CHAPTER TWO

"Illness strikes men when they are exposed to change."

March 11, 2011

The first thing that Neal took notice of when he woke up was how disgusting he felt. He stunk of seawater and sweat and his clothes clung to him with a grainy feel from the salt and sediments from the ocean. The second thing was that his stomach was growling and that he felt rather weak from the lack of a decent meal over the past forty-eight exhausting hours. Thirdly, Peter wasn't in his bed.

Neal sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes. The only light in the room was a ray of sun slipping around the drapes on the window, and some light coming from underneath the bathroom door. Peter's dress shirt and tie were lying on the bed. He heard the toilet flush and then Peter stepped out.

Neal started to smile and then he saw Peter's expression.

"Are you okay?"

Peter's reply was to shuffle back to his bed and sit down. That was when Neal saw Peter's ailment. His t-shirt exposed quite a gash down his right biceps. It was jagged and looked very painful. Peter had just cleaned it; the flesh around it was raw from scrubbing. Neal looked over to the dress shirt on the bed, wondering how he had missed it. There was some blood on the shirt, but not any amount Neal would have noticed in the dark. And once they had put on the sweatshirts obtained from their stolen car, Neal was sure to have never seen it. He glared at Peter.

"It's infected isn't it?" Peter nodded, already berated. "Damn it. Peter, this isn't good. That's very serious." Once again, Peter only nodded, not even meeting Neal's gaze. It was testament to how ill he was feeling. Neal was struck with pity and guilt. "Listen, you lay down. I'll go into town and get us some food and get you some medicine or something."

"Be careful," said Peter in reply.

Neal looked at him. "Listen to the pot calling the kettle black."

Peter smiled wearily. "I didn't think it was that bad at first. I thought from all that swimming that it would've been pretty cleaned out. And I didn't want to worry about it because we had to keep moving."

Neal shook his head. "We could've easily gone into some drugstore and got stuff to take care of that. It wouldn't have taken long at all. Damn it, Peter."

Peter smiled again, only to Neal's annoyance.

"What?"

"Now do you know how I feel sometimes?"

It took a moment for Neal to catch on, but when he did, he didn't look amused. "You think I would keep something like this from you?"

"Not necessarily this," replied Peter. "But when you do keep stuff from me, or go behind my back…now do you know how I feel?"

"Worried?"

"Yes, Neal, worried. Worried that you'll get yourself into trouble that I can't get you out of."

"I just thought you were always angry…or disappointed at the least."

Peter smiled ruefully. "Sure, but I'm always worried too."

Neal final let himself smile softly. He took some cash and grabbed a sweatshirt. Before he closed the door, he said, "I guess we're even, partner."

Peter smiled back and then lay down.

Neal returned an hour later with a hot box of pizza, drinks, antiseptic, bandages, and Ibuprofen. Peter was sound asleep in his bed, still on top of the comforter. The television was on ESPN and Neal quickly muted it and went over to Peter. But when he went to shake him awake, he felt how warm Peter was.

"Peter," he said softly, shaking him as gently as he could. "Peter."

Peter's eyes fluttered open and they had a glassy look to them. Neal was already pouring out two Ibuprofen pills as Peter slowly sat up. He held them out with a bottle of water.

"You'd better take these for the fever."

Peter downed it quickly and then kept drinking the water. Neal set the pizza down and then pulled out the antiseptic and bandages. Peter eyed it warily.

"We've got to clean it properly," said Neal, reading Peter's thoughts.

"Okay, okay," said Peter, as Neal went into the bathroom.

He returned with a rag and sat on the bed beside Peter and grabbed the antiseptic.

"How did you get this anyway," he asked.

"When we were climbing through that hole in the boat, I got caught on some piece of metal," said Peter. "I just pulled through it, which I guess is why it's not a smooth cut."

"That's why you came up so much longer after me," said Neal. "Well the good thing is that it wasn't that deep, which explains the lack of blood." He poured the antiseptic on the rag and the gently pressed on the wound. Peter breathed in quickly from the sting. "But that doesn't keep it from getting infected."

"You think Alex made it," Peter suddenly asked.

Neal paused in his ministrations and frowned. Truthfully, he hadn't even thought about Alex all this time. But he nodded. "Well, we escaped from an exploding submarine in the middle of the Atlantic. Alex is just as resourceful. I'm sure she found a way out of there. Or she at least made a deal to prolong her life."

"No honor among thieves," stated Peter.

"It's not just thieves that have a strong sense of self-preservation," shot back Neal. "You must be the exception, though."

"I take care of myself," retorted Peter. He tried to pull away when Neal scrubbed harder.

"Sure you do."

When Neal was finished cleaning that gash, he bandaged it up securely. But this didn't magically make anything go away. Peter still had a fever. In fact, it appeared that it was getting worse. They devoured most of the pizza and then Neal persuaded Peter to go take a shower. While he was showering, Neal took Peter's clothes downstairs to the motel's laundromat to get them washed. He also washed his own shirt to try and get some more comfort. But with no clothes to change out of, he couldn't wash his own. When he returned, Peter was back on his bed, wrapped in a towel and watching television. He looked more alert after the shower, but he still didn't look any better. He changed back into his clothes and then went to sleep. Neal took this opportunity to wash take a shower, which he found very refreshing, even after having to slip into his still dirty clothes.

The refreshing shower didn't wipe away their problems though. Peter woke up coughing and then threw up all his pizza. From then on, Peter slept fitfully while Neal hovered. The fever continued to rise that afternoon and when Neal took off the bandages, the wound looked worse. He cleaned it again; this time Peter was too out of it to register the pain from the antiseptic. But Neal woke him up long enough to have him down two more Ibuprofen with some pizza crust. He hoped that the plainer the bread, the easier it would be to keep it down. Neal was relieved when he didn't reject any of it, and actually seemed to sleep more soundly after that.

By sundown, Neal was leaning back in a chair beside Peter's bed with his feet propped up on the bed, sound asleep.

Sometime around midnight, he woke up to Peter having another coughing fit. Neal raised him up so that he could breathe more deeply and Peter woke up. But he was delirious and called for Elizabeth momentarily before passing out again. The fever had spiked and Neal knew he truly had a situation here. Trying to prolong any need to scrap the entire mission and call paramedics, he grabbed and wetted down a few rags and towels from the bathroom. He placed one on the back of Peter's neck, another on his forehead, and wrapped one around each of his wrists. He kept Peter drinking every half hour and nibbling on some pizza crust. The wounded man began to sleep better and Neal was relieved to feel that the fever was going down.

He began to think that miracles might really be true.

When he thought that Peter was out of range of danger again, he climbed into his own bed as sunlight started seeping through the drapes. And he dreamed. He dreamed of a completely different world; that world he had lived in when he was a kid: just he and his mom. Looking back, he knew that everything hadn't been right. But when he was a kid, he thought everything was perfect. As long as he was with his mom, it was all okay. He wasn't aware of all the dangers in life; or all the things that could make you sad. Those were the days he desired to go back to. That was the life he would always want. That was the life where the worries were few and the grass was greener and the sky bluer just because he didn't know any better. He dreamed about those days for no particular reason. Maybe his mind had decided that he needed some reprieve.

His mind was right. But this time he woke up to the sound of snoring. Neal smiled, turned over and fell asleep again.

They both finally stirred around noon that day. Peter was kind of weak, but once they finished the pizza and got something to drink, he was better off. Neal forced him to take some more Ibuprofen and then cleaned the wound and changed the bandages again.

"We need to get out," Peter simply stated after that. "Let's get out, get some sun, and work out our plan. Otherwise, we'll be stuck here forever."

Peter was grumpy; Neal knew better than to argue, even if he was stronger than Peter at the moment. So, they went into town.

They split up (albeit Neal had no desire to leave Peter on his own) to get some necessities. They decided that splitting up and going to a bunch of different stores would decrease suspicion on them. They didn't want to show up at the same store and pay for everything in cash. They both got some new, comfortable clothes, toiletries, duffle bags, shoes, socks, undergarments, pocket knives, flashlights, sunglasses, and haircuts. They met back up for lunch looking a lot better than they had over the past few days. They looked like two guys passing through town on a road trip; which was exactly what they wanted people to think.

"So," said Peter, as they waited for their meal. "We know he has accounts in Europe. He said so."

Neal nodded. "My guess would be Germany. When I worked for him, he mentioned he still had family there. It would be a good way to hide stuff."

"Good," said Peter. "First things first, though: we need to get to Germany. We need to get out of the country, undetected." Neal smiled and Peter couldn't help but give a slight groan. He heaved a sigh. "Listen; I know we're going to have to do some stuff that I don't exactly approve of, but let's not go all out here."

"We'll need new IDs—"

"Especially since we don't have our real IDs anyway."

"—and some passports. Now, we can get new IDs anywhere, but the passports are going to be tricky. Well, I could do them, but we'd need the right equipment…"

"We need to figure out where we're going next."

"I thought you said we were going to Germany."

"We are. But Neal, look around, there isn't any international airport around here."

"The nearest one is Charleston."

"Can you make passports in Charleston?"

"I've heard of a guy you can do IDs. Maybe he knows where we can get our hands on passports."

"This is serious."

"I know."

"No, I'm talking about the whole forging passports thing. Do you know that this is how terrorists get in the country?"

"Yes, Peter, but we aren't terrorists and we're leaving the country."

"That's not the point, Neal!"

Neal sighed and Peter glared. This wasn't going to be easy. They both knew it.

"Okay," said Neal. "How about I make the passports? And then I'll destroy the equipment. We'll get the passports from someone else."

Peter nodded slowly. "If that's the best we can do."

"It is," said Neal. "Short of turning these people in." Peter looked like he was about to hop on that idea, but Neal shot him down quickly. "And if we snitch on them, they give our descriptions to the police and bam…no more going after Adler. But don't worry. I'll steal the equipment or something and then we'll destroy it. That okay?"

"Sure," said Peter, resigned. "Now we need aliases. And we need a reason to be travelling together."

"How about we're just going on a vacation," said Neal. "We can act like we're brothers."

"We don't look anything alike."

"Thank God for that."

Peter smirked and shook his head. "Fine. Brothers…half-brothers."

"Sounds good brother from another mother," joked Neal.

Peter tried to hide a smiled. "And you tease me about being nine? C'mon, focus. We need names."

"Pick something you're familiar with," coached Neal. "Something you'll respond to. Because we might have these names for a while."

Peter thought for a moment. "Paul. After my brother."

Neal nodded approvingly. He looked at Peter and said: "Paul."

"So what about you?"

Neal replied without hesitation. "Matthias."

"Matthias? That's kind of a random name. There a story about that?"

"You'll always be the agent, huh?"

"Always."

"He was a friend I had when I was a kid before we moved away," replied Neal nostalgically. "If I ever had a best friend when I was a kid, it was him. We called him Matti."

Peter smiled. "Does that mean I can call you Matti, too?"

Neal glared. "Absolutely not. That was a nickname for the kid with a weird name."

"So you're going to be the kid with a weird name too?"

"You gonna keep this up? Cause I didn't make fun of your name."

"You can't make fun of Paul."

"I could call you Pauli."

The waiter came then with their food and Peter was kept from retorting to that. Neal grinned triumphantly, but as the waiter was leaving Peter said, "Could you get my friend, Matti,here, some more napkins. He tends to be a little messy." The pout he got from across the table had him laughing harder than he had in days.

That afternoon, they packed up their stuff, planning another nighttime drive, hoping to reach Charleston early the following morning. Neal toyed with the amber necklace, which hadn't parted from his pockets once. Peter was silent as he watched him.

"I can't leave Elizabeth like this," he said suddenly.

"I was thinking about that," said Neal, eyes still on the necklace. "And I don't know how we're going to get this through customs without bringing too much attention to ourselves."

"We can send it to Moz," said Peter. "We could send a message or something…"

Neal looked at him when he stopped talking. He narrowed his eyes at Peter's grin. "What?"

"I've got an idea," said Peter.

()()()()()()

March 15, 2011

Elizabeth found herself paralyzed in front of the two headstones. She and Peter had their two plots in a cemetery outside Manhattan. After waiting a few days for the chance of finding the bodies, Elizabeth had finally decided to go on with the funeral services. No one came to claim family to Neal, so his friends in Manhattan took care of that. Elizabeth gave up her plot for Neal's headstone, since everyone had agreed that having Neal placed beside Peter was fitting. Even though there were no bodies, there was a short ceremony to lay down the headstones after a longer service held at a church.

The church was the mobster Borelli's church. When he had heard of their deaths, he had contacted Hughes to relay a message to Elizabeth that the service could be held at his church, free of charge. Elizabeth had readily accepted; glad to have to worry about one less thing at a time like this.

The service had been quite nice; though Elizabeth was sure Peter would've thought that it was too much for him. She was surprised at how many people showed up and who showed up. Aside from a lot of her family members and all of Peter's family, nearly all of the FBI from the city showed up as well as a good number of NYPD. Elizabeth knew some of them, recognized others, but was struck by the many people she had never met. Some, when giving her their condolences, even said that they didn't even know Peter or Neal, but had come to pay their respects nonetheless. Then, there were the number of people who were standing in the back, close to the exits, and with their eyes darting from one law enforcement officer to the next. Elizabeth assumed these were some of Neal's former contacts, who had come to pay their respects.

After the headstones were laid down, Elizabeth spotted Mozzie and Alex watching solemnly from a distance. Sara came up beside Elizabeth, and laid down some flowers before Neal's headstone. Diana knelt in front of Peter's headstone and placed her hand on it briefly and Jones came to lay a hand on her shoulder. That was when Elizabeth found herself paralyzed.

It struck her quite suddenly, that the partnership between her husband and Neal had created quite a community. There was the black of Mozzie and Alex, the gray of Sara, and the white of people such as Diana and Jones. They had somehow all came to know and respect one another and for some it was even more. Elizabeth couldn't help but think: what now?

Would she ever see Mozzie again? How many times more would she see Diana and Jones and Hughes? Would she ever have a chance of going over to June's again? Whatever romance that had been building up between Sara and Neal, one Elizabeth had hoped would make Neal happy again, was gone. Whatever chance there had been that Mozzie would become more comfortable in helping out the FBI was voided. The future that they had all been wondering about wasn't the same anymore. Elizabeth felt as if connections had been severed.

Elizabeth remembered all the lectures Peter would give Neal about revenge versus justice…she was having a difficult time deciding which one she wanted right now for the man who had taken her boys away.

Back at the house, after the services, there were only a few people left around: Elizabeth's mother and sister were there for her support, as well as Peter's immediate family: his brother and sister and his parents. June had parted only a few minutes earlier, and now Hughes, Diana, and Jones were saying their goodbyes.

"I want you to know, Elizabeth," said Hughes. "That if you every need anything, you can call any of us at the Bureau. You're still a part of our family. Never forget that. We'll always be there for you."

Elizabeth was lost for words and gave her gratitude with a strong hug. Hughes just nodded and

Modest Jones stepped forward next and just took her hand, and gave her a kiss on the cheek to which Elizabeth responded to with another hug. Diana just hugged Elizabeth tightly and whispered, "We'll get him. He can't take my boss and favorite reformed con from me without answering to me."

Elizabeth just looked at her and said, "Diana—". She paused and looked at Jones as well. "This goes for both of you. You both respected Peter, so hold onto his words. You remember what he always told Neal about justice and revenge. You two be careful and don't do anything you would regret. Don't do anything that you wouldn't do if Peter were alive. You understand me?"

They both nodded, thoroughly admonished. "We do," they said simultaneously.

"Good," said Elizabeth. She felt a rush of tears again, just looking at them, thinking of all the times they had been in the house, lounging around while working on a case into the ungodly hours of the night. "Oh." She opened her arms wide again and they both hugged her at the same time. "I'm so sorry. I just…I just can't bear to think of anything happening to anyone else. You promise me. Promise me that you'll be as safe as possible."

"Promise," they replied together.

She smiled. "Thank you."

They left and when she turned around the rest of the family was looking at her with mixed expressions. Her mother was smiling softly. Elizabeth collapsed onto the couch beside her, letting her head rest against her mother's chest.

"Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth opened her eyes and looked to Peter's mother who was seated at the dining room table, looking through photo albums with her daughter.

"Yes?"

"Was Peter's partner, Neal Caffrey, was he truly a good man?"

Elizabeth smiled, even though more tears were coming to her eyes. "Let me put it this way: I'm glad he was there with Peter in the end."

()()()()()()

March 16, 2011

Elizabeth got up from bed that morning, much later than usual. She had had a difficult time getting to sleep these past few days. The bedroom wasn't the same, and even with Satchmo beside her to mimic the presence of her late husband, her mind could never go to ease. It was eventually exhaustion that drove her to sleep. But she was taking off a lot of time from work—as much as she would need—so she slept in.

Her sister was staying with her, but there was a note on the table saying that she had gone to the grocery store. Elizabeth just wrapped herself in her robe and made herself some coffee and sat out on the patio, enjoying the nice day. Then, the doorbell rang and Satchmo barked. She went to the front door and was surprised to see a delivery man there.

"Elizabeth Burke," he asked.

"That's me," she said.

"This is for you," he said, handing her a small package. "Sign here."

She signed, said thanks, and then went inside, intrigued by the gift. The stamp was a picture of Charleston, but she knew no one from there. There was no return address either and it was very plain. She opened it up and gasped.

There was nothing else in the box except a few, hand-picked, dried up purple azaleas, held together by a piece of paper. She slowly picked them up, looking at them as if they might turn to dust. She carefully pulled the piece of paper from around them. She unraveled it and read: I'm sorry, hon.

She had to sit down quickly before she collapsed. She felt dizzy as her eyes went from the note to the azaleas. She wracked her brain to make sense of it. Was it a dirty joke? Or did it mean what she thought it meant? But how could it? How was it possible? Alex's story had to be true…unless she was covering for them? Covering for someone?

She thought about the symbolism. Only one other person knew about the azaleas.

After calling her sister and saying that she had to go see someone and not to worry about her, Elizabeth quickly got dressed and drove off. She was in such a hurry, she found herself driving more like Peter.

When she got to the mansion, she barely knocked before walking in. The maid was flustered and agitated about her unwelcomed entrance, but Elizabeth kept walking. "June?"

June was there in an instant. "Elizabeth, darling, what is it? How are you?"

"I need to find Mozzie," Elizabeth blurted out.

"That's odd," said June. "He went upstairs. He was going to call you…" Elizabeth was already going upstairs. "Elizabeth, what's going on?"

She opened the door to Neal's apartment. It looked just as it normally did, including Mozzie on the couch, sipping wine. He sat up quickly when Elizabeth burst in.

"Mrs. Suit!"

"Mozzie! I have something I have to show you."

"I called your house, but no one answered. I figured you were doing something, and couldn't be bothered…"

"Moz, listen to me."

"I'm listening."

"You're the only one outside Peter and I that knows about our safe word 'azaleas'," she said. "Right? You never told a soul, did you?"

"I told Neal."

"Besides Neal."

"No, I would never break that trust. You know that."

"I do know that. I'm just making sure."

"So what do you have to show me?"

She took the little box out and handed it to Mozzie. He looked at it and his eyes went wide. "Neal told me about how Peter and you call each other hon, and it's the equivalent of saying 'I love you.' You think…?"

"I want to believe it, Moz," said Elizabeth sitting down beside him.

"Believe what. What's going on?"

They looked up to see June standing in the doorway.

Elizabeth made a decision that she knew would hurt, but she had to protect what she thought may be true. "I'm sorry, June, but you can't really hear this. There's a lot going on. I trust you…I really do…but—".

With a wave of her hand, June cut her off. The elderly woman smiled. "You do not have to explain yourself to me. I'll just leave you two alone to talk. Call me if you need me."

Elizabeth couldn't be more grateful. "Thank you."

June left and shut the door behind her.

"So why can't we tell June," asked Mozzie.

"Because if this means what I think it means, then secrecy is of the utmost importance," replied Elizabeth.

"But you said you trusted June," said Mozzie.

"And I do," shot back Elizabeth. "But the less people that know, the less people that are in danger."

"So what is it exactly that you seem to believe," said Mozzie. "That they're alive?"

"Yes," Elizabeth practically screeched. "No one else knows about the azaleas, my favorite color is purple, very few people know about the whole 'hon' thing. Mozzie, do you think it could be true?"

Mozzie looked at her for a moment and then got up from the couch. "Yes, I do." He walked over to the table and set his glass down. "Because I received this earlier today."

From one of the chairs, he pulled out a bread basket with an orange ascot tied onto it.

Elizabeth's jaw dropped. "It has to be them."

"It was even addressed to this house with the name Dante Haversham," said Mozzie. "And there was one other thing." He pulled from the bread basket an amber and gold necklace. "How else would amber get mixed into all of this?"