sheenianni (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sheenianni) wrote2016-02-13 01:17 pm
sheenianni) wrote2016-02-13 01:17 pm
White Collar Fic: Out of the Dungeons (Part V)
Title: Out of the Dungeons (Part V)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sheenianni
Fandom: White Collar
Notes: See Prologue
PART V
Despite his projected confidence, Neal knew all too well that this was far from the best plan he had ever made. There were plenty of things that could go wrong – they could die, and if only he had had more time …
No wonder Peter looked so skeptical when he explained it all to him.
His one relief during his scheming had been his firm belief that Peter wouldn’t have approved of a violent solution. Neal didn’t know if he could have done it – killing a stranger to save Peter’s life – but Peter wouldn’t have accepted that sort of sacrifice, and that made it all much easier. He didn’t have to make any terrible choices that would weigh on his conscience for years to come.
He was glad for that, at least now.
Still, he might change his mind later if he and Peter fell to their deaths.
* * *
“Keep that,” advised Peter when Neal tried to discard his bag with the rope ladder and everything else.
Neal raised his eyebrows. “I told you, we won’t be needing it.”
“And what if we do? We’ll hardly have time to come back for it. Besides, we can always leave it behind once we reach the west wall.”
“I can’t put it over the flying sheet, Peter. If anything gets tangled up…”
“Right, the flying sheet. I didn’t think about that.” Visibly upset, Peter took a deep breath. “Neal, are you sure that–”
“It will be fine,” Neal snapped before Peter could voice the rest of his concern. It had to be fine, because otherwise…
The alternatives were not pretty.
Both he and Peter were already wearing a harness with a bundle of silky fabric on their backs. Mozzie had been enthusiastic about the concept, and Neal had tested this several times, but if they were wrong…
Well, in a short time they were about to find out.
Neal took out the watch he had hidden on himself before he had been brought into the fortress. They still had about twenty minutes, which meant they should probably get moving in case they got stuck somewhere.
He cleared his throat. “Remember, don’t forget to cut the strings. Are you ready, then?”
Looking pale, Peter grimaced. “As ready as I’m likely to get.”
Neal smiled at him. “Then let’s do this.”
He picked up the lantern and went to the door, listening for the sound of footsteps. When none came, he opened the door and slipped out, Peter following him like a silent shadow.
It would all go to hell if anyone saw them. And this was still the easy part…
* * *
Luckily, they made it all the way up to the highest level. Extinguishing the flame and discarding the now useless lantern in a dark corner where it hopefully wouldn’t be noticed, Neal and Peter sneaked up the stairs all the way to the western wall, hiding in a recess where the guard pacing around wouldn’t see them.
Unfortunately, that went both ways. They could only rely on the sound of the guard’s footsteps to know how close he was to them. Silently, Neal cursed himself for not thinking of bringing a hand mirror.
He checked his watch. They were three minutes early, but that meant little, given how tricky it was to establish the exact time. He gave Peter a nod as a signal. As soon as the footsteps grew quiet with the guard hopefully on the other side of his post (and out of their view), they would make a run for it and jump over the wall. And then pray hard that Mozzie’s invention really worked.
Peter nodded back that he had understood the message.
Standing there in silence, they listened and waited.
Finally, as the footsteps grew quieter, Peter and Neal exchanged a glance.
They broke into run at the same time, climbing over the wall maybe thirty feet from each other. Pulling out his knife, Neal met Peter’s eyes. ‘Good luck.’
His knife ready, Neal glanced into the empty space under him. The water level was far away, though thankfully he didn’t see any rocks from up here. Swallowing, he clenched the knife tighter and touched the chords of his “flying sheet.”
You better be right about this, Moz…
He jumped.
* * *
Neal cut the strings the very moment his feet left the wall. And then there was the rush of air around his ears and nothing below –
For a moment, it was as if time had stopped.
Then the spell broke, and the air was tearing at his clothes and the water was approaching fast too fast too close –
A pull at his straps and some resistance, but then his feet hit the surface with a loud splash–
Serenity.
For a moment, Neal watched the blue water surrounding him, interrupted only by the occasional bubble that rose from his mouth. So peaceful. He noticed a beautiful flower above him and smiled. He almost closed his eyes…
Not a flower – his flying sheet.
A sense of urgency rushed through him as Neal remembered where he was.
The flying sheet was now descending slowly on him, threatening to drown him if he didn’t get rid of it fast. Neal reached for his knife, only to realize that he had dropped it in his moment of inattentiveness. Cursing silently, he turned to the straps on his chest and forced his fingers to feverishly work on the clasps – the sheet was still falling, and if he got wrapped in it he would be in real trouble –
The harness fell off. Relieved, Neal made several powerful strokes, swimming away until the sheet was behind him, and then he kicked to reach the surface –
‘Glgh!’
More bubbles rose as Neal gasped at the sharp pain in his left foot.
He kicked again and made another powerful breaststroke, and then three more until his head finally broke the surface. He gasped for air and coughed, pulled down by the dead weight of his hurting foot, but he kept kicking awkwardly as he tried to stay afloat. His eyes were burning with salt as he frantically looked around – where was Peter, he had to be okay, he simply had to be –
Neal breathed out in relief when the surface broke again and he saw Peter emerging not too far away from him.
“Neal?” Peter called out mutedly.
“Over here!” Neal smiled until he felt the water closing over him. Gasping for air, he made another breaststroke and kicked with his healthy foot until he could breathe again.
He barely blinked before Peter was at his side, a concerned look on his face. “Are you okay?”
“My foot–” But he shouldn’t have tried to talk; he should have focused on swimming as once again he was slipping underwater –
Then Peter pulled him up, giving support on Neal’s weakened side and keeping him steady while Neal took several deep breaths, trying to calm down his racing heart.
“Thanks,” he breathed out, the sharp pain shooting from his ankle all the way to his calf and thigh.
“You said there’d be a ship,” said Peter a little breathlessly as struggled to support Neal’s weight.
“There will be. You’ll see.”
Yet despite his confident words, Neal felt a wave of doubt.
Mozzie had promised… but the ship was dependent on wind, and he hadn’t counted on his own injury. What if it took them too long to get there? What if…
“There,” said Peter suddenly, motioning forward with his head. And truly, there was a ship sailing, though it was still too far away from them.
The ship would get as close as it could, and then they would level a lifeboat and row there to pick them up. They only had to hold on until then; keep afloat and not drown –
But the guards of the fortress could realize their escape at any moment, and then it would be a race in time. Grimacing, Neal weighted their alternatives before reluctantly reaching the uncomfortable conclusion. “We should swim their way.”
Peter shook his head. “Neal, you’re barely staying above water. If you exhaust yourself–”
“They have guns and cannons on the walls. If they hit the lifeboat, we’ll all drown. The farther away we get, the better.”
Pressing his lips together, Peter hesitated.
“It’s okay. I’m feeling better already,” said Neal persuasively. His lie would have been more convincing if he wasn’t all tense with pain, but there was no way around that.
Silence.
“Don’t you dare drown on me,” said Peter at last.
Neal smiled. “I wouldn’t dare,” knowing he had won the battle.
With Peter’s support, he started swimming to the open sea.
* * *
He might have drowned, if it weren’t for Peter.
They swam in silence, conserving their strength as they headed towards the ship. However, without the full support of his legs, Neal’s arms began tiring too soon, and he was relying more and more on Peter to drag him forward. Peter, who had spent a month in the dungeons; Peter, who was still weakened from being beaten by the guards with a grudge; Peter who wouldn’t let Neal drown, not now nor in the past.
Peter had been sentenced to death, and here he was, still resilient and acting like a hero.
The part of Neal that wasn’t focusing desperately on staying above water loved him a little for that.
Five or maybe ten minutes after their jump, they heard a cannon shot from the fortress, announcing the escape of a prisoner. They both tensed a little, but there was nothing to do, and so they just kept swimming – the lifeboat had already been leveled and it would be there for them soon enough…
“I can’t… Neal…”
“It’s okay,” he breathed and willed his exhausted limbs to move. His eyes were tearing from pain and salt, but he kicked his feet – both his feet – and they moved in the right direction. Just a bit longer; Peter’s fingers dug deep into his arm as he kept pulling them forward….
And then the lifeboat was suddenly there and there were two pairs of arms pulling him out of the water. Neal had barely collapsed on the wooden boards before he tried to check on Peter. Another muffled thud reassured him that his friend hadn’t been left behind, yet he didn’t feel calm until they pulled him on a bench and he met Peter’s eyes. Like him, Peter was wet, trembling with cold and exhaustion, but the tired smile he gave Neal spoke more than any words, filling Neal with relief and quiet joy.
They had made it.
It was only then that he looked properly at the faces of their rescuers. “Thank you,” he said gratefully, meeting the eyes of the boat’s captain even though he didn’t recognize him.
“You’re welcome,” said the man with a nod.
They didn’t even finish talking before the oars lift again and the lifeboat made its way back to the ship.
* * *
Peter had easily climbed the rope ladder; he had also told the sailors that Neal had hurt his ankle and would require assistance. A few embarrassing moments later, they were standing on the ship’s board – well, Peter was standing, while one of the sailors had provided an empty chest for Neal to sit on so that he could rest his ankle. Then, once the ship was headed back to the ocean, Neal and Peter finally got to meet the captain.
Mindful of Mozzie’s warnings, Neal kept his voice strictly polite as he extended his hand with a smile. “Captain. My name is Neal Caffrey and this is Lord Peter Burke. We’re in your debt for coming to our aid.”
“It’s been no trouble… Well, it’s been less trouble than some of Mozzie’s other ideas, at least. The name’s Sara Ellis. Pleasure to meet you, gentlemen,” Captain Ellis replied as she shook their hands with a strong grip.
Neal noticed Peter’s look of confusion and gave a small shake of his head, promising to explain later.
They spoke shortly; then, without further ado, Sara had a man show them to their cabin, get them both clean clothes and then told him to have a medic check out Neal’s ankle.
“Oh, before I forget: you have letters here.”
“Letters?”
Wordlessly, Sara pulled two envelopes from her chemise. Neal moved to accept them both, but he was surprised when Sara only gave him one. “The other is for Lord Burke.”
Neal froze. He more felt than saw Peter tensing next to him as well.
It was a trap. There shouldn’t have been a letter for Peter. Did the King’s men know of their plan?
But that didn’t make sense. If the King had known, their escape would have been stopped before it even happened, not afterwards. But then, who else?
They both eyed the letter warily. “There must be a mistake,” said Peter at last.
“Are you Lord Burke? Then it’s yours,” said Sara impatiently. “Listen, are you going to take it? I have a ship to run.”
“Of course. Pardon me.”
Peter was still turning the envelope around in his hands when Sara left them.
Neal turned his attention back to his own letter. “Mine’s from Mozzie,” he said once he tore the envelope open. “What about you?”
“I don’t know,” said Peter reluctantly.
“Peter…” Was there going to be trouble?
“I’ll read it after dinner,” said Peter decisively and put the letter away. Neal almost told him to open it, but then he held back. They were at sea and, by now, too far from the shore. If there was something going on, it was unlikely an hour or two of waiting would change much. The letter could wait.
With that out of the way for the moment, they got changed into dry clothes. They had barely finished when a sailor appeared with a kettle of hot wine and two cups, telling them that the captain would later have dinner with them. They thanked him and then send him away.
Once the immediate concerns were settled, Neal finally had the time to examine his surroundings.
The cabin was rather nice; better than they would have expected. They rested themselves on the small armchairs, enveloped in blankets, each with a cup for the hot wine. According to Captain Ellis, the wind was good and strong, carrying them far away from the land that had sentenced Peter to death. The room was warm, the wine was sweet, the armchairs as good as it got on a smugglers’ ship. Feeling at peace, Neal allowed himself to close his eyes and rest.
“Neal?”
He opened his eyes to look at Peter. “Yes?”
Peter hesitated. “Thank you for coming for me,” he said at last.
“I couldn’t leave you there. You’re my friend.” Neal swallowed a gulp of the wine before smiling. “Besides, you saved me first, remember?”
But despite Neal’s light tone, Peter still looked troubled. And Neal realized how deep the other man was hurting for having lost his good name and his former life, for having been falsely accused and convicted by the very same country that he had always supported. And despite not having much love for the Queen or the Crown (his loyalty has always been to Peter first and foremost), Neal wished he could give Peter his name and titles and faith back; that he could take away the grief and regret he could see in his friend’s face.
But even his best schemes and tricks couldn’t accomplish that; he couldn’t overturn the conviction that labeled Peter a murderer. Neal could only save Peter’s life and hope he would find peace at some point in the future.
And so he kept the talk light, poured Peter some wine and did his best to make him smile as the ship carried them far away, into the ocean, and away from the only life that Peter had ever known.
Epilogue
Author:
sheenianniFandom: White Collar
Notes: See Prologue
___________________________________
PART V
Despite his projected confidence, Neal knew all too well that this was far from the best plan he had ever made. There were plenty of things that could go wrong – they could die, and if only he had had more time …
No wonder Peter looked so skeptical when he explained it all to him.
His one relief during his scheming had been his firm belief that Peter wouldn’t have approved of a violent solution. Neal didn’t know if he could have done it – killing a stranger to save Peter’s life – but Peter wouldn’t have accepted that sort of sacrifice, and that made it all much easier. He didn’t have to make any terrible choices that would weigh on his conscience for years to come.
He was glad for that, at least now.
Still, he might change his mind later if he and Peter fell to their deaths.
“Keep that,” advised Peter when Neal tried to discard his bag with the rope ladder and everything else.
Neal raised his eyebrows. “I told you, we won’t be needing it.”
“And what if we do? We’ll hardly have time to come back for it. Besides, we can always leave it behind once we reach the west wall.”
“I can’t put it over the flying sheet, Peter. If anything gets tangled up…”
“Right, the flying sheet. I didn’t think about that.” Visibly upset, Peter took a deep breath. “Neal, are you sure that–”
“It will be fine,” Neal snapped before Peter could voice the rest of his concern. It had to be fine, because otherwise…
The alternatives were not pretty.
Both he and Peter were already wearing a harness with a bundle of silky fabric on their backs. Mozzie had been enthusiastic about the concept, and Neal had tested this several times, but if they were wrong…
Well, in a short time they were about to find out.
Neal took out the watch he had hidden on himself before he had been brought into the fortress. They still had about twenty minutes, which meant they should probably get moving in case they got stuck somewhere.
He cleared his throat. “Remember, don’t forget to cut the strings. Are you ready, then?”
Looking pale, Peter grimaced. “As ready as I’m likely to get.”
Neal smiled at him. “Then let’s do this.”
He picked up the lantern and went to the door, listening for the sound of footsteps. When none came, he opened the door and slipped out, Peter following him like a silent shadow.
It would all go to hell if anyone saw them. And this was still the easy part…
Luckily, they made it all the way up to the highest level. Extinguishing the flame and discarding the now useless lantern in a dark corner where it hopefully wouldn’t be noticed, Neal and Peter sneaked up the stairs all the way to the western wall, hiding in a recess where the guard pacing around wouldn’t see them.
Unfortunately, that went both ways. They could only rely on the sound of the guard’s footsteps to know how close he was to them. Silently, Neal cursed himself for not thinking of bringing a hand mirror.
He checked his watch. They were three minutes early, but that meant little, given how tricky it was to establish the exact time. He gave Peter a nod as a signal. As soon as the footsteps grew quiet with the guard hopefully on the other side of his post (and out of their view), they would make a run for it and jump over the wall. And then pray hard that Mozzie’s invention really worked.
Peter nodded back that he had understood the message.
Standing there in silence, they listened and waited.
Finally, as the footsteps grew quieter, Peter and Neal exchanged a glance.
They broke into run at the same time, climbing over the wall maybe thirty feet from each other. Pulling out his knife, Neal met Peter’s eyes. ‘Good luck.’
His knife ready, Neal glanced into the empty space under him. The water level was far away, though thankfully he didn’t see any rocks from up here. Swallowing, he clenched the knife tighter and touched the chords of his “flying sheet.”
You better be right about this, Moz…
He jumped.
Neal cut the strings the very moment his feet left the wall. And then there was the rush of air around his ears and nothing below –
For a moment, it was as if time had stopped.
Then the spell broke, and the air was tearing at his clothes and the water was approaching fast too fast too close –
A pull at his straps and some resistance, but then his feet hit the surface with a loud splash–
Serenity.
For a moment, Neal watched the blue water surrounding him, interrupted only by the occasional bubble that rose from his mouth. So peaceful. He noticed a beautiful flower above him and smiled. He almost closed his eyes…
Not a flower – his flying sheet.
A sense of urgency rushed through him as Neal remembered where he was.
The flying sheet was now descending slowly on him, threatening to drown him if he didn’t get rid of it fast. Neal reached for his knife, only to realize that he had dropped it in his moment of inattentiveness. Cursing silently, he turned to the straps on his chest and forced his fingers to feverishly work on the clasps – the sheet was still falling, and if he got wrapped in it he would be in real trouble –
The harness fell off. Relieved, Neal made several powerful strokes, swimming away until the sheet was behind him, and then he kicked to reach the surface –
‘Glgh!’
More bubbles rose as Neal gasped at the sharp pain in his left foot.
He kicked again and made another powerful breaststroke, and then three more until his head finally broke the surface. He gasped for air and coughed, pulled down by the dead weight of his hurting foot, but he kept kicking awkwardly as he tried to stay afloat. His eyes were burning with salt as he frantically looked around – where was Peter, he had to be okay, he simply had to be –
Neal breathed out in relief when the surface broke again and he saw Peter emerging not too far away from him.
“Neal?” Peter called out mutedly.
“Over here!” Neal smiled until he felt the water closing over him. Gasping for air, he made another breaststroke and kicked with his healthy foot until he could breathe again.
He barely blinked before Peter was at his side, a concerned look on his face. “Are you okay?”
“My foot–” But he shouldn’t have tried to talk; he should have focused on swimming as once again he was slipping underwater –
Then Peter pulled him up, giving support on Neal’s weakened side and keeping him steady while Neal took several deep breaths, trying to calm down his racing heart.
“Thanks,” he breathed out, the sharp pain shooting from his ankle all the way to his calf and thigh.
“You said there’d be a ship,” said Peter a little breathlessly as struggled to support Neal’s weight.
“There will be. You’ll see.”
Yet despite his confident words, Neal felt a wave of doubt.
Mozzie had promised… but the ship was dependent on wind, and he hadn’t counted on his own injury. What if it took them too long to get there? What if…
“There,” said Peter suddenly, motioning forward with his head. And truly, there was a ship sailing, though it was still too far away from them.
The ship would get as close as it could, and then they would level a lifeboat and row there to pick them up. They only had to hold on until then; keep afloat and not drown –
But the guards of the fortress could realize their escape at any moment, and then it would be a race in time. Grimacing, Neal weighted their alternatives before reluctantly reaching the uncomfortable conclusion. “We should swim their way.”
Peter shook his head. “Neal, you’re barely staying above water. If you exhaust yourself–”
“They have guns and cannons on the walls. If they hit the lifeboat, we’ll all drown. The farther away we get, the better.”
Pressing his lips together, Peter hesitated.
“It’s okay. I’m feeling better already,” said Neal persuasively. His lie would have been more convincing if he wasn’t all tense with pain, but there was no way around that.
Silence.
“Don’t you dare drown on me,” said Peter at last.
Neal smiled. “I wouldn’t dare,” knowing he had won the battle.
With Peter’s support, he started swimming to the open sea.
He might have drowned, if it weren’t for Peter.
They swam in silence, conserving their strength as they headed towards the ship. However, without the full support of his legs, Neal’s arms began tiring too soon, and he was relying more and more on Peter to drag him forward. Peter, who had spent a month in the dungeons; Peter, who was still weakened from being beaten by the guards with a grudge; Peter who wouldn’t let Neal drown, not now nor in the past.
Peter had been sentenced to death, and here he was, still resilient and acting like a hero.
The part of Neal that wasn’t focusing desperately on staying above water loved him a little for that.
Five or maybe ten minutes after their jump, they heard a cannon shot from the fortress, announcing the escape of a prisoner. They both tensed a little, but there was nothing to do, and so they just kept swimming – the lifeboat had already been leveled and it would be there for them soon enough…
“I can’t… Neal…”
“It’s okay,” he breathed and willed his exhausted limbs to move. His eyes were tearing from pain and salt, but he kicked his feet – both his feet – and they moved in the right direction. Just a bit longer; Peter’s fingers dug deep into his arm as he kept pulling them forward….
And then the lifeboat was suddenly there and there were two pairs of arms pulling him out of the water. Neal had barely collapsed on the wooden boards before he tried to check on Peter. Another muffled thud reassured him that his friend hadn’t been left behind, yet he didn’t feel calm until they pulled him on a bench and he met Peter’s eyes. Like him, Peter was wet, trembling with cold and exhaustion, but the tired smile he gave Neal spoke more than any words, filling Neal with relief and quiet joy.
They had made it.
It was only then that he looked properly at the faces of their rescuers. “Thank you,” he said gratefully, meeting the eyes of the boat’s captain even though he didn’t recognize him.
“You’re welcome,” said the man with a nod.
They didn’t even finish talking before the oars lift again and the lifeboat made its way back to the ship.
Peter had easily climbed the rope ladder; he had also told the sailors that Neal had hurt his ankle and would require assistance. A few embarrassing moments later, they were standing on the ship’s board – well, Peter was standing, while one of the sailors had provided an empty chest for Neal to sit on so that he could rest his ankle. Then, once the ship was headed back to the ocean, Neal and Peter finally got to meet the captain.
Mindful of Mozzie’s warnings, Neal kept his voice strictly polite as he extended his hand with a smile. “Captain. My name is Neal Caffrey and this is Lord Peter Burke. We’re in your debt for coming to our aid.”
“It’s been no trouble… Well, it’s been less trouble than some of Mozzie’s other ideas, at least. The name’s Sara Ellis. Pleasure to meet you, gentlemen,” Captain Ellis replied as she shook their hands with a strong grip.
Neal noticed Peter’s look of confusion and gave a small shake of his head, promising to explain later.
They spoke shortly; then, without further ado, Sara had a man show them to their cabin, get them both clean clothes and then told him to have a medic check out Neal’s ankle.
“Oh, before I forget: you have letters here.”
“Letters?”
Wordlessly, Sara pulled two envelopes from her chemise. Neal moved to accept them both, but he was surprised when Sara only gave him one. “The other is for Lord Burke.”
Neal froze. He more felt than saw Peter tensing next to him as well.
It was a trap. There shouldn’t have been a letter for Peter. Did the King’s men know of their plan?
But that didn’t make sense. If the King had known, their escape would have been stopped before it even happened, not afterwards. But then, who else?
They both eyed the letter warily. “There must be a mistake,” said Peter at last.
“Are you Lord Burke? Then it’s yours,” said Sara impatiently. “Listen, are you going to take it? I have a ship to run.”
“Of course. Pardon me.”
Peter was still turning the envelope around in his hands when Sara left them.
Neal turned his attention back to his own letter. “Mine’s from Mozzie,” he said once he tore the envelope open. “What about you?”
“I don’t know,” said Peter reluctantly.
“Peter…” Was there going to be trouble?
“I’ll read it after dinner,” said Peter decisively and put the letter away. Neal almost told him to open it, but then he held back. They were at sea and, by now, too far from the shore. If there was something going on, it was unlikely an hour or two of waiting would change much. The letter could wait.
With that out of the way for the moment, they got changed into dry clothes. They had barely finished when a sailor appeared with a kettle of hot wine and two cups, telling them that the captain would later have dinner with them. They thanked him and then send him away.
Once the immediate concerns were settled, Neal finally had the time to examine his surroundings.
The cabin was rather nice; better than they would have expected. They rested themselves on the small armchairs, enveloped in blankets, each with a cup for the hot wine. According to Captain Ellis, the wind was good and strong, carrying them far away from the land that had sentenced Peter to death. The room was warm, the wine was sweet, the armchairs as good as it got on a smugglers’ ship. Feeling at peace, Neal allowed himself to close his eyes and rest.
“Neal?”
He opened his eyes to look at Peter. “Yes?”
Peter hesitated. “Thank you for coming for me,” he said at last.
“I couldn’t leave you there. You’re my friend.” Neal swallowed a gulp of the wine before smiling. “Besides, you saved me first, remember?”
But despite Neal’s light tone, Peter still looked troubled. And Neal realized how deep the other man was hurting for having lost his good name and his former life, for having been falsely accused and convicted by the very same country that he had always supported. And despite not having much love for the Queen or the Crown (his loyalty has always been to Peter first and foremost), Neal wished he could give Peter his name and titles and faith back; that he could take away the grief and regret he could see in his friend’s face.
But even his best schemes and tricks couldn’t accomplish that; he couldn’t overturn the conviction that labeled Peter a murderer. Neal could only save Peter’s life and hope he would find peace at some point in the future.
And so he kept the talk light, poured Peter some wine and did his best to make him smile as the ship carried them far away, into the ocean, and away from the only life that Peter had ever known.
Epilogue