Back in business

It was Monday morning and Peter knocked on Neal's door. He heard him call for him to come in on the other side so he opened the door. And there he was, young, handsome, smiling and charming like sunshine on a rainy day. God, how he missed having him around the past four weeks. He had dropped by to see him once or twice a week, but an hour with a beer was hardly the same thing.

"Ready to go back to work?" Peter asked.

"I've been ready for weeks, Peter. It was you who didn't want me there, remember?" Neal replied with a beam. Peter did not debate that.

"Figured you didn't mind to walk to the office," he grinned in return.

Neal flipped his fedora in an elegant move which landed it on his head.

"It'll be nice to be able to move more than sixteen feet in one direction without having to turn around, yeah."

Perhaps the thought of house arrest would keep him from doing some of his impulsive stunts, after all, Peter thought. He watched the kid as they walked along the streets of Manhattan. Neal had not told him, but even if he had books, paints, and a view, Peter was sure Neal had longed for human company and action. He was impressed that his pet convict managed to stay put and do his time without mishaps. June had probably been around more than she should, but it was her house. Besides, if it helped Neal to keep the deal, then he had no arguments against her visiting.

"I've got a new case ready for you. Figured you should get a light start."

"Please tell me this isn't gonna be another mortgage fraud case," Neal returned.

"What's wrong with mortgage fraud cases?"

"They're boring. You stare at paperwork all day."

Peter glanced at him. Unbelievable, this guy.

"You could stare at prison bars all day," he reminded the kid and began to smile the second he said it.

"Are you still playing that card?"

Peter grinned.

"Makes me smile."

"Glad I can make you happy."

Who would have thought this would be a standing joke between them? Though it was the harsh reality they both were aware of, they could use it for fun. In Peter's experience, you were better off if you addressed the elephant in the room. He had done so with Neal and his anklet and his background and the irony of him working for the FBI after they chased him for three years. It had worked. Neal had an anklet, sure, but Peter had noted that he no longer bothered to hide it. And everyone at the white collar office treated the kid as part of the team, with one or two good-hearted jokes, as they would with anyone on the team.

"Morning, Peter." Jones rose from his desk file in hand. "Glad to see you again, Caffrey."

"Glad to see you too, Jones."

The agent grinned and handed Neal the file.

"Mortgage fraud?" the kid asked and gave them both a smile as his question was answered with nods from both Peter and Jones.

"See you at lunch," Peter said and went to his office. He saw Neal placing his hat on the Socrates' head he kept on his desk and sat down. It was good to have him back.

Neal was glad to be out of the house arrest. It drained him. He missed people. It had not been torture as the solitary for four weeks in the prison had been. But he had to admit that he did not want to be in house arrest on a regular basis. What he had pulled off had been fun and a painting had been returned to its rightful owner, but it had a price and he had better remember it. He had to keep in mind that he almost ended up in prison, too. Peter would indeed put him back if needed.

He did not hold this against Peter. On the contrary. It was a comfort to know that his handler could not be bought or persuaded or even easily manipulated. Peter had always treated him fair and showed that he had faith in him.

By the end of Tuesday, he was back on the working routine. Mozzie could not understand how he managed. Neal had never told him that he kind of liked the idea of a structured life.

At Friday he asked for an early and long lunch and now he stood by Grand Central Station scanning every passing face for Kate. The first Friday after he found Kate's letter he had not been able to get away. The following four he had been in house arrest. At last, he had been able to get away. Desk job had its advantages.

Suddenly Mozzie stepped out from a bakery with a large cookie in his hand. Neal sighed. He liked and trusted his friend, but they had seen each other every afternoon this week to catch up. And this was, in either case, something he wanted to do alone. Especially since Mozzie expressed a dislike and mistrust for Kate.

"Forbidden romantic meetings are kind of a personal thing, Mozz," he rebuked him.

"Like I was gonna let you come alone. What if the guy with the ring planted that note?"

"He didn't."

"You'll be happy I came when a red laser dot suddenly appears on your forehead."

Why did he have to be so paranoid? Was Grand Central Station a likely place to get shot?

"Enough with the hero talk, Haversham."

"Okay… Maybe she wrote it three days before we found it or maybe three months? And it was more than a month ago since we found it anyway."

"She'll be here." Of that he was certain.

"Well, it is Friday and it was noon. So where is she?"

That was a justified question.

Neal was just about to tell his friend that ten past twelve was not odd when he heard a phone ring. And not a melody from a cell-phone. A classic analog sound. Located the sound. A phone booth nearby. He ran and yanked the receiver to his ear.

"Kate?"

"Neal?" It was her voice! What a relief to know she was alive.

"Kate, where are you?"

"I don't have a lot of time." The sound in the background… The honking car, he heard it nearby himself, too. He scanned around.

"You're here," he mumbled.

"Neal, are you still there? Neal?"

There she was! On the upper level. She was alive and well and…

"Hi," he smiled.

"Hi."

"Stay there, I'm coming—"

"No. Neal—" she objected. "Neal, he's close."

"The man with the ring?"

"Yes."

"I don't care." He just wanted to hug her, to hold her, to kiss her. To finish where they left off over four years ago. It has been so long. So long.

"Listen. I need you to tell me where you hid everything."

"What?" He did not know what he had expected. Maybe something about longing and missing, but not this.

"The money, the bonds, the art, all of it," she continued.

"Why?"

"He wants something. Something you took. Something you hid."

"I hid a lot of things."

"Well, then give him everything. If he gets what he wants, he'll let me come back."

"Who is he?"

"I can't tell you. It's too dangerous for you."

What? Too dangerous? It did not make any sense. Nothing he had hidden was worth kidnapping and blackmailing.

"Why? Kate, just tell me. I can protect you."

"This is the only way you can help me. You always told me I had to trust you. Well, now you have to trust me. I wanna come home. Please just tell me where you hid everything."

If there was something criminal life had taught him it was that it did not work to give them what they wanted.

"No."

"I wanna come home," she pleaded.

"It's the only leverage I got. Just stay there, okay? I'm coming up."

He dropped the phone and ran. He heard Mozzie calling his name behind him, but he did not listen. He ran up the stairs to the upper roads and ran to the front of the station where he had seen Kate.

But she was gone. He called for her. He screamed her name. But she was gone.