Chapter Three
Just as expected, and promised, Neal spent the entire morning reading about some of the most boring crimes ever committed. He sifted through pages of case notes, reports, and statements, noting any discrepancies or details that didn't line up. This wasn't his favorite kind of work, he preferred more active, hands-on operations, but he was good at it. Once he got started and focused in, it was like solving a puzzle. He examined each piece, sorted and re-sorted, twisted and turned it until he found where it fit. It took attention to details, patience, and persistence but, bit by bit, piece by piece, in time he would get the whole picture.
After Jones had delivered the files, Neal had been pretty much left on his own. Ever so often one of the agents, passing in front of him, either entering or exiting the office, would give him a nod or a word of greeting but he saw none of his team except at a distance. He'd caught glimpses of Peter through the window of his office, but he hadn't descended the stairs since he climbed them at 7:45 that morning. Jones and Diana had been up and down them several times, meeting with Peter either in his office or the adjoining conference room, but he had never been invited to join them.
Instead, he'd been kept at his desk, behind stacks of mortgage fraud and copyright infringement while the more exciting, more interesting cases were discussed without him. He tried not to take it personally; after today he wasn't part of White Collar or the team anymore. There was no reason to include him in briefings on ongoing or upcoming investigations. Still, it would have been nice to have been asked to sit in, just in case he had something helpful to add. He had been included yesterday, but not today.
He'd done good work for the Bureau but he'd caused a lot of trouble too. Because of that, and without constant supervision and a tracking anklet to monitor his every move, Peter had come to the conclusion he was more trouble than he was worth; more risk than reward. The sentiment he'd seen when Peter picked him up at June's had been sincere, but it hadn't been enough to make him change his mind.
Whatever hope Neal had had this morning had entirely dissipated by noon.
This was really it; his last day at White Collar. There would be no more looks of irritation when he propped his feet up on Peter's desk. No more looks of pride when he made a connection everyone else had missed. No eating take out in the conference room, going over the last details of an operation. No more cases to solve, no more van duty with Jones and no more threats of bodily harm from Diana. No more being part of the team. He glanced around as people went about their business like this day was no different than any other and yet for him, after today, nothing would ever be the same.
Suddenly overwhelmed, Neal put down his pen, leaned back in his chair and, taking a shaky breath, raked his hand through his hair. This was insane, he told himself. He had to get a grip. Today should be a day for celebration, not despair. At five o'clock the anklet was coming off; he'd have his freedom and a whole new life in which to enjoy it.
That all sounded great, but it didn't feel that way. The problem was he didn't want a new life; he liked the one he had. He couldn't explain it. Not to himself and especially not to Mozzie. He liked living in New York, having a place to call home, a place to belong. Not just at June's but here, on the 21st floor of the Federal Building as well. He knew that wasn't what Mozzie wanted to hear but it was the truth. He liked working with Peter; the man who pursued him, caught him and sent him to prison but who still found a way to see good in him. Neal hadn't known how much he needed that in his life until now when he was about to lose it. A lump rose in his throat and he raised his eyes for the umpteenth time to the offices above him.
And locked eyes with Peter. Having left his office, he was standing on the catwalk, peering down at him.
Neal felt his face flush. The only thing worse than feeling this way was having anyone know about it. He quickly turned his attention back to his desk, picked up a file, and tried to look busy. He could feel Peter watching him for another half minute before he turned and returned to his office.
WCWCWCWCWCWCWCWCWCWC
It had been a crazy morning. End of the week, end of the month, end of the quarter with a vacation coming up; the paperwork alone was like wrestling a bear. In addition to that, he'd been called about three separate cases as prosecutors worked, like everyone else, to wrap up tasks and clear their desks for the long weekend.
Peter hadn't spoken to Neal since they'd walked in together. Neal had been in a good mood, excited about the day even though he knew it would be spent behind a desk reviewing case files. If he had any reservations about leaving he was certainly hiding them well. He knew practically down to the minute when his time on the anklet, and at White Collar, would be up.
During the morning, any time Peter had glanced down to the end of the office Neal had been at his desk, head down, working on the files Jones had given him. Neal didn't like that kind of work but he excelled at it. Peter had no doubt he would have ferreted out details in the files other agents had missed time and time again. Neal was as good an investigator as any agent in the bureau and better than a lot of them. Behind a desk he was amazing; in the field, he was nothing short of phenomenal. The two of them worked together like well-oiled machinery. They'd even earned the nickname the Dynamic Duo.
White Collar needed Neal. But more than that, he needed him.
He knew their relationship was complicated and he didn't usually give it much thought. It seemed better that way. Neal was a CI, a criminal serving a sentence, and he was his handler, the person held directly responsible it Neal deviated or went off course in any way. But it had gone so far beyond those roles that Peter no longer even tried to rationalize it.
He'd never imagined when the case file had arrived on his desk that he was about to embark on the most exciting and, later, the most fulfilling journey of his life. And finally apprehending his quarry had just been the beginning. He'd joined the FBI to make a difference and though he'd felt he'd done that on occasion, he'd never felt it more profoundly than when he'd taken on the responsibility of Neal Caffrey.
Neal was smart, and he liked smart but more than that he liked Neal. He'd realized that during the three years he'd chased him. He avoided violence, only stole from those he thought could afford it, and was by far the most amiable and generous criminal Peter had ever pursued. He wasn't a bad person; he was just young, impulsive and misguided. Peter liked to think he'd been a steadying force in Neal's life, a compass of sorts that helped him stay on course. Neal was so much more than a criminal; he was a good man and a good friend. If nothing else, Peter hoped their years together had taught him that.
He had learned from Neal, too. He'd never admit it and if he did there would be no living with it, but Neal had enriched his life in a way he'd never thought possible. He'd always found his job challenging but with Neal on his team, he found it enjoyable. Working with Neal not only made him a better agent, but it also made him a better person. He'd learned to compromise, to bend without breaking, and to accept that his way wasn't always the only way. More importantly, Neal had helped him loosen up, enjoy more and laugh more.
Peter didn't want to lose him, not just from his team but from his life, but it was a lot easier to ask him to stay on behalf of the FBI. He had the paperwork in his desk, all it needed was Neal's signature. Since his talk with Elizabeth, he'd been watching more closely for an indication that she was right, that Neal didn't want to leave any more than Peter wanted him to go, but until now, he hadn't seen one.
If anyone knew Neal Caffrey, knew how to see past his smooth and unruffled exterior, it was him. He'd studied Neal when he was watching and more importantly when he wasn't and over time he'd learned to detect when something was bothering his CI. Neal could portray any emotions he wanted with convincing authenticity; that's what had made him such a good con man and now, such an excellent undercover operative. But Peter had learned that real emotions, especially those that shook Neal the hardest, were very seldom put on display. Neal protected them like a dragon guarding its hoard. Where dragons used fire to turn away those who got too close, Neal just turned on the charm, smiled and deflected.
Unless, of course, he was drugged. Then he not only would invite you into his well-guarded lair, but he'd also stuff your pockets with rare treasure, revealing truths and making confessions a lucid Neal would never dream of doing. Those moments had been illuminating, giving insights that helped him decipher Neal's behavior even when his defenses were back and operating at full force.
It had taken years, but he'd accumulated a relatively extensive list of Neal's tells. They were subtle and would go without notice unless a person was explicitly looking for them. They were all that came through Neal's extensive emotional filtering system but, like any distilled substance, they represented the emotion in its purest form. Peter had seen Neal in a variety of situations over the years and had gotten pretty good at interpreting which emotion Neal was hiding behind his placid face, shuttered eyes and bright smile.
He'd watched Neal from the catwalk for several minutes before he'd looked up, blushed and looked away. His body language had been classic Neal In Distress and the expression on his face in the brief moment their eyes had met told Peter Elizabeth had been right; Neal looked positively distraught. He was having a hard time and finally, it was beginning to show. Neal hadn't been avoiding him because he was up to something, he'd been avoiding him because he was upset and didn't want Peter to know it.
While he'd been waiting on Neal to say something, Neal had been waiting on him. Fear of rejection had kept them both silent.
Peter hadn't gone to lunch; he'd worked straight through and so had Neal. He guessed neither one of them had much of an appetite.
The last time he'd asked Neal to join him he'd turned him down but this time, he wasn't taking no for an answer.
He took the paperwork from his desk and grabbed his jacket.
It was time to cowboy up.