Chapter Two
"You sure about this?" Agent Hughes met his eyes with a steady gaze, pen poised above the page.
Peter had asked himself that same question several times over the past few days.
Was he sure?
He was sure he wanted to make the offer; sure that Neal Caffrey was the best he'd ever worked with. He was also sure, to keep the reputation and success rate it had gained over the past five years, the very metrics that had propelled both he and Agent Hughes a rung up the Federal Ladder, the White Collar Division needed to keep him.
What he wasn't sure of was whether or not Neal would accept the offer.
Even though it had been Neal's idea to work for the bureau in the first place, his offer to do so had been solely motivated by self-interest. And, to be fair, when Peter accepted it, he had been likewise motivated. He hadn't expected the arrangement to last long; Neal Caffrey wasn't one to follow the rules or abide by agreements. When he'd picked him up outside prison over four years ago, and Neal had flashed not only his newly acquired ankle monitor but a victorious grin as well, Peter had hoped he could keep him in line long enough to catch the Dutchman. Anything extending beyond that, Peter felt, was just borrowed time.
There had been times since that day he'd questioned the wisdom of having Neal, bound only by a piece of paper and a tracking device, serving his sentence as a CI. There had been even more when Agent Hughes had verbalized his own misgivings about the arrangement. There had been several occasions he'd summoned Peter to his office, reprimanded him severely and threatened to pull the plug on the whole deal and send Neal back to prison.
But he hadn't. In fact, he'd sometimes even interceded with his superiors, calling in favors and manipulating the system he knew so well on their behalf.
Why had he done so? Because, as he reluctantly admitted, in spite of the difficulties, of Neal's tendency to bend the rules and work outside the acceptable bounds of FBI protocol and Peter's tendency to let him, there was no arguing with the results the two of them produced. Now, because of those results, Hughes had moved up two floors in the Federal Building and Peter, now Section Chief had moved two doors down into Hughes' old office.
Peter suspected there was another reason Agent had intervened. He had, like the rest of the team, come to like Neal. The truth was it was hard not to like Neal but like him or not, no one expected him to complete his sentence outside prison walls. He was brilliant but reckless and his perchance for trouble made that prospect highly unlikely; Peter suspected even Neal had his doubts. Yet here they were, hundreds of cases and almost five years later, and Neal was three days short of doing just that.
Peter had been surprised that as the end of his sentence approached, Neal hadn't mentioned or alluded to it at all. There was no talk of five-star restaurants he'd been deprived of or any teasing comments about visiting Art Museums that were out of his radius. He hadn't even asked whether or not the Bureau intended to honor their bargain or if they'd found some loophole, some past transgression, to use to keep him in the anklet and on the job. It wasn't like that hadn't happened before.
If it had been anyone but Neal Peter might have thought he'd forgotten, had just lost track of time, but he knew better. He remembered Neal's cell, the way the days had been meticulously counted down, mark by mark, on the wall above his bed. At least, up until the day Kate had visited for the last time; there had been no marks after that. Peter had no doubt Neal knew down to the minute when his time would be up but he hadn't brought it up or gave any indication that it was even on his mind.
Finally, unable to wait any longer for Neal to say something, Peter had done so himself. He broached the subject, opened up a door for discussion, but Neal hadn't walked through. Instead, he'd make a vague, a noncommittal comment and let the conversation die. Peter knew he was thinking about his future, planning what he was going to do once he was free, but evidently, he didn't want to discuss it.
At least not with him. Peter imagined it was a constant topic of conversation with Mozzie.
In the days following their brief exchange, Peter detected a change in Neal. It wasn't just that he seemed more preoccupied, with everything going on Peter could understand that, but he also became increasingly distant. There was no popping into his office uninvited the way he did at least once or twice a day and he'd declined to join the team for lunch on three occasions. Even when he did come along, he'd said very little and took minimal part in any discussion. He was closing off, withdrawing, and that was cause for concern.
He'd even turned down a dinner invitation from Elizabeth and that never happened. Unless...
"Why do you automatically think he's hiding something?"
They'd finished dinner, the one Neal had passed up, cleared the table and were now relocating to the living room. Elizabeth had known Neal for almost five years; Peter couldn't believe she even had to ask.
"Because it's Neal, El," Peter replied, picking up the television remote from the coffee table before sitting down in the overstuffed chair. "I know him and he knows I do; that's why he's avoiding me."
"Did you ask him about it?" she asked, taking a seat on the sofa. "Ask if something was wrong?"
"What could possibly be wrong?" He snapped irritably. "He's less than two weeks from being a free man. He can walk away from White Collar, from New York, and do whatever the hell he wants."
The bitterness of his tone brought a look of confusion to his wife's face.
"But I thought you were happy for him," she frowned. "You even said you hoped he would-" She stopped, her brow smoothing and a look of understanding dawning in her eyes. "That's it, isn't it?" She remarked softly, searching his eyes. "You're afraid he's going to walk away; not just from White Collar but from you."
As soon as the words came out of her mouth he knew she was right. That was it. He'd hoped at the end of his sentence Neal would choose to keep the life he'd built in New York, to keep working with him at White Collar not because he had to but because he wanted to. But the day was quickly approaching and Neal hadn't said a word about it.
"I just thought he liked working with me, with the team," he corrected. "I thought he might want to stay but I guess not."
He wasn't bitter; he was disappointed. Hurt even. Neal had become such a fixture at the office, in his life, that he couldn't imagine either one without him. It hurt to realize that without an agreement or a tracking device, Neal had no reason to stick around. He and Mozzie probably had their sights set on an island somewhere. One without an extradition agreement with the States. God only knew what they'd been cooking up.
"How do you know he doesn't want to stay?"
"Because he hasn't said anything," he explained again. "He hasn't asked me what I thought or if I could check into it for him. Nothing. Not a word."
"Have you?"
"Have I what?"
She looked at him in exasperation. "Said anything about wanting him to stay at White Collar."
"Of course not," he replied dismissively. "I can't tell him that."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not telling him I want him to stay unless I know he wants to."
"Let me get this straight." Her tone was one of pained patience. "You want Neal to stay but you can't tell him because you're afraid he'll turn you down."
"Or laugh in my face."
"Did it ever occur to you that Neal might feel the same way?" she asked, looking at him like he was daft. "That he might be waiting on you to say something?"
That thought had actually never occurred to him.
"Not really," he answered hesitantly, now wondering if that could be true. "I figured if he wanted to stay on at White Collar he'd tell me."
"And risk having you laugh in his face?" She shook her head. "The two of you are too much alike. Swallow your pride and talk to him, Peter."
"I gave him an opportunity to say something and he didn't," Peter protested. "Now it's up to him to come to me and-"
"It not that complicated," she interrupted sternly, her patience at an end. "If you want Neal to stay, cowboy up and tell him." It stung to have his own words directed back at him. "If you don't, you're going to regret it the rest of your life."
Again, he felt the truth of her words. Elizabeth was right; if he didn't ask Neal to stay he'd never know if he would have or not. He might turn him down but the pain of wounded pride faded faster than the pain of regret.
It was that conversation that had propelled him to action and brought him, paperwork filled out and ready to be signed, to Agent Hughes office.
There were only two days left before Neal's agreement with the FBI came to an end. He still hadn't said anything about his plans and neither had Peter. But he was going to; Friday afternoon when he removed the tracking device from Neal's ankle one final time.
During the morning briefing, Jones had half-jokingly suggested a full-on Anklet Removal Ceremony but both Neal and Peter had quickly nixed the idea. They'd done it simultaneously, then looked at each other in surprise. Neal's cheeks had reddened before dropping his eyes to the sheet in front of him and Peter, feeling his own cheeks burn, quickly moved on with the next item on the agenda. He knew Jones and Diana felt the tension in the air. He was pretty sure everyone in the office did. It had been steadily increasing as Neal's last day approached.
He was saving his offer for the last minute because if Neal declined, the awkwardness that followed would be brief. They'd exchange goodbyes, make promises to stay in touch they wouldn't keep, shake hands, and part ways.
It would hurt to see Neal go but if he did, Peter would know it was because he wanted to and not because he'd been waiting for an invitation that never came.
"Peter?" He looked up to see Agent Hughes, pen still poised above the paper, frowning at him. "I asked if you were sure about this."
Was he sure?
"I'm sure, sir."
"Okay, then." Hughes flipped to the back page of the stapled sheets, signing his name as the Assistant Deputy Director just below where Peter, as the Special Agent in Charge of the New York White Collar Division, had already signed his.
"Neal George Caffrey," Agent Hughes mused, shaking his head as he handed the paperwork back to Peter. "A bonified employee of the Federal Bureau of Investigation." The corners of his mouth curved upwards, transforming his perpetual frown into a thin, straight line. It was as close to a smile as the man usually got. "Never thought I'd live to see the day."
Peter placed the paperwork back into his briefcase. "Well, you haven't seen it yet, sir," Peter reminded him, getting to his feet. "There's still one signature missing."
A vital one; Neal's.
"Well, I have faith in you, Agent Burke. After all," the older man's eyes twinkled with amusement, "if anyone can catch Neal Caffrey, it's you."