silently counted to ten. “Look, you can ask me a question only I’d know an answer to. You know I’d never betray you, right?”
“What was the first thing you ever gave to me?” asked Mozzie hesitantly at last.
“Your Rubik’s cube,” answered Neal immediately. “Josh and his gang took it away from you. I stole it back.” That was when we became friends.
A pause. “For the record – I could have done it myself,” said the voice on the other line eventually and Neal smiled in relief. “Neal, I’m sorry that I —”
“It’s okay,” Neal interrupted him. He took a deep breath. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“I’m at your safehouse. The one in—the yellow one! I’m at the yellow safehouse.”
“What?” asked Neal in disbelief.
He had told Mozzie about several of his safehouses. However, he had never expected him to actually use one.
“It’s ‘cheesecake’. Wait, scratch that—it’s ‘Bermuda shorts’! Sweet Moses—what if they’re tracking this? Can they be tracking us?”
“Mozzie, CALM DOWN!” said Neal urgently before his friend got all worked up all over again. “Whatever it is, it’s gonna be fine, okay?”
For a moment, there was quiet.
“You’re right; it’s a burner phone, so they shouldn’t know. And I don’t think they followed me here.… Look, Neal, I’m not good at this stuff!” Mozzie swallowed. “There are these people, and ... I don’t know what to do. I need your help.”
“Okay,” said Neal after a pause. “Okay, I’ll be there. Give me.…” He checked the time and made some quick calculations. “Give me four hours, okay? Just wait there and I’ll get there as fast as I can.”
“I’ll wait.” And then Mozzie hung up, and there was just silence at the other side of the line.
For a second, Neal just stared at the display of his cell phone. When he finally realized he was still lying under the showcase with the diamond, a short grim smile passed over his face at the irony of the situation. However, the job had just jumped a long way down on his list of priorities.
‘Cheesecake’ had once used to mean ‘green aliens attacking’ while ‘Bermuda shorts’ stood for ‘Imperial takeover’. Neither of these really gave him a good clue about Mozzie’s problem.
This was not good. The last time Mozzie made a distress call like this was after the death of his adoptive mother. Something was obviously going on, and Neal didn’t like it one little bit. To make matters worse, he still had to take care of that bloody diamond.
Well, at least that one he could deal with right away, thought Neal as he picked up his tools once again.
Two minutes later, he held the diamond in his hands. He tore a page out of his notebook and scribbled some quick words. Then he put the diamond back together with the note and quickly worked to restore the showcase to its former state. Precision was no longer a priority.
As he walked out of the Channing, he heard the sound of thunder. The storm had just broken out.
His family needed him. He had to get to Moz as fast as possible.
Peter was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling while listening to the raindrops pondering the window outside. El had fallen asleep nearly an hour ago; however for Peter, sleep still evaded him, despite the fact that it was well past midnight. He couldn’t stop thinking about his day, which had been... well, the nicest way to call it would be “bad”. Peter thought “a freaking nightmare” would be a more accurate description.
Their takedown of a suspect had been one of the worst of Peter’s career. Gabriela Ponder had decided that she wouldn’t go quietly and turned the situation into an armed confrontation. She had ended up almost killing one of their agents before Jones’s shot took her down. The situation took an even more tragic turn when they found that Ponder’s seven year old son had been in the apartment and witnessed the whole thing.
The kid shouldn’t have been there. He should have been staying with his father on the other side of the city. They’d come to arrest an embezzling CEO; it should have been a peaceful and quiet surrender – Peter shouldn’t have had to hold a screaming child while they took his mother away in an ambulance. The poor boy should have never witnessed his mother being arrested, much less being shot and bleeding on her over-expensive carpet.
Jones looked like he might throw up afterwards. Gregory, the injured agent, had thankfully been only grazed and was expected to make a full recovery. Gabriela Ponder’s state was still uncertain. When – if – she recovered, she was going to face an attempted murder charge on top of the previous embezzling.
When Peter finally got home, it was very late. It was only when he saw Elizabeth’s stiff expression that he remembered that they should have had a dinner together. Once he explained, El immediately turned from annoyed to understanding and sympathetic. Yet Peter didn’t miss how she tensed up when he talked about the takedown gone awry.
Peter sighed.
While El would never try to talk him out of being an agent, she hated it when his cases turned dangerous. What’s more, this was the third time in a row he had cancelled on her. Peter didn’t want to become the kind of man who couldn’t keep his word and neglected the woman he loved.
Suddenly, El shifted in the bed next to him. “P’tr? Wha’z it?”
Peter smiled at her. “Nothing. Go back to sleep, hon.”
“Love you…”
Peter’s throat tightened. “Me too.”
I love you.
He watched the outline of her face in the dim light of the street lanterns. She looked gorgeous with her hair spread on the pillow, her face eased except for a tiny smile. Gently touching her hand, Peter broke into a full-blown grin when El squeezed his fingers.
For a long while, he remained content just watching her sleep. She was so incredible…
The sound of thunder was so loud that Peter snapped up in his bed and cast a wild look around.
Elizabeth fidgeted a bit next to him.
Belatedly, Peter realized the source of the disturbance. However, that didn’t stop him from climbing out of the bed and looking around for anything suspicious or out of place.
He went to check the window. The rain was heavy now, the earlier drizzle turning into full-blown streams of water that kept hitting the glass in a myriad of huge drops. However, the street was quiet, and so seemed the surrounding houses. There was no apparent reason for Peter’s anxiety.
And yet the feeling wouldn’t leave him. Something was nagging at his mind, an unknown disturbance was yelling at him that something was horribly wrong.
It was the case, he thought as he listened to the wind blowing outside. It was no wonder he had trouble falling asleep after a day like that. He hoped that Jones was alright, and his heart felt heavy as a stone whenever he thought of the little boy (Tommy had been his name, he remembered, Tommy with wide brown eyes who screamed and kicked and stared at them in horror and hatred until the boy’s hurriedly called father finally arrived and took him home).
Casting one last look at Elizabeth, Peter slipped out of the room to get a cup of water or maybe a glass of something stronger. He turned on the small lamp in the kitchen and leaned against the fridge. His eyes fell on several invitations for an upcoming charity event, four different options that El had brought home with her with the intention of showing them to her client tomorrow.
Peter recalled her mentioning that June Ellington would be present for that event. That meant that Neal Caffrey would likely be there as well.
Caffrey.
Staring at the invitations, Peter allowed himself to temporarily forget the tragic takedown. Instead, he thought of the man who he had first met about ten years ago, slipping into the soothingly familiar mindset of fondness and exasperation.
Their chase had been fun – more fun than Peter would probably admit aloud. At first, catching Neal had been only about arresting the con man – but that was before the notes; before pizza and wine deliveries, before the late-night phone calls, before Neal reminding him of his wedding anniversary. It had become personal; a challenge, an exciting competition between the two of them. However, in the end, it came down to the fact that Neal was a con man and Peter an FBI agent, and Peter had a job to do.
He had been chasing Neal for nearly four years when he noticed something on the cards that Neal had been sending him – specifically, their postmarks. Neal was too smart to send the cards from the place where he was staying. However, there had been a pattern… and finally, combined with a slip Neal had made during one of their phone calls, Peter had figured it out.
He didn’t know where exactly Neal was staying, but he could significantly narrow down the options. And that, combined with his gut feeling, his knowledge of the con man and the considerable resources on his disposal, had finally paid off. In the end, he had arrested Neal – not during an exchange as he had hoped, but as Neal was about to exit his hotel room and leave for the airport. Trapped between the full White Collar force, the Marshals and a SWAT team, Caffrey had attempted one last escape – and run straight into Peter who had been waiting there for him. With a smile on his lips that almost masked the fear in his eyes, a dozen guns aimed in his direction and with a nod of head as he finally acknowledged his defeat, Neal surrendered to him and let himself be led away in cuffs.
Peter felt victorious for winning the challenge that had left so many other agencies helpless, felt almost smug for finally beating Neal in their cat and mouse game. And yet after he had arrested Neal, a small part of him mourned the expected loss of his and Neal’s relationship as playful adversaries. Although he had always believed that catching Neal was the only possible outcome, he had used Neal’s postcards to track him and that probably came with a price.
Except Neal kept sending him cards from prison, and when he was finally released, he greeted Peter with his tell-tale smile and genuine happiness in his eyes. The only acknowledgment of the past was that Neal’s notes never had postmarks anymore.
Peter could live with that.
He and Neal had met several times over the past two years when Peter had accompanied El to her events. Once or twice, they’d even had a couple drinks together. Neal still liked to needle him, like when he left his latest birthday card directly on Peter’s desk at the FBI (and Peter still had no idea how it had gotten there). Bantering with Neal was always fun. Which was why Peter secretly hated Neal’s new job as a “security consultant”.
Breaking into places, studying flaws in “unbreakable” security… Peter feared that ultimately, this line of work would make Neal once again succumb to temptation and return to his old line of job. And while the chase had been fun, Peter much more preferred seeing Caffrey free and happy rather than putting him back behind bars.
With a shake of his head, Peter finished his glass of water. Then he put it on the counter and returned upstairs to join Elizabeth in her sleep.
It was five a.m. in the morning when Paul Handerson, known to his closest friends as Mozzie or just Moz, was standing in the bathroom of a rather poorly looking apartment. His back pressed to the wall right next to the door, Paul – Mozzie – was intently listening for the slightest disturbance. In his hand, he was clutching a small but surprisingly heavy stoneware vase – not the best defense in the world, but Paul had thought it would give him at least some feeling of safety.
‘The house of delusions is cheap to build but drafty to live in.’
In other words, Paul was silently cursing Neal up and down for his attitude about guns and weapons in general.
The scientific part of Paul’s brain that always calculated the statistics told him with an equable certainty that no weapon would help him against the group of obviously trained professionals who had turned his life upside down just a few hours ago. The same part of his brain also stated that the chances that Neal would make it there before the men in black suits were very slim. Paul was no master of diversion. He may think he had lost them, but it was far more likely that they were already outside and that any time now they would burst inside. And this time, the guns aimed at his face wouldn’t stay silent.
He wished he hadn’t left the burner phone on the other side of the room. He wanted to call his dad and tell him how much he loved him.
‘In the end, we all die alone...’
Suddenly, he heard the hallway door click. With determination, Paul firmly clutched the vase and pressed his back even closer to the wall.
“Moz?” called the voice from the hallway.
Still clutching the vase, Paul pushed the bathroom door open and stumbled into the hallway. A second later, his stomach dropped when he saw a figure dressed in all-black – he realized that he might have made a horrendous mistake in revealing his position – but then he saw the newcomer’s face and broke into a huge relieved smile.
“Neal!”
“Hey!” With a few swift steps, Neal closed the distance between them and pulled Mozzie into a tight hug. “It’s so good to see you. It’s been what – six months?”
“‘Every parting gives a foretaste of death, every reunion a hint of resurrection.’” Taking a deep breath, Mozzie allowed himself to envelop his shaking hands arms around Neal and giddily rest his head against Neal’s shoulder. “Thanks for coming.”
“You’re family. What was I going to do, not come?” Neal held him for a few seconds before he pulled away. He stared at the vase in Mozzie’s hand before he gave him a curious smirk. “A vase but no flowers? Moz, I’m hurt.”
“Seriously? You’re such a girl sometimes,” replied Moz with a roll of his eyes.
“Oh really? I wasn’t the one who had–”
“We’ve agreed to never ever speak of that again!” exclaimed Moz loudly. “Ever!”
“Really?”
“Yes!” nodded Mozzie empathically.
“Fine.” Neal chuckled before he turned serious. “Okay, as much as I love to see you again, I don’t think you called me because you wanted to reminisce about our misspent youth. So what’s going on?”
Mozzie took a deep breath. “I think you better sit down, Neal.”
Neal lifted his eyebrows before his expression turned to one of concern. “Is it your dad?” he asked quietly.
“No, it’s...” Mozzie shook his head. “Let’s sit down,” he repeated.
“Okay.”
They took place on a couch.
“So what is it?” asked Neal finally when Moz couldn’t bring himself to open the subject.
“Is this place safe?” asked Mozzie.
“I have someone watching, if that’s your concern. And it’s clean. I’m sure. We’re gonna be safe here at least until dawn.”
Until dawn. That gave them some two or three hours. That should be more than enough to tell Neal everything. Except...
Saying it aloud would make it feel real.
“Moz?”
But it already was real. And now that he had involved Neal, he didn’t have a choice but to tell him.
Mozzie took a deep breath. “I – it started like this...”
When he finished his tale half an hour later, Neal was gaping at him with disbelief in his eyes.
“Jeez Moz, that’s... What do you need me to do?” he asked at last in a strained voice.
Mozzie touched Neal’s hand. “I need your help,” he replied, his heart beating so fast he thought it would burst out of his chest. “I need the help of the great Neal Caffrey. ... Neal, I need you to help me disappear.”
Seconds ticked away and the silence in the room grew impossibly heavy. Then Neal finally nodded his head.
“Okay.”
