See chapter 1 for Warnings and Summary
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o o o
Chapter 8: The Truth Burns
Peter paced back and forth—well, as much as you could pace back and forth in a van—with a furious look on his face.
"How the hell could he have done this? Is he insane?" Peter picked up the headphones he'd abandoned a few seconds ago, glaring at them like they had personally scorned him. "Why the *hell* did I ever let him do this?! Why the hell did you two let *me* do this?! Dammit!" The shouting, at least, helped distract Peter from the sick feeling he got in his stomach when he imagined Neal doing… whatever he was doing with that Melbane bastard.
How the hell could Neal have gone there? Peter specifically told him that if the man wanted too much, Neal should get the hell out of that place. And whatever was going on over that wire was definitely too much. The signal kept going in and out, with the occasional bit of static on the line, but what they could hear was more than enough to figure out that Neal wasn't giving the man a foot rub in there.
"Boss, you need to calm down," Diana said, frowning up at Peter. "Whatever Melbane's got in there that's messing with our signal is bad enough. I can barely hear at all with you yelling." She pushed the headphones harder against her ear. "Dammit, more white noise. Maybe we should move the van and see if we can get a better signal?"
"If we move the van then we might lose it all together," Peter snapped. "And that is not happening! I want to know exactly what is going on in there with that sick fucker."
"Hey, Peter, Caffrey's gonna be fine," Jones said in a soothing voice, though Peter noticed that he'd dropped his earphones to the floor. Apparently Peter wasn't the only one freaked out by what was going on in that room right now.
"Okay, I've got the signal back," Diana said, waving for Peter to pick up his earphones. "Melbane's talking. Something about," she grimaced, "spanking his ass until its red?"
"Oh, great," Jones said, looking sick to his stomach. "Just what I wanted to hear."
"Damn it, got the static again."
Peter smacked a hand down angrily on the wall of the van. "Dammit, I am going to *kill* Neal for disobeying my—" Peter cut off abruptly as his cellphone began to ring. He clenched his jaw and yanked it out of his pocket, hoping to God that it wasn't El. He wasn't sure he could handle playing the good husband right now. Not when he was busy imagining Neal off all alone with some pervert doing… doing… doing *things.*
Peter frowned deeply as he looked at the name on the screen. It definitely wasn't El. "Why the hell is Reese calling me during an op?" he muttered as he pressed the 'accept' button. "What is he, a goddamn psychic? The second something goes wrong, he knows about it?"
Jones made an amused sound and Diana smirked.
"Burke here," Peter said briskly, though what he really wanted to do was give the wrinkled old agent a piece of his mind for distracting him from his therapeutic ranting.
"Peter, you need to shut down the operation *right* now!" Hughes said, the urgency in his voice enough to make Peter's stomach flop. "Do not, under *any* circumstances, let Caffrey go into Melbane's house!"
Peter's heart sped up. "It's a little late for that, Reese. Why, what's going on?"
"Dear Lord," Hughes muttered, and Peter thought he heard a hint of fear in the words. "Peter, you need to get him out ASAP. One of the White Collar division finally got a chance to talk to that hooker Melbane likes and, as it turns out, the kid is covered head to toe in burns. Has 'em on his arms, back, chest, thighs, legs… Pretty much everywhere but his face."
"Covered in burns?" Peter said, brow furrowing. "What does—" He cut off abruptly, eyes widening. "You mean you think…"
"Melbane is our guy, definitely. Apparently playing with fire is his kink, which is why he has to hire the cheapest meat on the market—they're the only ones desperate enough to do it. Also, he must be getting out a lot more than we know because surveillance has him safe at home during all the fires. But our pryo is the right weight and height for Melbane. I've got a team on the way, but you need to get Caffrey out pronto!"
"Dammit!" Peter cursed as he shoved his phone back in his pocket, grabbing the headphones he'd dropped and holding them to his ear. The static was gone, but there were no voices, no sounds, just silence. "Nothing. There's nothing. Dammit!" Peter threw the headphones so hard that they cracked against the wall of the van, making Jones jump in his seat. "Melbane is our pyro, guys! We need Neal out yesterday!"
Diana and Jones jumped to their feet, pulling out their guns.
"Come on," Peter said, kicking open the van door. "Let's show the bastard what happens when you play with fire."
o o o
The world was a blurry place. Like an impressionist painting, all the colors swirling about in thick strokes that caught the eye but didn't quite make sense…
There was movement. Was he moving or was the world moving? He hurt and things were moving… This couldn't be good.
The world was Starry Night. He was stuck in a Van Gogh… Neal forced his eyes to focus. No, no this wasn't a Van Gogh. This was outside. How could he be outside? Hadn't he been in Melbane's impenetrable house? With Peter waiting outside in the van? They wouldn't have let Melbane take him, but the hand that was dragging him by his hair was definitely not Peter's. His wire was gone… Panic rose. He had to do something…
Neal reached through the slit in his jeans, pulling out the unused bug. He hit the button on it and let it fall into the grass.
"Where you takin' me?" he asked thickly.
Melbane laughed, stopping for a moment to squat down next to Neal. "Someplace our little angel won't be found until Apocalypse comes to burn the earth and Gabriel blows his horn. Now, how about you go back to sleep, huh?" His hand came down and the world went black again.
o o o
Peter stood in the middle of the bedroom, cursing loudly. They were gone, long gone. It had taken almost a half hour to bust their way in here and, from the slightly awry carpets, it looked like Melbane had dragged Neal from the room. He must have knocked him out somehow.
"We found a door leading to the basement area," Jones said as he walked into the room, voice brisk. "But we way underestimated what we'd find. There have to be thirty rooms down there, and those are just the ones we've found by walking through the halls. Every single one of them has some sort of locking system, but we've managed to get in a couple—unfortunately we're just finding more locked rooms inside the locked rooms. It's enormous. Definitely extends underneath the street and several of the surrounding houses. I have no clue how this guy managed to build it."
"It's amazing what millions of dollars in hush money can get you," Peter said grimly. "Jones, you call headquarters and tell them to get every goddamn locksmith in Manhattan down here *now*. Neal is in here somewhere and we need to find him. Make sure you have two—no, make it *three*—guys on every exterior door and window in the place. Melbane knows he's trapped. We don't want to push him to the limit, not when he has Neal to bargain with, but we also don't want him getting away. Finding Neal is the number one priority."
"Boss," Diana said urgently as she stuck her head in the room. "You need to get back out here. We have talk on Neal's wire."
o o o
Neal blinked several times, trying to clear his head. It felt all cottony, thoughts coming slowly. He was in yet another swirling painting, though this one was primarily made up of shades of grey and silver with some smoky browns thrown in, like Cezanne's dark period.
"Good morning, my fiery angel." Fingers brushed down Neal's shoulder and he flinched. He couldn't quite remember what had happened, but waking up to strange men stroking your skin and calling you 'angel' was never a good start to the day. He'd really prefer a bowl of Wheaties.
Neal tried to move then moaned as his neck and shoulder screamed, a burning sensation shooting through him. Not that he could move all that much anyway considering that he was tied spread eagle, face down on some sort of metal table. The ropes were so tight that he could barely feel his hands. The metal, at least, was cool against the burn running from his neck down to his collarbone. Neal had forgotten how badly burns hurt.
"Where'm I?" The words came out hoarse and slurred and Neal swallowed, trying to wet his very dry mouth. A tall, blurry figure leaned over him and Neal squinted his eyes, wishing that whatever Impressionist had painted this scene had used a finer brush. "What're you doin' with me?"
The figure leaned down farther, features becoming clearer the closer he got. Well, all painters changed their styles throughout their lives.
"Don't you remember, Neal? You wrapped your angel lips around my cock?" The man sounded amused. "My fiery little angel."
Neal grimaced. That's right. He'd gone into Melbane's house, not knowing that his cover had been blown days before. Then Melbane kept telling him to kneel, kneel, kneel even though he was already on his knees. No, he'd *called* him Neal Neal, Neal even though he wasn't supposed to know his name. Then Neal had tried to run and Melbane's hand had come down and it had burned and burned and burned until everything went white.
"Peter's right outside," Neal said, voice still hoarse. He tried unsuccessfully to wet his lips.
Melbane laughed. "What, your infatuated little agent? The one who wanted so bad to bend you over that he got you a get out of jail free card?"
Neal's face turned red. "Fuck you. He's not that kind of man."
"But you are?" There was an interested note to Melbane's voice.
Neal paused, confused. "What?"
"You said that he's not that kind of man. But you are?" Melbane smiled down at him, looking rather pleased with himself, like the cat that ate the canary. "Of *course* you are. You had your lips wrapped around my cock no less than an hour ago. You know, I've never had much faith in the government. Faked moon landings, covering up the fact that John F. Kennedy is still alive, hiding Monica Lewinski's ties to the Russian mob. But this little plan," he ran a finger down Neal's face, "is truly brilliant. Find the prettiest felon you can and whore him out in the name of justice. I love it. Do they all put their names in the office coffee pot and draw who gets you for the night?"
Neal rolled his eyes, something his instantly regretted as his world began to spin. ""If you're trying to insult me, I've heard it all before. I was in fucking prison, for God's sake. There really isn't anything you can do to me that hasn't been done before."
"Oh, I agree," Melbane said, grinning that wicked smile. "I can deduce that from the marks on your body." He leaned over Neal, running his hand along the inside of his thighs, fingers brushing the little circles of toughened skin. "You've certainly been burned before… Was that prison?"
"No," Neal said flatly as he twisted his right ankle, trying to slip it out of the rope. "My step-father had a hard time remembering where he put his ash tray, if you know what I mean."
Melbane laughed loudly. "Oh, I bet he did. And I bet you screamed when he pressed those cigarettes into your pale, soft thighs, filling the room with the smell of burning flesh." He ran a hand down Neal's thigh again, this time pausing to finger each burn. "You know, there's nothing quite like the smell of burning flesh."
"I dunno, it's not so different from bacon," Neal replied, trying to choke down his quickly rising panic. He *had* screamed when the bastard put his cigs out on him. You really couldn't help but scream. Neal had taken a lot of beatings, but burns were the worst. The skin kept sizzling long after the actual heat had been removed.
"And what about this?" Melbane's finger moved from Neal's thighs to his buttocks. Neal tensed. The scars there were hardly visible, much too light to actually read them anymore, but careful fingers could still trace the letters. "S-L-U-T," Melbane whispered before breaking into laughter. "Slut. Was that your daddy too, Neal?"
Neal snorted, still doing his best to play it cool despite the pounding in his chest. "No, *that* one was prison."
Melbane smiled at him, obviously amused, then took a step back, thank God. Neal breathed deeply and began to open and close his fingers. He needed to get some circulation back in his fingers if he was going to have any chance at these knots.
"So what you really mean," Melbane said slowly, "is that is was Agent Burke."
Neal turned his face to look at the man in disbelief. "No, what I mean is that it was a guy named Ralph with a crew cut, bad hygiene, and a shank made out of the part of a toilet that lifts the plug when you push on the handle."
Melbane waved the words away. "I was speaking existentially, Neal. I'm sure that a man with your level of intelligence recognizes that the existential is a thousand times more important than the physical."
The feeling was actually starting to come back in Neal's left hand. He fingered the knot, scowling at its complexity. Apparently this bastard had been an Eagle Scout. God, where the hell was Peter?!
"Oh yeah," Neal replied sarcastically, more to keep the man talking than anything else. If he could just stall long enough, Peter would come for him. "Peter put me in prison, so every time someone shoved a cock down my throat it was metaphorically him. That is so deep, man. I mean, really deep. They should call you Socrates." He snorted. "Please. It's not his fault that I can break into a federal bank vault in ten minutes but I never bothered to learn hot to properly stab someone with a miniature toothbrush."
"He put you there, all alone, Neal," Melbane continued as if Neal hadn't even spoken. "All by yourself." The man moved around the table and Neal turned his face to follow him, heart skipping a beat as his eyes found the small table a few feet away, covered in various implements. How could he have not noticed that before?!
The table was wide and sturdy and held a variety of items including three different sizes of tazers, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a pack of cigarettes, lighter fluid, and a small dish with coal in it. Melbane pulled a lighter from his pock it and ran it over the coals, making them spring to life.
"And now he's left you all alone with me, angel." Melbane's voice was as soothing as the words were disturbing. "You wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. He let you go out on the street, all alone."
"Yeah," Neal said sarcastically, "you know, except for the van full of agents."
Melbane just smiled and began to soak a small piece of cloth in the rubbing alcohol. Neal shivered as Melbane leaned over him and drew a line with the rag, right along his spine, leaving it damp. "Neal, Neal, Neal. I think it's time that you and I were straight with one another." As he spoke he began to wind gauze around the end of a stick, building it up until it looked like a marshmallow on the end. "Agent Burke is your father, isn't he?"
"You know what, he is," Neal said with a roll of the eyes. "He had me when he was ten. Please don't tell his wife—it's an uncomfortable subject for us."
Melbane let out an irritated sigh. "I meant existentially! Dammit, boy, I'd heard you were smart. I see I was mistaken." His hands hovered near the burning coal like a silent warning and Neal thought fast, trying to figure out what the psycho wanted to hear.
"Okay, okay, yeah, maybe you're right. Maybe he's kind of like the dad I never had. Existentially, since I did have a dad, no immaculate conception here." Neal paused, frowning slightly at his own words. "Not that he has any right to treat me like a child, which he does all the damn time. But you can stop with your mind games. Peter's a nice guy. Definitely would never put cigarettes out on me."
"Hm…" Melbane said, cocking his head to the side like he was thinking. "But he put you in prison where you were obviously tormented, if the crude words carved into your ass are any evidence."
"I deserved to go to prison," Neal replied flatly, almost glad Peter wasn't there to hear him say it. No, scratch that. Peter being there to hear it would be just fine it stopped Melbane from doing anything with the lighter fluid he'd just poured into a cup. "I was the one who broke the law."
"Oh, I see. You deserved it, just like you deserved to have fiery objects pressed into your flesh as a child."
Neal blinked. What the fuck? When had this conversation derailed? "Excuse me?"
Melbane looked over at him, raising his eyebrows questioningly. "Well, your step-father burned you because you were a bad boy, right? Bad boys deserve what they get, isn't that right, Neal? You deserved what you got from your father, just like you deserved what you got from Agent Burke."
God, it was like being in Satanic therapy, taking healthy individuals and rooting out all their problems until they go mad.
"You really like to mess with people's heads, don't you?" Neal asked in a low voice, memories of his step-father making a lump rise in his throat. Where the hell was Peter? Surely he realized by now that Neal was in trouble. It was time for the Feds to come in with guns a'blazing, wasn't it?
"No one is messing with your head, Neal. I'm merely trying to parse the truth from the lies you want to believe," Melbane said. "There are lies, everywhere. People lie to others, they lie to themselves," Melbane's lip curled up and he looked like he was getting agitated. Not good. "But fire is pure, honest. It has nothing to hide. It burns bright and hot and true." He picked up the stick he'd dumped into the lighter fluid, smiling terrifyingly at Neal.
"I know one thing that's true," Neal snapped. "If you do anything to me, Peter will put you away forever."
"You think so?" Melbane questioned, not even bothering to look at Neal as he fumbled through the things laid on the table, coming up with a lighter. "Then where is he, Neal? It's been hours now. Don't you understand? No one is coming for you. Apparently your Agent Burke has decided you're not worth saving." He chuckled cruelly. "Perhaps the way you so eagerly sucked another man's cock has made him see his pet in a new light."
Neal laughed aloud at that, despite the sick feeling that rose at the words, tiny slivers of doubt piercing his mind. "Please. He'll come for me."
Melbane smirked and flipped the lighter open, striking it. The small flame illuminated his face in a disturbing way. "Neal, you got yourself into this. I know that Agent Burke wouldn't have wanted his personal play thing to do the kind of things you did with me. You didn't play by his rules. You took off, doing your own thing. Now, you'll simply have to face the consequences. It's no different than when you went to prison. Agent Burke knew what would happen to a beautiful man like you, and he didn't care. He didn't ride to your rescue then, did he? After all, you disobeyed the rules. You deserved what you got."
"That's not the same," Neal said in a shaky voice, pulse rushing as he stared at the tiny flame in front of him, entranced.
"Oh there's the big lie, the flaw in societal logic. Don't you see what liars they are, Neal? Agent Burke put you, so pretty and helpless, in a cage with a bunch of strong, angry men who had nothing better to do than hurt you, and he told you that was okay because you'd been a bad boy." Melbane smirked. "Your dear 'Peter' did what he *had* to do, right? He couldn't have left you to your silly crimes that never even hurt anyone. No, he *had* to take you down and bind you so that you couldn't escape. He had to do whatever he could to make certain that you would go away to live like an animal surrounded by men who would hurt you and use you. And every punch, every fuck, every nasty word carved into your beautiful ass for the next four years would be completely deserved. You deserved it all, Neal Caffrey, because you defied Peter Burke. Just like you defied him today."
Melbane held up the stick with the gauze on the end, dipping it into the flame. It lit up like a flare and Neal choked back a sob. He had to be strong. Peter would come, he would. The things Melbane was saying… He was trying to scare Neal, to twist his mind. They weren't true. Peter wouldn't leave him here to be hurt by this man. He wouldn't. Would he?
"Don't you see what *liars* they are, Neal? So many lies, everything, that they've convinced you are truths!" Neal whimpered as Melbane waved the flame close enough to Neal's face that he could feel the edges of the fire tickle his cheek. "Do you really believe that Peter Burke will come to save you Neal, after all the bad things you've done?"
"Yes!" Neal said, eyes locked on the flame, pulse rushing. "He will. He will!"
A cruel smile appeared on Melbane's face. "Like how he came to save you in prison, after you'd done all those bad things?"
"That was different. God, please don't burn me!" Neal hated how helpless he sounded, but all he could think was that with one little move of the stick, Melbane could catch his hairspray on fire and his whole head would go up in flame.
"Different because you deserved it then, but you don't deserve it now."
His head felt light, woozy. Neal took a slow, deep breath, trying to keep himself from hyperventilating as his eyes followed the swaying of Melbane's little torch so, so close to his face.
Yes," he moaned, not sure what Melbane wanted. "Yes, because I deserved it then. Please don't burn me."
There was a long pause and, for a horrifying instant, Neal thought Melbane was going to plunge the fire into his hair. But instead he actually took a step back, fingers returning to the little round burns inside Neal's thighs. "You mean like you deserved these."
Sweat trickled down Neal's face. "What? I-I didn't deserve those." He dropped his head down on the table with a bang. "I don't understand. I don't understand what you want me to say!"
Melbane's voice was deep and haunting. "But you believed once that you deserved them, didn't you, little Neal?"
Neal froze, breath catching as dark memories flooded him.
"Well? You did, didn't you?" Melbane hissed, the flame appearing back in Neal's face. "Didn't you?!"
"Yes," Neal moaned, blinking back tears. "Yes, I believed that I deserved them, okay? Are you happy? Please don't burn me."
Melbane ignored his pleading. "So you believed you deserved them, just like how you believe now that you deserve the things Peter Burke did to you."
Neal shivered like he was freezing, an oxymoron that would have been amusing if he hadn't been scared out of his mind. "But I did deserve—"
"Lies!" Melbane interrupted, slamming his free hand down on the table hard enough to make it rattle. "It's all lies and you know it!" He moved the fire stick downward, holding it just above the trail of alcohol he'd wiped down Neal's back.
"Admit it, Neal. Admit that Peter was the one who hurt you, just as much as the man who shoved his cigarettes into your flesh! Free yourself from the lies, Neal! Rise above them, burn them away, and admit that, deep down, you fear Peter Burke! Be true and embrace that little voice screaming from the deepest depths of your soul, the voice that the liars tell you to ignore! The voice of truth! For once in your life, Neal Caffrey, tell the truth!"
No. No, it wasn't true. This man was the liar. It wasn't the same, his time in prison. It wasn't. And this, here, now wasn't the same, either. Peter would come for him this time. It wouldn't be like in prison. It wouldn't! This time Peter would come for him. Peter wouldn't hold his past against him, wouldn't abandon him over the things he'd done tonight. He would come. He would. It wasn't the same. It wasn't the same!
Neal whimpered as the stick dropped lower, no more than half an inch from his skin. He could feel the warmth of the flame against his back. A tear dripped down his cheek.
"Every day you tell your lies, smiling and pretending that everything's okay when, really, you're always afraid. Because he controls you like a master, he defines what you're allowed to be, and you know, deep down inside, that he can do *anything* he wants to you and everyone will believe the lie when he tells them you deserved it!" Melbane's face appeared next to Neal and he blew gently on the fire stick, making the flames arch toward Neal.
Neal whimpered, wanting to turn his face away but too afraid to take his eyes off the flame. Peter was his friend, not his enemy. He was more than a badge to Neal's anklet. He was! Another tear ran down his cheek as Melbane stood and he felt the fire hovering above his back once more.
"Admit it, Neal. Admit that you're afraid of him, afraid of his intentions, and I won't burn your pretty flesh."
"Yes!" he shouted, not entirely sure if it was the truth or if he was just trying to save his own skin, literally. "I admit it… I'm afraid. Afraid that I'm not good enough for him, that I'll fuck up and he'll send me back. Afraid of what he thinks I deserve. Because it all hurt so, so bad, and all I ever hear, every day, is how I only got what I deserved." Neal let out a sob, tears flowing freely down his cheeks now. "Over and over about how I pissed in my own bed. I admit it, okay? I'm afraid. Afraid that he's not coming because he knows what I am now. Please, please, please don't burn me!"
Melbane smiled gently. "That's a good boy. Doesn't the truth feel nice? I'm so glad to hear you speak so honestly." He laughed, a wicked sound that made Neal look up in alarm, eyes widening as he watched the man pull out Neal's thick leather wristband from his pocket. Neal's breath caught, a whole new level of fear pulsing through him. Oh, God, no.
"And I'm also very glad that Peter now knows the real truth about you, about what really lies behind your practiced smile. I'm glad he knows that, despite everything he's done to help you, you're still a cowardly, ungrateful liar who thinks he can do whatever the hell he wants and get away with it." Melbane laughed again, and there was definitely an edge of madness to it. "You know what, angel? He may have been looking for you before, but now? I don't think he has any reason to come at all." He shook his head, looking down at Neal like he was some kind of naughty child, then held the wire out over the cup of alcohol. "Goodbye, Agent Burke. It was nice talking to you."
Neal let out a desperate cry as the wire dropped down into the liquid, eyes brimming with more tears. No, no, no, no. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't.
Melbane smiled, holding out his still-burning stick. "And now, as for you…" The fire dipped down, hovering between Neal's shoulders just above the wet line of alcohol.
"Y-you said you wouldn't…"
Melbane laughed. "I told you, Neal. Everyone's a liar."
The stick dropped down and Neal let out a scream.
o o o
Peter slammed the door open, practically twisting it off its hinges. El stood, eyes wide and startled.
"Hey, hon—"
"Is he here?" Peter interrupted, looking around wildly. "Is he here?"
"Yeah, he's in the kitchen…"
A small, balding head appeared in the doorway. "Y'know, Suit, not everybody is at your call. I was right in the middle of comparing images of middle American crop circles to patterns carved on ancient Celtic alters in—"
"Mozzie," Peter cut in, not interested in wasting time listening to theories about aliens at Stonehenge, "if you lived in a one story house just outside the city with an underground fortress and the FBI had you surrounded, what would you do?"
Mozzie blinked several times, looking rather stunned. "Excuse me?"
Peter let out an irritated sigh. "Mozzie, Neal's in trouble. A paranoid pyromanic is holding him hostage and fucking torturing him, messing with his head and God knows what." He let out a choked sob and Elizabeth stood abruptly, reaching out to wrap her arms around him.
"Honey, what do you mean? What's going on?" She reached her hand up and touched his cheek, looking astonished. "And why are you crying?"
Peter choked, pushing her away from him. He didn't want her comfort. He didn't *deserve* her comfort. And *that* was the truth, as real as fire.
"God, El, it was horrible. We sent him undercover as a prostitute into Joseph Melbane's house, then we find out the bastard knew about the op all along, that he's the one whose been setting the fires. And Neal was crying and Melbane kept saying that we weren't coming for him and yelling at him to 'tell the truth' and Neal, oh God El, he blames me and he *should* blame me, he should, because I was such a fool, and now he hates me, oh God." The words were coming so fast that he could barely understand himself.
Peter rubbed at his eyes, wiping away the tears. "He didn't think about the consequences when he committed his crimes but *I* didn't think about the consequences when I put him away, I didn't do anything to protect him, and I think he hates me now, El," he said, stumbling over the words. "And some sick bastard is torturing him and there's nothing I can do to help him! He's afraid now and he's been afraid this whole time and it's all my fault." He dropped down on the sofa, letting his head fall into his hands. "It's all my fault."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down, Suit!" Mozzie said, holding up a hand. "Joseph Melbane has Neal? As in President of the Society for the Destruction of Orwellian Futures Joseph Melbane?"
"The what?" Peter looked up, doing his best to quell the emotions racing through him as he focused his attention on Mozzie. Neal was missing. He needed to have a clear head, as impossible as that seemed after having to listen to Melbane's little torture session with Neal. "Joseph Melbane as in the black market fence with a sense of paranoia to rival, well, yours. Which is why I need your help." He clenched his fists. "You have to help me."
"What, exactly, happened?" El asked, wringing her hands as she settled down on the couch next to him, leaning into his shoulder.
Peter swallowed down the lump in his throat. "We had this case where the perps were setting fires to get their hands on some high end art. Melbane is an antisocial bastard who never leaves his house, but we figured out an in. Every week he visits the same male prostitute in the red light district. So we picked the kid up and sent Neal in his place."
"Okay, Suit," Mozzie said, looking agitated. "Two things here—first, you sent Neal in as a whore?! The man who spends every day choking on your electronic leash? Where are your scruples?"
"He said he didn't have a problem with it—"
"Probably because he has a strange obsession with winning your approval! Talk about a powder keg, especially considering his history!" Mozzie made a disgusted face.
Peter frowned, confused. "His history?"
Mozzie sighed. "Right. Forgive me, that was my fault. I forget sometimes that you're not actually his *friend* and don't bother talk to him about things like his *feelings*. It was lax of me to let that slip my mind. Let's hit the erase button on point number one since I will never be able to convince Neal to file harassment charges against you." He held up two fingers. "Number two. Or second number one. What do you mean, Melbane the antisocial bastard? Melbane is a hardcore member of several anti-establishment groups. And, as much as I hate 'The Man,' I have to admit that some of the groups Melbane's associated with kind of scare me. I don't think we should be helping the Canadian government hide their weapons of mass destruction in Serbia, but I also don't think that bombing Quebec is the solution. I see him every other week at the New York Anarchist Club's bi-weekly tea party, but we're not exactly buddies."
Peter's brow furrowed. "That… that's not possible. He never leaves his house."
"Oh, yes he does," Mozzie said flatly. "He leaves it all the time.
"But we staked him out!" Peter said, confused. They'd sat outside that house for a goddamn week and never even saw a curtain move. "We never saw him leave!"
Mozzie sighed dramatically. "Well you *wouldn't,* would you? We're not fools, Suit. You think he didn't notice a utility van hanging around outside his place? He played you. And now he could be anywhere. Hotel, safe house, grounded alien spacecraft. You won't be able to trace him. It's not like Melbane is his real name. I'm sure he's got a thousand identities lying around with everything from credit cards to bank accounts ready to use when necessary." He shook his head, obviously upset. "He could have Neal anywhere in this damn city thanks to you!"
Peter shook his head rapidly. "No. We have the house surrounded and we have every agent in New York working their way through Melbane's labyrinth of alarm systems, but it's taking forever and we don't have the time. Neal is in there somewhere and we have to get him out." Before he hurts him, hung unsaid in the air.
"A waste of time," Mozzie said flatly. "Like I said, Melbane is gone."
"But how—"
"You said he has an underground fortress. Why not a tunnel or twelve leading out, maybe even into the sewers? You can get pretty much anywhere through the sewers."
"Oh, God," Peter said, his face paling. "I-I hadn't thought of that."
Mozzie rubbed his forehead. "Dammit, Suit, I cannot believe you were this stupid! Come on, take me to Melbane's."
Peter swallowed hard, shaking his head slowly. "I… I can't."
"Don't fight me on this, Suit!" Mozzie said, sticking a finger in his face. "If anyone can track a man like Melbane, it's me."
"I know, I know," Peter said, holding up his hands. "That's why I called you. But… I can't just take you over to Melbane's. They… they kicked me off the case."
El made a soft sound of shock. "They kicked you off the case? Why?"
Peter gave a bitter laugh. "I don't know. Maybe it was the whole thing where I punched the wall yelling 'it's all my fault, I never meant to hurt him' over and over again. Hughes says I'm too close to the case." He shook his head. "I don't know why he wants me out! I said, to him, 'It's not like it's El,' and he just looked at me with this know-it-all face and I just wanted to punch it in—DAMMIT!" He slammed a first into the arm of the couch.
"Wow," Mozzie said, eyebrows raised. "I see Melbane really got to you. He use his 'let me tell you what the *real* truth is' trick? I am far from your biggest fan, Suit, but whatever Melbane did to make you think Neal doesn't adore you in a really peculiar way, it's total crap."
Peter wrapped his arms around himself tightly as El kissed his cheek. She was so wonderful. He didn't deserve anyone so wonderful.
"Neal… he said he's afraid of me," Peter said hoarsely. "That I put him in prison to get… get bad things done to him. That I… that I was like a father who hurt him and then made him believe he deserved it."
Mozzie rolled his eyes, looking at Peter like he was an idiot. "You know, Suit, there's a reason that things said under duress are not admissible in court."
"No… No, this was the truth. I'm sure of it." Peter blinked back tears. "Totally sure of it."
"Honey, I've seen you and Neal together, and that man is not afraid of you. That man respects you and cares about you," El replied, voice quiet.
"She's right, Suit," Mozzie said, scowling down at him. "You want the 'real truth'? I'll tell you the 'real truth.' Neal thinks you're the best thing since the Mona Lisa heist so, for God's sake, don't hold anything he said against him. He's had a tough life and Melbane is practically a pro at twisting everything bad that's ever happened to you into a big lump of Terrible then splattering it all over your face. The important thing is that we find him before Melbane goes completely off the deep end. You have to take an oath when you join the Ultimate Liberation Squad that you will not use your powers to kill unless the tools are being prepared for the lobotomy, but like I said, Melbane runs with a rougher crew. I don't think he's ever killed anyone, but let's not have Neal be his first."
"Oh he's killed someone," Peter said grimly. "A little girl and her father burned to death in the last gallery hit. We don't think it was intentional, but Melbane sure didn't seem bothered by it. His pyromania is growing."
"Oh God," El breathed, grip tightening on his arm. "Peter, you have to do *something*. You didn't just sit there and do nothing when I was kidnapped."
Peter took a deep breath. "You're right. I have to do something… but what can I do? Hughes isn't going to let me waltz back into Melbane's place. He specifically told me to go home and sit tight."
"Well," Mozzie said, "if we can't waltz in, then I guess we're gonna have to tango."
Peter looked at him, raising an eyebrow, and Mozzie let out an annoyed sigh.
"Sneak in, Suit. We're going to have to sneak in."
