![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sheenianniTitle: (Meet Me) At the Crossroads (Part II)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sheenianni
Artist:aragarna
Fandom: White Collar
Notes: See Prologue
PART II
As they take what Neal suspects is yet another detour, he is beginning to think that this may have been a mistake.
Back at June’s, Mozzie had told him that he needed to take him somewhere; then he had promptly changed his mind and insisted that they had to wait until midnight. Neal tried to get him to reveal more information, but Moz wouldn’t budge – typical for his short friend, except usually Neal would have put up more fight. But not tonight.
He is tired, and yet he feels chipper, his muscles are tingling in expectation; of what, Neal doesn’t know. It’s been like this for a while – his head just on the edge of a migraine, everything around the world is sharper somehow, different. Mozzie takes them to yet another dark alley, and Neal thinks how weird his ankle feels, too light, like in prison.
Why all the secrecy? What is this about?
Kate, it had to be about Kate – or her murderer.
‘If she was alive…’
It’s a treacherous thought, and Neal pays for it with a fresh wave of pain – he knows that that way lies madness. The first few days in prison, a small part of him kept waiting for a sign; they’ve all faked their deaths before, and he thought that maybe –
He has racked his brain for weeks at prison – where did he go wrong, what mistake has he made, how did he overplay his hand so badly that it had gotten Kate killed. He stole the music box, he did what they asked – did they always mean to kill both of them? It doesn’t matter, because in the end they murdered Kate; they murdered her because they thought he had the box, because she was connected to him, because no matter what he did, it wasn’t enough–
‘What does Mozzie know?’
Neal feels sick, and he realizes he can’t do this anymore. Wherever Moz is leading him, to the object of his latest conspiracy theory, or to someone for a new job – he’s done.
* * *
It takes Mozzie a few seconds to realize that Neal has stopped. “What is it?” he asks with concern.
“I’m done, Moz. I’m going home.”
Mozzie frowns. “Neal –”
Neal laughs bitterly. “I have to be at the FBI early in the morning. My job, remember?”
He has slammed his walls back up, and he’s protecting himself from more hurt. He should have foreseen this, Mozzie thinks – oh hell, he did foresee this. He sighs. “Man, I wouldn’t drag you here if it wasn’t important –”
Neal shakes his head: “I don’t care. I don’t – I can’t. No more games, Moz. Tell me what’s going on or I’m going home.”
Mozzie shakes his head. “We’re almost there –”
“We’ve been going around in circles for hours, Moz!” Neal blinks. “If it’s about John Lennon or a secret society –”
“Stop – ”
“– or if it’s a job; a Picasso, a Rembrandt – not tonight, okay?”
“Neal– ”
“Look, you can tell me later. I just got out; I need – just give me a few days, okay?”
Neal’s expression betrays his exhaustion and barely hidden pleading, and seeing that look on him almost makes Mozzie ill.
Does Neal really expect him to have no regard for his grief? Does he honestly believe that Moz wouldn’t care; that he wouldn’t understand? Sure they are partners in crime, but more than that they’re friends too, and how could Neal think that didn’t matter to him–
They’re out in the open; if someone overhears them, if Neal storms away – Screw it.
“She’s alive, Neal,” says Mozzie softly.
Neal blinks. “What?”
He really didn’t want to do this here. “You heard me,” says Mozzie. “She is alive.”
Neal staggers. “No. You said – you’re lying. You’re wrong.”
Moz shakes his head. “Look, we can’t talk here–”
“The hell we can’t!” Neal stares at him with a mix of disbelief and desperation. “How? I saw her get on that plane–”
“She got off –”
“–why didn’t she tell me?”
“What do you think?” says Mozzie rhetorically. “Neal, someone just tried to murder both of you. Do the math.”
“You knew?”
“Can this wait until we’re in private?” Mozzie interrupts him in a half-voice. “Look, why don’t you ask her? It’s five minutes from here; will you go with me now?
For a moment, he thinks Neal will sock him or just walk away. And them Mozzie berates himself, because he should have known that Neal wouldn’t do that when Kate was in the picture.
His friend gives him a stiff nod. ‘Lead the way.’
* * *
It’s not real.
Happiness, anger, confusion – they all swirl around Neal’s brain as Mozzie leads him to his safe house. But all those emotions are damped by the shock and numbness that weigh on his limbs and slow down his steps.
He doesn’t believe it.
And then they’re at Monday. A subtle camera is surveying the outside and the windows are blacked out by newspaper. They walk inside and Mozzie flips on the light switch in the corridor. And then Neal feels something stir inside him, something that feels like hope, and suddenly he can’t wait; he needs answers, he rushes past Moz –
“Wait,” he hears Mozzie say, but he doesn’t care, he has to know –
Neal burst the door open and stares at the living room.
The light has been left on. There’s a wooden table in the middle of the room, with three chairs and a bowl with some fruit. There are papers, maps and books spread all over the table; a half-finished cup of coffee standing almost too close to the edge of the deskboard. And in one of those chairs…
Neal can barely see through the tears, but it doesn’t matter. That face, hair, those hands… he would recognize them anywhere.
Her face is resting on the table, eyes closed; she has clearly been reading through the documents before falling asleep. Neal opens his mouth to call her name, but his throat is too tight and his voice fails him. He moves forward to hold her in his arms –
Someone grabs his shirt and pulls him back. Enraged, Neal turns around. “What the hell, Moz?”
“You were going to hug her, weren’t you?” asks Mozzie rhetorically.
“So what? What does it matter?” whispers Neal harshly. “I thought she was dead–”
“And I spent the last month nursing her back to health,” Mozzie cuts him off. Then he sighs and lets go of Neal’s arm. “Be careful, all right? Her back is still healing.”
“What…” Neal tries to suppress a newfound feeling of unease. Her back? Just what did happen to Kate?
But she is here, alive, breathing, and Neal has to make sure it’s not a dream or a hallucination. He sits down on one of the chairs and reaches for Kate’s hands. He wants to – he could grab her, kiss her, press his body against her and never let go. Instead, mindful of Mozzie’s warning, Neal simply strokes Kate’s wrists with his thumb.
“Kate. Hey baby, it’s me...”
Kate’s eyelashes flicker; Neal can’t help himself and squeezes her hand tighter. He waits, watching as Kate stirs and slowly opens her eyes. Then the familiar blues meet him own and Neal laughs in relief, his face breaking into a happy smile –
The movement is so fast he barely catches it. He almost falls of his chair as Kate points a gun at his chest. “Whoa!”
Kate blinks. “Neal?”
“Kate…”
“What are you doing here?”
Neal swallows. “Err, could you…”
“Oh for Christ’s sake,” says Mozzie impatiently and plucks the gun from Kate’s hand to place in on the table. “Here. You want to be armed, fine, can’t say I disapprove, but don’t shoot out of your sleep, okay? Now do you two lovebirds need me to guide you through this or are you going to greet each other?”
“Mozzie, charming as ever. Hello to you too,” says Kate dryly, and for a moment Neal wants to smile at her familiar humor. However, there are too many questions – what happened with the plane; how was Kate even alive? What did Mozzie mean about Kate’s injuries, and since when did she carry a gun?
“I told you I was going to bring him today,” says Mozzie in a low voice.
“You already said that two weeks ago. And then the week after that. Then again five days ago, and then–”
Mozzie sighs. “Okay, point taken. … You shouldn’t be drinking this,” he picks up Kate’s coffee with a disapproving frown. “Let me get us something else.”
The moment Mozzie walks out of the room, Kate closes the distance between Neal and herself and gives him a hesitant, self-reproaching smile. “Hey. This wasn’t how I imagined our reunion.”
When Neal wasn’t having nightmares, he has been dreaming about this.
He shakes his head. “I thought you were on that plane.” I thought I got you killed.
“That was the point,” says Kate seriously. “If they knew I was alive, they’d try again and then they’d come after you. I couldn’t risk it.”
So she let him think she died. Both Kate and Mozzie actually – how could they do this to him?
“You should have told me.”
“I told you why I couldn’t.”
“Kate–”
“I missed you,” she says plainly. “Five years, Neal, and we stand here arguing? What are we now anyway?”
Five years.
“I’m sorry I got caught. I’m sorry I put you through all of this.” Suddenly, all Neal’s concerns seem to fade away. “I love you.”
“You already said that,” says Kate with a faint smile, but her eyes are sparkling with a hint of mischief.
“Mozzie said your back got hurt,” says Neal with a hint of question. “How–”
“Here.” Kate takes his hands and places them on her shoulders. She puts her hands on his hips. “I love you too.”
They join their lips in a kiss.
* * *
Back in the kitchen, Mozzie pours Kate’s coffee down the sink – what was she thinking, drinking a dehydrating stuff like that? – and then finds three glasses and makes them some lemon water. He leans against the kitchen counter and takes a sip from his own glass.
He will be here for a while – the last thing he wants is to walk in on Neal and Kate when they are obviously reuniting. By now, they’re probably all over each other – Mozzie grimaces, thinking how his safe house will never be the same again. But then he has written it off the moment Kate contacted him. Despite everything else, he knows he would do it all again in a heartbeat – not just because of Neal, but because the last month has erased any doubts whether Kate was fully one of them. For better or worse, she is one of Mozzie’s people, and the newfound understanding between them is one that would be hard to break. In that regard, Vincent Adler almost did them a favor, even if nothing would please Moz more than to put a bullet in the man’s brain.
No, that’s what Neal would do. Mozzie, he thinks a simple death was too easy for all the pain Adler has caused them. He wants to make the man suffer, to see him lose everything and bleed. He remembers stuffing a cloth into Kate’s mouth to muffle the sound of her screams; remembers the vacant look in Neal’s eyes as he saw him at prison, and a simple bullet is not enough a retribution. He doesn’t think anything could be.
But Kate was right – if they try to get revenge, things could easily turn against them. Without the music box they have no cards to play. Right now, the wisest course of action is to cut their losses and start anew. All that’s left is determining the best exit strategy, and Mozzie already has several plans prepared.
He will miss New York, but ultimately it’s just a town. It’s the people that really matter.
Pulled out of his thoughts by a wide yawn, Mozzie is almost overcome by a wave of tiredness. A glance at the clock on the wall tells him that they will have to go soon. Moz is pretty sure Neal won’t like it – he and Kate had less than an hour together – but Neal does have a job in the morning and he should get at least some sleep if he wants to be able to fool Peter Burke into thinking that nothing has changed. And that is another reason why they have to be careful yet fast in planning their exist strategy – they can’t allow the FBI to interfere. There is no space for mistakes – it’s literally a matter of life and death.
Well, time to interrupt the two of them.
Picking up a tray with the lemon water and glasses, Mozzie pauses in front of the living room and knocks on it in iambic pentameter. He waits a few seconds before entering. He doesn’t know what he expected to find, but the image that greets him is surprisingly innocent and peaceful, with Neal sitting on the couch, holding Kate’s hand and stroking her hair as she half-sits, half-lies next to him, resting her head against Neal’s side.
For a moment, Mozzie remains silent. When he finally clears his throat, Neal looks startled while Kate opens her eyes and looks up.
“What time is it?” asks Kate.
“It’s quarter past two. We have to leave.”
Obviously torn, Neal looks at Kate. “If you wanted, I could stay the night.”
Of all the stupid things…
“You can’t, Neal.” Moz shakes his head. “The Suit will come to pick you up in the morning–”
“I don’t care. I’ll make something up.”
“-and what if he sees the anklet signal there and no you? Have you thought about that?”
Honestly, sometimes Mozzie wishes he didn’t have to be the voice of reason.
“Come see me tomorrow,” suggests Kate when Neal still appears undecided. Mozzie wants to protest – it’s dangerous; what if someone follows them, what if the Suit realizes Neal slipped the anklet? – but one glance at Neal’s face tells him that he has to pick his battles, and this is one that he has already lost.
“Very well then. Tomorrow!” he exclaims with as much fake enthusiasm as he can muster.
Apparently he isn’t fooling anyone, because Kate gives him a grateful nod. “Thanks for bringing him here, Mozzie.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome. If you two fuck this up after all the lengths we went through, don’t come crying to me, okay?”
“Well thank you Moz. It’s great to see we have your confidence,” says Neal sarcastically.
Mozzie huffs, but deep down, he finds Neal’s biting humor refreshing. It’s certainly an improvement over the doomed version of the past few weeks.
After they untangle, both Neal and Kate stand up. “Tomorrow midnight, then,” says Neal at last.
Kate smiles. “Okay.”
They kiss again – Mozzie looks away, feeling awkwardly out of place – and then Moz has to usher Neal out of the door when he still wants to linger.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” says Mozzie to Kate still at the door.
When Neal isn’t looking, Kate’s mask slips and she looks tired and exhausted – possibly in pain too. “Good luck, Mozzie,” she says quietly.
Neal grabs Kate’s hand one more time, just to make sure she is still there – and then Mozzie closes the door and it’s like the night never happened.
It’s half past two in the morning and they head back to June’s house. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.
* * *
‘I’ll see you tomorrow…’
Waking up, Neal instantly sits up straight on his bed and looks around his room at June’s.
The safe house. Kate. For a moment, Neal is horribly certain it was all just a dream; nothing but a delusion of his desperate mind. He thinks he’s going to be sick –
“It wasn’t a dream, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Blinking, Neal notices Mozzie sitting at his desk, a thoughtful yet troubled expression on his mind.
Neal’s throat tightens. “Moz…”
“Peter will be here any moment,” says Mozzie levelly. “He can’t realize anything has changed. Luckily he only saw you for an afternoon, but you will have to act the same as yesterday. If he figured it out–”
“I can fool Peter, Mozzie,” says Neal with a strange certainty. And suddenly he knows he’s right.
“Very well then,” replies Mozzie. “I have to go. See you in the evening.”
“See you,” echoes Neal, but his thoughts are already elsewhere.
He can do it; he can easily con Peter into thinking he’s still in the same place as yesterday. Kate may be alive, but her life is still in danger; her almost-killer is running around there somewhere. Neal can still barely see her – nothing’s changed really.
Even if everything did.
Kate is alive, and that’s a miracle. Yet Neal thinks how easily she could have died, how both of them could still die if someone, anyone found out she survived the explosion… suddenly it’s not hard to hide his joy. The fear and pain grasping at his heart are very real, and so Neal takes them and uses them (nobody must know, not even Peter) – he brings up the fatigue and hollowness (he only got to hold Kate for a while and that’s all they have now; a stolen moment in the middle of the night, like a pair of thieves) – he covers it all with a thin layer of humor and confidence and tries not to let the fear choke him as he prepares to greet Peter (he closes his eyes, sees the exploding plane and shudders – this could have been his reality.)
“Hey,” says Neal when Peter enters his apartment. His voice is both cheerful and brittle, and there are dark circles under his eyes – the illusion is perfect.
“Hey Neal,” replies Peter. He gives Neal a concerned look. “You okay?”
“Sure, why?”
Peter just shakes his head. “Nothing. … Anyway, we have a new case. You coming?”
“You bet.”
As he closes the door to his apartment, Neal takes a deep breath.
The game is on.
* * *
Part III
Author:
sheenianniArtist:
aragarnaFandom: White Collar
Notes: See Prologue
___________________________________
PART II
As they take what Neal suspects is yet another detour, he is beginning to think that this may have been a mistake.
Back at June’s, Mozzie had told him that he needed to take him somewhere; then he had promptly changed his mind and insisted that they had to wait until midnight. Neal tried to get him to reveal more information, but Moz wouldn’t budge – typical for his short friend, except usually Neal would have put up more fight. But not tonight.
He is tired, and yet he feels chipper, his muscles are tingling in expectation; of what, Neal doesn’t know. It’s been like this for a while – his head just on the edge of a migraine, everything around the world is sharper somehow, different. Mozzie takes them to yet another dark alley, and Neal thinks how weird his ankle feels, too light, like in prison.
Why all the secrecy? What is this about?
Kate, it had to be about Kate – or her murderer.
‘If she was alive…’
It’s a treacherous thought, and Neal pays for it with a fresh wave of pain – he knows that that way lies madness. The first few days in prison, a small part of him kept waiting for a sign; they’ve all faked their deaths before, and he thought that maybe –
He has racked his brain for weeks at prison – where did he go wrong, what mistake has he made, how did he overplay his hand so badly that it had gotten Kate killed. He stole the music box, he did what they asked – did they always mean to kill both of them? It doesn’t matter, because in the end they murdered Kate; they murdered her because they thought he had the box, because she was connected to him, because no matter what he did, it wasn’t enough–
‘What does Mozzie know?’
Neal feels sick, and he realizes he can’t do this anymore. Wherever Moz is leading him, to the object of his latest conspiracy theory, or to someone for a new job – he’s done.
It takes Mozzie a few seconds to realize that Neal has stopped. “What is it?” he asks with concern.
“I’m done, Moz. I’m going home.”
Mozzie frowns. “Neal –”
Neal laughs bitterly. “I have to be at the FBI early in the morning. My job, remember?”
He has slammed his walls back up, and he’s protecting himself from more hurt. He should have foreseen this, Mozzie thinks – oh hell, he did foresee this. He sighs. “Man, I wouldn’t drag you here if it wasn’t important –”
Neal shakes his head: “I don’t care. I don’t – I can’t. No more games, Moz. Tell me what’s going on or I’m going home.”
Mozzie shakes his head. “We’re almost there –”
“We’ve been going around in circles for hours, Moz!” Neal blinks. “If it’s about John Lennon or a secret society –”
“Stop – ”
“– or if it’s a job; a Picasso, a Rembrandt – not tonight, okay?”
“Neal– ”
“Look, you can tell me later. I just got out; I need – just give me a few days, okay?”
Neal’s expression betrays his exhaustion and barely hidden pleading, and seeing that look on him almost makes Mozzie ill.
Does Neal really expect him to have no regard for his grief? Does he honestly believe that Moz wouldn’t care; that he wouldn’t understand? Sure they are partners in crime, but more than that they’re friends too, and how could Neal think that didn’t matter to him–
They’re out in the open; if someone overhears them, if Neal storms away – Screw it.
“She’s alive, Neal,” says Mozzie softly.
Neal blinks. “What?”
He really didn’t want to do this here. “You heard me,” says Mozzie. “She is alive.”
Neal staggers. “No. You said – you’re lying. You’re wrong.”
Moz shakes his head. “Look, we can’t talk here–”
“The hell we can’t!” Neal stares at him with a mix of disbelief and desperation. “How? I saw her get on that plane–”
“She got off –”
“–why didn’t she tell me?”
“What do you think?” says Mozzie rhetorically. “Neal, someone just tried to murder both of you. Do the math.”
“You knew?”
“Can this wait until we’re in private?” Mozzie interrupts him in a half-voice. “Look, why don’t you ask her? It’s five minutes from here; will you go with me now?
For a moment, he thinks Neal will sock him or just walk away. And them Mozzie berates himself, because he should have known that Neal wouldn’t do that when Kate was in the picture.
His friend gives him a stiff nod. ‘Lead the way.’
It’s not real.
Happiness, anger, confusion – they all swirl around Neal’s brain as Mozzie leads him to his safe house. But all those emotions are damped by the shock and numbness that weigh on his limbs and slow down his steps.
He doesn’t believe it.
And then they’re at Monday. A subtle camera is surveying the outside and the windows are blacked out by newspaper. They walk inside and Mozzie flips on the light switch in the corridor. And then Neal feels something stir inside him, something that feels like hope, and suddenly he can’t wait; he needs answers, he rushes past Moz –
“Wait,” he hears Mozzie say, but he doesn’t care, he has to know –
Neal burst the door open and stares at the living room.
The light has been left on. There’s a wooden table in the middle of the room, with three chairs and a bowl with some fruit. There are papers, maps and books spread all over the table; a half-finished cup of coffee standing almost too close to the edge of the deskboard. And in one of those chairs…
Neal can barely see through the tears, but it doesn’t matter. That face, hair, those hands… he would recognize them anywhere.
Her face is resting on the table, eyes closed; she has clearly been reading through the documents before falling asleep. Neal opens his mouth to call her name, but his throat is too tight and his voice fails him. He moves forward to hold her in his arms –
Someone grabs his shirt and pulls him back. Enraged, Neal turns around. “What the hell, Moz?”
“You were going to hug her, weren’t you?” asks Mozzie rhetorically.
“So what? What does it matter?” whispers Neal harshly. “I thought she was dead–”
“And I spent the last month nursing her back to health,” Mozzie cuts him off. Then he sighs and lets go of Neal’s arm. “Be careful, all right? Her back is still healing.”
“What…” Neal tries to suppress a newfound feeling of unease. Her back? Just what did happen to Kate?
But she is here, alive, breathing, and Neal has to make sure it’s not a dream or a hallucination. He sits down on one of the chairs and reaches for Kate’s hands. He wants to – he could grab her, kiss her, press his body against her and never let go. Instead, mindful of Mozzie’s warning, Neal simply strokes Kate’s wrists with his thumb.
“Kate. Hey baby, it’s me...”
Kate’s eyelashes flicker; Neal can’t help himself and squeezes her hand tighter. He waits, watching as Kate stirs and slowly opens her eyes. Then the familiar blues meet him own and Neal laughs in relief, his face breaking into a happy smile –
The movement is so fast he barely catches it. He almost falls of his chair as Kate points a gun at his chest. “Whoa!”
Kate blinks. “Neal?”
“Kate…”
“What are you doing here?”
Neal swallows. “Err, could you…”
“Oh for Christ’s sake,” says Mozzie impatiently and plucks the gun from Kate’s hand to place in on the table. “Here. You want to be armed, fine, can’t say I disapprove, but don’t shoot out of your sleep, okay? Now do you two lovebirds need me to guide you through this or are you going to greet each other?”
“Mozzie, charming as ever. Hello to you too,” says Kate dryly, and for a moment Neal wants to smile at her familiar humor. However, there are too many questions – what happened with the plane; how was Kate even alive? What did Mozzie mean about Kate’s injuries, and since when did she carry a gun?
“I told you I was going to bring him today,” says Mozzie in a low voice.
“You already said that two weeks ago. And then the week after that. Then again five days ago, and then–”
Mozzie sighs. “Okay, point taken. … You shouldn’t be drinking this,” he picks up Kate’s coffee with a disapproving frown. “Let me get us something else.”
The moment Mozzie walks out of the room, Kate closes the distance between Neal and herself and gives him a hesitant, self-reproaching smile. “Hey. This wasn’t how I imagined our reunion.”
When Neal wasn’t having nightmares, he has been dreaming about this.
He shakes his head. “I thought you were on that plane.” I thought I got you killed.
“That was the point,” says Kate seriously. “If they knew I was alive, they’d try again and then they’d come after you. I couldn’t risk it.”
So she let him think she died. Both Kate and Mozzie actually – how could they do this to him?
“You should have told me.”
“I told you why I couldn’t.”
“Kate–”
“I missed you,” she says plainly. “Five years, Neal, and we stand here arguing? What are we now anyway?”
Five years.
“I’m sorry I got caught. I’m sorry I put you through all of this.” Suddenly, all Neal’s concerns seem to fade away. “I love you.”
“You already said that,” says Kate with a faint smile, but her eyes are sparkling with a hint of mischief.
“Mozzie said your back got hurt,” says Neal with a hint of question. “How–”
“Here.” Kate takes his hands and places them on her shoulders. She puts her hands on his hips. “I love you too.”
They join their lips in a kiss.
Back in the kitchen, Mozzie pours Kate’s coffee down the sink – what was she thinking, drinking a dehydrating stuff like that? – and then finds three glasses and makes them some lemon water. He leans against the kitchen counter and takes a sip from his own glass.
He will be here for a while – the last thing he wants is to walk in on Neal and Kate when they are obviously reuniting. By now, they’re probably all over each other – Mozzie grimaces, thinking how his safe house will never be the same again. But then he has written it off the moment Kate contacted him. Despite everything else, he knows he would do it all again in a heartbeat – not just because of Neal, but because the last month has erased any doubts whether Kate was fully one of them. For better or worse, she is one of Mozzie’s people, and the newfound understanding between them is one that would be hard to break. In that regard, Vincent Adler almost did them a favor, even if nothing would please Moz more than to put a bullet in the man’s brain.
No, that’s what Neal would do. Mozzie, he thinks a simple death was too easy for all the pain Adler has caused them. He wants to make the man suffer, to see him lose everything and bleed. He remembers stuffing a cloth into Kate’s mouth to muffle the sound of her screams; remembers the vacant look in Neal’s eyes as he saw him at prison, and a simple bullet is not enough a retribution. He doesn’t think anything could be.
But Kate was right – if they try to get revenge, things could easily turn against them. Without the music box they have no cards to play. Right now, the wisest course of action is to cut their losses and start anew. All that’s left is determining the best exit strategy, and Mozzie already has several plans prepared.
He will miss New York, but ultimately it’s just a town. It’s the people that really matter.
Pulled out of his thoughts by a wide yawn, Mozzie is almost overcome by a wave of tiredness. A glance at the clock on the wall tells him that they will have to go soon. Moz is pretty sure Neal won’t like it – he and Kate had less than an hour together – but Neal does have a job in the morning and he should get at least some sleep if he wants to be able to fool Peter Burke into thinking that nothing has changed. And that is another reason why they have to be careful yet fast in planning their exist strategy – they can’t allow the FBI to interfere. There is no space for mistakes – it’s literally a matter of life and death.
Well, time to interrupt the two of them.
Picking up a tray with the lemon water and glasses, Mozzie pauses in front of the living room and knocks on it in iambic pentameter. He waits a few seconds before entering. He doesn’t know what he expected to find, but the image that greets him is surprisingly innocent and peaceful, with Neal sitting on the couch, holding Kate’s hand and stroking her hair as she half-sits, half-lies next to him, resting her head against Neal’s side.
For a moment, Mozzie remains silent. When he finally clears his throat, Neal looks startled while Kate opens her eyes and looks up.
“What time is it?” asks Kate.
“It’s quarter past two. We have to leave.”
Obviously torn, Neal looks at Kate. “If you wanted, I could stay the night.”
Of all the stupid things…
“You can’t, Neal.” Moz shakes his head. “The Suit will come to pick you up in the morning–”
“I don’t care. I’ll make something up.”
“-and what if he sees the anklet signal there and no you? Have you thought about that?”
Honestly, sometimes Mozzie wishes he didn’t have to be the voice of reason.
“Come see me tomorrow,” suggests Kate when Neal still appears undecided. Mozzie wants to protest – it’s dangerous; what if someone follows them, what if the Suit realizes Neal slipped the anklet? – but one glance at Neal’s face tells him that he has to pick his battles, and this is one that he has already lost.
“Very well then. Tomorrow!” he exclaims with as much fake enthusiasm as he can muster.
Apparently he isn’t fooling anyone, because Kate gives him a grateful nod. “Thanks for bringing him here, Mozzie.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome. If you two fuck this up after all the lengths we went through, don’t come crying to me, okay?”
“Well thank you Moz. It’s great to see we have your confidence,” says Neal sarcastically.
Mozzie huffs, but deep down, he finds Neal’s biting humor refreshing. It’s certainly an improvement over the doomed version of the past few weeks.
After they untangle, both Neal and Kate stand up. “Tomorrow midnight, then,” says Neal at last.
Kate smiles. “Okay.”
They kiss again – Mozzie looks away, feeling awkwardly out of place – and then Moz has to usher Neal out of the door when he still wants to linger.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” says Mozzie to Kate still at the door.
When Neal isn’t looking, Kate’s mask slips and she looks tired and exhausted – possibly in pain too. “Good luck, Mozzie,” she says quietly.
Neal grabs Kate’s hand one more time, just to make sure she is still there – and then Mozzie closes the door and it’s like the night never happened.
It’s half past two in the morning and they head back to June’s house. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow…’
Waking up, Neal instantly sits up straight on his bed and looks around his room at June’s.
The safe house. Kate. For a moment, Neal is horribly certain it was all just a dream; nothing but a delusion of his desperate mind. He thinks he’s going to be sick –
“It wasn’t a dream, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Blinking, Neal notices Mozzie sitting at his desk, a thoughtful yet troubled expression on his mind.
Neal’s throat tightens. “Moz…”
“Peter will be here any moment,” says Mozzie levelly. “He can’t realize anything has changed. Luckily he only saw you for an afternoon, but you will have to act the same as yesterday. If he figured it out–”
“I can fool Peter, Mozzie,” says Neal with a strange certainty. And suddenly he knows he’s right.
“Very well then,” replies Mozzie. “I have to go. See you in the evening.”
“See you,” echoes Neal, but his thoughts are already elsewhere.
He can do it; he can easily con Peter into thinking he’s still in the same place as yesterday. Kate may be alive, but her life is still in danger; her almost-killer is running around there somewhere. Neal can still barely see her – nothing’s changed really.
Even if everything did.
Kate is alive, and that’s a miracle. Yet Neal thinks how easily she could have died, how both of them could still die if someone, anyone found out she survived the explosion… suddenly it’s not hard to hide his joy. The fear and pain grasping at his heart are very real, and so Neal takes them and uses them (nobody must know, not even Peter) – he brings up the fatigue and hollowness (he only got to hold Kate for a while and that’s all they have now; a stolen moment in the middle of the night, like a pair of thieves) – he covers it all with a thin layer of humor and confidence and tries not to let the fear choke him as he prepares to greet Peter (he closes his eyes, sees the exploding plane and shudders – this could have been his reality.)
“Hey,” says Neal when Peter enters his apartment. His voice is both cheerful and brittle, and there are dark circles under his eyes – the illusion is perfect.
“Hey Neal,” replies Peter. He gives Neal a concerned look. “You okay?”
“Sure, why?”
Peter just shakes his head. “Nothing. … Anyway, we have a new case. You coming?”
“You bet.”
As he closes the door to his apartment, Neal takes a deep breath.
The game is on.
Part III
