Of Course, Mrs. Ellington
Tell all the Truth but tell it slant
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind
Emily Dickinson
The sky was clear, a translucent blue, tranquil in its anticipation of the coming October rains. The sun was lazily inching its way across the horizon, soon to be bright as the yellow roses cradled in her lap. Still damp from her garden, the smell of fresh earth and the sweetly scented buds stirred her memory. She loved this time of day, before the world was fully awake.
"Good morning, Neal."
"Morning, June. What's gotten you up so early?" he moved toward his friend seated at the patio table.
"Byron used to come out here to watch the sun come up. I think this was his favorite place."
"Been thinking of him?" He knew she had. In October it would be seven years since Byron died.
"Not a day goes by I don't think of him. But actually, it's you that's been on my mind. Come sit with me."
At that moment, Marguerite one of June's staffers approached with a tray filled with breakfast foods and a steaming pot of coffee.
"June, you shouldn't have. I'm afraid I don't have much of an appetite."
"I know, she looked at his thinning frame. You need to eat."
"Anything else, Mrs. Ellington?"
"Yes, Marguerite. Would you be so kind to bring me a vase for these?"
"Of course, Mrs. Ellington."
"I meant to tell you how spectacular the rose garden is," Neal poured a cup of coffee for her.
"Byron and I planted it the year he took sick. Roses were always his favorites, yellow roses especially. He said they reminded him of sunshine. Not having the sun to shine on him was one of the hardest parts of prison life he told me once, feeling separated from the earth, it's smells, the feel of damp grass under his feet after the rain."
She saw a flicker of recognition cross Neal's face, a shared memory of suffocating concrete and wire caged straight jackets.
"I'm sorry about your father, Neal."
"I am too," he ran his fingers lightly over the rim of his coffee cup and stared mournfully at the plate of fruit in front of him.
"Have you learned any more about what happened to him?"
"Peter called last night. He thinks we might have gotten a break in the case. Organized crime may be willing to do a deal with the Bureau. Apparently they have someone undercover in the Flynn organization, tapes which might lead to those responsible in the FBI. But there are Rico hurdles."
"How's Peter doing?"
"Working non stop. If anyone can find them. He'll find them. I haven't made it easy for him. He doesn't want me involved. He's worried I'm not able to think clearly. Afraid I'll do something stupid."
"You do know he has your best interest at heart?"
"I do. I would be dead if it weren't for Peter. He saved my life that night. But I can't sit this out, not now. Finding who did this...it means everything to me."
He seemed so raw. Exhausted. Dark circles stood out below those beautiful blue eyes. Her heart ached for him.
"I want to be that guy, you know... steady, truthful... normal," his shoulders rolled forward. But normal isn't what I feel. What if I lose myself one day and start to hurt people? Maybe there's something wrong deep down inside me, something broken like my father."
"And you're afraid Peter can't accept that, can't accept you."
"He so much wants me to be a better man. He's put his life... his job on the line convinced I can be. I am so tired, June. Am I ungrateful? I just …I... I need someone not to want anything from me right now, not to expect me to be anything more than I am... just for a while." He let go of the tears filling his eyes.
"I know sweetheart." She laid her hand on his. He prayed she wouldn't move it.
"You haven't slept in days, you need to rest."
"Where? he choked out.
She saw him through old eyes and felt old memories of another morning and another young man who sat across from her, lost and searching. It was the day she learned to trust.
Wcwcwwc
"Neal, are you okay? Is anything wrong?" Peter asked anxiously.
"No. I'm good."
"I thought we agreed you were going to take some time off. I promise you. I won't keep anything from you. The minute I learn anything, anything at all. I will call you."
"I can't sit home, Peter. Please. Let me help. You know I can."
Peter looked out across the Manhattan skyline. Lines were going to be crossed, nothing would be the same again. A fire raged through him. There were hard things he needed to do, and truth be told there was no one he would rather have with him than Neal Caffrey.
"Okay, he ran his hand through his hair. Okay. But we have to work this together, no daylight between us."
"Thank you, Peter."
"Diana's pulling together all the intelligence. The Organized Crime team should be here shortly. We"ll meet in the conference room. I'll have Jones bring over all the files we have and you can get up to speed."
"You won't regret this."
But he already did. The last 48 hours had been hell. A combination of adrenaline and stale coffee was the only thing keeping him upright. He knew it was worse for Neal. And there was no way he could protect him from what was going to come out in this meeting. His chest tightened as he watched his partner, his friend take the stairs to the bullpen.
"Caffrey, how you feeling" Jones asked with an uncharacteristic tone of sympathy in his
voice.
"I've been better. Peter said you had the updated files."
"Yeah. I'll have Amy our temp bring them down to you. Hey, if you need anything?"
"Thanks Jones. What do we know?"
"Organized crime was investigating the acquisition of a financial company with known ties to crime families. They had a wiretap and undercover operative in place, when an SEC filling revealed a connection to a minor player in the Flynn organization."
"The family my father was involved with."
"Right. Turns out the Flynn organization is just the tip of the iceberg. They followed the trail all the way to OPR."
"The Office of Professional Responsibility. Fowler."
"I'm sorry Neal. Your father's involvement reached all the way to the top of the FBI. Peter's making the case that we be brought into the loop. Look man, I got to get this up there."
"Right, go."
There it was. Suddenly he felt the air go out of the room. He needed to focus now. He promised Peter.
"Hi Neal, agent Jones asked me to bring these."
"Yeah Amy. Let me help you with that." he took the files from the cart.
"Thanks .You look like you could use one of these, she placed a cup of coffee in his hands. Someone brought these from the new siphon coffee bar up the street. I snagged this one for you. It was the last one."
The hot coffee felt good against the growing dryness in his throat. It was all he could do to keep focused on the files in front of him, as the drama played out in the conference room feet away from him. Peter promised he would let him know as soon as he had something. He wasn't sure if it was the coffee he had earlier or just the anxiety of not knowing, but he was increasingly queasy. He felt ill. Maybe he needed to take a walk, get some air.
Light headed, he leaned against his desk and opened the collar of his shirt. His hands trembled lightly as he fumbled with his tie. He thought of his mother for some strange reason, silent and sad. Mom is this okay, he would ask as he dressed himself for school. Most days she was trapped in herself, unaware, unresponsive. He tried to shake off the unwanted nostalgia. He thought better of leaving as his head began to spin.
"Caffrey, you okay?" Diana was in his personal space.
"Yeah, it's just a little hot in here."
"Not as hot as it is in there, she nodded toward the conference room. I wouldn't want to be organized crime. Peter's like a man on fire."
The first drop of sweat was cold against his spine. He hated it might stain his shirt. It belonged to Byron. Somewhere nested in his body was the beginning of a fever. He tried to reassure Diana, knowing full well she was never taken in by his cons. He continued to work under her suspicious gaze and through the mountain of files Amy piled on his desk, while training an eye on the men in the conference room.
It hit him in the gut first, sharp and painful. He stood, closed his eyes but he couldn't calm himself. Everything was spinning and murmuring around him. Something had invaded within. The dependable body that functioned normally was flying apart from inside. He clenched his fist against the desperate pain and fell.
"Neal!"Her voice was urgent. She was touching his face.
"Caffrey! Man, C'mon breathe." Jones had joined her.
They wanted him to do something, concentrate on something. Something in the past, something in the future, something in the light maybe in the dark. He was confused. Why wouldn't they tell him. How can you fix something, if you don't know where it's broken. His hands felt cold. The pain in his stomach was unbearable, he was trying to control it.
"Jones, try to keep him still. Where's EMS?" she was shouting to the agents pouring into the space.
"Diana. What happened to him?" Peter was demanding answers no one could give him. Searching for some explanation in the midst of the chaos enveloping him, he looked into the eyes of the only one who could tell him.
"Neal, buddy talk to me."
He wanted to speak, but nothing would come out. The gravity of his situation seemed dulled. It must be deep exhaustion. The doctors said his mother suffered from it too. He found her on the bathroom floor once. Ellen said to call her if it happened again and she would come take care of it. Mom, I'm not supposed to call unless it's an emergency. The weight of his body was overwhelming. He wondered if he would ever get up from this floor. He needed Ellen.
"Neal, help is coming. You're going to be okay. You're okay." Peter spoke with a depth of feeling that seemed to rise up from the core of his being.
I'm so much better he thought. Someone was whispering in his ear you're okay, nothing to worry about. Be a good boy Neal and let mommy rest. He was good at faking understanding, practiced in being all right, fine, okay. In the beginning he cried a lot. It didn't hurt as much now.
"Boss, the paramedics are here."
"Peter, let them do their work," Hughes squeezed his shoulder pulling him away.
His pure blue eyes were open and his chest rose slowly in shallow breaths. Everyone looked on, focused on each breath and waited. They stood watch for him, a silent vigil. The medics worked in unison like a precision instrument, completely focused on the body under their hands, the body that lay completely still now.
Amy glanced at the origami flower on her desk and remembered the day he'd given it to her. His hand brushed against hers and she blushed. Everyone warned her, Neal Caffrey was a unredemptive flirt and a con man. The combination definitely meant trouble, but he was so nice. She was just a temp, no one noticed her. But he always found a way to make her feel special. She didn't care if his smiles were reflex . She trusted him whether he deserved it or not. They were cutting away his shirt and favorite tie. She leaned against the wall and her sob broke through the silence.
"Clear!"
He heard far off the sound of someone crying. He had stopped feeling any pain when the sudden jolt to his chest shocked weary synapses and he remembered he was good, fine, okay.
"We have a pulse, we got him back."
To be continued, thanks.