(Dedicated to jacksepticeye, aka the most awesome youtuber and the one whose sexy Irish accent I kept imagining for this chapter. Yes, I obsess over accents for this whole thing. So sue me.)
(I chose Irish because I saw somewhere that 'Caffrey' is Irish for blessed, and then my imagination took it from there. Also because it was requested~ So that worked out perfectly)
(ALSO I apologize if the Irish in here is terrible. I'm using a translator and it might not work very well...)
New York was so much different than Ireland. Neal felt out of place, but also, it was like he belonged here. He'd been working hard to smooth out his accent into something the Americans would understand. He was still self-conscious about it, even though he'd been assured that he was perfectly fluent in English.
He didn't know anybody here, but it was almost exciting. That meant that no one knew him either. He was starting a new life. One he wouldn't mess up this time.
Caught up in his thoughts, he didn't pay attention to where he was going, and he accidentally bumped into someone. In that brief second, he had to stop himself from reaching into the man's pocket out of impulse.
"Sorry!" he said, as the man turned around, looking miffed. "I didn't see you there."
The guy was short, bespectacled, and had very little hair. Neal was almost offended when the stranger actually checked his pockets right then and there. "Don't worry about it," he said once he was satisfied that everything was in its proper place. "Say, where are you from?"
"Ireland," Neal replied, and the stranger seemed to find that intriguing.
"Really? Ireland? I couldn't tell. You don't have much of an accent."
"I've been working on getting rid of it," Neal said. "If I'm going to live in America, I might as well sound American, right?"
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" the other man protested, surprising Neal. He launched into some rant about why that was, and Neal listened, rather intrigued by the strange little man. He was certainly unique.
"What's your name?" Neal asked eventually.
"Call me Mozzie. And you?"
"Neal."
And somehow, that was how Neal made his first friend in New York.
As it turned out, Mozzie was the best thing that could have happened to him. They found out rather quickly that they shared the same little hobby, though Mozzie never let him forget that he was the brains of the operation.
It was the perfect team-up, he said. Neal had the talent to pull off the biggest cons and Mozzie had the resources and know-how to plan out everything to the T.
Together, they made quite the reputation for themselves.
-)()(-
Neal had never really gotten over being self-conscious of his accent, so he practiced until he sounded 100% American. Though around Mozzie, he didn't bother to correct it very much.
At the moment, however, he was speaking full Irish. He wasn't sure why, but it felt easier than speaking English at all, so he went with it, rambling on as a man led him into a familiar house. Wow, he was strong.
"Tá tú láidir (you're strong)," he said with a light chuckle. "Cad atá á dhéanamh againn anseo? (What are we doing here?)"
"Neal," the man muttered, "I don't speak German."
"Gaeilge (Irish)," Neal corrected, then found himself falling onto a soft couch as the strong man dropped him. He laughed at that. "Bí cúramach. Tá mé an- luachmhar, tá a fhios agat (Be careful. I'm very valuable, you know)."
"Is he okay?" a woman asked, and Neal looked over at her in surprise. She was very pretty and he decided to tell her so.
"Tá tú an- álainn. Fhéachann tú cosúil le Kate. Ach tá a fhios agam nach bhfuil tú. Tá tú Elizabeth. Sea, anois cuimhin liom. Fan... An bhfuilim ceaptha agam a bheith anseo? (You're very beautiful. You look like Kate. But I know you're not. You're Elizabeth. Yes, now I remember. Wait... Am I supposed to be here?)"
The two looked at him uncomprehendingly after that long shpeel, and Neal laughed at that too. They looked so funny. He told them that as well, but again, they just looked at him in what seemed to be deep concern.
"Peter," Neal grinned, his eyes getting suddenly very heavy. "Always so serious..."
-)()(-
"You started speaking Irish," Peter said as soon as Neal opened his eyes. "I didn't see that on your résumé."
Neal sighed deeply. "You sure it was Irish?" Maybe he could slip by this one.
"Yep," Peter replied. "Or Gaeilge, as you put it."
Neal hummed, but didn't otherwise reply.
"How do you know Irish?"
"Spent a lot of time there."
"When?"
"A long time ago. Why? Gonna investigate?"
"Always."
"Let me save you the trouble. I never stole anything and I never fenced anything there."
Peter didn't look convinced, but he nodded. "Alright then. Now get off my couch."
Of course, Peter didn't let it go. Neal should have figured that. He had found something new about Neal Caffrey that he hadn't known before, which meant he'd be digging around in it until he was satisfied.
"So," the agent said, startling Neal at his desk one day. "Not only can you speak Irish..."
Neal groaned. "Can we not?"
"...But you actually are Irish. You're from Ireland? I thought you were from St Louis."
"Both," Neal huffed. There went another one of his secrets to Peter Burke. "Why are you surprised?"
"You don't sound Irish at all. Aren't you supposed to have an accent?"
"Got over it."
"You make it sound like a disease."
Neal looked at Peter irritably. "What's it matter to you where I'm from?"
"It doesn't," Peter answered. "I'm just surprised."
"If you make a single leprechaun joke, I will cut and run."
"Not even one?"
The look Neal shot him was answer enough.
-)()(-
There went another of his secrets. Once Peter knew, Hughes knew, and then Diana, then Jones, then the rest of the agents. They said nothing at all about it, though, which was kinda nice.
June knew already, and she had asked him a lot of questions about his home back in Ireland. He had no reason nor will to lie to her, so he told her the stories of his childhood, of what it had been like back there.
Then one night she asked him why he tried so hard to distance himself from all of it. Why did he hide everything about his origins, right down to his accent? Neal's first answer was a grin and a witty quip about "when in Rome", but he knew that wouldn't do, so he sighed.
"It's a part of me I want to remember a certain way, and being here in America... I don't want that to be me running away from home. It's what I do, you know? I recreate myself." He smiled a bit. "I like to think that part of me is still back in Ireland living a normal life, that I'm a completely different person."
She looked at him, smiling as well. "Or maybe you're still running."
-)()(-
"I'm not running anymore," Neal murmured.
"What was that?" Peter asked.
"Nothing."
They were standing on Irish soil, together. Neal had never imagined that he'd be back so soon, by which he meant almost twenty years. It hadn't felt like that long at all. Yet here he was, anklet long gone.
He'd served out his sentence, despite a bit of confusion about a possible commutation, which hadn't happened, but it wasn't so bad. By that time, he'd only had a few months left anyway.
After finally being cut loose, he hadn't run, as he suspected many people, including himself, thought he would. No, he'd stayed, as if nothing had changed. Except he had a helluva lot more than two miles to run around in and he didn't have to take orders from the FBI anymore.
He continued to help them over the next few years, now with pay, which felt kind of good. Like he had a real job now.
It was a spur of the moment thing, coming over here to Ireland. Peter had tagged along, just for old time's sake, and Neal hadn't protested. In truth, he rather preferred the company.
"So this is where the great Neal Caffrey comes from," Peter smiled. "Who knew?"
"It's not so miraculous," Neal mumbled, but he was smiling as well. "I only lived here for the first eighteen years of my life."
"You do realize that by the time we get back home, we'll both be speaking Irish."
Neal snorted. "You're being overdramatic."
It was a long visit. They stayed for over a week and Neal went back to all his old haunts, even the house he'd grown up in. Peter felt a little out of his element there, but Neal was right at home, and in no time, he was back to speaking with an accent, not even noticing. Peter thought it was rather adorable, but he kept that to himself.
They returned home, exhausted but definitely enlightened. Even Neal felt like a small piece of him had been found after twenty some odd years.
Elizabeth was happy to have them back so she had someone to spoil with food and wine and listen to the stories of their adventures in Ireland. It took her all of four seconds to smile broadly and laugh at how both of them we're talking with that Irish tinge to their voices. With Neal it was obvious. Though with Peter, it was a little harder to tell.
"That happened when I went to France for a year," Neal chuckled. "I was speaking French for a week."
"I love it," Elizabeth said. "It just seems more like you."
Neal didn't bother trying to correct himself after that.
-)()(-
"Why does the image of bagpipes come to mind?"
"That's Scottish you're thinking."
"Right, right. What's the difference?"
"I'm not going to grace that question with an answer."
"Where'd the pot of gold thing come from?"
"No idea."
"How come people always say Irish people have beards?"
"Stereotypes. Every culture has them."
"So that's why you like alcohol so much. Except you drink wine instead of beer."
"Stop."
"You're fun to poke at. So, is your favorite color green?"
"I'm never telling you anything ever again."
"You don't mean that."
"I do."
"Neal."
"Sarah."
"You know I'm kidding, right?"
"Of course."
"Then lighten up. Come on, we'll be late."
"I don't like the concept of a double date."
"Because it's with Peter and Elizabeth?"
"No, because I'd prefer to spend a night out with you alone."
"Good answer."
