Author's Note –I'm not altogether sure where this story came from. I'd had the outline for it before watching Point Blank. The story will be around 3-4 chapters long. It is semi AU in places, like with Neal's and Kate's history and does contain season 2 spoilers. It's Neal centric with references to most characters. It is dark and angst ridden.
I'm still fairly new in the White Collar fandom so I hope that you enjoy it. As always if you fancy leaving a review, I would love to know what you think.
Summary – Vengeance comes at a high price. There is no peace to be found in the heated act of revenge. Neal centric, with most characters included. Contains some spoilers.
Requiem
Chapter One - Overburdened
It's been said that our lives can be broken down to nothing more than a series of images. Moments in our lives that shape who we are and what we are to become. These moments can define us, making us happy and complete, making us strive for that continued happiness. Or they can leave us marked, bitter, angry and afraid.
As for Neal Caffrey, well he's seen both sides. He didn't come from much. Neal was an only child. He grew up in a small, rundown apartment tucked away in Brooklyn. His mother worked the late shift at their local convenience store while his father drank his life away.
From an early age Neal would lie awake every night. He would wish for another life while trying not to listen to his mother's desperate cries. His dear old dad had drunk too much again and was no longer truly aware of his actions.
Neal dreamed of better. He was capable of so much more. Despite a humble upbringing, he excelled at school. His teachers knew he was special. He was gifted, brilliant, one of a kind.
The Arts fascinated him; it didn't matter if it was music, poetry, classic stories or the wonderful masterpieces captured upon a canvas. He loved it all. To begin with the most beautiful painting or the most delicate piece of music merely provided the escape he craved. If anyone were to ask him why he loved all these little nuggets of creativity, then he would have given that as his first and foremost answer.
He would spend his evenings locked away in his room. He would draw and copy pictures from the books he'd borrowed from the library. He'd kneel down in front of his bed, resting against the sagging mattress and he'd paint and sketch for hours. Or he'd lie behind the covers and research history from large, hard bound volumes his father had collected and never read.
By the time he reached adolescence, Neal began to discover who he was and who he'd like to be. He realised not only did he have a passionate interest in this sacred world of lavish paintings and polished words, but he also had a talent for it.
He could forge the most complex of paintings. He'd studied artists' technique, he'd read up on everything. He could copy anything, even a signature if he so desired. Like the detention slips where he'd faked Mr Caffey's name to avoid another beating from his angry and slurring father.
He fell in with a small gang of pick pockets and street thieves. He learnt the subtle tricks of taking wallets and purses from the well-to-do business men and women of the richest areas of New York City. He thought of it as nothing more than a game. He felt like Dickens's Artful Dodger.
He didn't believe he began as a con man; it wasn't like he'd started out as a bad person. Considering his father is a cruel brute of a man, and Neal and his mother were never protected by the systems the government had in place, he wasn't shocked that he chose to rebel against society. He didn't pity himself but he felt he was owed, even if it was just a little.
He met the odd and brilliant Mozzie one rainy day in October when he'd skipped school to go pick-pocketing in Lower Manhattan. Neal had been sitting in a beaten down bar, drinking warm apple cider and re-reading his battered copy of the 'Tell-Tale Heart'.
The little guy had hobbled order to the farthest corner of the dimly lit room. He'd taken off his water-splattered hat with an over-exaggerated flourish. He greeted Neal with a wide, toothy grin and referred to him as the elusive Mr Caffrey.
There was something so endearing about the strange, small man with a thinning crop of brown hair. He had never uttered his first name, to Neal or anyone else, as far as the young thief was aware of. However they became fast friends over many a game of chess; their backgrounds were similar, Mozzie had grown up in foster care and hated the authorities as much as the teenager himself.
Neal began to miss his afternoon classes to hang out with the enigmatic con-man. Despite his apparent distrust in everyone and everything, Mozzie became Neal's most trusted and valued acquaintance. The young kid from Brooklyn learnt a lot from the man with the wide rimmed glasses and a wealth of connections.
The first time Neal had stolen anything more than a wallet, he'd done so to try and get him and his mother out of the abusive home they'd been locked into. He and Mozzie concocted a more elaborate heist than Neal was used to but he took up the challenge to help his mom.
To this very day he can still remember the rush of adrenaline he'd got from concealing the priceless antique beneath his shabby coat and creeping out from the museum's vault.
It had worked and he rode the bus back home with the museum's staff none the wiser until the next day. With Mozzie's help he managed to pawn off the antique without a trace. He freed himself and his mother from their life of misery.
It seemed both exhilarating and puzzling to the teenager that the old adage of robbing from the rich to benefit the poor was actually something he had managed to do and get away with.
With his mother finally happy and safe, he moved out of home just weeks before he was twentieth birthday. He acquired a small studio apartment with a view of Lower Manhattan. He'd stare out of his window over a dinner of his mom's meatloaf while he planned to someday be living in a luxurious home alongside all those lucky people he'd always idolised.
Soon Neal began to live the fast life devised from being on the wrong side of the law. He quickly became the very best at what he did. He made friends and enemies along the way.
His small time plan at the museum caused quite a stir. His name became known in the underworld of thieves and minor crooks. He began to associate with more and more of the city's outlaws. He was cleverer than most, he was calculating and he executed the most extravagant of schemes.
Two years later he met Kate Moreau. He remembered seeing her many times before, but they'd never spoken. It was the same year that his mother passed away to pneumonia and he was going to mark the holidays with Mozzie. They'd planned on sipping whiskey in front of a roaring fire and playing chess.
There was a mystery about the raven haired woman he watched at the ice rink in Central Park. It was the Christmas before the millennium. She skated gracefully, her long locks flowing wildly behind her as she spun on a single blade. Her movements were like a concerto; she glided and captured his every attention. With a perfectly executed pivot he finally caught her eye. She tucked a loop of her behind her ear and moved from the ice.
He followed the girl with the dark eyes. She made her way home and continuously told him that she wasn't interested. He persisted however; he traipsed after her through half of the glitzy city. He wasn't like this with any other girl and he told her so.
She finally gave up with a huff and a flicker of a smile. She told him her name and he talked her into going for a cup of hot coco with him.
They talked the night away in a quaint, little cafe on the edge of Manhattan. She was the daughter of a French immigrant. He and her mother had brought Kate to New York for a life filled with promise. She hadn't had that, both her parents had long since passed away and she was living in a one bed room apart with another girl and struggling to make a living as a waitress.
He walked her home as the sun began to rise on Christmas day. She agreed to come around that evening for a dinner of pasta and whiskey.
A week later they kissed in a new century and Neal began to fall hard. He'd always been a ladies' man, a charmer; one that could win favour with a dashing smile and a poetic line. But Kate was different. She wasn't impressed by his schemes, she didn't approve of his choice of lifestyle.
Kate became his world, she became his everything. He promised her a better life as they lived together in their small, derelict apartment and dreamed of a fulfilled destiny over cheap wine. He took more high profile jobs as his ego inflated but so did his need to give up his ways.
He'd have changed everything about himself for the love of this woman. He planned to, when they'd saved up enough he was going to buy them a beautiful home, far away from the city and the reputation he'd created for himself. This girl was going to be the lease for his whole new way of life.
That was until FBI's Peter Burke was assigned to the task of capturing him. Burke was an honest man; he wore a simple, classic suit and saw the law in black and white. When Neal was first questioned by the head agent on appointed to his case he'd almost liked the man. They saw the world so differently but the con-man found respect in the hardworking and earnest official.
Peter was dedicated and tenacious, and Neal could see his end coming. The Feds were closing in fast then, but Kate stuck by him. Neal had taken precautions to move all of his stolen items to a secret and secure location. He was so close to having enough money for him and Kate to disappear and live happily.
On reflection he should have just cut his losses but he'd got too good at what he did and perhaps too egotistical. Peter bested him in the blink of an eye and caught him on a forgery. Neal was tried and sent to a federal maximum-security prison for four years.
"Come alone and we'll end this..."
The request and the long sought for promise of closure, echoes through Neal's mind and his eyes spark open. He stares up at the blanched ceiling as the shadows loom upon it.
The pull between right and wrong, acting out of passion and against reason, sends his mind spiralling once again. He has another life defining choice to make. A glance at the clock radio tells him that the meeting is only an hour away.
He supposes he can take comfort in the fact that he's not woken by his recurring nightmare. Most nights he dreams of the fiery explosion that took away the girl he loves.
Tonight he doesn't hear the fading sound of her desperate screams, the ones he imagines each and every night. What he does hear is the instruction uttered by the man responsible for the aching void within his heart.
He stares about the darkened studio room. He hears the ticking of the grandfather clock and the gentle passing of traffic on the streets below.
Peter Burke kept his word about solving Kate's murder. They'd captured Julian Larssen in Central Park just weeks ago. The man who'd trained under Special Forces hadn't been very forthcoming with the details. While in custody he demanded a deal and the FBI had eventually given him one. They needed him; Peter reluctantly admitted. Larssen was their key to getting to the man responsible for all of this.
Larssen, the ex army commando, had given them enough to know how to reach the man they were chasing. He'd given details that there was indeed something buried deep within the music box. The secret code hidden within the music was just the beginning. The amber box had been used by spies during the Cold War to pass Intel. The secrets left within its jewelled body were still valuable enough to warrant more lives being lost in the modern world.
Julian Larssen had given away enough information to guarantee his death. Even though he'd been placed in protective custody, the only remaining link to Kate's killer was murdered. Larssen's throat was cut by an in-mate and served as a clear message.
But Julian Larssen had given Neal enough to go on. Neal was not going to give up until he knew the truth. With the help of Peter they recovered the box for a final time. His invaluable Mozzie decoded the music. And together with the un-coverings of the tenacious insurance investigator Sara Ellis, Neal knows the truth behind Kate's death. The Russian music box with its ancient heritage is the key to the 'big man's' identity.
The woman beside him stirs slightly from her place amongst his bed covers. She moves closer to him and he breaks from his thoughts. His eyes shift from the spot on the stark, white ceiling and onto sleeping brunette beside him. Her dark tresses are flecked with the sparkling city lights. Her porcelain skin and soft breaths are warm and welcoming against his clammy skin.
Sara comes to him out of her own need for comfort and company. She knows it and he knows it too. Their evenings were initially spent in his quest for answers, before becoming a mutual craving to feel something almost untouchable. They've both loved and lost; no promises were ever made between them. They've both been left broken and tarnished by the extinguished whispers of forever. No guarantees were spoken, other than the idle hope that one day that aching pain may be silenced.
For a few fleeting moments each evening, in the arms of this girl, he's that little boy in the art galleries staring up at Monet's lavish masterpieces. He's glad of it and he's found himself craving it.
He's been trying to move on from Kate, he really has. He sees the happiness that his partner and El share and he wants to feel that joy again. He's been trying to move past the emptiness swelling within him.
Sara eases that pain. She's strong in her daily facade and yet vulnerable in his arms. They're two of a kind in ways he hadn't thought possible until recently. Sara's a chameleon much like he's always been. She masks the pain with a tough assurance. She escapes her loneliness by burying herself in her work and he's been doing the same for months. Their relationship may have started out awkward but she's proved herself loyal and invaluable.
He thinks maybe someday he could even learn to love her; maybe when he is done hurting and crying his grief away. He knows he already cares for her.
He reaches for the hand she's laid across his chest. He curls his fingers at her wrist and feels the delicate beat of her pulse. He moves it slowly from him and carefully sets it against his satin pillows. A shadow of an apology twitches at the corner of his lips; and it's one she doesn't hear.
He shifts up from the covers. He tiptoes from the sleeping area and quietly dresses. He wears black and slicks his hair back like he used to for the job.
He stares at the man captured in the mirror; he looks like a thief in the night and he feels like one too.
He smooths down the lapels of the worn leather jacket before he moves to the couch. He finds Sara's large, black purse tucked away in a corner. He unzips it and finds the loaded gun nestled between an organiser and a silk scarf. He checks that the chamber is fully loaded and tucks it into his back pocket with caution. For a man who does not like guns, he's certainly been handling them a lot in recent months.
Neal moves over to the hand carved hardwood desk and slides open the top drawer. He retrieves the notepaper where he noted down the meeting point earlier.
This man has chosen a venue neatly tucked into Neal's two mile radius. He wants to meet with the ex con and doesn't want to chance that he'll be caught if Neal's tracking anklet alerts the FBI.
With a shallow breath Neal stares back at the reflection of a man he used to know and thinks back to the split second decision that is about to fix his destiny. As soon as he had hung up the phone before dinner he knew he'd chose this path. He thinks back to the conversations he's had with Peter ever since Kate's death.
There is no justice in taking revenge. There is no peace to be found in vengeance. There is no silencing the demons of the night by falling into the darkness.
Peter Burke's words of wisdom and logic ring in his ears. Peter believes justice is the only way. Revenge would only destroy Neal's life even further. And Neal knows in his head that the agent is probably right.
Neal is most likely condemning himself to a lifetime of regret. But he thinks he already has that. He wishes he could have made things better for Kate Moreau. He wishes he'd acted faster to save her. He feels like he's failed her. And, if, even for a moment, Neal can feel that for once he is the one calling the shots, then he's okay with a life left questioning his final actions.
Kate meant the world to him, she's still very much his everything and this man took her from him. Neal can't hold back and do nothing. He knows he wouldn't forgive himself if this monster of a man went free.
He passes through the many doors and corridors of June's lavish and extravagant home, he does so with a flutter of footsteps and the thundering within his heart. He exits the building and trudges down the stone steps. He feels the frosty, darkness envelope him.
He knows his actions won't really ever change a darn thing. Kate is gone forever.
He has people who care about him and he knows his actions will do more than just let them down.
He's been given a whole new life. He has the potential to finally do some good. He has so many people who he cares for. They've all been there for him in their way since Kate was taken from him. He knows they won't all understand his actions. He thinks of Diana and Jones and their talks by the coffee machine. He thinks they probably won't want to understand what has brought him to this point.
Elizabeth, Peter's wife, who's always offered him coffee and advice, well he doesn't think she'll judge him as much as she'll be concerned for him. She won't want to see him spend his life in prison; she'll know that he acted out of love for the woman he lost. El's a devoted romantic and she'll empathise with him.
Sara will probably hate him all over again; he has no doubt that Mozzie will try to understand and try to get him out of this. Mozzie's always had his back; they've been a team through everything for so long.
Then there's Peter. He knows that his actions will more than disappoint Peter. Peter took a chance on the former con; he gave Neal this whole, new life.
It's a life and a mould that Neal fits into, and a life that he likes. He likes the man he's becoming, he likes the people around him, and he's even learnt to care for some of them.
Yet ever since he was released from prison he feels as though every event, every step, every twist and every turn he's taken have brought him down this path. Life seems to have led him to this point in time and to this choice.
He knows the truth now. He's been piecing the puzzle together for so long. It's that mystery that has consumed him.
He walks the starry streets of Manhattan by himself. He clutches the gun in the pocket of his leather jacket and sucks in a shallow, suffocating breath. The little boy who lay hidden from his drunken daddy in his bed of cold, scratchy covers is long gone.
The paranoid, elusive art thief is gone far away too. He is no longer that crook. He's no longer the man that continuously blurs the edges of right and wrong. He's merely a man who's lost the one thing that meant everything.
He doesn't think any of the people in his life will truly understand his actions. How could they, he reasons, when he doesn't even understand it himself.
All he knows is that it's been within him for so long, even before the plane exploded. He's felt a desperate need to protect Kate since he was released from prison. This overwhelming need is just within him, dormant but still very much a part of him.
He thinks of it now as a lustful, suffocating urge and it almost stricken him. It's sinful and it overpowers all his senses and rationality. It was present on the day they captured Garrett Fowler. He knows that day he was impulsive. He had wanted to kill Fowler but he admits he'd acted on the spur of the moment. And the want had been quelled by Peter and then by the confession that they had all been so very wrong. He had been wrong.
The compulsion inside him had festered and churned as he watched Mozzie slowly recover in hospital. This man was almost responsible for the murder of another of the people Neal the valued most. Mozzie was strong and as he recovered he revealed the truth behind the music.
This time he knows beyond a shred of doubt that he is right. The microscopic little piece of technology from World War II exposed this man for what he is. Neal's meeting the man responsible and every fibre of his being is ruled by that thirst for justice and that burning need for vengeance.
He's riding in the elevator and armed with a gun. He's here travelling up to the Penthouse, his fingers curl around the base of the cold metal. He has every intention of using it.
All reason and anger is blurred within him, into a palate of grey numbness; it's only when he closes his eyes and sees the fires of Kate's plane that he feels anything.
The elevator comes to a halt. Neal exhales as the doors ping open.
The room is absent of all signs of life. The old building that was once a prestigious hotel is now being renovated. White sheets drape across the remaining pieces of furniture and gather dust. Neal moves forward with a light step and tries to ignore the tightness forming at his throat.
The man is waiting for him. He stands on the balcony, staring out at the twinkling darkness. His hand is resting against the cold, metal railing. Neal can see the bronze ring glittering against the smallest finger of the killer's left hand; this is the man who took Kate away.
"I knew you'd come." The man speaks but doesn't turn around.
Neal doesn't utter a word, he only moves through the empty hotel room. He feels the bite of the winter's air against his face as he ventures outside.
"Are you alone?" This man isn't stupid; he's taken all the precautions. He's hacked into the surveillance cameras surrounding the building and he knows that the authorities will be out looking for him.
"Yes," Neal's voice is husky and unused. He's alone. He knows it's foolish and irrational, but then he wouldn't have it any other way.
Questions tingle on the tip of Neal's tongue and his fingers itch to pull the trigger. He wants the answers to why Kate was taken. He's been wondering for months why Kate died and he's still alive.
"Why Kate?" It's the one thing he has to know.
Kate deserved so much better. He'd promised her a better life. Each and every night as they lay down together in that beaten down studio, he'd whispered to her that he'd give her the world. He hadn't but he could give her this.
He watches as the man turns to face him and he utters what Neal already knows.
"Because of you Neal Caffrey."
To be continued...
A/N – Also for anyone who follows Diamonds are Forever I have an update that's almost done and it'll be up in a couple of days.