AN: How was everyone's holiday? Hopefully good! Here is the next chapter. It's a bit shorter and quite expository in places, but the flashback is one of my favorites. I'm thinking of trying for shorter chapters and faster updates, so if you could let me know what you all think of that it would be appreciated. I'll post another poll in my profile also. This chapter is unbetaed (to give my awesome betas a break) so any mistakes are my own and feel free to point them out. Enjoy!


Chapter Eight - Requiem


He cracked open an eye, before groaning and turning away as bright light flooded his field of vision. It felt like his head had exploded the pain was so bad. Closing his eyes before he passed out, he leant his aching head back against the wall behind him, breathing deeply through the pain. The left side of his body felt odd, cold almost, and he reluctantly opened his eyes a bit slower so he could let them adjust.

Anyone else might have panicked at the sight that greeted him. Dark red liquid stained the grey shirt he had on, but he did not pay much attention to the growing blotch. The area felt uncomfortably sticky, like unwanted sweat had gathered there, and he was sure that if he lifted up the shirt his side would have been slick with it. Since it was not yet dried, he figured that he had not been sitting in the hallway for too long.

Shakily, as his muscles did not seem to want to listen to what his brain wanted, he brought up his right hand to the section of charred and wet fabric. He grimaced; it was unpleasant to see the red stain on his hand when he bought it away. Letting his head hit the wall again with a defeated thump, his hand dropped limply into the growing dark puddle around his body.

Seemingly random images were starting to float across his field of vision. Flowers, bombs, cherry pie, guns. All the stimulus was intensifying the headache; however, even closing his eyes did not help. In fact, it did not help at all. Images still flashed across his vision, as if he still had them open. It was the oddest feeling, and he did not like it at all. He just hoped it went away after his mind became properly adjusted. Suddenly he stiffened and froze. Even though his eyes were shut, he could tell someone was quickly nearing by the vibrations their shoes created. He had a feeling he knew who it was though.

"Oh Bryce." A troubled feminine voice spoke when the footsteps had stopped, and he felt a soft hand caress the side of his face as she knelt down next to him. Unexpectedly, an uncomfortable wetness began to gather in the corner of his eyes, and he scrunched them together even tighter in an attempt to stop the tears. "It's gonna be okay honey."

Her hand moved over his face again, and the woman started to run her fingers though his hair. The very familiar soothing motions turned out to be his undoing, and his eyes snapped open, meeting her sympathetic gaze. Seconds later, his brain felt as if it was going into overdrive and his eyelids fluttered.

A folder with the CIA seal on the front; a picture of a young, dark-haired woman; National Clandestine Service; the Omaha Project; Operation Cascade; Bryce Larkin, Neal Caffrey; Katie Avalon, Kate Moreau…

He was brought violently out of the stream of information when a sharp pain blossomed on the side of his face. His grey eyes were wild as he looked into her frightened face. He had had a horrible headache before she slapped him, and it was only made worse by the unexpected impact of her hand to the side of his face. A groan escaped him, and the tears that had been present earlier began to leak out of his eyes in earnest at the spike of pain so he put his head in his hands.

"Bryce, what happened?" Her voice quivered slightly as she watched her partner lying on the floor in misery and a pool of what looked to be blood.

"It worked Kate," he said, his voice rough. He looked up at her and she winced when she saw a streak of red across his pale face from where his hand had been. "The Intersect. The download. Everything worked."

"What did you see?" Kate asked softly, and then she raised a hand over his worn face again, this time brushing the unwanted tears away. She was honestly disturbed to see the man like this. Bryce had always had tight control of his emotions. Although, when she thought about it that was not always true. When it can to certain matters, he could be very emotional.

"You. Your files. It worked." He knew he was repeating himself, but at that point, it was about all he could say.

"We need to get moving Bryce." Her tone sounded both jubilant and apologetic as she stood up from her cramped position. They had to get to the safe room in the building and wait until the building was clear of Team Bartowski. "Miles' team was incapacitated."

"Chuck?" he asked sharply, a bit more lucid than before and both dreading and hoping for the confirmation that would mean it was all worth it. Slowly, he began to leverage himself up from the wall, requiring some of Kate's help when he slipped a little in the puddle of blood. He put a hand on the wall to steady himself, and when he removed it, he was reminded that he was covered in the stuff; it left a large handprint and he got a sudden urge to laugh. His life certainly felt like a horror movie.

"We watched it all happen." She slid his arm over her shoulder and helped steady him. "The Origin system is fully integrated with the Intersect. He'll be a bit sore in the morning."

"Chuck never was much of a fighter," he said bitterly. His old friend would absolutely hate the new modifications, but it had to be done. Moreover, Chuck would just have to adapt. The Ring certainly was not going to play nicely, and the Intersect needed to be as protected as possible.

"I know Bryce," she said quietly, leading him down the corridor towards another wing of the large building.

He glanced back at the stop where his body had laid, the white tile hideously marked with what was supposed to have been his blood. There was so much of it. If Sarah or Chuck had not thought him dead before, the amount of the red liquid there now most certainly would have convinced them.

Nevertheless, in a way, he was dead. Bryce Larkin would officially be no longer. It would be Neal Caffrey stepping on the plane to New York later that night, and Caffrey who would be handcuffed and put into prison for bond forgery. Yet Neal Caffrey was not really being locked away; Bryce Larkin was.

Neal Caffrey was just getting started.


Peter Burke was angry, and not that he would admit it, more than a little worried. His hands were shaking so badly that his signature would probably have been classified as a forgery, and in frustration, he threw his pen down on the desk. Placing his head in his hands, he tried to gain some control. It was difficult though, not knowing what was going on just down the hall. He hoped to God that whatever Fowler wanted was not going to turn out like last time.

Months ago, they had been working a robbery case, where it was suspected that a thief had switched out a rare pink diamond for a fake from the vault at an upscale clothing boutique. The boutique at been set to display it but after Neal, Jones, Cruz, and himself had gone to the scene of the crime and confirmed that the gem that was present was a fake, that had not happened. They had then gone back to the office to discuss possible suspects and motives. However, Peter had had a gut feeling that something was wrong when his consultant had seemed a bit distracted that morning, and once he heard OPR was in the office, it had grown into a very unpleasant ache. The agents with OPR always caused trouble, and that time had not been an exception.

Led by Garret Fowler, whom Peter had only ever heard of by reputation before that meeting, the group had soon accused Neal of stealing the gem. Based on the assumption that the ex-con had somehow gotten the information about the gem from one of the few FBI agents who knew the security details, an arrest warrant had been issued. However, there had been no way in hell anyone but himself would be slapping the handcuffs on Neal, which he had done right there in the conference room of the offices.

Therefore, Neal had walked the "perp" walk towards the elevators, his handcuffed hands hidden under a jacket. Peter had not been surprised as he watched the man handle all the unwanted suspicion with his head held high and a quiet confidence radiating from his sharp grey eyes. And a day later, those same eyes assessed him over the table that separated prisoners from visitors, their owner decked out in the brilliant orange of maximum security.

He had not pretended to understand just why OPR thought Neal had stolen the gem. While it was true that his consultant talked to many other agents in the offices, and was on friendly terms with a majority of them, he had done some digging like the good FBI agent he was. The only people who actually knew about the gem were Macy's team, and they had all been out of the office that week for a conference. Hughes had known too, but Peter knew that the Special Agent in Charge would never have mentioned something like that to Neal.

Therefore, the charges had seemed rather ridiculous based off that suspicion alone. The situation really blew out of proportion a few days later when Neal had gone to his arraignment. Somehow, the man had gotten the proceeding to be moved to the judge's chambers, which happened to be above a bakery. At the time the specific location did not mean much to Peter, until he had remembered Cruz mentioning that while in jail Neal had bought a bakery. He had only made the connection because the bakery's awning was oddly the same color orange as the maximum-security clothing the jail supplied.

Moreover, just as quickly as he had figured out something was going down, he had been witness to another Neal Caffrey escape. Leaping from the window in the judge's chambers, Neal had fallen four stories right onto the awning that had been conveniently moved. It had seemed like an eternity as he watched the man fall in front of him, but he had not been able to keep the small grin off his face when the man spotted him and shrugged before running off into a van as if he did stuff like that every day. Sure he recognized that Neal had been a con man and was rather good at evading bad situations, but not everyone would have the balls to jump from that high with just a piece of cloth to catch them.

Hughes had been upset, but Fowler had been downright pissed when he heard Neal had escaped from under their custody. Peter had not been entirely sure of just what Neal was doing, so he had attempted to stall and misdirect the search to give the man more time. Of course, he probably should have realized that the man would have turned up at Peter's house at some point, despite the surveillance that had been set up for that reason. He was surprised with the weariness that the man seemed to exude though.

After one hurried conversation later, his mind had about imploded. Neal had showed him documents that indicated his phone was bugged, and OPR was behind it. All the evidence pointed towards Fowler being dirty; the man had somehow set Neal up for the diamond theft. A dirty FBI agent was serious, if it was true, and considering that he could not go to the Bureau's version of Internal Affairs, it had taken a few days of covert work to even work the case properly. However, with Neal's help, they had finally figured out who had really committed the crime and he was cleared of the charges.

Because of that, OPR apparently had no reason to be present and they quickly left. That still had not answered the question of who had really set up Neal and bugged Peter's phone, so as the group had been getting in the elevators he had confronted Fowler. Surprisingly the man had actually let something slip. For some reason OPR was investigating him personally, and he had a feeling that Neal was involved somehow. The appearance of the group today had surprised everyone, but it was whom they wanted and for what that had been most shocking.

There had only been a few occasions where his consultant helped other agents with a case, so it was not entirely odd that he was called to share his expertise. What was odd about this instance was that it was OPR asking. OPR and the mysterious Agent Kent who was set to consult on the Carson case that afternoon.

So now, he was sitting at his desk angry because he was not told what Neal was helping with; worried that it would turn out like last time and his consultant would be back behind bars; worried for a man who he considered a friend of a sort. Ever since the clinic incident his concern had skyrocketed as he observed that friend withdraw into himself a little more every day, even more so these last couple of days. While Peter had to admit that he was extremely curious about what the man had mentioned while drugged in that clinic, Neal had not remembered anything that had been said so it would not matter much anyway. At least that was what he was led to believe. He was not quite sure what to make of the small but noticeable changes though.

Sighing, he decided to make a phone call and he picked up the cell before hitting the first number on his speed dial. After a ring, the person on the other end picked up, her familiar voice making him smile.

"Hey you. How's work? Satch, that's not for you! Shoo! Get down."

"Hey El," he said weakly, and he knew his wife Elizabeth caught the frustration in his voice when he could no longer hear her struggles with their dog. She was probably setting up for a catering service or something like that. Her business, Burke Premier Events, was an event consulting service and it was quite common that some of her clients stopped by the house for consults. It was also common that Satchmo, their golden retriever, would follow her around the house. They sometimes joked that he was the son they did not have.

"Oh no. I know that voice. What's Neal done this time?"

He laughed quietly, the smile on his face getting a little larger at her disapproving tone. "For once, nothing. Yet."

"Well, what's wrong then? You're obviously upset to be calling me so soon in the morning."

"Hey, since when was it wrong for a man to want to call his beautiful wife," he asked, spinning his chair around so he was looking out the windows at the bright sunlight day. Peter knew she was not going to buy that comment one bit.

"Peter," she said a warning tone in her voice. Despite the fact that he could not see her, he could still imagine the glare she had on her face. He let out a shaky sigh, and quickly debated what to tell her.

"It's nothing really. Our Internal Affairs people are visiting and the office is a bit crazy right now."

"OPR." He was not all that surprise that she remembered the acronym. After all, he had ranted about them enough. "Aren't they the ones who you thought bugged our phones? That doesn't sound like nothing Peter."

"Yeah, that's them. I haven't been able to figure out what they want yet. Reese has been tightlipped about it," he said, hesitation creeping into his voice, which she caught. Ten years of marriage and she could still read him like an open book.

"And what does Neal think? After all, if I remember right he isn't too fond of that one agent. Flower or whatever his name was."

Peter snorted and said, "Fowler. And I wouldn't know what he thinks. I haven't gotten a chance to talk to him since they arrived. He was carted off to the conference room to discuss a case that they apparently needed him to consult on."

"But you don't believe that," she said softly. "Peter, do they think he did something?"

He had no clue what to think. Experience told him that if they thought Neal was guilty of something, they would have arrested him by now. It could be entirely possible that the consultant was really needed for just that, consulting. The fact that it was for the Department of Justice was also plausible, considering that the department itself was very large. Still, it was OPR and that made him leery.

"I just don't know El. He didn't seem all that surprised by it, though this is Neal. His poker face is rather good," he grudgingly admitted. Glancing at his desk, his eyes caught the drawer where he had stored the information Jones had given him that morning. Nevertheless, that poker face was not always perfect. As the information within that file proved.

"Well, that does certainly sound like Neal."

"You're tell-" He was interrupted by a knock on the glass door to his office, and he swiveled the chair around to see who it was. Jones was standing there, looking a bit troubled. He gestured at Peter to come out, and the agent acknowledge him, motioning he would be one second. The man behind the glass nodded back and walked towards the conference room. "Sorry El, but Jones is calling me."

"Tell him I said hello. And go catch the bad guys," she joked. "Just be home by dinnertime."

"I'll try," he said, both of them knowing that he would in all likelihood not make it. That was what he loved about her though. She understood the job.

"And tell Neal he's invited. As long as he brings one of his fancy wines too."

"I'll do that." She had not seen Neal in a while, and he knew if anyone could get the man to talk, it would be Elizabeth. He exhaled heavily and said, "Thanks El."

"You're welcome. Love you."

"Love you too. Bye."

He snapped the phone shut and stared at the display. Talking with Elizabeth always made him feel better, and that call was no different. Glancing again at the drawer that held the file on the names Jones had run, he got a weird feeling in his chest. It felt like foreboding, but he was not sure why. What was it with this that was bothering him so much? Peter did not know, though he hoped to get some answers soon.

After checking to make sure that his phone was set to vibrate, he shoved it in a jacket pocket and got up. Mentally forcing himself to switch gears, he opened the glass door and started towards the conference room. It was time to meet the new consultant.