A/N: Hey guys! I'm sorry for the long wait since the last chapter. My life has completely taken over; things have become so demanding that my writing time has been reduced almost to nothing. As I've said before, this is a work in progress – I fully intend to complete it, but sadly I can't guarantee you when the next update will be. Anyway, thank you for your patience – and here is the chapter.
One again, I need to thank Mam711 for beta-read and NovemberLeaving for cheerleading and for simply being a friend. Please, enjoy!
CHAPTER 4 – FORGING FRIENDSHIPS
"More paperwork today?" asks Neal the next morning while Philip looks for a parking place near the Metro station.
"It's part of the job, Caffrey. Not everything about FBI work is glamorous and fascinating," replies Kramer in a lecturing mode as he stares into the back mirror and considers the distance between the two nearby cars.
"Ah, yes. Mortgage fraud. Stakeouts. Bad coffee."
Kramer lifts an eyebrow. "Do you have a problem with our coffee?"
"Oh no. It's delicious. Better than the office average."
And Caffrey could be selling toothpaste with that smile. What's the big deal with coffee anyway?
Philip clears his throat. "Don't try to sell it too hard."
Neal gives him another wide smile. "I wouldn't dare."
Something about the exchange feels … off. An alarm bell goes off in Kramer's mind. However, before he asks Neal about it, he realizes he has nothing but a vague feeling. Deciding to remain silent but keep his eyes open, he parks the car and turns it off. They have a job to do after all.
o – o – o
Standing in the Metro station, Neal feels someone's eyes on him. He quickly scans his surroundings and realizes that the attention is coming from a pretty woman a few feet away from him. He grins at her, and she blushes and looks away before she meets his eyes again. Neal tips his hat at her, and slowly, the woman smiles back.
Their wordless interaction is interrupted when the woman's cell phone buzzes. Turning away, she picks up and answers the incoming call.
What did she see when she looked at him? Neal wonders. Did she realize that he was only allowed in public when accompanied by his handler? Could she tell he and Kramer were a convicted felon and his FBI watchdog?
Easy. Just stay calm.
When their train arrives, Neal boards it with the rest of the people, leaving the nameless girl still on the platform talking to her phone. With one hand, he grabs a pole; the other one he buries deep in his pocket, as if to show to Kramer: 'See? Nothing nefarious going on there.'
Behind his calm exterior, Neal is silently seething.
His glance passes across the passengers. They are all supposed to be equals. In reality, though … how do you measure the gap created by their assets, by age, by education and origins … by their pasts?
Of course, a good con could wipe away almost all of these differences. Maybe that was part of what drove so many confidence men to The Life … that by sleight of hand, you could completely change the board. Some cleverly dropped hints, a few well-chosen words and the world would brighten up with a new shine—at least until the jig was up and you had to come up with a new scheme.
Was he turning philosophical now? And did it matter?
After he's accepted the anklet, the radius, the curfew and supervision and having no control of any tiny aspect of his life, his current burst of anger has caught Neal by surprise.
It began this morning, when Kramer called the Marshals to tell them that they were leaving his house. Neal then learned that he would call them again when they reached the office; then again when they were about to leave, and again as they got "home". In short, a workday would mean at least four phone calls to the Marshals' office, simply to ensure that "Neal George Caffrey, FBI consultant" wouldn't pull another of his famous escapes.
"You have a radius around my house and another around the FBI building," Kramer had explained. "They're not connected."
Neal was trying to be realistic about his arrangement. But this, this ... ridiculousness, accompanied by the oh-so-rational arguments—
He hadn't fully comprehended it yesterday. Maybe because he didn't want to understand, didn't want to face this new reality.
Is he some precious box to be shuffled around? Is he a murderer? Is he a psychotic arsonist, a mob boss or a terrorist, anything that would warrant this new degree of humiliation?
Easy. Take another breath.
Neal had realized right after Kramer's statement that he could not let this become a problem, especially not with this arrangement still being so fragile and uncertain. And so he decided to smile and pretend that it was okay. Better yet, he should make himself believe it.
'You could be in prison,' says an internal voice that sounds like Peter in a bossy mood.
'Or, you could be on a tropical island,' counters Mozzie-voice forcefully.
'And you could both just shut up,' retorts Neal and focuses on the reality of the Metro train.
Finally, they arrive at the right station.
When they reach the FBI building, Neal leans against the receptionist's counter, smiles, fools around with his hat and chats with the receptionist while he waits for Kramer to make the other phone call.
When it's done, he goes back to the cold cases.
o – o – o
Two hours later, Neal puts away a file and tiredly rubs at his face.
Nothing. There was absolutely no clue, no lead … just three sheets of paper and a few photos that held no answers.
If he were in New York, he could ask Mozzie or his net of street contacts. If he was a trusted member of the team, he could do some proper research himself. If this was a fresh case, he could go see the crime scene, or at least ask the agents in charge to check out a few things for him. If—
Well, he'll just have to make do with what he has.
Neal goes through the information once more, grimacing at the ugly flashy statue posing as "art". However, in the end, he has to admit defeat. With a bit of unease, he puts the file away to turn to the other case for which he couldn't find any new clues. With his work yesterday, this makes the score three out of six so far … but then, these are cold cases. Surely nobody can expect him to work a miracle there.
He perks up a tiny bit when he realizes that the next case concerns one of his favorite artists. However, after casting a quick glance around the office, he suddenly stands up, deciding that it's the perfect time to take a break.
"Hey," he says cheerfully in greeting when he meets Kristin Parker by the water cooler.
"Morning, Caffrey," says Kristin and bends down to pour herself a cup of water.
"So how's your case going? The Toyen painting?" he elaborates when the agent gives him a blank look.
Kristin tilts her head and narrows her eyes. "How do you know about that?"
Neal gave her a small smile. "I recognized it from the picture."
"Well, you know your painters." She stands up when her cup is full. "Have a nice day."
"Kristin, wait!" calls Neal to stop her. She turns around to face him.
"What is it?" she asks with a hint of annoyance.
Well, at least she didn't object to him calling her by her first name. "Look … thanks for yesterday, for standing up for me with the other agent."
"I didn't "stand up" for you, Caffrey," says Kristin firmly.
"Neal. Please. My name is Neal."
"Right, Neal. I didn't stand up for you. I just don't think it's right to kick someone who's already been beaten."
"Be it as it may, you still ran interference for me," says Neal honestly. He then puts on a charming smile and hands her a miniature paper tulip that he managed to fold together over the course of their short conversation. "So thank you. I really appreciate it."
Kristin gives him a half amused, half irritated look. "You know what? Instead of trying to flirt with me, why don't you get back to your work?"
"Cold cases," says Neal with a grimace.
"Ah."
"I worked on them the whole afternoon yesterday, and I have enough to last me through the whole week," says Neal, hoping for a bit of sympathy.
"Well, then maybe when you prove yourself, Kramer will trust you with something more interesting," replies Kristin with a shrug. She turns the tulip around in her fingers before she places it on top of the water cooler.
Neal clears his throat. "Right. I guess that's a clue that I should return to my missing cubist sketch."
"I guess you're right," replies Kristin and turns around.
"Good day to you too," calls Neal after her. Then he releases a mental sigh, pour himself his own cup of water and returns to the files at his desk.
o – o – o
"Here's the report on the Myckijewitz case," says Bryant and lays it on Kramer's desk.
"Thank you," replies Kramer. He pauses when he realizes that Bryant isn't leaving. "What is it?"
"I want Caffrey's assistance with the robberies from the Egyptian museums."
Straight to the point. Then again, Bryant was never one for beating around the bush.
Philip is torn between a smile and a sigh. "You don't have any leads," he points out. "You've been on this case for two months. You still think it will go somewhere?"
"I haven't talked to Caffrey yet," replies Bryant. "You said I could keep the case if I found anything at least resembling a lead."
"That's true." They've had this conversation several times before.
Bryant was known for extreme patience and thoroughness, and he often pursued cases that others would have given up on long ago. Sometimes, his diligence paid off; other times, Kramer felt exasperated when it seemed that his team was a man short because Bryant was too wrapped up in investigating some vague rumors from the most unreliable sources.
No, that wasn't right. Allan always knew how to split his attention between their current cases and one of his own private projects.
"It'll give Caffrey a break from the cold cases," adds Bryant.
Kramer takes a sip of his coffee, seemingly considering the request. In fact, he has been expecting it, and even welcomed it to a degree. Bryant is level-headed and sharp; Philip doesn't fear that he'll get wrapped up in one of Neal's schemes easily. At the same time, he is also Kramer's second best researcher. Finally, while Neal's insight on the cold cases was valuable, ultimately Kramer wants him to work with the rest of the team. This is as good a starting point as any.
"I was actually thinking the same thing," he says at last. "Fine. Talk to Neal, see if you can find something. This would be an important win for the Bureau."
And Kramer really wants to shut up that Egyptian diplomat with his haughty look and his veiled insults about the FBI's incompetence.
"We'll be on it."
"Hey, Allan, by the way," Philip stops him as Bryant turns around to leave. "How are the preparations going?"
For the first time since he entered his office, Bryant smiles. "Well it's … yes, it's fine. Maddie finally chose her dress last week."
"That's great," says Philip warmly.
"I know." There's a small pause before Bryant asks, "Is there anything else?"
"No, no. That's all."
Kramer watches as Bryant goes to Neal's desk. He observes their brief interaction before they both get up and head into the conference room. Then he shakes his head and returns to his work.
o – o – o
Another case file later, Neal once again finds himself longing for the warmth and camaraderie of the New York office. His first impulse is to call Peter, or maybe even Diana or Jones—but then he remembers that Peter is supposed to be working on a case that might have him going undercover.
He tries to focus on the file in front of him, a theft of a rare French poetry book. He skims through the first two pages before the frustration comes back full-force. In an impulse and with a slight feeling of apprehension, he dials Elizabeth's number and waits for her to pick up.
"Hi Neal," says El a moment later.
Just hearing her voice fills Neal with a wave of happiness. "Elizabeth," he says softly. "How are you?"
"I'm fine, thank you. Shouldn't I be asking you that question instead? Is everything all right?"
"I'm fine," Neal replies. "Settling in, dealing with old cases … and missing all of you terribly. How's Peter?"
Neal swears he can hear Elizabeth smile. "Peter's doing okay..."
"... but?" asks Neal at the unfinished statement.
"My parents are coming over this weekend. I think my Dad freaks Peter out a bit."
"Really? Why is that?"
"Well, he's—yes, the blue ones.… And the dahlias.… No, that's not—Wait a moment. Neal—"
"Bad moment, I get it." He tries to keep his tone light. "How about Skype tonight?"
"I'm sorry, I have an event," says Elizabeth with genuine regret. "What about tomorrow?"
"Sounds great."
"Good." El pauses. "Look—"
"I understand, you need to go. Have a great day, Elizabeth."
"You too, Neal. It's been nice talking to you."
"You as well."
After Elizabeth hangs up, Neal turns his attention once more to the case at hand.
Item: A book of poems from 1857; first edition Baudelaire in original. Stolen from a private home in Idaho seven years ago. Suspects.…
"Hey, Caffrey. Do you have a moment?"
Neal looks up from the file and looks at the man at the entrance to his cubicle.
Unremarkable face, short blondish hair, blue eyes, over forty, short but robust frame.… They were introduced yesterday, Neal realizes, and he thanks his memory as the name jumps into his head almost instantly….
"Agent Bryant. What can I do for you?"
"May I take a look?" asks the agent and motions to the documents on Neal's desk.
Neal shrugs. "Be my guest," he says and hands him the open folder.
Bryant carefully accepts the file. "Fleurs du mal. Redefining beauty." He slowly turns the pages. "I remember this case."
Neal nods. "Baudelaire did a lot to change the world of poetry, and he inspired many who came after him.… The government actually put him on trial for immorality a month after this book first came out, and six of his poems were banned from being published until after the Second World War."
"So I've heard. He was an interesting character," replies Bryant. He then returns the file to Neal. "If you're not too busy, I would like to talk to you about the Egyptian artifacts."
Oh great.
"Sure, why not?" replies Neal.
"Excellent. Let's take this to the conference room."
Neal closes the folder and puts on an interested face, masking a feel of unease.
If this were any other case, he would have been happy for the distraction, as even an exceptional poet like Baudelaire couldn't take away the hollowness of Neal's isolation. However, any interrogation about the scarab that mysteriously "disappeared" after Neal's meeting with Keller could raise questions that he'd rather remained unanswered.
'Well, my friend, there's no need to cry when the milk hasn't been spilled yet!'
Neal suppresses a hint of a smile. 'Sure, Mozzie.'
The conference room looks almost like a copy of the one in New York, except for the sandy walls and furniture that is a paler shade of gray. Neal drops himself into a comfortable chair on the long side of the table, and Bryant takes the seat at the head beside him, a portfolio and a pen laid loosely in his lap.
"So what do you want to know?" asks Neal with an air of ease.
"You worked on the case with the scarab that turned up in Manhattan."
"That's right."
The agent pulls out a file. "I have here your original report from that case."
Neal leans back in his chair with a confident expression. "Great. In that case, it should all be there―"
"It's not," Bryant interrupts him. "You left out or changed most of your confrontation with Keller. I've read the transcript from your confession," he adds as an afterthought.
Damn.
'So much for the milk.'
"If you've seen the transcript, then you can certainly understand why I'm not exactly fond of that case," says Neal seriously.
Bryant gives him a barely noticeable nod. "I do. I still need your report."
Clearly, there is no way that Neal can avoid this particular conversation. "Right." He straightens himself in the chair. "As you know, about two months ago, we heard rumors about Keller. We knew he had stolen some artifacts from Egyptian museums.…"
o – o – o
Imagine a dance. A dance on ice so thin that it might break before your feet even touch it, and the only way to get through is to dance so fast that you reach the shore before the crack swallows you and you drown in the icy water.
That's what some cons feel like.
Neal soon finds out that Agent Bryant is a good listener. Such a quality is invaluable in a friend. Of course, it's much less appreciated when he's on the bad side of the interrogation table.
"How did you contact Laroque?" asks Bryant, scribbling down a note.
"It was arranged by a friend." At Bryant's questioning gaze, Neal elaborates. "Hale. He was a fence.… Keller killed him when Hale wouldn't give him the information he wanted."
A pause.
"I'm sorry," says the agent sincerely. Neal's eyes widen almost imperceptibly.
"Thank you," he says at last.
A few seconds pass before Bryant moves on to the next question.
They go over his meeting with Raquel. At one point, Neal actually enjoys himself as he describes Raquel's concealment smuggling technique. Judging by his insightful remarks, Bryant has obviously heard about similar things before. He has Neal describe the technique and the restoration process in great detail, and for a short moment they connect over their mutual knowledge of Egyptian pharaohs.
"Do you believe that Menes and Narmer were the same person?" asks Neal.
"The Narmer Palette would suggest so," replies Bryant thoughtfully. "But the history of the Old Kingdom has always been hazy. Most of our information comes from the much more recent Ptolemaic era. Still, the ancient texts name Menes as the king of both Lower and Upper Egypt, making him the first true pharaoh."
"Yet the Palette tells a different story," objects Neal with only half-feigned interest. "It clearly shows Narmer as the sovereign of the two kingdoms, defeating his enemies. And then there are the two lions with their necks intertwined, forced together by two serpents. That's a pretty strong symbol, if you ask me."
"True. And the Palette is the reason why some experts believe Narmer and Menes to be the same person." Bryant pauses. "You know a lot about this," he notes questioningly.
Neal smiles. "I just dabble, really. I like art and history. When we initially got this case, I wanted to find out more." Not to mention the extensive research for one of his earliest cons that had him pose as a scientist to get close to a certain ancient piece.
Has he noticed a flicker of disappointment?
"It's fascinating though," adds Neal casually. "The things that the Egyptians did; the legacy they left.… The things they managed in art, mathematics, architecture and literature.…"
"It's more than that," says Bryant suddenly with a small smile. "Egypt was the first truly centralized civilization. Their society was very mature and well organized. They had laws, administration, advanced trade with their neighbors.… Their agriculture was very progressive, as they studied the seasons and used highly functional irrigation to balance the periods of floods and the times of drought. Not to mention their fascinating religion and mythology. When thinking of Egypt, people often forget that, with some breaks and times of unrest, Ancient Egypt existed for more than three millennia, and each of the periods had its specifics." He takes a long pause. "But that was a long time ago. Let's get back to our case."
Interesting, thinks Neal. For someone who has officially abandoned archeology, the agent still seemed rather fond of the subject. Deep down, he smiles. Someday soon, they will talk in depth about mummification, sculpture and ancient Egypt's lifestyle. Allan Bryant seems a bit too serious, but there is also a sense of calm around him that is almost soothing. Neal thinks he might eventually come to like him.
"So what happened to the scarab after Matthew Keller arrived?"
"I am not sure," says Neal with a grimace. "With Keller there and two people waving guns around, the scarab stopped being a priority. Then after Raquel left, Keller attempted to trick me into leading him to the treasure. The scarab must have gotten lost in between."
"So you have no idea who took it?" asks Bryant with a penetrating look.
He knows, thinks Neal. Then he realizes that no, he doesn't. He only suspects at this point.
Someday, he might come to trust Allan Bryant.
He looks into the agent's eyes and sighs. "No. I'm sorry. I wish I could be more help."
But not today.
Bryant gives him a slow nod. "I understand." A pause. "I know it's been a while, but I need you to try to remember what exactly happened in that room."
"Sure," says Neal with a smile and begins to carefully craft a story.
o – o – o
At last they finish talking about the goddamned scarab and move to the safer waters of art smuggling. They trade ideas as they consider the possible whereabouts of the rest of the artifacts, until Bryant finally says that it's enough for now. With a glance at his watch, he announces that it's time for lunch.
"Would you like to join us?" he asks as he arranges the files and notes together into a neat stack.
"'Us?'"
"Me and Barbara."
"Sure," says Neal with a grin. Then he turns serious. "Oh. Are you going out?"
"No, the cafeteria is in the building."
"Well, then there shouldn't be a problem."
"Good. I'll put these away and then we can go."
Bryant drops off his files and they pick up Barbara at her cubicle. Unfortunately, at that precise moment an agent Neal hasn't met yet asks for Bryant's help. He promises to be back in five minutes and leaves them alone in the middle of the office.
"So," begins Neal, to break the awkward silence between them. "What interesting cases are you working on?"
"Oh, you know. Cases. Nothing special right now." Barbara takes a short pause. "So! Do you like the DC office?"
An unexpected ache hits Neal full-force. He blinks and plasters on a full-blown Caffrey smile.
"It's great! Everything's fine. I'm settling down; learning my way around here…. No Christmas trees in my cubicle yet, by the way," he says with a smirk, and Barbara chuckles. "Anyway, I've been going over some cold cases, and right now I'm working on a case with Bryant."
"Allan's a great guy," says Barbara with a brief smile. Then she turns serious. "Is that the Egyptian art case?"
"That's the one."
"Hmm." A pause. "So you're helping Allan then? What exactly do you do? Being a consultant and all that…."
And it's gone again, Neal mentally sighs as the fractional almost-shared moment is lost and replaced by a mix of guarded curiosity and suspicion.
"Well, part of my job is to provide insight; a new point of view," replies Neal in a friendly tone. "I also have some contacts, though obviously that was mostly back in New York, and I used to go undercover quite often."
"Used to…? Well, I guess it makes sense, with all the, you know.…" Barbara falters.
"You mean my involvement with the stolen art," says Neal openly. "And you're right; it hasn't exactly put me on the FBI most trusted list." He takes a brief pause before he smiles. "So! Tell me. How is the food in the FBI cafeteria?"
But before he can find out whether his blatant diversion worked, they are mercifully interrupted by Bryant's return.
"It's all resolved. Sorry it took me so long." Bryant straightens his jacket and looks at both of them. "Let's have lunch."
o – o – o
When they get to the cafeteria, it is already full of people. The room is filled with the clinks of cutlery touching plates and with low chatter. Judging by its overall appearance, it has been refurbished sometime in the past few years. With walls and tables painted in bland blue and yellow and with some neutral posters around, it looked every bit the typical cafeteria—the type of establishment that Neal generally tried to avoid, he thinks with an internal wince. Yet as he stands in line with Bryant and Barbara, he is secretly more disturbed by all the stares at himself than by the quality of the establishment.
Even though most of the people are simply focusing on their food or maybe come from different departments, it seems that a quite a few of the agents have recognized him. Some of their glances are of harmless curiosity; however, Neal can feel the hair on his neck stand up at several glares of scoffing and contempt. Rather than acknowledging them, he holds his head high and casually engages in conversation with his companions by bringing up the relatively safe topic of their case. Bryant, while not extremely talkative, plays along with him enough to keep the conversation flowing, and despite her obvious reluctance, Barbara eventually begins to chip in as well. Five minutes later, they at last reach the counter.
'Wow. What a number of… interesting options.'
With slightly apprehensive curiosity, Neal eventually picks a steak with French fries and some mysterious reddish sauce and hopes for the best.
"Try the soup as well," says Barbara suddenly.
"The soup?"
"Uh-huh."
Neal dubiously stares at the thick brown liquid with onions and slimy somethings floating around. "You know, I don't think I'm really a soup guy—"
"Try it," Barbara urges him. She smiles. "Come on! It's delicious. Besides, you can't work here in DC without tasting the cafeteria's famous mushroom soup!"
Mushrooms. That at least explains the slimy bits.
Barbara is staring at him expectantly, while Bryant's expression is completely unreadable. Looking at the unappealing dish, it doesn't take a genius to figure this out.
And he had thought that this sort of joke belonged only in high school.
Neal smiles. "Well, if you're having it as well.…"
"Ah—well I'd love to, but I really shouldn't. The mushrooms are a bit heavy on my stomach."
There are so many ways to reply to that.…
"I'm sorry to hear that."
Somebody behind them clears their throat, indicating that they should move. In a split-second decision, Neal adds the soup to his tray.
'Let's see what we're dealing with here.'
o – o – o
"Well?" asks Barbara a few minutes later.
"Hmm. Yeah, it's.… " Neal eats another spoonful. "Wow. That's bad."
"Are you saying you don't like our soup?"
"I'm saying you tried to set me up," replies Neal with a smirk.
"Judging by your own standards?"
"I'd never dare." He pushes the soup bowl away and begins to eat his steak.
"You're not going to eat that?" Bryant speaks suddenly and gestures vaguely to the soup.
"Ummm … no, I don't think so. Why, you want it?"
"If you don't mind."
"No, not at all."
"Ah. Sorry, Allan," apologizes Barbara with a barely hidden spark of glee. She turns to Neal and speaks in a low voice. "He hates to see food go to waste."
"Actually, I happen to like this soup," replies Bryant as he takes the bowl from Neal.
"That's because you're weird," says Barbara.
"So you keep telling me."
"How can you actually like that stuff? It looks like it's already been eaten once. That should clearly be a crime."
"Guys.…" starts Neal.
Bryant smiles. "Thanks, Barb. But you already talked Caffrey into buying it, so now you have to suffer through watching me eat it."
"Yeah, I gathered it might come to that. You know, you never appreciate the things I do for you."
"Oh, I wouldn't dare to slight your sacrifice."
"Wait a second." Neal looks from one to the other with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "Have you both actually just conned me?"
"No, that was purely Barbara's doing," says Bryant. "I just happened to get my favorite soup out of it."
"Well, nice effort." With a smile, Neal raises his plastic cup of water and makes a small nod in Barbara's direction.
Barbara's own smile fades away. "Yeah, I guess you'd be an expert on these things."
Neal feels like his mouthful has just turned into something sickening.
They continue eating in tense silence. For a moment, the only sounds coming from their table are the clinks of their utensils. Neal listens to the conversation around the other tables and inconspicuously watches his surroundings. A moment later he almost freezes when he realizes what he's doing—assessing sources of danger and searching for escape paths. He swallows another piece of his steak and secretly wishes that this be over as soon as possible, so he can get back to his work.
To the cold cases. And then the cramped apartment in the evening.
"Why did you do it anyway?"
"Excuse me?"
Barbara repeats the question. "Why did you do it? All of it."
"Barbara. This isn't the time or place for an interrogation. Let Caffrey enjoy his meal in peace."
For yet another time that day, Neal feels appreciation for Bryant's quiet yet firm intervention.
"Why not?" asks Barbara, though she lowers her voice a bit. "Sorry, Caffrey, but how can we work together when I don't know a thing about you?"
"I thought it was the opposite that was the problem," says Neal sarcastically.
Barbara turns to Bryant. "I mean, I just don't get it. I've seen Caffrey's forgeries, and they were amazing! He copied some of the masters so well that even I or Kramer couldn't tell the difference for sure and had to ask a lab for confirmation." She looks back at Neal. "You have true talent, Caffrey, so why are you wasting it on some petty crimes when you could be doing your own work? And it's not just that. You and Burke were a great team, and then you betrayed him, and then you suddenly changed your mind again? What the hell happened? I just—I don't understand. How could you do that to your people? And how can you steal and—"
"Enough."
Bryant's voice cuts through the air like a sharp razor.
"Wow," speaks Neal when he finally finds his voice. "I get you really don't like my life choices." It has been a while since he's been insulted and complimented like that at the same time.
His steak only half-eaten, he puts down his fork and knife and stands up. "Well, I think I'm done here. Agent Bryant, if there is anything else I can do to help you with your case, let me know. Both of you, enjoy the rest of—"
"You don't have to leave, Caffrey," Bryant interrupts him calmly. "If you want to finish your meal, I'm sure Barbara can refrain from making any more comments."
Neal takes a deep breath and considers his options.
Then he smiles. "Are you saying this because it truly bothers you so much to see good food go unfinished? Because if that's the case, I'm sure we could come up with some less painful solution."
Bryant chuckles. "No, not really. So, are you going to finish with us?"¨
"Well, it is a rather good steak," replies Neal as he sits back down.
"It is, isn't it?" says Barbara with a forced smile.
For a moment, they try to act as if nothing has happened. Then Barbara speaks again.
"I'm sorry for before."
Neal tenses up.
"It's just—you seem like a nice guy. And, well, I want to like you. And we're a team now, so I need to trust you, at least some, but—"
And Neal finally snaps. "Could we please not have this conversation here, surrounded by about a hundred other people?"
"Sorry! I get it, lunchtime; I'm shutting up."
She looks genuinely apologetic, so Neal bites back his sharp words and keeps his tone civil.
"Look, maybe later in private, you can ask me some questions, and I'll decide which ones I want to answer. But I'm not going to justify my past to you. To either of you. No offense."
Then, finally, he manages to finish his lunch in peaceful silence.
o – o – o
Afterwards, Barbara leaves Neal and Bryant to talk to a friend from a different department. As he steps into the elevator for their way down, Neal allows himself to breathe out and relax. Of course, he should have known better by then that it wouldn't last.
"You have to understand that your case was a huge topic here two months ago," says Bryant when the door closes.
Neal stiffens. "Look, I'm sorry, but I'm really getting tired of having this conversation again—"
"I just wanted to tell you I'm glad to have you on our team."
Neal looks at him in surprise. "What?" he blurts at last.
"The past is the past," says Bryant. "Sometimes we make mistakes, and sometimes things go wrong on their own." He pauses. "You shouldn't blame yourself for things you didn't do."
"What are you—"
"You weren't the one who kidnapped her, and it's clear you did everything in your power to get her back. Be glad you were so lucky, learn from your mistakes and move on."
"With all respect, Agent Bryant, that isn't any of your business," says Neal tersely.
"Rest assured I won't mention it again. And you can drop the 'Agent'; just Bryant is enough."
"Right," replies Neal neutrally, privately still trying to figure out what that all meant. It's a compliment to his skills that when the elevator stops a few seconds later, he is already fully back in control.
He opens his mouth and his mind fills with possible comments.
Charming and playful: 'Well, soup notwithstanding, it was a delightful lunch.'
Sarcastic: 'And after the delicious meal with inviting company, back to the thrilling work.'
Or one to suggest a deeper meaning: 'Bryant … you've given me a lot to think about.'
"Bryant … thanks."
The agent nods at him. "You'll be fine, Caffrey. And don't get the cold cases bore you to death. It's been a surprising pleasure to talk to someone who actually knows more about Ancient Egypt than what they gleaned from "The Mummy Returns" or "Indiana Jones" movies."
Neal chuckles. "I'm glad to help."
And for the first time since the morning, he begins to believe that eventually, things might still turn out fine.
o – o – o
"This isn't a 'turnabout's fair play' thing, right?"
"Oh, ye of little faith."
"Because if that's what this is about, I want it noted that I didn't actually make you eat that soup."
"It'll be good, trust me."
"… okay, I'll let you work your magic, Grandmaster of All Coffee.… Besides, I still have to find those cookies. I'm sure they were there somewhere.…"
With a mixture of amusement and resignation, Neal wonders how he and Barbara Marks went from suspicion and accusations to apologies and an offer of friendship in a mere one day. But he wasn't going to question it—although he wasn't going to let his guard down yet either.
She'd sought him out a few hours after the debacle in the FBI cafeteria and ambushed him in the kitchen when he was about to take another well-deserved break.
.
"Caffrey.…"
Neal turned around at the sound of the familiar voice. "Hello again," he said a bit too cheerfully.
"I've read your files."
The recent ones. Of course she would want to satisfy her curiosity, thought Neal bitterly. And he couldn't stop her from looking or questioning. Was there any way he could get out of this with his pride intact?
"My files?"
"Yeah.… And I still don't really understand, but I'm sorry for badgering you before. I'll try not to do it again."
"… All right."
"Well then … enjoy the rest of your day."
She turned around to leave.
Surprised by the unexpected turn of events, Neal considered whether he was going to regret this. "Hey, Barbara. Didn't you come here to get some coffee?" He pointed at her empty mug.
She gave him an awkward grin. "Well, that was mostly a cover to talk to you.… I was actually going to go to out to get a decent cup. Not that this is bad, but I have this really awful case, so I wanted to—well.…"
"Get some motivation?" suggested Neal.
"Yes! Exactly!"
"You know what.… Let me make you one."
"Is that a peace offering?" said Barbara cautiously.
"Maybe. This coffee is actually rather decent quality," said Neal as he took a sip of his own cup. "It's not Italian Roast, but with some effort and a bit of my magic tricks, it's definitely better than most office coffee."
"'Magic tricks'? Do tell."
"Sorry, it's a secret family recipe." He smiled at her. "So, how about that coffee?"
"That depends. Will you stay and let me bring some cookies?"
"Depends. Does DC FBI policy allow cookie breaks?" asked Neal only half-jokingly. With his shaky standing here, he didn't really want to be told off for taking a long break on his second day by some agent who was feeling important this afternoon.
"It's just a break; fifteen, twenty minutes at most. So don't worry about that," said Barbara seriously. Then she grinned. "Besides, it's team-building, and they taught us at Quantico that that's very important."
"Fine! Let's be teammates."
"Or friends?" Barbara tilted her head. "If—well, if that's okay with you?"
Inside, Neal stilled.
He remembered her speech from a few hours ago. Yet he had to admit that right now, his bantering with Barbara had been fun.
Besides, he couldn't very well afford to turn her down. He needed an in to the office, however cold that sounded.
"Sure, friends," he said with a smile and set out to prepare her the best coffee possible.
.
"Wow. This is good. You really do know your "magic tricks", says Barbara as they slowly eat the caramel cookies and sip the coffee. "Forget consulting. I think we should keep you around for the coffee alone."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"Mmmm.… And this is really our coffee? You haven't done a switch before my eyes that I didn't notice?"
Neal grins. "Sorry to disappoint, but no. This is the same old brand."
"All right." The agent pulls out a pen and a notepad. "So which one would be good starting material?"
"Excuse me?"
"I'm asking, which coffee brand would be the best for your magic trick? Nothing overly expensive, obviously," says Barbara.
Neal lifts his eyebrows. "Are you actually trying to ensnare me into making you coffee?"
"Yes! Can I bribe you into it? I have more cookies."
"You want to bribe me with cookies," says Neal amusedly.
"Or we could just form a coffee-cookie alliance." Barbara smirks. "Well?"
"All right, there might a few options that would be acceptable.…"
"Hi, Barbara," says a strong female voice. "I see that Caffrey has already managed to corrupt you."
Neal and Barbara both look to the door.
At first glance, the woman who just entered reminds Neal a bit of Diana, thanks to the same stature, vaguely similar facial features, the same style of clothing and an air of no-nonsense attitude about her. She is older, though, and unlike Diana, the newcomer wears her hair short, and there is something in her whole posture that makes Neal uneasy, despite her small smile and the fact that she hasn't even threatened to break his legs yet.
In a corner of his mind, Neal imagines what the real Diana would have to say to his inner thoughts.
"Hello, Ruth," says Barbara and stands up.
Neal stands up as well. "Good afternoon, Agent…?"
"Neal, this is Agent Ruth Casey," says Barbara in introduction.
"I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Caffrey," says Casey as she walks inside. Still smiling, she offers him her hand for a handshake. "I couldn't have been more surprised when I found out you'd joined our team. It is fascinating to finally meet the person behind the stories."
"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Agent Casey," replies Neal charmingly.
As they shake hands, Neal's feeling of unease intensifies, even as there is no apparent cause for it. He also notices that Barbara is watching the exchange with sharp interest.
"So how was Britain, Casey?" she asks neutrally.
"Rainy," replies Casey as she pours her own cup of coffee. "And busy. Anyway, I just wanted to say hello. Enjoy your cookies, kids."
"I think she doesn't like me," muses Neal aloud when Casey leaves them.
"Be careful around Ruth, Caffrey."
Neal turns to Barbara, surprised by her unexpectedly serious tone. "What do you mean?"
"She isn't exactly a team player," explains his new "friend". "Don't get me wrong, Ruth is a brilliant agent, but as a person … well. She's determined to be the best. And when people don't meet her expectations, she can make things ... difficult."
There is a moment of silence. "I'll bear that in mind," says Neal at last.
"Anyway, I think our cookie break is over," says Barbara. "Let's clean this up and get back to business."
o – o – o
It's already past sunset when they finally get home.
It hasn't been a bad day, thinks Kramer as he's pulling the car in. He has made true progress on the hated paperwork, so he was about halfway done. Thanks to Melissa's research, they might have found a new lead on the missing Renoir. Kristin seemed to be only one step away from tracking down the Toyen painting. And finally, Bryant said that Neal had been a real help with his Egyptian case.
Caffrey.
Neal hasn't been very talkative on their way home; not that he could blame him. The day might have been successful, but it has also been very long. Still, it seemed that his consultant was beginning to make friends with the team. That was definitely a step in the right direction.
Kramer turns off the car engine and lets out a tired breath. "Ohh. Finally."
He gets out and locks the garage, noticing Neal outside in the garden, staring at the street and then turning around and walking to the house entrance. Kramer is following him there when he remembers the necessary task. Knowing he can't avoid it, Philip pulls out his cellphone and makes a quick call to the Marshals to tell them that they're back home.
And that is when he spots it.
He's not sure what it is exactly; a brief expression that crosses Caffrey's face as Philip hangs up and pockets his phone. Was it—distaste? Anger? Disappointment?
Kramer bristles a bit at the implication that Neal has a problem with the logical consequences of his work-release program … but then he releases a mental sigh. After eight phone calls in two days just because of coming and leaving work, he himself was already becoming irritated by the frequent need to report Neal's every move, and it has been only two days since the beginning of the arrangement. He didn't doubt Neal's ingenuity and his skills as an escape artist … but maybe it wouldn't hurt to try to come up with an alternative solution.
He is pulling out his keys when Neal speaks up.
"It looks like we got some mail."
Kramer looks up. "Excuse me?" A second later, he realizes what Neal is talking about.
There is a rectangular package resting on the far edge of the porch. While not overly large, it was apparently too big to fit into the mailbox. In the dark, it wasn't a wonder that Kramer hasn't noticed it before.
"Were you expecting something?" Philip asks curiously.
"No, not really. Were you?"
Kramer shakes his head with an ironic smile. "The last package I got was free advertising 'bio-cereal' samples about four months ago." Then he turns serious and switches on the porch light. "Let me see it."
Apart from its unexpected appearance, the package doesn't look suspicious, at least not at first glance. But with the only two inhabitants of the house being an FBI agent and a (former?) con man, Kramer thinks it isn't entirely unreasonable to take the "better safe than sorry" approach.
Except Caffrey apparently has his own ideas about what's safe, because he is already crouching by the package, carefully lifting it from the ground and looking for the writing.
"It's addressed to me," he says a moment later. "Wait. I recognize the handwriting. And here's the return address." He smiles and stands up. "It's from June."
Kramer searches his memory for the familiar name.…
"You mean Mrs. Ellington?" he asks when he finally makes the connection.
"Yes, that's her," replies Caffrey absentmindedly, still staring at the package in his arms. "She did ask me for the address, but … I didn't realize she would send something so quickly."
"Let's take this inside," says Kramer after a moment of hesitation.
That's when Neal finally looks back at him and his smile disappears. "Right. So is there a special policy on personal mail?"
Ignoring the sharp tone, Kramer takes a deep breath and considers his options. What was the right thing to do as Caffrey's handler? This had to be handled delicately.
"Let's go inside," he repeats, playing for time. To his relief, this time Neal actually listens.
And then they're in the hallway, and Neal takes off his hat and Kramer changes into his slippers. And as Philip looks at Neal, seemingly not caring but apparently having resigned himself to have the package taken away and examined, he suddenly feels ridiculous and almost ashamed.
"Christ, Caffrey, this isn't supposed to be prison."
Isn't it?
But he has already made the decision, so he continues. "As you said, it's personal mail. There's nothing wrong with getting a package from your old landlady." He hopes. "Although I would prefer it if you told me what was inside … but that's your call."
And Caffrey still doesn't seem happy, but in the end, he says: "Yes, sir," and disappears upstairs.
Philip shakes his head in dismay. Then he goes to make himself dinner.
o – o – o
Upstairs in the safety and privacy of his room, Neal's eyes moisten as he carefully touches the brushes, paints, canvas and other supplies from his perceptive and amazing old friend.
"June, you're the best," he says quietly. Then he picks up the letter from her and begins to read.
A/N: All reviews are very much appreciated.