He's gone El. I lost our son. They took him and I let it happen. El, Neal's gone.
Over and over Peter played the words in his head, the conversation he was going to have with his wife, the conversation he promised her would never happen. Peter pressed his foot down on the gas and sped across the Queensboro Bridge in pursuit of the dot he was tracking on his phone.
After he'd snapped out of the initial shock of knowing his son had been snatched up from right under his nose, Peter's FBI training had rebooted and he set out in pursuit of his target with absolute prejudice. Within seconds, he had engaged Neal's electronic anklet GPS data on his phone and commandeered a taxi outside the Empire State Building, not giving a damn what the driver had to say about being unceremoniously yanked from his seat. Hell, he would have taken the guy's car at gun point if that's what it took!
Peter momentarily took his attention away from the dot he was tracking and the traffic he was weaving in and out of to press one of his speed dial numbers.
"Hi Boss," the young female on the other end recognised Peter's number.
"Dianna, listen, someone took Neal. I'm sure it's Murdoch and Stiler. I'm in pursuit. I've just pulled off the Queensboro Bridge and Neal's tracking data has them heading to the industrial wharfs down at Long Island City. Trace my phone and send backup."
"Sure Boss, I'm on it…You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm find…but anyway, Dianna," Peter paused while working out how best to word it.
"Yeah Boss?"
"Do me a favour and head over to my house. I need someone there with El…just in case this goes badly."
There was a slight pause on the other end before the young woman replied, "I'll take care of this end, you take care of yours."
"Thanks Dianna." Peter muted the phone but maintained the connection so he could be traced and resumed tracking Neal's dot, which appeared to be slowing. A minute later, the dot had come to a complete standstill, right beside the East River, not more than five blocks from Peter's current location. As soon as he was off the main road, he closed the gap in next to no time.
Peter stopped the taxi one block back from where Neal's tracker put him and cautiously travelled the rest of the distance on foot.
###
"Yeah…Yeah…No, I don't think so…Right…At the moment, I got him on the couch…What time?..…But he doesn't say nothing….You gotta come here and see for yourself…"
Peter crept in slowly, readjusting his eyes to the darkened warehouse after the blazing mid morning sun had caused his vision to struggle upon entering via a loose panel near the back docks. He could hear a voice, someone speaking with agitation on a phone? He could only hear one side of the conversation so he assumed it was a phone call. Peter moved in closer and as he rounded a stack of boxes, a small area in the corner set aside as an office came into view. Peter remained out of sight as he watched a man with a phone to his ear pace back and forth. Stiler! The rogue detective was clearly distressed and had issue with whomever was on the other end. Peter raised his gun and moved in a little closer. It was at that moment he spotted Neal. The little guy was sitting perfectly still on a beat up couch, his tiny legs folded up under and his arms wrapped around his knees. Peter swallowed down a huge lump in his throat and released a breath he'd been holding for who knew how long. His little boy was unharmed and if the agent was going to have anything to say about it, it was going to stay that way.
Stiler turned his back and paced away from the couch, "No…I don't think you realise…Why don't you come down here and do it yourself!…"
Peter stepped fully into view and raised his gun to eye level.
Neal caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head sharply. His eye's brightened when he spotted Peter and it looked like he was about to make a move but the agent held a finger to his lips and then held his hand up in a stop gesture.
Neal appeared to understand but just as Peter was about to make a move, the little guy jumped up off the seat and screamed out at the top of his lungs while pointing in Peter's direction, "Look out Daddy! Behind you!"
Peter reacted on impulse and spun round in time to see a gun being raised to his head. Without pause, Peter smashed his gun against Murdoch's and the two weapons went crashing across the floor leaving both men to battle it out in a hand to hand fist fight.
Meanwhile, Stiler had made a decision to do a runner while the others were distracted, figuring that the FBI agent wouldn't be alone and he'd fare better odds if he cleared off before the cavalry came breaking down the door.
"You son of a bitch!" Peter slammed his fist into the side of Murdoch's jaw but the detective ducked the next swing and instead caught Peter in his ribs with a painful right undercut.
Peter doubled over before barrelling into Murdoch, bringing them both tumbling to the ground. They wrestled and struggled, throwing wild punches that sometimes caught their mark, until eventually, Murdoch broke free and clambered to his feet. He had managed to retrieve his gun and he was pointing said gun directly at Peter.
Neal gasped out loud and both men turned to the little boy who'd been forgotten about during the brawl.
"Daddy is it?" Murdoch spat away a mouthful of blood and smirked at the agent kneeling on the hard concrete flooring. "Well, Daddy, seems like your boy isn't a mute after all. But unless either of you can tell me where the ring is, you're of no use to any of us."
"Ring?" Peter stalled for time, back-up had to be just around the corner. He had no idea what Murdoch was talking about but he wasn't about to give up the only collateral he had. "Depends which ring Murdoch. You tell me which one and I'll tell you if we know where it is."
Murdoch gave a deep throaty chuckle although there was no smile in his eyes, only hatred and greed. The detective spun on Neal but kept his weapon trained on Peter, "Looks like its up to you Mr Caffrey."
Neal froze in his spot and couldn't take his eyes off the man with his gun.
"I knew your first daddy well. He and I used to be partners of sorts. But your daddy got greedy and took something that didn't belong to him so I had to-"
"Let Neal go and I'll take you to the ring," Peter made a move to stand up but Murdoch cocked his gun and trained it more precisely at Peter's head.
"Sorry Agent Burke but you're not dealing with some dumb ass rookie. You don't have an inkling of an idea what I'm talking about. Adele didn't have an opportunity to tell you anything but I'm guessing she had plenty of chats with her little boy. So you see, you're obsolete to me. You move, I shoot, this is between me and young Caffrey over here." Murdoch continued to aim his gun at the agent but twisted his head back to the boy…but the boy had moved. He was now standing right beside Peter's gun that had propelled across the floor. Neal was looking down at the gun at his feet.
Murdoch laughed again, "Go on kid, pick it up. Your daddy was a good shot. Let's see if you take after your old man. Your other old man."
Neal looked from the gun to Murdoch and finally across to Peter. Peter had been desperately waiting to lock eyes with the youngster and when he did, he needed to get his message across loud and clear. Don't touch the gun! Peter knew from having listened to the experiences of those who had been through it that it was much easier to shoot a suspect if they were waving around a loaded gun. Survival instinct kicked in, taking away the doubt behind pulling the trigger. If Neal picked up that gun…! Peter's eyes bore into Neal's then he shook his head ever so slightly, enough that the little guy got the message – don't you dare!
"Pick it up, Caffrey! Or this daddy is going bye byes just like your first one."
Neal took one final look at Peter then made his move. Fortunately, instead of grabbing for the gun, he darted behind a wooden crate and took shelter. Peter saw his opportunity and reefed his spare gun from its ankle holster and fired. Murdoch didn't stand a chance. He dropped his weapon and collapsed to ground, holding his chest where the bullet had struck. Peter rushed over and kicked away the gun before holstering his own. He was about to reach for his cell to call for the paramedics but a team bursting through the doors beat him to it.
"FBI!" Came the shouts as the agents secured the area.
"Man down," Peter relinquished the care of Murdoch to another field agent then darted over to where his son was huddled behind the boxes.
"Daddy!" Neal jumped up and wrapped his arms around Peter's neck for all his worth.
"Hey! Kiddo!" Peter ran his hand through the little guy's hair and didn't know where to start. Neal had spoken. Neal had called him daddy and Neal had listened to him about not touching the gun. Where to start?..."You okay, partner?"
"Yeah…" Neal began without thinking but then suddenly remembered something.
"What is it buddy?" Peter waited for a response but the little boy clamed up once more. And in any case, it was time to remove Neal from this nightmare, sooner rather than later, so Peter climbed back onto his feet, lifting Neal as he went and wrapping him safely against his chest so he could guard him against the chaos ensuing throughout the building. As he exited the building, Peter caught sight of Stiler handcuffed and being dragged to a squad car and glanced over with detached interest as Murdoch was loaded into an ambulance. He didn't care for either of them so whatever their fate was, it was someone else's problem now.
###
That night, it was a mentally exhausted but gratefully relieved set of parents that tucked their sleeping son into his bed, thankful that they could all sleep a little better knowing that the main players in the Adele Caffrey homicide were in custody, out of harms way and were about to be locked away for a very long time.
After bringing Neal home and entrusting him into El's comforting hands, Peter had headed back to the bureau to listen in on the proceedings, along with all manner of law enforcement officers from various divisions, for the booking and interrogation of Detective Brett Stiler. The young detective had brokered a deal that would see him get a reduced sentence, which Peter hadn't been happy about, in return for his full cooperation. In light of his confession, Senior Detective Gabriel Mastroni was exposed as the ring leader of their operation and was subsequently charged with all manner of offences, including Adele Caffrey's murder.
Detective Stiler had also enlightened the interviewing agents from Violent Crimes that Carl Caffrey had been the operations go-to-man. Turns out the young NYPD officer, while not being very good at his legal job, had been one hell of a fence. The four member team had a finely tuned operation going. Murdoch and Stiler would take a stash of drugs that was confiscated during one of their raids, give it to Caffrey and he'd turn it over, mostly through his mob related connections, into diamonds and precious gems. Caffrey would pass the gems through to Detective Mastroni who was the mater-mind of the operation and everyone would get paid a cut. In the meantime, due to his high level security clearance, Mastroni handled the books to ensure that the missing drug stashes were accounted for on paper.
According to Stiler, things went south when Murdoch got wind that Caffrey wanted to get out, wanted to split from the team and make a fresh start somewhere else. Caffrey knew Mastroni would never let him just walk out with what he knew so the young cop did a number of side deals until he came into possession of the Morocco Diamond Ring, valued at $4.5 million and studded with 24 carat diamonds. It was Caffrey's retirement fund. Murdoch investigated what was going down and tracked Caffrey's deals back to the ring. When Mastroni was informed that Caffrey had been skimming off the top, he sent Murdoch and Stiler to pick the slime up. The detectives had cornered Caffrey in the alley outside his favoured club and when Caffrey put up a fight, Murdoch had put several bullets in him. This of course infuriated Mastroni even further and Murdoch was about to find himself floating face down in the East River but the younger man had suggested that it was very likely Adele Caffrey would be in the know of the whereabouts of the diamond ring, especially if they had planned on going off the reservation together. Mastroni had been placated by that offering and so began the hunt for the young officer's wife who disappeared, along with her young son, without a trace the morning after Carl's body had been discovered.
It was a weary Agent Burke who excused himself from the observation room during the third hour of the interrogation. He understood that the agents on the other side of the double-sided mirror had many more questions to throw at their suspect but for now, Peter had all the answers he needed. He had more important concerns like singing to his son and rocking him to sleep on his lap.
###
A few days had passed since the incident at the wharfs but even though Peter and El tried their best to bring some normality into their little boy's world through outings and family time, Neal was more distant than ever. He'd been checked out by the departmental psychologist and of course nothing had changed but with each passing day, Neal appeared to become just that little bit more withdrawn than the day before. The elation Peter had felt at having Neal call him 'daddy' was now being overshadowed by the fact that the boy hadn't said anything since.
Peter sat at the dining table, staring at Neal who in turn was staring out the window, from right where he'd stood ever since they'd come back from walking Satchmo around the block. The agent sighed deeply and rubbed his temples with his fingers. Neither the doctors, nor Rachel had any miracle suggestions. All they would say was time, give it time. Peter released a great breath and stood up. He had to try something. It was time for something, time to go out on a limb.
"Come on buddy, get your coat, you and I are going for a drive."
"Where you going?" El inquired from the kitchen. "Dinner's not too far off."
"I'll heat it up when we get back. We won't be long."
###
Peter looked in the rear vision mirror and waited for a reaction as he pulled up at the curb outside the rundown brownstone apartment building with its faded 'On Site Manager Wanted' sign. The little boy didn't disappoint. His eyes widened and he rushed to push open the car door, charging across the sidewalk to the front door. Peter caught up and took the little boy's hand, then retrieved a master key from his pocket to let themselves in. Neal tried to race ahead but Peter held firm. As they made their way down to the basement level apartment, Peter could feel the excitement flowing through the little boy's limbs and wondered if he hadn't made a critical error in bringing the boy back to this place with so many memories. When they reached the apartment door, Peter crouched down to his son's eye level but Neal's mind was elsewhere. Their chat would have to wait. Peter stood up, slid the key into the lock and turned. Neal pushed open the door and ran inside. He darted into the bedroom then into the kitchen before slowing down his pace and wandering around the lounge area, eventually settling into a chair at the dining table and picking up a crayon. Peter swallowed the lump in his throat and joined his son at the table. He knew this was going to be difficult, he never doubted in his mind that it wouldn't be one of the most difficult things he ever had to do but after everything Neal had been through, he deserved this opportunity. "Neal…" the word came out squeaky and unconvincing, just like he felt. Peter cleared his throat and tried again, "Neal, hey…" The little boy paid no attention, instead, he directed all his attention into the drawing he had resumed colouring. "Neal," Peter gently took the crayon out the child's hand and took his hand in his. "Neal, I need you to listen to me…
The little boy shifted his eyes to give his undivided attention to his mommy. She only spoke in that tone when it was serious and by the look on her face, this was one of those occasions. "Yes Momma, I'm listening. Have you finished washing Mr Brewster's windows already."
Adele shook her head, "No baby, but when Mommy was washing Mr Brewster's windows I saw something down in the alley." Adele pulled Neal off his seat and led him over to the couch. She crouched down and nudged Neal into the small space between the couch and the wall.
"Momma, what's happening?" The child asked nervously.
"Listen baby, how would you like to play another game?"
"Okay Momma." Neal's eyes brightened even though he was still unsure of what was going on. "How do we play?"
"Well, you have to squeeze in behind the couch and you can't move. And, no matter what happens, no matter what you hear, you can't make a single sound. No talking. No trying to answer. No saying anything to anyone unless it's me. Do you understand?"
"Yes Momma, of course I do."
"Okay baby, now, some people are going to come in here soon and they might make a lot of noise and say a lot of stuff but what do you have if you want to win?"
"Stay behind the couch and don't say anything."
"That's right baby, if you stay quiet and don't make a sound I promise you everything will be alright." Adele kissed her little boy on his head and began to move away but found a little hand clutching her shirt.
"Momma, you forgot to tell me what I get if I win?"
Adele looked to the front door and could distinctly hear movement behind it. "Anything you want baby. Now promise me," Adele whispered, "promise me Neal, you won't make a sound."
"I promise."
"Hey, what's that little man?"
Neal gazed out sadly across the room and Peter noticed tears welling in the corner of the little boy's eyes. After rubbing his face on his shirt Neal, conceded, "I promised Momma. I promised my Momma I wouldn't say anything."
Peter wished he had a manual with all the answers. Wished he had the wisdom of all the best parents who'd ever been. But he was simply an FBI agent, and on account of all that had happened since taking responsibility for this child, not a very good one at that! "Hey," Peter moved around the table and lifted the boy off his seat before carrying him over to the couch where he settled him on his lap. "You promised your mommy you wouldn't say anything when…when those men came and took her away?"
Neal nodded and swiped at the corner of his eyes where more tears were beginning to pool.
"Neal, you did what your mommy asked you to do. You stayed quiet and you didn't say a word and I know your mommy would be so proud of you."
"But I did speak. I spoke to Lizabeth and I called out to you. M-momma said ev'rything would be alright if I didn't s-speak but I, I did." Neal's speech became hitched as his tears took over.
Peter sighed, "Neal, it's okay, partner. It didn't matter that you spoke to Elizabeth or called out to me. You did what your mommy asked of you," and then some, "and I know your mommy would be smiling because you did is so well."
"Have you seen her?" Neal suddenly turned and stared intently at Peter.
"No Neal…I haven't." Peter paused and tried to work out what to say next. "Neal, you know your mommy isn't coming back don't you?"
Neal slouched back again and mumbled, "Dr Barton told me Mommy was with Daddy now and wouldn't be coming back home."
"And you know that's true don't you partner."
The little boy shrugged, "I wanted to see. I thought she might be here. Sometimes I wander off too and I come home. I thought maybe Momma did that too. But…she hasn't been here. She would have packed my colours away, she never likes them left out."
Peter looked back over at the dining table, the scattered drawings, the loose crayons. Out of every which way they'd tried to get Neal to understand, would it come done to a fifty cent box of crayons.
"Momma doesn't like mess. She says she has enough cleaning to do without more mess down here. She would have packed it away if I wasn't here to do it….I should do it now." The little boy climbed off Peter's lap and made his way over to the table where he watched with a breaking heart as the youngster meticulously slipped the colours back into their box. Neal neatened the stack of papers before looking up sadly at Peter, "Momma's not coming home is she."
"No partner," Peter placed a loving hand on the little boy's head, "She's not."
"Are we going back to your place now?"
"Yeah…whenever you are ready."
"Can…can I bring something with me?"
"Of course, whatever you want."
Neal looked thoughtful then he darted off into the room. Peter followed close on his heels and watched as the little guy squatted down and pulled the front panel off the bottom drawer. Peter was intrigued if not just that little bit concerned so was quite relieved when Neal hauled out a plush puppy dog and gave him a loving squeeze. "You miss me Ruffles? I sure missed you."
"Hey, who's this?" Peter sat down on the bed and leaned in close to his son.
"This is Ruffles…and Ruffles," Neal lifted the dog to introduce him to Peter, "this is…" Neal paused, unsure what he should be calling this new man in his life, "Uh…this is…"
"What do you think Ruffles should call me Neal?" Peter put the question back onto the little boy, deciding that he didn't want to put any pressure on the child. He really didn't mind what Neal called him, he was just grateful that the child was finally speaking.
"Ummm, maybe Daddy?"
Peter couldn't help a huge smile. Seems he did care after all. "That sound's perfect. Hello Ruffles, I'm Daddy and I know someone who's going to be very happy to meet you."
"Lizabeth?" Neal suspected.
"Oh yes, of course Elizabeth, but I was thinking more along the lines of Ruffles new brother…Satchmo?"
Neal immediately dropped his happy demeanour and held his puppy close.
"What's wrong bud?" Peter was confused, again.
"Nothing," Neal grumbled.
"Don't you want Ruffles to meet Satchmo?"
Neal shook his head.
"Why not kiddo? Satchmo would be thrilled to have a new brother."
"I don't want Ruffles eaten up."
"Huh," Peter gave the room a quick scan for that child-raising manual he so desperately needed but once again had to go it alone. "Neal, you think Satchmo will eat Ruffles?"
Neal nodded.
"What makes you think that, partner?"
"My other daddy told me before he went away. I wanted a real puppy for my birthday but Daddy said that Ruffles was better than a real dog. He said real dogs were mean. He said a real dog would tear up my drawings, he would bark all night long and keep everyone awake and worse of all, he would eat Ruffles when I wasn't around to save him."
Oh unreal! Peter rolled his eyes and added that to the list of things that would have to be repaired with time. Time sure was going to get its money's worth out of this kid. "I can guarantee you buddy that Satchmo would never eat his new brother but I'll tell you what we'll do, I'll put Satchmo on a lead while you introduce him to his new family and you can let me know when it's okay to let him go. Sound like a good plan?"
"I guess," Neal didn't sound too convinced but Peter could work on that on the trip home.
"Anything else you want to take with you partner?"
Neal stood up and looked around the sparse room before heading out towards the door.
"How about these photos?" Peter reached out and lifted the one of Neal with his mom.
"I suppose," Neal shrugged then strolled out without a backwards glance. Peter picked up the two photo frames and tucked them under his arm. He'd come back another day without the boy and box up the rest of their possessions but for now, it seemed as though he had what he wanted – Ruffles and maybe…just maybe…a new daddy.
###
Peter sat rocking his son on his lap. As soon as El had just finished reading the bedtime story, the little boy had climbed up, nursing Ruffles under his arm, looking brighter and more content than he had in a long time. "Daddy."
Peter would never get sick of hearing that word, "Yeah partner? What's up?"
"Do you think if you get all your jobs done, tomorrow we could go for a ride on the Staten Island Ferry?"
Peter smiled over at Elizabeth who was pulling back the blanket on Neal's bed. She smiled back at her husband as she left the room, happy to not only hear her little boy calling Peter, Daddy, but happy that he was finally taking and engaging them in conversation. She didn't mind that he was still calling her Lizabeth, even though she hoped that perhaps over time, he might one day call her mom.
"Sure kiddo. We could even go on the Circle Line if you want. It goes all the way around Manhattan."
"Does it go as fast as the Staten Island Ferry?"
"Uh…I'm not sure, we could try it out if you liked."
"Nah, let's just go on the Staten Island Ferry. Mommy liked that one best."
"Okay partner, the Staten Island Ferry it is."
"Oh," Neal lifted his head off Peter chest and looked him seriously in the eye, "and you'll need to bring some money."
"Money?" Peter played along, "But the Staten Island Ferry is free. It doesn't cost anything."
The little boys eye's twinkled, "Yeeeesss…but you need money if you're gonna get me to come in out of the cold. It's gonna cost you a hot chocolate and an extra large choc chip cookie or I'm going to stay outside and be a crazy kiddo for the whole trip."
Peter chuckled and wrestled his little man in a squeeze, "Is that what your Momma called you Neal? A crazy kiddo?"
Neal giggled enjoying the clowning almost as much as Peter was, "Only when I stayed outside and pretended I was flying."
"Well, crazy kiddo, in that case I'll bring some money just in case your nose starts to turn blue." Peter tapped the little boy's nose before becoming serious once more. "Now time for sleep partner or else we're all going to be too tired to go on any trip tomorrow."
"Okay," Neal adjusted himself in Peter's arms and rested his head against Peter's chest."
"Goodnight Neal." Peter kissed his little boy on his head then commenced rocking.
"Night night, Daddy."