Thoughts On Family
AN: I have never done a Neal POV story before. I did take some literary license here. The show never said a lot about Neal leaving home after he found out the truth from Ellen. It didn't mention, I don't think, how he knew where Ellen lived, under an assumed name, on Roosevelt Island, after all these years. But, mostly, I wanted to do an story on Neal's thoughts on James. I hope you enjoy.
I couldn't believe that man, my biological father, James Bennett. I just…I don't get that mentality. I was…I've let other people take the fall for things, don't get me wrong. I'm about as far from a choir boy as you can get. But the people whom I let 'take the fall' had double crossed me, or were, most likely, just one more con job from being caught anyway.
James told me, standing in my apartment, not to make him do something that he would regret. I didn't know what he had meant, but I have to admit…it scared me, a little. And now, since he shot the senator, the thought crosses my mind…Would he have shot me? Would he have just shot me and left me to die on the floor of my apartment?
I keep wondering. Maybe, with me dead, he would have found a way to blame it all on me.
Then I realized something. I grabbed my coat and headed out the door. I started to exit the cab and race up the stairs to Peter's house. I had to tell Elizabeth what had happened. I was pretty sure she would already know about Peter. I just…then I hesitated. As the cab stopped, I just…I sat there. I wanted to go talk to El. But I was afraid of what she would think. I didn't want her to think I had just come over to explain my side, to cover myself. I sat and looked at the house. Then I motioned for the driver to drive on. I directed him to go back to my place.
I wanted to be there for El. But every time I thought I could. Every time I tried to offer even the smallest comfort, I had to remember who had gotten her and Peter into this mess in the first place. And the finger was always pointed back at me, and justifiably so. I was the one who wanted to find my father. I was the one who wanted to get to know him. I was the one who started all this. True, I never could have known the can of worms I was opening up. But, the fact remains, it was me. I started this. I am the reason James Bennett met Peter Burke, and I am the reason Peter Burke is now in jail awaiting murder charges.
WC WC WC WC WC
I was, in all honesty, surprised at the veracity of El's anger. I knew she would be angry with me. I knew she would blame me, but I never expected her to kick me out of her house. I never expected her to say what she did. And the truth stung. It hurt. But I had no other recourse but to take.
When I did finally make it to Peter's house, El met me at the door. She wouldn't let me in. She just stood there and stared at me, tears in her eyes. I saw hate, and it scared me. I've never seen her look at me, at anyone, like that. I didn't think she could actually hate anyone. I had just never seen her like that. I had never seen her so angry, so full of…venom, at me.
"Elizabeth…I…." I started as soon as she opened the door. The look she had given me had thrown me off.
"Not now, Neal." El replied, ready to close the door in my face.
"Please…." I started.
El paused.
"I just wanted to say…." I started again.
"There is no one to hear it, Neal." El said, ready to explode. "There's nobody here to hear your disclaimer…" She paused. "…that you didn't know your dad would act this way, or that you didn't know how this all would turn out, Neal." She paused, trying to calm down. "This is not about you. This is about Peter, Neal! Not you, Peter! He trusted you…and you just…! How…he's supposed to be your friend, that's what you said, Neal. Is this how you treat your friends?" She glared at Neal. "Go, just…go!"
I opened my mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. I went back to June's and reconciled myself to going back to prison. I packed what few things I had and gave them to June for safe keeping. The suits I left in the closet because they belonged to Byron and I would not be needing them in the lock-up. I closed up my apartment. And I waited for word from the FBI higher-ups that my agreement with the White Collar Division had been terminated.
I waited days, weeks, it seemed and no word. The division had not forgotten about me. I was still working. It was mostly cold cases, but I was still there. The other agents seemed to tolerate my presence. But without Peter there, I was largely ignored. They all blamed me for this. And I can't say that I blame them, like I said, I opened this particular can of worms. But I…I hadn't intended on these repercussions. I had just wanted to know my family.
Even Diana and Jones treated me differently. It wasn't exactly cold. But it was very cool. There was no laughing and very little, if any, talking. They told me what to do and when to do it. And they handed me files. I did the only thing I could, follow orders.
I couldn't…I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize what the White Collar Division was doing to gain Peter's freedom. But I wanted to help the efforts. I went and talked to Hughes, tried to tell him things I had learned from the streets. He wouldn't listen. It was like without Peter there, I was just a shadow who moved round the office and took up space.
Mozzie and Peter had warned me about James. They had said something was off with him. Something was wrong. But I didn't see it. I don't know if I just chose not to see it, or if I decided that they were wrong. They didn't understand who much this meant to me. I was going to see my dad again. I was going to get to know that person who had always been missing from my life. The person I barely remembered from my childhood. I had so many expectations. I guess, I had reverted to my childhood a little. I had been told that he had died a hero. So I imagined him as such. I imagined him that way in every movie I saw of every hero there was. I imagined it was him on TV, playing the good guy. I had this magnificent image of the man I knew as my father. But, of course, as I grew up the image changed. I got a dose of reality. The image got tarnished a little.
When I was told the truth, I was…I was crushed. Everything I had been told about him had been a lie. I was grateful to finally find out the truth. But a part of me felt like it never wanted to know the truth. It still does feel that way. For that 3-year-old boy who stood in the doorway waving goodbye to his father for what would be the last time. It's all for him. He needs to stay in that safe, comfortable cocoon of protection, of ignorance. He needs to live in a place where the sun always shines and everybody grows up like 'Leave it to Beaver,' because, in the real world, life can be too damned harsh.
I was grateful, though, to Ellen for telling me the truth. Though, as I found out years later, she had struggled with her decision, wondering if she had made the right choice. I left after she told me. She knew I was angry at my mom. I had confronted Mom before I left and she had owned up to it. But, Ellen…after Mom confessed the truth, I just had to leave. I had to get out of there. I left, and I didn't look back. I guess I thought I was leaving it all behind.
The pain and the anger blinded me to any reason on the subject. If people asked me about my family after that, I told them I was orphaned at a young age. And, in a way, I felt like I had been. I knew my dad was alive, but I had no idea where he was. My mom might as well have been dead to me. She had been lying to me for 15 years. I felt like, and acted like I was on my own.
Over time the anger left. It was like I just woke up one morning and realized I no longer was carrying that particular burden. But the pain lingered, granted, it wasn't as sharp. But it was there, all I had to do was see a father and son playing ball together. Or hear Peter talk about him and his dad, sitting on the porch drinking beer and watching a ballgame on TV. I felt that little tug at my heart. I felt that sense of loss. And I wondered what that moment would have been like if I had gotten to live it. Would I have been telling someone about it years later? Would it have been that special to me? And it pained me to realize I would never know the answer. I hurt to realize that I had been denied a basic element of most kids' lives, time with dad.
I have to wonder now though, knowing what I know about James, was Mom really trying to protect me? Did she know and understand what her husband had become? Was the trying to protect her son? It pains me, too, to think I will never know the answer.
THE END