Reprieve
Undisclosed Location: Safe House
Elizabeth had slept through the flight until they landed somewhere. Then she walked off the plane as Anderson carried Bob and Casey led Michael. The group then picked up a car to drive into the city.
Casey had insisted on driving, something that seemed to be a growing pattern, and stopped in front of a tall narrow building towards the other side of the populated area. Its bottom floor looked open to accommodate flooding, and the area upstairs had a lot of open space to allow for air to flow through. Considering the humidity and jungle like plants, she assumed they were somewhere tropical, but not too far from where they had been due to the shortness of the flight.
Looking up as she got out, Elizabeth wondered where they were. She hadn't been told their destination since it was a covert government operation, but she could guess somewhere in Asia based on their surroundings.
Following the group up into the house, she learned it was one of many safe houses created for agency use. They were the only occupants using it at the moment, but the cover story stated it was a rental for travelers.
Relieved to be alone, she didn't want to have anymore strangers around than necessary.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Anderson laid Bob down on a couch and began to tend to any injury that might have been irritated by the travel. While he was otherwise occupied, Casey was left to direct the others to their rooms before he disappeared with the excuse of getting supplies.
When he had finished, Anderson moved to help the others get more comfortable in the strange environment. "The bathroom is through there and is fully plumbed, the kitchen is over there, and these doors need to be kept fairly closed. Although we want to blend in, we also don't want to make ourselves easy targets should anyone want to spy on us."
"It would be ironic, wouldn't it?" Michael commented. He wasn't enjoying their trip and seemed to be tolerating everything through necessity. However, a smart comment, or dawdling action to see the environment were his only means of showing his displeasure.
Shrugging, Anderson didn't push for conversation.
"Anderson…" Elizabeth wanted to thank him and show her appreciate for his efforts. She had hardly seen him sleep, and yet Anderson managed to keep carrying Bob around, protecting her and Michael, and working with Casey.
"You're welcome." He answered her before she could figure out how to say what she wanted.
"Can I cook when Casey gets back with supplies? It's the least I can do to let you two rest and it would give me something to do." There wasn't anything to keep her occupied since she couldn't contact Peter or keep the agents talking. Michael was more interested in keeping to himself and Bob was still healing from the more recent means of torture, so she felt lonely.
"Sure. I guess you could turn your hands at some local cuisine." Anderson was willing to let her be creative. "Casey is also picking up a few… local means of entertainment. It will give you something to do while we complete our mission later tonight."
"Should I take care of Bob while you're gone?" Elizabeth wanted to be as helpful as she could.
"Are you sure? You're husband doesn't get tortured, so this is different from anything you're used to." Anderson was protectively reluctant to allow her to get too close. He had stopped showing her the way around the place and was talking near one of the windows where he could look out for Casey.
"I'm sure." She knew it wouldn't be easy, but if she could help take care of the man, then that would be one less responsibility for Anderson to carry. Maybe easing his burdens would help her reconcile the feeling of being useless while he carried the worst of the responsibilities.
Watching her, he seemed to be gauging her reaction. Coming to a conclusion, he nodded before looking back out the window. "I'll show you what he needs before we leave tonight. That way he shouldn't need anything, but you'll know how to help him just in case."
So much for taking the responsibility, but at least he was willing to let her be his backup. Elizabeth knew she was making progress, but having decided to take responsibilities, she was determined to find other ways to help.
Sighing, Anderson knew what was running through her mind. "I might as well find tasks for you, huh. You've got that stubborn thing going which means even Peter couldn't talk you out of this one."
Although he still kept something of the cold agent persona, there had been something to the way he had said her husband's name. "You know my husband too. I take it you're connected to the FBI?"
Going rigid, Anderson knew he had slipped. "I know Peter, but let's leave it at that. You don't make it easy to keep my cover since you're determined to figure out who I am, so I guess we're at an impasse as we each work to reach our goal."
"What is your goal, just to keep your cover?" She wondered if the man would share anything.
"Officially, I have orders to keep my cover. I know all of you, although you each know a different name or part of my life, so it isn't easy." He was distant in voice, like his mind was running through things he couldn't share.
"Are you afraid of us?" She wondered why he kept such a distance.
"No, but you could be used against me." He shifted away from her as Casey's returned; a handy distraction.
Allowing the conversation to drop, Elizabeth had gotten a little more information out of him. It would give her more to think about as she tried to keep occupied through the long hours with little if anything to do.
New York City: FBI Gym
Peter and Chuck had been sparring for a while before they decided to sit back and take a break. The team hadn't contacted Peter and no one seemed to be looking for them, so they were in no hurry to leave.
Drinking some water to hydrate and cool down, Peter felt better for the exertion. "Thanks, I needed this more than I realized."
"You're welcome, but it wasn't only the physical exercise that has helped you. Knowing your wife is safe has done wonders for your demeanor." Chuck noted between sips.
"Not only my wife, but Neal too. He is the best friend and partner I've ever had, and I need him to return safely. Also, I need to apologize for what I said to him… he doesn't deserve that at all." The memories caused him to shudder slightly.
"Is that what you seem to be having nightmares about? I've noticed that you aren't always muttering about your wife, sometimes its Neal's name your saying as you wake up." Chuck wondered. Since the agent had been sleeping in the office and Chuck had been hanging out nearly around the clock, he had plenty of time to observe him.
Embarrassed, Peter colored as he remember his tendency to talk in his sleep. He had never heard himself, but Elizabeth commented on it from time to time, especially when they had been searching for bugs in their house. "Yeah." Getting up the nerve to say it in private, Peter told Chuck what he had said. "I had suspected Neal of stealing the treasure for a while, but when Keller claimed to have proof in addition to stating it as the reason he abducted my wife… I lost it. In only a moment of lost control, I shoved Neal up against the siding of my house, and practically spit hatred in his face telling him that a part of me could kill him. What scares me more than my loss of control; is his reaction. He didn't shake or tremble under my hold, he only looked defeated, like he knew he had lost my friendship and wasn't going to fight for it, then worst of all, he said that a part of him would let me. How could he ever just let anyone do anything like that to him?" By the time he had finished, Peter had worked himself into something between anger, confused worry, and fear. What if Neal ever just 'let' someone kill him?
Dropping the paper cup onto the floor, Peter didn't heed the mess he had just made. His realization was too terrifying. Would Neal let someone over there kill him?" What if he didn't make it home alive? Could Neal take himself out to send his friends' loved ones home? Particularly in a way where he might perceive himself as saving his friends from his presence? Did he think he was a burden; would he save them from himself? The ideas made Peter sick and he had to hurry to the bathroom to throw up.
Hearing the sound of Chuck following him, Peter hardly took the time to realize he had moved to a first name basis with the agent. He was too upset by the images flashing through his mind.
"Neal wouldn't do that unless absolutely necessary, and then only because the objective was on the line. Basically, he would only let them kill him if he was doing something like taking a bullet for your wife, my father, or one of the others involved in the operation." Standing behind Peter to provide what comfort he could, Chuck tried to relieve the fears the idea had caused.
When Peter had cleaned himself up and was standing over the sink, Chuck stood at his shoulder where he could see him in the mirror reflection. "I spent years talking about Neal as the most hated person in the world, there wasn't anyone I could hate more than him, even in all of history. He knows that between seeing my expression to his face, dealing with my reactions as I moved out, and a chance encounter with my other best friend who let him have it, even believing he was an unfortunate look alike. Although I never said what you did to him, he didn't miss how much I hated him."
"There was a lot of hate in there…" Peter noted quietly. "How did he handle that?"
"I didn't see him for nearly five years. After I left, we lost touch." Chuck thought back to what had transpired. "When I did see him again… he was different. The easy friendship was gone."
"Have you worked it out with him?" Peter needed to know, maybe he could learn how to repair his actions based on what Chuck had done.
Hesitating, Chuck could see how Peter looked more penetratingly at him through the mirror. "We haven't talked it all through, because we still had the awkwardness about being romantically interested in the same girl. However, we did work through enough to know our friendship is still there."
Hanging his head over the sink, it was hardly helpful information to Peter. "I doubt that consolation will be of much help. You haven't fixed your friendship, and you didn't tell him you wanted to kill him to his face."
Not daunted by Peter's words, Chuck continued. "I didn't say it, but… let's just say, my reactions did give off something like it. Although I gave him those hurt/angry puppy dog eyes he has commented on in the past, I also made comments and didn't hide my hatred." Humming for a moment, he considered how to word the next part. "When we did meet again, he… well, he protected me, was friendlier with me than he was with anyone else, and then entrusted me with everything he was working for. Neal forgave me for everything, and I didn't even have to ask for it."
"Why are you smiling as you say that? There is something you're hiding, what?" Peter turned away from the sink. He had regained enough control to hold his ground standing.
"Well, there is more to what happened, but because my father had pulled him into his work, there is classified stuff involved." Chuck vaguely explained and watched Peter's eyes narrow as a result. "Once again, I've already said more than I'm supposed to, so don't expect more on that subject."
Moving to lean against the sink, Peter wondered what was going on. "That's why the CIA was so willing to hand him over. You knew he was innocent, he was willing to help, and with his history somehow involved with your agency he knew what to do. How could you send a white collar con on such a dangerous mission?"
Seeing that it was already starting to click in Peter's mind, it was on the tip of his tongue, but Peter hadn't connected the pieces yet, Chuck was relieved for a distraction.
"Hey boss, this is where you disappeared to. We've been looking around for you when you weren't in your office." Jones popped his head into the bathroom before walking in to join them. He cast a sideways glance at Chuck; he still didn't trust the visiting agent from the CIA.
"Chuck brought me down here to spar." Peter said from where he was leaned against the sink.
Opening his eyes wider, Jones was surprised by the familiarity of his tone. "Making friends have you?"
Sensing what Jones was getting at, Peter knew his agent was just looking out for him. "Don't Jones. Chuck knows Neal, his father is another hostage, and he's just trying to help." He was suddenly too tired. The physical and emotional fatigue was catching up to him.
Both moving forward to support him, Jones and Chuck pulled Peter to lean on them as they walked him back up towards the office. Although he was wearing his workout clothes, Peter still went with them.
Reaching the office, the men sat him in his chair and Diana brought a blanket to cover him with. Peter was almost instantly asleep.
Directing Chuck out, Jones and Diana berated him on the landing. "What do you think you're doing trying to work Peter over? He isn't some mark or enemy you can manipulate or control! How dare you tell him some spiel about being in the same position so that he would open up to you!"
Quietly pulling a photo out of his wallet, Chuck showed them an old picture of him with a much younger Neal sitting together smiling for the camera. "He and I went to school together. I'm not lying about anything, and the only reason I'm trying to get close to Peter is to help him deal with the situation."
Taking the picture with interest, the two agents were intrigued to see a younger Neal than ever before.
"This is from before he landed on our radar… Why does it look like Neal went to college? We have no record of him in a college." Diana was suspicious.
"No record of Neal Caffrey in a college, but you won't find Charles Carmichael in one either. We both inherited our fathers' problems, so neither of us uses our real name for our safety." Chuck accepted the picture back and returned it to his wallet. He knew the agents were still suspicious of him, but he had alluded to danger in the hopes of them not pushing their investigation too far.
Being called back to work, Jones and Diana left Chuck on the landing as they joined the rest of the teams.
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