A/N: Well...what can I say? It's been, what, two months since I posted the last set? So much for getting them up quickly, haha. I think the premiere of White Collar last night (OMG IT WAS SO GOOD AHHH) pushed me to get this set done at long last. And after this there's only one more. One set of ten and it's over. At last. Thanks to all of my reviewers, and sorry for the wait! Enjoy!
31. If I Fell—Evan Rachel Wood (Across the Universe)
For a long time Elizabeth Burke thinks she is in competition with Neal Caffrey for her husband. She'd never met the apparently handsome and charming young white collar criminal, but she'd glared holes into surveillance pictures of him while her husband was off chasing him rather than eating dinner with her. Then she does meet him, and her view of the situation changes. In person, Neal is even more attractive than his pictures, and it's his personality that really makes him smoking hot. The pictures don't capture the mischievous tilt of his smile, or the charm of his voice, or the way his eyes light up from inside. After meeting him, El knows that she isn't in a competition for Peter.
She's in it for Neal.
And not with Peter. He's not her contender. She sees the way her husband looks at the man and knows instantly that under other circumstances she would still be fighting Neal for Peter's attention, for Peter's love. But no, she loves Peter and she has more than enough room in her heart to also love Neal. She's perfectly willing to make a nice little hollow in their home, in their relationship, that Neal will slide right into. He'll click into place and everything will be perfect.
If only she—they, her and Peter—can win Neal.
And the problem is Kate.
El has no doubts that Neal does love Kate. What she does doubt is how much Kate returns the feeling. She's seen the surveillance pictures of the woman as well, but she's never paid attention to them. Now she digs them out, staring at them, searching for signs that she's a lying, backstabbing, traitorous ho. Anything that will give her ammunition in this unsaid war. Of course, surveillance photos don't tell the whole story, or capture the whole person.
She ignores Kate, and sets out to draw Neal in, little by little. Between her efforts and Peter's efforts he comes, dragging his feet a little, looking over his shoulder as though Kate will be right there. But he enters permanently into their lives, taking that place that they have set out just for him. He doesn't click though. He holds back, she holds back, and they're both waiting for Kate to show up and destroy everything. By this point, she knows that Peter is in love too deep for him to ever get out, and she's sure that Neal returns the feelings, but she's not so sure of where she stands.
She doesn't want to love him, if he's going to run off and abandon them at the first flash of Kate's pretty blue eyes. (Privately she thinks that her own eyes are prettier, but that's just petty, isn't it?)
Finally, it reaches a point, and she can't bear to stay silent. She sends Peter off on an errand and corners Neal as he plays with Satchmo. She's shaking, standing with her arms folded, watching him. She's terrified that she too is already too far gone, and that both she and Peter will be left with their hearts in shambles. Neal is a thief, after all.
"Neal?"
He looks up, eyes laughing. When he sees her, he frowns. "What's wrong Elizabeth?"
She licks her lips. "I—I need to know something."
He tilts his head and stands, stepping towards her. "What? You can ask me anything. I'll even try to tell the truth," he says, easy smile inviting her to be happy.
She doesn't know how to say what she needs to be said. "Are you going to leave?"
He's confused. She sees it in the tilt of his head, in the pout of his lips, in the way his eyes narrow just a little. "No…?"
She shakes her head and tries to stop shaking. Damn involuntary muscle spasms. He reaches out and touches her arm, frowning more when he feels her trembling. "Elizabeth, what's this about?"
She meets his gaze. "Do you love us?" She uses the word us, but really, she means me. She already knows he loves Peter. Anyone with eyes knows that.
"Of course I do!"
"More than her?"
His eyes go wide with understanding, and then he steps forward and pulls her into his chest and presses a kiss to her forehead. "Yes," he says, with no hesitation and no cloudiness, and for all that he's a damned good con-artist and practiced liar, she doesn't think that he could fake this. (God she hopes he's not faking.) "I—you're real, El. She's not." He kisses her cheek and whispers in her ear: "I'm not running away."
Then he kisses her on the lips and the tightly wound tension drains from her body.
Bring it on, Kate. He's ours now, and you can't have him back.
32. I'm Dying Tomorrow—Alkaline Trio
His life doesn't flash before his eyes when the bullet enters his chest. There's no montage of memories sliding through his mind as Peter bends over him, pressing hands to his bleeding wound; the flurry of paramedics and the jolting ride in the ambulance all happen in crisp, vivid clarity.
He passes out just before they reach the hospital, and when he comes to, he's blinking up at a white ceiling with a heart monitor counting time. Peter is crumpled in a chair, resting his head on the edge of the bed. El is asleep in another chair right next to her husband; she is strung between them, one of her hands holding his, the other reaching across and gripping Peter's hand. As he stirs his hand twitches, an involuntary muscle spasm as he comes out of his medicated stupor and the motion wakes her. Her hand clenches his—the motion just as involuntary as his own—and her head jerks up and she meet his eyes with a watery smile before she launches into motion, waking Peter and calling for nurses and doctors and the room floods with people.
It's only later that his life plays itself out in front of him. He wakes from a morphine-induced sleep and lies in the darkened empty room. (Peter and Elizabeth were convinced—read: prodded, pushed, thrown out—to leave at last, but promised to return first thing in the morning.) The memories, when they come, run like strips of film, a little jerky, unconnected, the pieces of a movie without any of the polishing. Maybe he's dreaming, as the pictures swim in front of him. Drugs do tend to have odd effects on the mind, and maybe this is a drug-induced manifestation, his subconscious throwing a fit about his tendency to put himself in dangerous situations.
Whatever it is, the memories are bright and colorful and his life plays itself out in front of him. He's not sure what he thinks about what he sees. There is the first con he ever pulls, the first forgery, the first theft; there is the first time he meets Mozzie, then Kate, then Peter Burke. There is the job that gets him caught; there is the trial; there is his first night in prison and all the ones that follow. There is the last time he sees Kate. There is Peter, again, brighter; there is Elizabeth and Satchmo, June and Jones and Lauren and Diana.
There, at the end, is the life he wants and never even knew he didn't have. It's not a life filled with stolen paintings and lavish surroundings and Kate's bright eyes. Instead, it's a quaint little home and two people offering him a place that he slides right into.
He wakes in the morning to find them both there, almost as though they'd never left. Peter asks him how he's doing, then proceeds berates him and threatens him with painful sounding punishments if he ever puts himself in danger again; El swats her husband on the shoulder, but the look she gives him says virtually the same thing. They stay with him until a fire-breathing nurse kicks them out, saying that FBI credentials or no FBI credentials visiting hours are over and they can come back tomorrow. El glares at the nurse so hard he half-thinks that the woman will burst into flames, but in the end, the nurse gets her way. Peter pats him on the shoulder and El kisses him on the forehead, and they promise to be back as soon as they can.
And he knows that they will.
33. Somewhere Only We Know—Keane
Neal Caffrey fancies himself a fortress, one that no one can penetrate. On the outside, he is charming and warm and with one smile from him, people think they are his best friend, think that he is someone they can trust their life's secrets to. Neal gets under other people's skin. He gets into their head and their heart and knows every little nook and cranny there. But he doesn't let anyone in. He doesn't let anyone breach his walls. It has a lot to do with trust, and his distinct lack-there-of.
Of course, Neal isn't quite as good at keeping people out as he'd like to think. His walls have cracks in them, minute fissures that the people in his life squirm their way through. Mozzie does it. June is starting to. Jones is on the outside of the walls, searching for the cracks. Elizabeth is half-way through and shows no desire to quit there.
Kate got inside. It's debatable as to whether he let her in or if she just broke him down enough to make a hole big enough for her to squeeze through. But she got inside, and once there she danced around and threw off the balance and structure of things and grew like ivy on the interior walls. She got inside and made herself right at home. But that doesn't mean she was invited in. Neal Caffrey doesn't invite people into his life, and especially not into the inner sanctum that is his true self.
Peter is the exception. Peter starts breaking his way in with a chisel and a hammer, upgrades to a sledgehammer, and finally resorts to a battering ram. He makes it through the first couple of walls with sheer blunt force, before Neal finally flings open the doors and lets him in. There's no keeping Peter out, and he knows it eventually. So he gives up on trying to keep him out, opens the door wide, and lets Peter in. It takes a while—a long while—but in the end Peter is the one who is invited and Kate is just the criminal who broke in through the window. She has no right to be there.
But Peter belongs.
34. Sing for the Moment—Eminem
The problem with Neal is he's always looking for the next move, for the next plot, the next scheme; he's three moves ahead of everyone else and already plotting for the next ten. And that means that he doesn't live for now. He doesn't take pleasure in the actions, just goes through the motions with his head in the clouds thinking about what comes next.
That's not how Mozzie lives. Of course, Neal Caffrey isn't the only person in the world capable of living with every moment and detail planned—Mozzie is perfectly capable, thank you very much—but who really wants to live like that? Mozzie lives right now. He pays attention to every little thing around him, keeping an eye on the authorities and an ear on the gossip, always ready to get up and run. That's the nice thing about his life; he can just up and leave and no one will blink. Neal is always ready to run too, but the kid can't just quietly slip out. No, everything has to have that added drama with Neal, even though the kid doesn't want it.
But Mozzie, he lives right now. Outside the edges of conformity, not caring about what the normal people think. He lives in a storage unit—and Neal's underhanded comments about his housing just amuse him, 'cause he knows what's really important—and he pulls jobs whenever he needs a little added income. He lives right on the border between the criminal world and the world where people scurry around like little robots to the Man.
And, God, he loves living there. He does what he does, is what his, lives the way he wants, and that's all he needs.
35. The Ocean—The Bravery
Neal runs. And this time, when he does it, he means it. He means to be gone. He means to never return. He finds the edge of the world and tumbles off it; he burns away like droplets of water hitting heated pavement. He stands under a showerhead somewhere in the world and washes Neal Caffrey away, scraping with short nails until his skin is bright pink and he is no longer Neal or Caffrey or anything remotely resembling either. He abandons everything when he runs. He leaves them all behind, scratching their heads, wondering why they didn't see it coming. Even Mozzie. Particularly Peter. Kate is already gone.
He moves. He never stays in the same place long, he never plays the same person, and he never lets himself make attachments. He hides his tracks well, burying every hint of his existence carefully. He doesn't want to be found. He's sure that Peter scours every inch of the earth for him, but he manages to evade. He does not want to be found, and so they do not find him.
Neal Caffrey—the one who existed before, the one he has erased, the one who now has no name and no identity and is wind gently tracing the earth without touching it—dies. Whoever he was is gone so thoroughly that it as though he never existed at all. But the morphing shell of who he is—was, can be—retains one thing from the old. It's Peter, a fading image of him that keeps stirring around in his head. The longer he loses himself in becoming nothing the more the features of the image blur. He can't quite remember the exact color of Peter's eyes or the quirk of his mouth; he doesn't remember the placement of freckles on Peter's neck or the pattern of his favorite tie.
He wonders, sometimes, if the details would all come flooding down if he were to go back.
But he doesn't, and the memory just continues to dull until it's nothing more than a silhouette.
36. I Love College—Asher Roth
Neal likes colleges. When he's a teenager, he sneaks onto the campuses and tries his hand at being older. He slips into classrooms and sits among people five, six, seven years older than him and he hides in plain sight among them. He listens to the teachers and learns about advanced subjects that he shouldn't even hear about for another two, three years. More importantly, he slithers his way into the sub-culture of the students, listening to their conversations, keeping an ear on the gossip and the underpinnings of the unique college society. He knows who throws the best parties, who got busted over the weekend for underage drinking, who hooked up with whom, which teachers are easy graders and which ones are assholes. He puts on the guise of a college student, goes to college parties, and learns how to become anyone. He learns from the best, because college students are, after all, masters of lying, bullshitting, sneaking around, social skills, parties, manipulation…it goes on. And he learns.
When he "grows up", college campuses provide new opportunities. They're easy marks for his early cons. He practices being younger, makes sure that he can still blend in and be anyone, even when he's now five, six, seven years older than everyone else around. He charms the professors and the students alike, plays games to see how many he can get to fall under his spell. He researches his jobs, lets the classes he sneaks into spark new ideas in him. And a college campus is the perfect place to hide. No one ever asks too many questions. He learns from the populace in a different way than when he was younger. He looks to the diversity, to the shining moments of intelligence and the delightful downpour of youthful stupidity. College is a wonderful mix of the naive, the brilliant, the stupid, the ignorant, the street-wise, the criminally-inclined, the straight-and-narrow.
So when a case pops up and it is necessary for someone to go undercover at a college campus, he cheerfully volunteers.
He is not, however, amused by Peter's choice of undercover identity.
"Peter, why am I a frat boy whose pants are around my ankles? Why can't I be the well-dressed hot political science major?"
"No one talks to well-dressed 'hot' political science majors."
"Yes they do!"
"No, they don't. Everyone knows that political science majors are the assholes of college campuses. Look at politicians."
"…While I see your point I still think that you're biased against poli sci majors. Only a very small percentage goes on to major in Asshole-ness."
Peter smirks. "You were one, weren't you?"
"I never went to college. I just happened to sneak into a lot of poli sci classes. And literature classes. And art. And history. A couple of science. Maybe one or two math. And philosophy."
Peter stares at him. "Did you get a free college education?"
"Quite possibly." Peter glares and he sighs. "You're going to make me dress like a frat boy, aren't you?"
"Yes, yes I am. I'm going to make you wear a sports jersey and a backwards cap too. And pants that don't fit."
"I hate you sometimes."
"That's what you get for cheating the education system, Caffrey."
"I didn't cheat the education system. Merely…took advantages of its weaknesses. All I did was sit in on a few classes. Made my own student ID so that I would have full access to the libraries, school functions, cafeteria, that sort of thing."
"Caffrey, shut up and put these jeans on."
"Do I have to?"
"Yes." Peter smirks, far too amused for his own good. "And then you have to pose while we take your student ID picture. You'll look adorable, I'm sure."
He takes the offered pile of clothing and scowls. "You'll get yours, Peter Burke. You will."
"Don't forget—the hat goes on backwards!" Peter calls after him.
37. Coyotes—Jason Mraz
Sometimes when Neal Caffrey looks at his life, he doesn't know whether to laugh hysterically, cry, or turn himself in to an insane asylum. Or, actually, he could just turn himself into the FBI. They're right over there, in the black van parallel parked not-so-subtly around the corner, right where they have a perfect view of him, Kate, and the quaint little café that they get coffee at every morning.
He smiles over his cup at Kate. She's beautiful. She smiles back at him, not showing the faintest sign of unease at the fact that a van full of FBI agents is stalking their every move. Every hair on her head is in perfect place; her lipstick doesn't smudge, leaves no print on the edge of her cup. He reaches across the table and intertwines his fingers with hers. They talk quietly about everything and about nothing at all. They can't have conversations of substance, not here. They have listeners.
So he sits in the café, every morning without fail, sipping coffee with Kate, playing games with the FBI. What he's really doing is casing the gallery down the block, the one he's going to rob in about a month, the one that he walks past every day when he goes from the café to the office building where he works in a cubicle and makes his plans. And the FBI trots along at his heels, following him through his daily routine. On the outside, he's just a normal man, sipping coffee with his girlfriend, straight-laced and blissfully unaware of criminal activities. But out of sight he's a man juggling knives, fearful of the slip of the hand and the slice of the blade.
He finishes his coffee, places the cup on the table, kisses Kate goodbye, and walks towards his office. He rounds the corner before he hears the engine of the van kick up and he grins to himself, glancing at the gallery as he passes it. The FBI can watch him all they want, but when it comes down to it, they'll still have no idea how he pulls the robbery off.
Not this time. This time he's in control. (And oh, doesn't he play innocent so well?)
38. I Did It For You—David Cook
To be honest, no day in the FBI is normal. Peter is used to this. He's used to the cases and the danger, just as used to the long hours and the mounds of paperwork. He works in an office—sometimes—and he wears a tie and a suit, but that's about as close to normal as he gets with his job. And while he works in less dangerous division—most of the time, anyway—where he's more likely to deal with a scrawny young man who thinks he can get anything he wants with a wink and a smile (read: Neal Caffrey) there are some cases that are darker and dangerous and remind him of the depths of human depravity. Sure, he's not working Organized Crime where the real sick things happen, but he gets his fair share of disturbing sights.
It starts to weigh on a person, after a while. If he let himself, he'd see a shadow around every corner; see something dark, dangerous, and slightly psychotic in the flicker of every person's eyes. He'd trust no one. He sees it happen to some of his co-workers. He sees it happen to the schmucks in Organized Crime all the time. A lot of them burn out. Luckily, that doesn't happen to him. He's got a secret weapon.
Her name is Elizabeth Burke.
He doesn't know what he would do without El. He looks at Neal and sees the heart-sickness in his eyes after Kate dies, and every time it makes him think of El, it makes him think what if I were Neal and El was Kate? and sometimes when he thinks that he can't bring himself to look Neal in the eye, because when he does he gets a little knot inside of him saying: what if you lost El? And sometimes in Neal's eyes, he sees the hardness, the look that tells Peter if he ever gets his hands on the people who killed Kate he will kill them. Neal's not a violent person, but Peter sees the capacity for it in his eyes. (He doesn't blame him. Killing is the least of what he would do to a person who hurt El.)
But when they do find Kate's killers, when Neal stands in front of the man, holds a gun in his hands, and has his finger tight on the trigger, Peter stops him. Of course, he stops him. He can't let Neal become a killer. He can't let his friend do something that would destroy him from the outside in and the inside out. Neal's just a kid—despite his protests that no, he's actually thirty-one, Peter knows that he's a little boy, he's Peter Pan who never wants to grow up—and he's not a killer, no matter what capacity might be inside of him. And there's one more thing that makes him stop Neal, one thing that has nothing to do with how he feels or how Neal feels and has everything to do with Kate.
Because if Kate was anything like El, anything at all, she wouldn't want Neal to be a killer.
Neal puts down the gun. Afterwards, Peter goes home and wraps himself in El's embrace and holds her tightly and has never been more grateful for her.
39. Maybe This Time—Glee Version (Kristin Chenoweth)
In high school—a little nothing high school in a little shit town—Neal Caffrey was miserable. He knows, logically, that for many people high school is a pit of misery and despair, but he feels that his experiences are at the top tier of misery and despair. He was awkward, shy, the strange child in the back of the classroom who never spoke, who just had glazed over eyes as he daydreamed about a different life. He had no friends, had no girlfriends, never went to prom, skipped all his yearbook pictures, was absent as often as possible. When he was present he was ignored or bullied. At home, his father alternated between yelling and fists, most times with a beer bottle in his hand. His mother skipped out when he was thirteen. Maybe she'd had enough of bruises and tears. (To this day, he still wants to know why she didn't take him, why she didn't come back for him, why she left him.)
High school was practice for being a ghost. He got his diploma, stole his father's debit card and cleaned out the bank account, cut his hair, changed his clothes, changed his name, and became Neal Caffrey.
He doesn't look back, ever.
40. Those You've Known—(Spring Awakening)
The headstone is small and marble and cold beneath his hand. His fingers come away wet with the dew. It's barely light and the world is just a bit misty, as though here the wall between living and dead is thinned down and tangible. He lays the bouquet of flowers—yellow roses and tulips, her favorite—in front of the headstone, and then he stands, looking at it. He wants to sit, but this is an expensive suit and the grass is wet and look how he's still concerned about the trivial things. Standing is punishment, for not being able to save her. He'll stand until his knees lock and his muscles ache and he feels pain. Then, he can sit.
She's buried next to her father. The headstone bears the inscription of her name and the dates of birth and death and your standard daughter, friend, beloved and it's just…tacky. There should be something more. A line from her favorite poet, a sculpture in the style of her favorite artist, something about what she loved and who she was, not what she was. Anyone can be a daughter, friend, beloved. Not everyone is Kate though.
When Peter shows up, he's not surprised. The cemetery is out of his radius, after all. He could have called Peter and cleared it and everything would have been fine, but he shouldn't have to ask permission to come here. And maybe he wanted Peter to show up. Maybe he wanted to be found.
"That was an interesting wake up call." Peter says. He shrugs, not looking towards the man. Peter approaches in silence until he's right behind him. He hears an intake of breath, a hesitation, and then Peter speaks again. "How are you doing?"
He wants to roll his eyes, but it feels a bit irreverent when standing in front of Kate's grave. He settles for a look over his shoulder and a raised eyebrow. "I'm standing in a graveyard, Peter."
Peter flushes. He's bad at the comforting-reassuring thing. And at emotions. And at articulating emotions. Elizabeth usually makes up for his lack of ability, but she's not here right now. "Point taken." He turns back. The flowers are bright against the dull sky and the marble and the muted grass. Peter shifts behind him. In the silent movements he hears: I'm sorry, I don't know what to do or say, I could lie and say everything will be okay…, You'll get through this, I'm here, and Please don't do this to yourself. Everything Peter wants to say and can't.
"I can program these coordinates into your radius. So you don't get called on it, in case you come here again." He turns. Peter shrugs, hands thrust into his pockets.
"That…would be helpful. Thank you, Peter."
Peter grips him gently on the shoulder, his hand warm even through the layers of clothing, and suddenly he realizes how cold he is. He looks at the grave one last time and then turns to face his partner fully. "We can go."
Peter nods and leads the way out.
(He only looks back once.)
Reviews are love! And they might help the next set get finished in less than two months, haha.
