A/N: The Neal Caffrey charm has gotten me. I decided to write this to answer some questions the show's left me with. There will be spoilers in this. It takes place before the events of Judgement Day, but there's definitely some information from the episode that influenced the plot of this. Hope you enjoy!
"Start spreading the news."
Neal recognized the voice of old Frankie the minute he opened the door at June's.
"I'm leaving today."
He grinned, taking off his hat and setting it on the table near the stairs before walking through the front entry, looking for his land lady. He found her standing near the record player, humming along to the song with her eyes closed and a smile on her face. Neal leaned against the doorframe of the living room, tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks, lips tilting into a smile while he watched. Listening to the lyrics, Neal couldn't help but think at that moment that the song almost felt like Frank Sinatra was singing an ode to him.
Finally, he couldn't help but chime in, straightening and singing along, "These little town blues are melting a way."
June opened her eyes and practically beamed at him, holding out her hand and beckoning him over to her. Neal, knowing what she wanted, strode across the room and took her hand, pulling her toward him so they could dance.
"I want to wake up in a city that never sleeps, and find I'm a number one, top of the list, king of the hill." Neal continued to serenade her as they did a slow spin around the living room. June was glowing, looking like a woman forty years younger.
Neal gave her a little dip as the song finished, Frank holding out the final "New York."
June let out a laugh. "Neal, you always know how to show a girl a good time."
He grinned at her and straightened them both. "Oh no, June, it's you always showing me a good time - I just try to keep up."
She smiled again, then leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for the dance."
"It's always a pleasure," he said, releasing her. "What's the occasion?"
"I found a few of Byron's records. He loved this song."
"Well who wouldn't?" Neal said. "Nothing but truths in it."
June laughed. "There's no denying that," she said. "Your mail's in the front hall." She walked over to the record player to remove the vinyl.
"Thanks, June," he said with a parting smile, turning to retrieve both his mail and his hat, and make his way upstairs to his apartment.
He was humming New York, New York as he entered. He'd been in a hell of a good mood the last few days. Peter was no longer upset with him, the treasure, though disappointing to lose, was no longer able to cause a rift between him and Mozzie, he didn't have to leave New York, and, the creme de la creme? He was getting a commutation hearing. He might actually have the opportunity to be off anklet - free - for good.
"I'll make a brand new start of it, in old New York," he sang under his breath as he flipped through his mail.
A postcard gave him pause. It was a picture of the Statue of Liberty, ironically enough, considering the song in his head. He turned it over, frowning when he realized the only thing written on it was an address and 11pm - Alone. The last time he got mysterious postcards they turned out to be from Keller. But Keller was in jail - it couldn't be him.
At least, Neal was fairly certain it couldn't.
He thought about calling Peter, but if this did have something to do with Keller, Neal couldn't help but want to leave him out of it. The Burkes had suffered enough from Keller's games.
His door opened without warning. "You know, Neal," Mozzie said, striding into his apartment as if he lived there. "The appeal has been lost."
Neal, back to the door, hurriedly but smoothly slipped the postcard into his suit jacket without Mozzie even noticing. Then he turned to look at his friend, continuing to flip through his mail. "The appeal?" he asked.
"Having been (albeit briefly) a billionaire, I am finding it rather difficult to adjust back to the normal small time dealings to which I was once so accustomed." Mozzie immediately went for Neal's wine collection.
"Moz, you didn't really even have the opportunity to live like a billionaire," Neal replied, setting down his mail on the table, though his mind was still on the postcard.
"That is not the point. The point, my friend, is that I was one. And I knew I was one. So finding myself back on the street con is just a bit, shall we say, disappointing."
"I know," Neal placated. "But just think, you did it for Elizabeth. She's safe because of you."
Mozzie poured himself a glass of wine, mulling the words over. "I suppose that's a decent consolation."
A few hours later, Neal checked his watch. Ten o'clock. If he was going to go, it should be soon. Might not hurt to get there a little early and case the place.
"Hello, earth to Neal," Mozzie said, and Neal realized he'd been lost in thought and had completely missed whatever Mozzie had been saying.
"Sorry, Moz, what was that?" he said, giving him a charming and apologetic smile.
"Do you have somewhere to be?" Mozzie asked, raising his eyebrows behind his thick glasses.
"What?" Neal said.
"You've been checking your watch periodically all night," Mozzie replied. "As if I wouldn't notice."
Normally Neal would have told Mozzie about the postcard, but with all that Keller had cost him (billions of dollars, for example) well, he thought that maybe it would be a better idea just to deal with this on his own. Besides, it might not even be Keller.
"Sorry, yeah, actually," Neal said. "We're doing a stakeout at eleven and you know how Peter gets when I'm late."
"Oh, well, far be it for me to keep you from helping the Suits impeach on the freedom of fellow criminals," Mozzie said, taking another sip wine and not looking like he had any intention of going anywhere.
Neal smiled and stood. "Have a good night, Moz," he said.
Mozzie merely lifted his hand in a wave. "Yeah yeah. Go on, the Suit awaits."
Peter was reading in bed next to his wife when his cell phone rang.
Elizabeth looked at the clock, which read eleven. "Don't they know what time it is?" She said with a teasing smile. It was the FBI, Peter and El both knew they didn't care about what time it was.
Peter smiled back at her. "Have I told you lately you're a saint?"
"Not recently," Elizabeth said with a grin.
"You're a saint." Peter leaned over and kissed her before answering his phone. He frowned as the person on the other end spoke. "How long?" He listened. "All right, keep an eye on him, I'll see if I can find out what's going on." He hung up with a sigh.
"Neal?" Elizabeth said, knowing that look fairly well by now.
Peter gave her a half smile. "I asked the Marshall's to let me know if he even got close to the edge of his radius."
"But I thought it didn't matter where he went as long as he's inside the two miles?"
"It doesn't," Peter said. "It shouldn't." He sighed again. "But after this whole treasure mess, I'm just wary, I guess."
Elizabeth gave him a quiet smile. "He told you he didn't want to run," she said. "Even when he had the chance, he decided to stay. I know it's hard, but I really think you can trust him."
"I do trust him," Peter said. "It's his judgement I don't trust." He leaned over and gave her a kiss. "I'm sorry hon, but I've got to go check his tracking data."
Elizabeth smiled. "Try not to stay up too late."
Peter was at his kitchen table, staring at Neal's tracking data. He'd made his way out to a fairly terrible area of the city around 10:30, and he'd stood at a particular address for nearly forty five minutes before starting to walk again. He wasn't headed home though, just walking around.
"What are you doing, Neal?" he asked no one in particular.
Finally, he couldn't take the curiosity. He considered driving out to find him, but figured that would only make it painfully obvious that he was still spying on his CI. Neal had been in a great mood since Peter had forgiven him for the treasure debacle, he seemed to be genuinely helpful and happy to be at the bureau. Peter didn't want him to know he still was having a hard time trusting him.
So instead he picked up his phone, figuring he could make something up about why he was calling at eleven thirty at night.
The phone rang several times as Peter watched the dot that represented Neal move around the screen of his laptop.
"You've got him in your clutches and you're still calling him, Suit?"
Peter frowned as Neal's phone was answered by what was obviously Mozzie.
"Mozzie?" he said. "Where's Neal?"
"What do you mean, where's Neal?" Mozzie replied. "He left over an hour ago to meet you at your big government sponsored stakeout."
"My… stakeout," Peter repeated. Neal had lied to Mozzie? What the hell was going on? Peter decided it was better not to alert the little guy. He and Neal had just managed to repair the rift that the treasure had caused between them, and honestly, he didn't want him telling Neal that Peter had an idea something was going on. "Right. Why do you have his phone?"
"He left it on the table in his rush to be on time and keep you happy," Mozzie said.
"Must be why we're having trouble meeting up," Peter replied. "Thanks." He hung up the phone before he could hear a snide comment, eyes still glued to the screen of his laptop.
Neal quietly and cautiously approached the address from the postcard. He had his hat on, and it cast his face in shadows as he walked under street lamps, not that he was really concerned about being spotted. The location he'd been given was in an area of the city where most of the buildings were abandoned. The only people he'd seen so far were a few homeless and one probable junkie who'd been curled up and shaking by a dumpster.
He stuck out like a sore thumb with his crisp clean suit and tie, and he was starting to wonder if that wasn't the point.
Maybe he should call Peter. Coming alone and not even telling Mozzie where he was going might have been a stupid idea after all. Decision made, he reached into his pocket for his phone, before realizing with a jolt that he'd left it sitting on his table at the apartment.
"Way to think ahead, Caffrey," he muttered to himself, stopping as he reached his destination and taking a look around. The place itself was like most of the buildings in this neighborhood. Boarded up windows, rotting doors. Nothing special from what he could see.
He checked his watch. Ten thirty. Half an hour early. Maybe it would be best to find a more secluded spot, to see who arrived; but he didn't get the opportunity because the person he was meeting had apparently come early as well.
"Ben," came a voice from behind him.
Neal - cool, collected, unflappable Neal - visibly started at the name. No one had called him that since…
He spun around, blue eyes wide and staring, heart pounding.
"Sorry," the man said. He was tall, thin, with dark curly hair that had bits of grey peppering through it, and he was returning Neal's gaze with the same blue eyes and a slightly rueful smile. "I guess it's Neal now, huh?"
Neal swallowed, trying to get enough control of himself to speak. To say something. Anything.
All he got out was, "Dad."
