Chapter One
The secret had been revealed. Peter knew Neal wasn't the man he appeared to be. He wasn't a con man, criminal, or non violent. Neal was Bryce Larkin. Agent Bryce Larkin. A man renowned for his ability to get the job done, violently if necessary. Bryce was a very different person than the friend he had come to think of as a brother.
So, despite everything they had been through, Peter wrapped his arm around his wife and pulled her closer to him. He also took a step back in the process, away from the unknown danger, the threat his former friend posed.
Neal hadn't been trustworthy, not completely. He could be trusted with Elizabeth's life, but not the heirloom silverware hidden in the bottom drawer of the china cabinet. But Bryce, he took untrustworthy to another level. The biggest risk with him wasn't the potential for him to steal any valuables and ruin Peter's career in the process… no, he was much more dangerous. Bryce was trained to kill his target with ease, in so many potential ways that Peter didn't want to think about it, and without the victim even seeing it coming. Even being an agent, Bryce was far more dangerous and not to be trusted. Because the game in the spy world means your friend today can be your enemy tomorrow, and that change could cost your life.
Trying to slow his racing heart, Peter realized that he knew nothing of his best friend. Neal Caffrey had only been a sham, a cover role to hide the killer behind the charming mask. Who could blame him if he felt fear in the face of this dangerous man, this unknown stranger, a government sanctioned killer?
"I'm sorry I scare you. This will be the last time you see me… I promise." And with that the man was gone. Like a puff smoke with mirrors, he disappeared.
Sagging into his wife, Peter felt palpable relief. They were safe. The assassin had gone, and they were alone at last.
"Peter… do you think?" She left her sentence hanging.
Whether she was referring to his promise, or to the thought that Neal, no, Bryce, could be a threat to them, Peter had no idea. His own mind was caught between sprinting in too many circles to understand, and being stopped dead in its tracks, like a deer in the headlights. He couldn't fathom how he had missed this, how he hadn't seen the killer behind the charm, and that chilled him more. White Collar wasn't supposed to encounter serial killers and violent criminals, but that was what he suddenly pictured when he tried to understand the man behind the facade. A man who killed on command and fought viciously to complete whatever job he was sent on. The charming and friendly man was only a mask, he couldn't imagine it to portray any remnant of the real man.
With the secret revealed, the man formerly known as Neal was gone, and life could pick up some semblance of normalcy… couldn't it?
His birthday rolled around, and a post card arrived. It was similar to how it had been in the old days when Neal would send him a teasing note while remaining safely out of reach.
Not wanting to think about the man, Peter simply slipped the card back into its envelope after barely reading the general message. The card was an artistic rendering of some site in Europe, but Peter wasn't going to research to find what or where it was located. He didn't want to trip over the news that someone had died and wonder if they were the target Bryce had been sent after, a very different kind of victim than Neal left behind.
No, instead it was safer to put the card in a new box. One titled 'Bryce' where he would put whatever cards and notes the man would send. However, this box wasn't kept at home as a fond chase with a brilliant and nonviolent opponent. This was kept at work, for a violent and dangerous stranger.
Everyone in the office knew who Neal really was. They understood why Peter had been so strongly affected.
The reveal hadn't simply been the unmasking of an undercover agent, it had been the destruction of his best friend, a sudden death if you will. While Neal Caffrey had been erased from the system and laid to rest, Peter was left to pick up the pieces of his life. He still had Elizabeth and his work, but there were holes where his best friend, partner, and favorite opponent used to be.
How he felt getting that first card was hard to describe. Was it a feeling of renewed betrayal, loss, anger, or more fear? Maybe it was a mixture of all afore mentioned emotions? Neal had been a lie, he was gone never to return, the man who had played the role had retained his cover perfectly to the end, but the real man was an unknown and dangerous risk. Peter hadn't sorted his emotions out yet, so as he put the lid on the box to return it to the shelf, he also shelved his thoughts of his former best friend. Their bond was severed, and it wouldn't do to continue dwelling on it.
It had been almost two years since Bryce left, and true to his word no one had seen him around. The man had vanished into the Black Ops realm with nothing left to indicate his continued existence beyond the random cards and notes he sent to Peter on holidays and personal events like his birthday and anniversary.
The box barely had the bottom layered with the little messages. Bryce never said much, and the pictures didn't necessarily indicate anything, so they gathered dust in between holidays.
"Doesn't it creep you out to be receiving fan mail from an assassin?"
Startle by his companion's question, Peter didn't have an answer. The man had a point. Wouldn't it be disturbing to know that an assassin knew so much personal information about you that he sent you reminders of your upcoming anniversary, and occasionally even pointed out appropriate gift ideas for something your wife would like? Shivering, Peter had to admit there was a creepy aspect to it, but it wasn't something he focused on. In a way, it was just normal behavior for the man after his behavior as Neal Caffrey. What didn't make sense was why he continued to send them. Since he was a spy playing a role, their friendship wasn't likely to be real. Was it simply for old time's sake because the man was bored? He must be bored a lot then, because even little holidays didn't always go missed.
Who felt the need to send a Star Wars themed post card on May fourth? Maybe it didn't make sense because it was from Bryce instead of Neal, but then that didn't make sense either. If their friendship hadn't been real, why would Bryce share anything real of himself? Confused, Peter couldn't help feeling like he was missing something, like it was staring him in the face.
Shaking his head, it was too late to answer his companion's question, so he didn't say anything at all. It was time to head back to work. Passing another patron of the coffee shop, it dimly crossed his mind that the article they were reading must be interesting, because their head ducked down for closer view as soon as he was close to them. There was something familiar about the man, almost like… shaking his head again, Peter didn't want to go there. Bryce wasn't spying on him in a coffee shop on his lunch break. The man had gone back to his real life and was only dropping random notes on holidays.
Another six months had passed and the notes had stopped. Bryce no longer sent anything. Not a post card, birthday card, or even a sheet of paper saying 'Hi.' There was nothing, absolutely nothing!
The lack of communication crossed Peter's mind when he didn't get a birthday card. It was the first time since 'Neal' had learned his birthday that he hadn't received a card from the man. He didn't expect it to hurt, but somehow, it did. His friend had forgotten him, but then the man wasn't his friend after all. Their bond had been a sham, just like the man performing the other half of the partnership.
That was when Peter realized he had to face the facts. Their friendship and bond had been real, on his side. He missed working with Neal, missed his annoying way of helping him through those bad days, and missed their way of talking through difficult cases like iron sharpening iron.
Why couldn't Neal be real, why did he have to be a black ops agent on assignment?
Suddenly, Peter found himself shivering. Trying to figure out why, the thought crossed his mind in more detail causing him to shudder.
What if Bryce wasn't writing because he was… dead?
Unable to prevent the thoughts that followed, Peter found himself plagued with images of Neal Caffrey. He was lying dead in the street of some foreign land while a shadow stood above him with a smoking gun, bound to a chair covered in blood as his head hung low and the torturer gave up trying to beat information from his corpse, a fiery explosion flashed through his mind while a man tried to escape the flames unsuccessfully. Horrible and excruciatingly cruel ways to die filled his mind. Even the FBI saw some bad ways for a person to die; it didn't take the black ops world to provide fuel for the imagination.
Then it crossed his mind that it wasn't Neal Caffrey, but Bryce Larkin out there facing these dangers. That didn't help ease his concerns, because he was still seeing the face of a friend going through pain and misery.
Even if Bryce was trained to handle such pains, and might have endured them before, he was also trained to inflict them on others which made it hard for Peter's mind to find sympathy for the man. But, even as his mind fought, his heart melted in fear at the thought of the man he had known going through such things.
For the first time since Bryce had left, he wished to get word, a glimpse, something to tell him that the man was alive and okay.
A post card would have been nice, but instead the word Peter received was that he had been suspected of something… very illegal. Something so bad that the CIA was sending Agent Bryce Larkin to investigate, and word on the street said he was investigating with a gun and bullets. The man he had once considered a friend had been sent to kill him?
Peter wasn't sure what to think of that, it must be some horrific nightmare. If only could wake up?
Unfortunately, it seemed to be his waking reality despite his uncertainty as to how it had come about. What had he allegedly done, and was it really so bad? It wasn't like he had done anything outside of his White Collar cases or anything beyond his usual FBI work. How had he stepped on the CIA so badly they wanted him dead?
Heading home to tell Elizabeth why their lives were about to turn upside down, he couldn't help the chill that ran down his spine. He was being watched by cold and dangerous eyes. Bryce must be nearby.
Not panicking, Peter knew he wouldn't see his end coming. Bryce had too much of a reputation for him to mess that up. If he was going to kill him, it was going to be a surprise attack he didn't see coming. This must be him watching and planning, choosing when and where to take the shot.
Entering his home, Elizabeth didn't take the news well. She was afraid and angry. "Why did he take the assignment to kill you? Does your friendship mean anything to him?"
"Maybe he intends to make it a mercy killing, be kind where someone else might try to torture me?" He couldn't believe his ears. Had he seriously said that? Did he actually think an assassin would disregard orders to save an innocent man? As much as he hoped so, he feared it wouldn't be the case. His guilt was already determined by a bunch of people who didn't know him; who accused him of a crime he was sure he probably hadn't committed. Not like he knew what the crime was anyway.
Unable to determine which direction to take her emotions, Elizabeth burst into tears. She was afraid for her husband, scared for herself, and definitely angry at the man she had once considered a friend.
With the clock ticking, Peter had to urge her to pull it together long enough for them to pack a bag. They were going to be transported to a safe house until the threat of Bryce was no longer an issue.
Peter knew it was futile effort at best, because Bryce was close by watching them, knew how the agency worked, and was brilliant enough to pull it off regardless of their protection's efforts. Still, for Elizabeth's sake, he would play along. So he packed a bag, got into an armored SUV, and rode with his wife tucked into his side as they were taken to an undisclosed location.
The next morning Peter's suspicions were proven true. He woke up with an orange suction cupped dart stuck to his forehead. In fact, every smooth surface in the hotel room had one. It was a message in and of itself, so the note in familiar hand writing only confirmed it.
"If I was going to kill you, you would be dead." was placed beneath the toy gun that had been used to shoot the childish ammunition around the room.
"Honey…" Elizabeth woke up questioning what had him disturbed, only to cut off when she noticed the mark on his forehead.
"Bryce was here. Exactly as I suspected, putting us in a safe house is futile." He slumped over as he sat on the edge of their hotel room bed.
"The room is several stories off the ground, we weren't followed, the agents took every possible precaution… how did he find us?" Elizabeth worried. She was more scared than anything. His little stunt had scared her.
"We're talking about a professional assassin with the skills of an internationally renowned thief. This wasn't hard, especially since he was watching us the whole time." He sighed.
"Oh, honey." Elizabeth had moved to wrap her arms around him from behind. She leaned into him crying at the hopelessness of their situation. They didn't stand a chance.
When the protecting agents entered their room to find the warning, they immediately began the process to relocate them somewhere more challenging to find. They were going rural and leaving the city. A single back country road was easier to watch than the multitudes of people and flowing traffic through the city.
Collecting their things, the agents used decoys and endeavored to ensure they weren't being followed all day. Then as night fell, they moved to leave the city.
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