Chapter 25

The house was unusually quiet when Rebecca stepped in, carrying an armful of groceries. Usually, her mom was busy in the kitchen at this hour but she was surprised to find Iris snoozing away in her lazy boy chair in the small living room, looking pale and more fragile than ever.

The more time passed, the more difficulty Rebecca was having keeping up her charade at Sterling Bosch. Sure, her boss was demanding and not the most patient guy in the world but during her short time with the company, she'd seen hints of a good man hidden underneath all the bluster. In another time and place, she might have actually found Winston Bosch to be charming. He certainly had his moments; like when he'd taken the time to find out from some of the other secretaries what her favourite flowers were and arranged for a large bouquet to be delivered on her birthday and at Christmastime when he'd insisted on her taking a day off to go shopping. Certainly, no one would think of using words like 'caring' or 'considerate' to describe the man but he certainly wasn't the heartless animal her mom had led her to believe.

She began to put away her purchases, mostly prepared food - her mom didn't do much cooking these days nor was she eating right. She'd just opened the cupboard to put away some canned goods when her heart skipped a beat at the sight of a gun sitting right next to the coffee mugs and dinner plates. She hadn't seen that thing in years - thought her mom had gotten rid of it ages ago - but there it was, staring back at her ominously. She examined it with her eyes, unwilling to even lay a finger on it; truth was, the thing terrified her and had done so ever since she was a little girl.

Her first random thought was that her mom might be thinking of ending it all - all the pain and suffering - but then an even more frightening idea took root. Could her mom be losing all perspective and thinking of carrying out an unspeakable, irreversible act?

'Hi honey' she heard her mom's sleepy voice call out from the doorway.

Rebecca turned to face her mother. 'Mom, what the hell is this thing doing here?'

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Sara woke, feeling strangely optimistic on Wednesday morning. Things were looking up on the work front, Emily was scheduled to arrive any day now and despite her own impending appointment and Hope's visit to Dr. White's office, she was feeling surprisingly confident that everything was going to work out fine. Of course, sharing her life with Mr. Optimism helped in that regard; Neal had always been able to make lemonade out of those nasty, bitter lemons life threw at him and, like it or not, his confidence and resilience had become contagious over time.

As she finished getting dressed, her eyes were drawn to a sheet of paper lying on the bedside table on Neal's side of the bed and she made her way over to investigate. She wasn't surprised to find a list of questions and concerns he planned to raise at her appointment with the cardiologist the next day. His list of queries included wait time for the procedure, recovery time, risks and side effects of the surgery, length of hospital stay and physical limitations or contraindications after surgery. He had jotted down the word 'flying' and had underlined it twice and he'd put an asterisk next to the word 'sex' with a question mark next to it. The list looked almost identical to the one she'd been carrying around in her purse for the last few days, scribbling thoughts as they came to her. There were so many unknowns when it came to what life had in store for her as she adapted to life as a heart patient.

She had finally given in and read the stack of documents Neal had printed out from the internet - information on the procedure itself, the risks involved, the expected outcomes and the particularities of living with a defibrillator implanted in your chest. As much as she loathed doctors and hospitals, she could see that the procedure itself was a routine intervention and that, it the end, the surgery would be beneficial to her overall health in a lot of ways - not the least of which was the fact she wouldn't be passing out at the drop of a hat anymore. Despite the nagging apprehensions, she was starting to come around to accepting her fate - as pissed off as she was about the timing of her predicament.

Neal walked in from the shower, dripping wet, and waited for the usual complaint about getting water all over the carpet - a reproach which, surprisingly, didn't materialize.

'I see you found my list of questions' he said, drying his hair with a towel.

'Yeah, looks almost identical to mine' she remarked as she set the piece of paper back where she'd found it.

Neal began rummaging through his chest of drawers on a mission to find underwear and socks. 'What time is Hope's appointment today?' he asked.

'Not until this afternoon at 2:00. Are you and Peter still planning on dropping in on Iris Hastings today?'

Neal nodded and proceeded to get dressed, letting the wet towel fall in a pile at his feet, another no-no Sara chose to ignore. 'We thought we'd tell her we're investigating some scam in her neighbourhood and try to get a sense of where her head is at' he explained.

'Don't you need credentials so she'll let you in the front door?' Sara asked.

Neal produced his fake ID from the Bureau just as he'd done with Peter, a sly smile on his lips.

'You still have that thing?' Sara said, glancing at the photograph of a much younger looking Neal. 'I thought Peter had confiscated it years ago.'

He shrugged and gave her a naughty smile. 'You know, I still can't believe I hadn't noticed Iris Hastings had the same last name as Bosch's assistant.'

'You can't believe?' she echoed. 'What about me? I work there and I never clued in they had the same last name when you showed me the list of my boss' past indiscretions.'

Neal pulled out a photograph of a young Iris Hastings and stared at it. 'The resemblance with her daughter is pretty amazing… once you know' he commented. 'Although, Peter says she's barely recognizable these days.'

Sara sat on the edge of the bed, preparing to slip on her shoes. 'What do you suppose happened for her to become unhinged after all this time and decide to carry out such an elaborate plan?'

'Assuming she's the one behind it' Neal reminded her as Sara scoffed.

'Come on, Neal. There is no way that Rebecca working in Mr. Bosch's office is a coincidence - not with everything that's happened.'

He zipped up his pants and grabbed for a clean shirt from the closet. 'It's a mystery, that's for sure. Peter says the house they live in is… modest, to say the least, so how is she bankrolling an operation like that?'

'If anybody can figure it out, you can' Sara said with a smile as Neal lifted up two ties and silently asked for her advice.

'The striped one' she said as she prepared to walk away.

Neal reached for her arm, holding her back momentarily. 'You sure you don't want me to drive you in to work?' he asked for the second time that morning.

'I'll be fine on the train. You just do your thing and I'll call you later and let you know how things went with Dr. White' she said with renewed confidence.

Neal held her gaze - and her arm - a little longer. Lately, he was uneasy about letting her out of his sight, worried he might get another phone call like the one he'd gotten from Will Allenby the previous weekend.

'I love you Repo' he declared, rather soberly, his hair hanging in his bright blue eyes.

But Sara was having none of the sentimental drivel; she needed to remain upbeat. She pressed her lips to his in a brief kiss and gave him a glowing smile.

'Later, Caffrey.'

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Hope hadn't been back to Bronx-Lebanon in three years; in fact, she never wanted to set foot in the institution again. She had spent five long months of her life there, five months too many… living under the watchful eye of nurses and doctors, separated from those she loved.

Luckily, her endless therapy sessions took place at a local community health clinic and she'd allowed the bad memories of the hospital to gently fade over the years. Unfortunately, Dr. Hiram White's office was located in the out-patient wing of said hospital and she'd been compelled to come face to face with the place once more. To make matters worse, her mom had called just as she was getting ready to leave to tell her she'd been held up at work and Hope had been forced to take a cab over, all by herself.

She took a seat in the waiting room and kept one eye on the long corridor, waiting for her mom to appear; she didn't think she could do this on her own or at very least, she didn't want to. She spotted Sara coming towards her, carrying herself with her head held high, with all the confidence and fearlessness Hope had seen her exhibit her whole life. Her mom was a formidable woman, an amazing role model, strong, confident, perseverant… everything Hope aspired to be.

'Sorry, sweetie' Sara mumbled as she made her way over to sit next to her daughter. 'You been waiting long?'

'N-n-no' Hope replied hesitantly, wringing her hands.

Sara's hand was instantly on hers. 'Honey, it's going to be fine' she attempted. 'How are you feeling? How's the baby today?'

The mention of the little one seemed to calm Hope's nerves and she smiled tentatively. 'He's good. Moving around like crazy.'

As if on cue, the baby kicked and Hope took her mom's hand, placing it on her large belly. 'Whoa! He sure is one busy little guy!'

'Yeah, it's really cute…' Hope responded with an eye roll. '…especially when he does it in the middle of the night when I'm trying to sleep.'

Sara smiled at the recollection of her own pregnancies and that amazing feeling of life moving inside her. 'You know you were quite the little kicker yourself, as I recall. I would curl up in bed against Daddy's back and it would actually wake him up when you started to move around.'

Hope seemed to relax at the re-telling of the anecdote she'd heard dozens of times before; thank God for her loving parents and a wonderful husband like Cameron Armstrong.

'Hope Ellis-Caffrey!' they heard a woman's voice call out.

Sara gave her daughter a reassuring smile and helped her to her feet.

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The tension between Iris and her daughter had grown to unprecedented proportions following their confrontation the night before. Rebecca had been horrified to find a loaded firearm sitting there in the cupboard where the sugar bowl should have been and Iris had been compelled to explain why she'd pulled the thing out from the back of her bedroom closet. The two women had argued, Iris growing more desperate by the day now that her plan seemed to be unravelling before her very eyes.

Rebecca had tried to reason with her mom - as she'd done on so many occasions - but the woman seemed unable to recognize she was on the verge of losing it and Rebecca was running out of time to make her see the error of her ways. Now that Iris was talking about taking matters into her own hands by confronting the man who'd made her life miserable, Rebecca wondered if she should intervene to keep her from acting on her impulses. Would her mom really go so far as to confront Winston Bosch, brandishing a gun in her hands? All bets seemed to be off as her desperation grew.

Rebecca had waited for her mom to fall asleep and she'd returned to the kitchen, this time taking the firearm in her hands with disdain and studying it. If she disposed of it, her mom might go off the deep end so, as an interim measure, she'd proceeded to remove the ammunition as well as the almost full box that lay next to the gun. For the time being, that would keep things from escalating.

But Rebecca knew she had to do something more permanent… before it was too late.

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'S-s-o my brain activity is normal?' Hope repeated, making sure she'd heard correctly.

'Perfectly normal, Hope. There is no inflammation whatsoever and if anything, the lesions have continued to heal since the last scan we did three years ago.'

Sara could see tears of relief forming in her daughter's eyes. 'B-b-but I've been so anxious and m-m-my stuttering is… it's driving me nuts' she admitted, frustrated.

'Well, becoming a mom is a stressful time in your life' the kind doctor explained. 'I get the feeling you're putting a lot of pressure on yourself, am I right?'

Sara looked knowingly at the doctor as she continued to clasp Hope's hand in hers. 'Hope is still working part-time and she's really working hard to get the baby's room ready on time. She's also helping her best friend plan her wedding and helping with the preparations for the wedding renewal ceremony her dad and I are having next month.'

'Oh, you and Neal are renewing your wedding vows?' the doctor asked as Sara nodded.

He recalled the Caffrey family's personal struggles as Hope had climbed that steep hill towards recovery. He'd met with Hope's parents and her then fiancé on a weekly basis for months on end and he'd been aware that Neal had struggled with alcohol dependency in the aftermath of Hope's terrible accident. His heart had gone out to the close knit family; it was heartbreaking to watch families dealing with such devastating circumstances.

'That's wonderful' he replied. 'Hope, you really need to take better care of yourself. If you're trying to do all that, it's no wonder you're stressed and overtired; that would most definitely affect your speech patterns. I think you're forgetting just how far you've come in five short years, young lady' he said, his comments bordering on lecturing.

Hope nodded and wiped a tear that had escaped onto her cheek.

'You need to let the people around you pick up the slack. Your job is to concentrate on your baby and to get plenty of rest' he said.

Sara nodded, happy that someone, other than family members, was trying to make Hope see sense.

'By the way' Dr. White added 'Where's Cameron?'

'I d-d-didn't want to worry him' Hope admitted - although it sounded like a stupid idea to have kept him out of the loop now that she was finding out her fears were unfounded.

'Are you still seeing your speech therapist?' Dr. White asked as she nodded.

'Well, if you think it's helping, you should keep going but most importantly, you need to relax and your symptoms will start to recede… I promise' he explained patiently.

'That's what Heidi says' Hope admitted, recalling her speech therapist's words of wisdom.

Sara prepared to get to her feet. 'Thank you for seeing us, Dr. White' she said. 'We really appreciate it.'

'Yes, thank you' Hope added, her voice shaky.

'Hey, anytime' the man said, standing to walk them out. 'That's what I'm here for. Oh, and make sure you send me a picture of that little baby boy.'

'Will do' Hope said as she turned to look at him. She felt a surge of gratitude for his support as well as an overwhelming sense of relief and before she knew what hit her, she was hugging him enthusiastically as he smiled in response.

Sara watched and felt her heart skip a beat. Literally.

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Trust had always been a very fluid commodity between Neal Caffrey and Peter Burke, never more so than in the early years of their… collaboration. Back then, Neal was always playing some angle and Peter knew better than to take anything Neal did or said at face value. So, on this Wednesday afternoon, as they drove up to the Hastings home, Peter got an uneasy feeling of déjà vu when Neal offhandedly dismissed his apprehensions with a simple 'trust me, Peter' and a mischievous look in his eyes.

Upon arrival, Neal proceeded to pull out his bogus FBI badge, flashing it with confidence and explaining that he and his partner were doing the rounds, following up on a scam being perpetuated against senior citizens in the neighbourhood. Iris Hastings reluctantly let them in as Neal gave her one of his killer smiles and Peter followed his best friend into the house with a mental eye roll at just how easy things came to you when your name was Neal Caffrey.

'I really don't know what all this has to do with me' Iris Hastings said as she led the two strangers into her living room.

'Ma'am, these predators…' Neal said, taking a seat across from the older woman '…they won't hesitate to clean out your bank account if you're not careful. Have you had anyone come to the door and try to sell you anything recently? Maybe lawn care or a roof replacement?'

Iris Hastings' face grew serious at the thought of becoming a victim of such a scam. 'No… nothing that I can think of.'

Neal let his eyes roam around the small space, a modest little bungalow with little if anything at all of value. He was dying to snoop around the other rooms and see if he could find anything of interest and he cleared his throat as a means of diversion.

'Mrs. Hastings, could I trouble you for a glass of water?' he asked, feigning a coughing fit.

She stood, rather unsteadily and made her way to the kitchen while the two men exchanged knowing looks. Frankly, she, herself, looked like death warmed over. She was obviously not well, looking years older that the age on the driver's license they'd managed to get a copy of.

Neal took advantage of her brief absence to start snooping around the living room on the prowl for anything out of the ordinary. Peter glared at his partner, not nearly as confident as the ex-con when it came to intruding on other people's privacy.

Iris returned with a glass of water and started to cough roughly as she set it down in front of Neal.

'Are you all right, Mrs. Hastings?' Peter asked with genuine concern. That was no ordinary cough and it looked like she might keel over any minute.

She waved off his question and took a seat in the old lazy boy chair as they waited for her to fully recover from the violent coughing fit.

'Do you live alone, ma'am?' Neal asked, once she'd calmed down.

She seemed to hesitate for a moment. 'No' she finally said. 'I live with my daughter.'

Neal looked around the place, as if expecting said daughter to suddenly appear. 'And she works out of the home.'

'Yes, in Manhattan' Iris confirmed.

'Well, perhaps you could ask her to give you a hand with your online banking just to make sure your accounts are in order' Peter said. 'These predators will stop at nothing to take advantage of poor, defenceless individuals such as yourself.'

He suffered a brief flash of guilt, wondering if Iris Hastings might not need protecting from the two men who were presently scamming her for altogether other reasons and he had a fleeting thought for Jones back at the Federal Building who, unbeknownst to her, was doing his own digging into the woman's finances.

Neal got to his feet. 'Mrs. Hastings' he said with a blistering smile. 'I hate to trouble you but may I use your washroom?'

'Sure' she replied. 'It's just down the hall.'

Neal nodded and headed down the short hall, past the kitchen and two bedrooms. He could hear Peter's deep voice fading in the distance as he got further away, and he took a moment to glance into each of the rooms, not quite certain what it was he was looking for.

What he assumed to be Rebecca Hastings' bedroom was tidy and clean, the bed was made and a laptop sat on a small desk. He wished he had unlimited time to check things out - he'd love to see if there was anything incriminating on that computer. Instead, he continued his search, peeking into the second bedroom which was the antithesis of the first: disorganized, with dirty clothes on the floor, books strewn around all over the place and an unmade bed. He doubled back and slipped into the kitchen as Peter watched him from the other room with horror, trying desperately to keep the woman from turning around to find Neal snooping around her things.

Neal began to poke around the kitchen, noticing a stack of papers and another laptop on the kitchen table. Again, he wished he had more time but he did what he could with the limited amount of time at his disposal, glancing through some of the documents lying on the table before he heard Peter cough and get to his feet, surely a sign that he had run out of time.

Neal sauntered back towards the bathroom and pulled the chain on the toilet before reappearing in the living room, looking as innocent as a lamb. No matter how long he'd known his best friend, Peter would never understand how Neal managed to look so trustworthy and virtuous when he was anything but.

'Thank you, Mrs. Hastings' Peter said as Neal rejoined them.

The older woman looked from one man to the other, seemingly eager to see the back of them; it wouldn't do to set off alarm bells before all their ducks were in a row and the two of them exchanged looks as they prepared to leave.

'If you need anything, please don't hesitate to call our offices' Neal said as he pulled out a business card and handed it to the woman.

'This is the number for one of my agents, Clinton Jones' he added with an over-the-top smile.

Peter's eyes grew in surprise at Neal's brazenness - although, after all this time, it came as no surprise that the ex-con would literally pull something like a business card out of thin air in order to give them the legitimacy they needed for their little covert operation. Making himself out to be Clinton Jones' superior… well, that was just icing on the cake.

The two men thanked Iris Hastings and stepped out into the bright sunshine.

As they made their way to the car, Neal heard Peter mutter something he could have sworn sounded vaguely like '…one of my agents, my ass!'

TBC