I just want to say I'm very sorry for the delayed update this week. A few unexpected things happened, so while I thought I'd be early updating, plans went awry. But without further ado, here's the latest chapter, and thank you very much for those still with me.
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Seeing few alternatives present themself, Neal found himself reluctantly and without further comment accompanying Peter in the direction of the conference room. As he walked, his feet felt increasingly heavy and his mind was buzzing. Meanwhile, he kept himself composed, knowing at this point his options were limited and he was soon going to have a bigger audience. He internally cringed at his attempt to 'confess' and the way it had come out. What was wrong with him?
Peter said, 'they would talk later,' almost dismissively. But… that wasn't so simple.
For better or for worse, he'd attempted to get the truth out. After all his own internal deliberations, all the conflicting considerations and instinctual hesitation, he had finally simply just tried to put it all out there. It was never easy to verbalize something that had a strong potential to compromise him or get him in trouble, but knew it was important – vital even – for Peter to hear it from him first.
Expressing the events out loud wasn't easy. In fact, the longer he waited, the harder it got. It went against his core instinct that he would express something so incriminating. While finding the 'right' moment to do it also proved challenging, eventually he knew it had to be done, especially as he felt like his fate was unavoidably and quickly coming up for judgment. It needed to happen before he found himself in that conference room.
Now, he knew that he'd basically failed. While words came out out, the account lacked details. In his mind was a vivid image of what had happened, almost like watching himself in a movie, but it didn't translate readily into a real admission. He knew in hindsight he hadn't provided enough specificity to Peter. But before he could even correct any of that, Peter had… dismissed it? Not entirely, but… Kind of. Sort of. He'd dismissed it as a dream.
Did Peter really think he was concerned over a dream? That Neal Caffrey would confuse reality and a reverie? Had the last three days distorted both their perceptions so much?
The conference room wasn't far, and Neal could feel the impending, inevitable confrontation that was sure to happen inside. Once in that room, Neal would no longer have control over what would transpire. He'd lost that chance. He didn't know which side Peter would be on. He dreaded that, and wanted more than anything to walk in any other direction. Peter had dropped the hold on his arm once he was certain he was indeed walking with him, which made it all that much more tempting.
But he withstood the temptation. It would only serve to postpone a certain fate. And it would likely frustrate Peter. If he had any chance of Peter taking his side, or at least listening, it would help if he weren't already annoyed with him.
So despite feeling like he was walking into a judgment, as though to be sentenced, he continued. He felt as though he was walking into a vindictive courtroom. He could hear his heart beat loudly in his ears like a drum.
This "update" could mean anything. It was hard to preempt the unknown. But his biggest fear was less the update itself and moreso Peter's reaction. Peter's questions. Why would he do something like that? Why hadn't he said anything? Peter would expect him to have a reason.
I tried to tell you, he'd have to say. It was Peter who discounted it. Peter, who above all, stressed the importance of truth and transparency…. He was the one reducing it to a dream. Neal could only imagine the look on his face as it all came out.
But a dream? That dismissal weighed heavily on him. Neal was perplexed. Ironically, on a normal basis, he would have probably been completely relieved at this unbelievable reaction. He could check the box as to having tried to be honest, and would blissfully live without ever having had to pay the consequences.
But this wasn't a normal basis. This wasn't an 'all other things being equal' situation. Nothing else would be equal. This was unchartered waters, with other potential third party participants who might in minutes, or even seconds, point a finger. And when their accusations corroborated with what he had just tried to poorly admit to, then the ugly puzzle would suddenly be complete for Peter.
He briefly debated pausing again before it was too late, and asking Peter if he could trust him, to at least hear him out, no matter how this went. Surely Peter would offer that. He could trust Peter that much.
But before he could decide to do that, he found himself already walking through the doorway of the conference room behind Diana and Peter. From that point, there was no going back, pausing, or asking for support. It was the point of no return.
The air felt different past the doorway. Cold.
There was a large wooden table in the center of the room, surrounded by a dozen or so chairs, more than half occupied. He tried to tell himself he was imagining it, but he felt like the eyes of the others in the room were suddenly on him once he walked into the space. And while normally he might enjoy turning heads, he did not in a situation like this. So he kept his own eyes averted, not looking down because that would be a too obvious signal of guilt, but looking somewhat past them to avoid any specific visual contact. At the same time, he quickly took inventory of the room as he followed Diana and Peter to the other side of the table where there were empty chairs.
Val Clarke, the agent he was still yet to formally meet, was there sitting at the center of the table. Beside her sat what appeared to be three other agents, two men and a woman, wearing suits and looking comfortable in their own home field office. They were chatting amongst themselves, tones low. Then there were three uniformed police officers seated on the other side of the table as well, and Neal tried to recall the faces of the police he'd confronted the day before to compare the images. He realized his memory of those facial features were fuzzy. In his recollection, he couldn't make out clearly defined faces, and this made him slightly uneasy. Usually his recall ability was precise, almost photographic.
He hesitated.
"Sit," came the hushed instruction beside him from Peter. The man was pulling out a chair from the table to take a seat himself, next to where Diana was already settled. Neal silently followed suit, pulling back the chair on Peter's other side, keeping his expression blank.
He felt his heart pounding faster as he sat. This was it. The chair felt uncomfortable. His wounded shoulder throbbed. He started to feel a chilling sense of fate unraveling.
After just a small pause, Val began to speak, looking around the room. "Alright," she said, clearing her throat briefly. The side conversations quieted and attention turned towards her, Neal's included. "So I think we have everyone that was expected. Thanks for coming together so quickly." She folded her hands in front of her on the table. "I know we have a lot to cover."
Would they cuff him right away? Neal wondered. How would that work? He shifted uncomfortably, hiding a wince when his ribs reacted painfully. Last time he went to prison, he wasn't injured.
"I think most of us know each other already…" Val continued. Her eyes passed over her agents, the uniformed police officers, and then settled on the White Collar division. "Considering the majority of us have been working pretty closely together over the past twenty-four to forty-eight hours."
Would they lead him out in cuffs? Neal speculated. Was it going to be like a 'gotcha' moment? And who had the authority here? The local field office? The police? Peter? They were technically in the local jurisdiction…
"Neal," Val spoke.
Neal met her eye at the sound of his name. He stiffened slightly. He felt a strong urge to turn his eyes towards Peter, or to reach out, to make some sort of contact, but stayed still, keeping his hands entwined on his lap. He knew his expression gave nothing away, he made sure of it, and so he waited. He considered what she would start with.
"I know we haven't been formally introduced," Val continued. She gave him a small smile. "So you're probably the only one here with some questions about who's who in the room. And I know there's a lot of us." Without waiting for a response, she paused only briefly before continuing to speak. "But I assure you, we all know you. And we're appreciative for what you've done the last few days, to get us here. This was a big feat. We know it wasn't easy."
Feeling hesitant, Neal instinctively felt a frown emerging, but he quickly pushed it away. He kept his face passive as he tried to understand. Had she just said they were appreciative? Why did it sound like she was expressing gratitude?
"Believe it or not, we've actually got one of the biggest cases in our history right now," Val said slowly. Her smile widened slightly. "This case captures crime that crosses borders, shapes, timelines, and not to mention agencies… We're only here only due to the Bureau's partnership across departments, and you're part of that." She looked around the room. "Between White Collar and the local law enforcement, it's been a collaborative effort. But on the impact of this case specifically… It continues to grow. And that's why we wanted to get this group together so that Officers Klein and Mahoney can tell all of you what they just gave me an update on this morning. I think you'll be pretty blown away."
Neal felt increasingly perplexed by the statements. They were alluding to a material update, as was expected, but the more she spoke, the more he felt distanced from the report. It suddenly felt far less personal. Were they not going to comment on his activities? Her comments now seemed to be directed towards the broader group, and no longer explicitly directed at him. The attention on him had actually been quite brief…
One of the uniformed officers was speaking before he could process it any further.
"As Agent Clarke states," the man spoke, "this case has been pretty all-encompassing…" He paused. "One area that we've been particularly focused on was the apparent connection of one of your suspects seemingly to law enforcement... For example, as we all know, the vehicle that was identified had plates that tied the ownership back to one of our own."
Neal felt conflicted as the man continued to speak, though he also felt himself become notably less tense. The more it progressed, the more he was certain the discussion had nothing to do with him. Would it though… that remained to be seen, but he would have expected they'd start with him if that were the case…
The officer continued. "The PO Box that was involved also turned out to be registered to the same name as the vehicle. Two for two. Though there had been no payment over the last couple of years, the status remained active. Now, in looking into this, it's important to note that we had never actually seen a photo of your suspect."
Neal now allowed his frown to form. Photo? Of Messier or Jason? Where were they going with this?
"When he got booked yesterday, and we finally saw his image…" the officer persisted, "then it became much more obvious. The linkage to our officer was pretty evident given your suspect's very strong resemblance to him. It's also important to mention that he's been a person of interest to us in a handful of other incidents. Your 'Graham Messier' was actually the brother of our detective from the southern state district. Messier's not his real name."
"It's Desmond," Neal spoke.
The officer paused and looked over at him with an expression of surprise. His brow furrowed. "Yes. It is. How did you know that?"
"His brother's a cop?" Neal asked.
"Yes," the officer confirmed, nodding slowly. "And all signs point to him assisting his brother in these activities. Including the one you're current involved in. His name is on most of the records. How did you know the name Desmond?"
"He used that name ten years ago…" Neal responded, thinking this over.
The officer paused in hearing that response, frowning slightly, but then continued to speak. "So this detective has been a little… Well, let's just call it a bit controversial in the last few years… Not just his behavior but the lifestyle he's afforded beyond what a detective's salary would have allowed… But there has never been anything tangible for us to stick on him… Trust me, we tried. He's had a couple instances of unpaid leave while we investigated some claims, but again, nothing stuck… Add in his brother, and this additional paper trail, and that changes. It's the missing link. The house, while not in his name directly, is in the name of a trust that he is on…" The officer paused. "I mentioned his connection on most of the paperwork we found. Other than a few open administrative questions, this is actually an incredible breakthrough."
"So he's a dirty cop?" Diana asked, frowning as though in disbelief. Clearly Neal wasn't the only one not expecting this specific update.
Neal listened to this, processing these new details. He knew for a fact that Messier was the same person he and Willy had done business with years ago, under the name Desmond. He never dealt with him closely, because Jason was his primary point of contact. But if his brother had been the other half of the brains behind the operation, while actually be part of law enforcement…
He felt a chill pass over him at the thought of having done business with someone who actually could have arrested him on the spot.
He suddenly thought again of his friend. Adam. Adam's image came back to him. The one in the case file. Murdered. Eyes open. Adam had spoken about overhearing other activity they were involved in. Then he simply disappeared. Unbeknownst to them at the time, it was facilitated with a badge involved.
"Dirty cop is polite description in this example. In more ways than one," the officer confirmed to Diana, tone a bit sardonic, nodding. "But he's been elusive. Never had a strong connection to anything before. Clearly this brother's alias of 'Messier' was a strong once. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if Messier was an identity of someone that they knew. Someone he was able to opportunistically take it from. I mean, the history on that name. You guys saw it in your own files. The guy even files taxes under that name… For years."
Neal listened to this, taking himself back ten years and again thinking about the interaction he'd had, most of it through Jason, and not Messier directly. Neal's face-to-face with him at his New York office had really been the first true in-person meeting. His elusiveness all kind of made sense now.
"What about Jason?" Neal asked.
"Jason is a true identity," the officer responded. "First name anyway. Found some other aliases for the surname. I will say he's another character…" He shook his head slightly. "And he has a whole other set of demands, as some of you already know, which we can talk about later as well…"
"Yeah, and I'll tell you right now, he's not getting a deal," Peter interjected. "Nothing that even remotely comes close."
"A deal? What do you mean?" Neal asked. He glanced away from the officer, gaze turning now to Peter. "What kind of demands?"
"The usual," the officer replied.
Peter rolled his eyes in exasperation, muttering something under his breath, and not answering Neal directly as the officer continued to speak.
"He's offered us some potential information; something I guess he thinks is incremental to what he assumes we have. He's offering it on the condition he can potentially leverage something from it. Lesser charges for increased cooperation, or something similar. Like I said, the usual."
"What else could he possibly have?" Diana asked skeptically. "Sounds like we have quite a bit, especially after this update."
"Exactly," Peter replied, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter what he has. It's not happening." He paused and then added, "Not to mention he imprisoned an undercover federal informant against his will for three days."
"Peter…" Neal objected, sighing slightly.
"And add assaulting the federal informant," Peter continued, tone increasingly irritated. "No deal."
Neal tried not to cringe at the comment. He remained a bit uneasy about these details of his involvement. Everything he'd done was to garner evidence against Jason and Messier. Not to further involve himself in the case. He'd told Peter from the beginning that he didn't want his name included in that way. He also didn't want to be the victim. He didn't want to have to potentially testify. The thought of being anywhere near a testimony made his skin crawl. But he knew now wasn't the time to bring that up. He could nearly feel the anger radiating off of Peter from his seat next to him.
At the same time… He continued to feel the weight lifted that they weren't directly talking about him… Or anything he had done that morning the prior day.
"Neal, speaking of your time in the house… I know we'll get a more detailed statement from you today," Val began, shifting her attention back to him, "and thank you in advance for that; but can you tell us who shot you? Was it Jason?"
Neal paused, feeling the eyes around the room turn to view him once again. Maybe he'd spoken too soon. He'd been mentally preparing himself for the expected confrontation and accusation, ready to build a defense, but now found himself re-pivoting his focus for this change in direction. "No," he replied, calmly answering the question. "It was Messier. Jason was already… incapacitated."
"And who incapacitated Jason?"
"Well… I did," Neal said slowly. An image of the needle reappeared in his head. He remembered the struggle with Jason, and the one that followed shortly thereafter with Messier. His shoulder throbbed further. "In self-defense."
Val nodded, and then asked, "Did you fire any shots?"
Neal searched his memory. "Yes," he began. He knew he had, but now tried to place the details of when. Why did yesterday feel like so long ago? "Maybe three," he stated. "I think."
"At Jason or Messier?"
"Well, two of them were actually at the wall…" Neal started slowly as he replayed the moment in his mind. He noted Val began to frown and quickly tried to explain. "I was shooting at the chain. I thought I could break it, if I shot at it. Which despite the frequency of this approach in movies, I soon found it to be more of a myth, or maybe I'll chalk it up to cinematic deception. Either way, it's a far cry from a realistic escape plan." He cleared his throat as he continued. "And one shot was toward Messier but not at him… I didn't want to shoot him, but I had to make it seem that way." He shook his head. He really didn't like guns. He wondered what Peter's expression was, but was too uneasy to check.
Val replied slowly. "I see. And those three shots were with the gun you were found with?"
"Yes." Neal nodded. Did that matter? He became slightly more uncomfortable at the specific questions. What was she trying to get at? Maybe things were turning…
"Okay, thanks," Val said. "That's helpful. And between the house and the address you were picked up at – you made it there on foot? No one helped you?"
Neal nodded. "I ran there," he replied, tone a bit guarded. He felt like he'd explained this already. Maybe this is where the direction of the discussion would change again. The confirmation of the address he was picked up at was clearly leading to the question of what else had happened nearby. They were confirming his location and timeline. "I don't know how far it was." Maybe he could be vague.
"It was far," Peter responded stiffly. He slipped his hand over to Neal's leg beneath the table, palm resting on his thigh, as he looked across the tabletop to address the other agent. "What can we say – he loves to run. Look, Val, he'll give a more detailed statement later today like we already agreed on," he offered slowly. "Why don't we talk through what else was found in the house? I'd like to see the inventory, if you have the latest one. Whatever Jason thinks he has to offer, I'm pretty sure you're going to find you already have it. Can we focus on that?"
Val nodded. "Of course. Sure." She gestured at one of her agents. "Riley, you want to take us through it?"
The agent nodded. "Of course."
Neal relaxed slightly in his seat as again the conversation shifted away from him. He felt another quick squeeze on his thigh before Peter's hand retracted back to his own lap. Meanwhile, he kept his eyes on the surface of the table, ensuring an unassuming expression.
Another thirty minutes passed in the conference room, and Neal felt a mix of sentiments. Partially at ease, though he was mildly concerned, always cautious, that it could be premature. While intrigued by the turn in the case, and the new information on Messier, Neal occasionally felt uneasy during the meeting, as though there was still time for the conversation to return to him once again.
He felt this way all the way up until the end when the conversation came to a close, and people were pushing back their chairs to stand, small talk resuming.
Just like that, the discussion continued and ended without ever even remotely venturing back to his time at the gas station, his activities up the block with the Honda, or anything even closely related or connected.
That was it. Meeting adjourned.
He then felt… relieved?
"That's it?" Neal muttered to himself as he stood, following the action of the others who had already gotten to their feet. It seemed natural to stand as the rest of them did. His pulse was now at a regular pace.
"That's it?" Diana echoed back from beside him, frowning. "That was huge, Neal. A dirty cop? I never saw that coming. And did you hear everything else we have?"
It was huge. He knew that. And he nodded distractedly in agreement, turning his head to observe Peter. The one he'd been afraid of. Clearly the man hadn't heard his comment. He was already speaking with Val and one of the officers a few feet away, out of earshot.
"It's huge," he verbally agreed, turning back to Diana and confirming with a firmer nod, meeting her eye assuredly.
She gave him a slightly critical look, as though picking up on his initial mixed reaction. "You okay?"
"Yeah." He nodded, giving her a smile.
Meanwhile, with the other voices in the room humming in background noise, Neal suddenly felt his confidence returning. That wave of relief and respite when the storm cloud passes… The moment had passed.
Was that it? All that concern and foreboding imagery for nothing? His mind was now reprocessing the scenarios. If they hadn't said something now about what he had done… Then they must not have more to say about it? Surely they wouldn't be conveying additional information outside of this meeting… This was it. This was the update. He still didn't know what the news had conveyed that morning, but clearly it wasn't enough… It couldn't be enough.
The next steps on this case would be Messier and Jason. Not Messier, Jason, and Caffrey.
Suddenly he felt foolish. He'd almost played all his cards. All that over nothing. That could have been a disaster.
He felt a small sense of giddiness…
Why had he overreacted? He'd literally been sick over it. He immediately blamed the residual impact of the last three days. Three days as Willy. Three days of limited human contact, limited lighting, limited time for anything other than painting. Three days lost in abject thoughts. Those three days had gotten under his skin and tainted his reaction. Clearly.
Now it was over. All that was left was to go home.
Peter was returning to him and Diana now, and he had a pleased look on his face. That reinforced Neal's thoughts and his relieved sentiment. Peter gestured at them to follow him, and he and Diana both did, walking past the others still left in the conference room to exit into the hallway.
Ahead of them, Val had already exited and Neal watched her returning to her office with one of her agents at her side, also deep in discussion. He wondered when he would have to give them a more detailed account of the prior day.
"So can we just talk for a minute about Messier's real identity?" Diana was asking as they walked, retracing steps back to where they'd been before, towards the bullpen. "How didn't they realize this before? I mean, it literally just took them seeing his photo to realize he was blood related to the prime suspect of other investigations?"
"Separate investigations, completely unrelated," Peter responded slowly, shrugging slightly. "Can't say I haven't seen it before, unfortunately… One federal case, one under the purview of local authorities. I mean, what can I say… Right hand doesn't talk to the left… And voila. No connections, no trail, and dead ends."
"Voila indeed. Bureaucratic red tape," Neal chimed in with a small smile. "It sometimes creates opportunities."
"Oh yeah? Opportunities?" Peter asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically as he glanced over at him. "Wanna rephrase that?
Neal cleared his throat. "Uh, missed opportunities," he quickly corrected, smirk disappearing, replaced by a more earnest expression. "That's what I meant." He paused and then added, "And I mean, missed opportunities to address crime more holistically, obviously."
"Obviously…" Peter echoed with a slight hint of sarcasm. They reached the area they'd been earlier, and he briefly glanced at the pile of case files he'd left on the desk before looking back at Neal. "You're back I see."
Neal caught the tone of the comment and paused. Processing the words and what it implied, he frowned slightly.
"So I'll follow-up with them on what else they have," Diana offered, missing the interaction. "I want to see if there's any other links now that we know the other connections. And this trust that the house is under. Jones can have them cross-reference the names again." She slipped her phone out of her pocket, flipping it open. "I know we've got a lot already, Boss, but it's worth seeing what else we can find."
Peter nodded, watching her for a moment. "I agree. Good idea… But take a seat and call him from here if you don't mind." Then he again turned his head and gave Neal a look. "You sit too. I'll be right back, and then you and I will go."
Neal felt his reinvigorated confidence falter slightly. "Go where?" he asked uncertainly.
Peter kept his eyes on his, and neither of their eye contact wavered. "You wanted air," he said matter-of-factly. "So I'll get you air. But I just need ten minutes to talk to them. Then I'm taking you to get lunch." He then sent a look back to Diana. "Ten minutes," he said simply, the 'please' unspoken. "Tops."
"Wait. What's that look mean? Am I watching him now?" Diana asked skeptically, looking at Peter and holding up her hand in question, open phone in her grasp. She frowned and then looked over at Neal before returning the questioning gaze to Peter.
Peter gave her an appeasing look. "Can you both just give me ten minutes?"
"I don't need to be watched," Neal said. "And I don't know what you mean by lunch. It's only ten thirty," he pointed out, spotting a clock on the far wall of the room.
Peter rolled his eyes. "Then call it breakfast, Neal. Or brunch. You're the king of semantics. Figure it out. We passed a diner on the way over here. They'll be serving something."
"A diner? Brunch means French toast and Bloody Mary's, Peter," Neal pointed out. "Not a diner."
"It doesn't actually," Peter responded, raising his eyebrows. "But fine. Call it something else. Unless you want to stay here instead?"
"No…" Neal spoke slowly, slightly indecisively. He didn't necessarily want to stay in the building, but felt a little conflicted at Peter's invitation, jokes aside. He knew it was to pick up from the earlier conversation. Maybe about his 'dream.' But now the earlier urgency to disclose all of the details to Peter felt unnecessary. Peter's fleeting comment about him being 'back' also now rubbed at him.
"No?" Peter echoed. "Then sit."
What had seemed so urgent before, and almost a devastating failure when he couldn't get enough detail out in time, now seemed regrettable. Neal considered this as he casually moved to sit behind the desk he stood beside, obeying the instruction. He looked over at Diana, who still looked a bit disconcerted, phone remaining open in her hand.
"Ten minutes," Peter repeated, glancing briefly at his watch. "Okay? No more than fifteen."
"We'll be here," Diana confirmed.
Neal met Peter's eye as he looked up again. He said nothing, but watched Peter look away to make brief eye contact with Diana again before nodding and walking off.
Diana moved to lean against the desk that Neal sat behind and turned her head to view him skeptically. "So," she said slowly, raising an eyebrow. "Man of the hour. What earned you the privilege of breakfast?"
Neal frowned in return. "Privilege?" he scoffed. "I wouldn't exactly call it a privilege. And I'm clearly not the man of the hour."
"No?"
"No." Neal shook his head.
"Then what is it?" Diana asked.
"What's what? I don't know." Neal continued to shake his head. "I didn't ask to go to breakfast. Or lunch."
"What were you guys talking about before I came back?"
"Nothing. Especially not breakfast."
She eyed him a little suspiciously. "Nothing."
"I wasn't feeling well," Neal responded, an out of character answer that was slightly true. One that he hoped would put a stop to the inquiry. It proved worthwhile as he watched her expression change a bit, as though suddenly feeling contrite.
"Sorry, Neal," she said. "I can imagine. You're probably ready to just get home after all this."
"Yes," Neal said simply. He looked ahead of him on the desk, pulling forward one of the files blindly, avoiding any additional commentary.
Diana turned her attention to her phone.
Neal wound up successfully pretending to review the file, not processing any of it, until Peter came back, said his name, and gestured at him to follow.
It wasn't quite like walking to the conference room had felt, but he realized he wasn't yet exactly in the clear.
The diner was a typical one, inside and out. Neal registered the smell of freshly brewed coffee and bacon as they entered. His eyes scanned the countertop seating at the front of the restaurant as they walked in, and then looked beyond the half-occupied barstools towards the booths and tables in the broader room to the back. Peter was heading there, passing a sign that said 'please seat yourself' and Neal followed.
The car ride had been uneventful and only a few minutes in duration. Peter had not yet broached any topics, filling that time with small talk, and Neal was uneasily waiting for that moment when a more directed question came his way.
A moment later, Peter slid into an empty booth by the window, stretching his arm to grab the large, image-laden menus that were balanced between a napkin dispenser and a metal cup of utensils at the end of the table.
Trailing just behind him, Neal reached the table quietly.
"How you feeling?" Peter asked, sliding a menu towards the younger man as he watched him more slowly settle into the booth.
Neal uncomfortably shifted himself on the cushioned bench towards the middle of his side of the table, grimacing briefly at the aches the movement caused. He opened his mouth to respond, but silenced himself as Peter quickly added, "And don't just say fine."
Neal looked up at the comment, regarding Peter briefly, before eventually responding, "I feel… better than yesterday."
Peter gave him a slight smirk. "You realize that's not saying much, Neal?" he replied. "Comparing to the day you were shot, ran miles barefoot, and escaped your captors?"
"Perhaps. Yet it's an accurate statement," Neal answered.
"Fair," Peter responded with a nod. He flipped open his menu. "Diners," he stated. "The place you can literally find anything you want to eat, at any time of day."
Neal just raised his eyebrows, reaching to slide his menu closer and opening it as well. "Yep. Page after page of grease and high cholesterol."
Peter raised his eyes and gave him a look. "Complaining?"
"No," Neal responded. He shook his head. "It's a vast improvement over the menu I had at my disposal the last few days." He looked up. "Minus the pizza, of course."
"That was okay," Peter acknowledged. He eyes returned to his menu. "Nothing compares to pizza in New York though."
"Can we go back to New York today?"
Peter sighed, turning the page of his menu to the next section. "Maybe, Neal." He paused and then said slowly, without looking up, "So. Are you going to start or should I?"
Neal swallowed. He looked up at Peter again, but the man's eyes remained fixed to the menu. "Start with what?" he asked innocuously.
"Don't play a game, Neal."
"I'm not."
A waitress walked up to their table, pulling out a notepad and a pen from her pocketed apron. "Good morning, fellas," she greeted. "How are you doing today? Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea…"
"Coffee," Neal responded.
"Same," Peter answered.
She nodded. "Great. I'll give you some time with the menus. The quiche of the day is Lorraine."
Neal watched her walk off and then returned his gaze to Peter. "You said I was 'back,'" he started slowly. He knew he'd likely regret starting the discussion, but it was going to happen anyway, and that comment was weighing on him. "What did you mean by that?"
Peter flipped to another page of the menu casually. "You don't think I noticed the difference in you from before the meeting until after?"
Neal shrugged a little bit, shoulder paining him as he did so. "I guess."
"You guess," Peter repeated. "Neal, you weren't even acting like yourself before the meeting."
Neal paused. That was probably a fair statement, he considered.
"This case has been different, right?" Peter continued. He looked up from the menu. "Between you and me?"
Neal wasn't sure what Peter meant by that. So he hesitated in his response, but maintained eye contact. "Because I lost contact with you?" he asked carefully.
"Not exactly," Peter responded. "But partially. Usually when we're working on a case together, it's actually together… And when we do work together, even though we don't always approach things the same way, we do normally share the same tenacity to solve it."
"So… You mean I didn't this time?"
Peter let out a small laugh and then shook his head. "No, Neal. That's not what I mean. You did. You absolutely did." He paused and then returned his line of sight to the menu in front of him. "Neal, I like working with you because I like smart."
"Okay," Neal accepted. He looked down too and stared at the picture of a cheeseburger and fries on the menu. He suddenly didn't have much of an appetite.
"And I've told you that before," Peter persisted. "But it's not just about being smart, and you know that already too. It's about being honest with each other."
The waitress returned and placed two steaming mugs of coffee on the table in front of them, and then placed a small container of milk and a holder of sugar beside them. "Here you go."
"Thanks," Peter replied, looking up briefly.
With a smile, the waitress nodded. "No problem. I'll be back in a few for your order." She walked away.
"Neal," Peter began, eyeing the younger man across the table. Neal continued to stare at the menu. "I know you had something more to tell me."
Neal cleared his throat. The cheeseburger turned into two as his eyes lost focus briefly. Then he looked up, meeting Peter's eye, and said slowly, "About my dream."
"You said it wasn't a dream."
"I did…" Neal agreed cautiously.
"And you thought they were going to tell me something," Peter continued. "They, meaning the police."
Neal just continued to look back at him, pressing his lips together. Silence.
"But they didn't…" Peter persisted.
"Well, they did," Neal pointed out.
"But not what you thought they might," Peter persisted.
Neal fell silent again.
"What was it, Neal?" Peter raised his eyebrows. "What did you think they would tell me?"
Neal paused and then said with slight hesitation, "I already told you."
Peter shook his head gently. "Not really."
"I tried to," Neal replied.
"I know. And I should have waited and let you finish then," Peter responded. "But I didn't realize until you were clearly relieved by the meeting that there was obviously a lot more to it than what meets the eye. So I'm asking you to finish now."
Neal sighed slightly. The moment had come.
"The truth can't just be on your terms, Neal," Peter continued, tone slightly terse. "It needs to be unconditional. Telling me something only because you think I'll find out anyway? It doesn't work that way."
Sometimes it does, Neal thought to himself. But Peter was right. He'd had every intention before the meeting to tell the man everything. Reneging on that now did see a bit baseless. Even though he wanted to try to play that game. It wasn't going to work.
"And I think we've had this exact conversation before about honesty. So let me start, and I'll spark your memory. You mentioned a gas station, a woman, and a car…" Peter supplied. "And you thought that the police were going to tell me something."
Neal curled his hand around the hot coffee mug in front of him, sliding it closer. "If I tell you," he started, staring into the black liquid, "then you're going to be mad. I know that." He looked up, but not at Peter. He looked around the room, at the patrons sitting at the other tables. "You're going to react the way you react."
"Put my reaction aside, Neal. There's no 'if' now," Peter replied. "We're going to sit here until you finish the story."
"I don't want an audience," Neal answered slowly. He shifted the coffee mug on the table again.
Peter rolled his eyes slightly. "I'm not going to do anything," he answered. He picked up his own mug of coffee, sipping at the hot liquid. "You've had a rough few days," he added after swallowing. "I don't know why I'd be mad. What is it?"
Neal sighed. He opened his mouth to speak, but the waitress returned at that moment, notepad in hand with a pen hovering above it. "You guys ready to order some food?" she asked with a smile.
"Tuna melt for me," Peter replied, unnerved by the interruption. "And a side of fries." He looked over at Neal as the woman jotted his order down.
"I'm really not hungry…" Neal started. He looked up and caught Peter's disapproving expression. "Peter, I'm really just–"
"Order something, will you?" Peter interjected, responding with slight exasperation.
Neal rolled his eyes slightly and then sighed. "Fine." His eyes scanned the barely reviewed menu. "I'll have a burger," he answered. He looked up. "Cheeseburger." It was the only thing he could think of, despite it not appearing appealing.
The waitress nodded. "American, cheddar, Swiss, or pepper jack?"
Neal paused. "Cheddar."
"Great." She smiled at them both. "Thanks. It'll be up soon."
Neal took a sip from his coffee mug as she walked away.
Predictably, Peter spoke up once they were alone again. "Go ahead. Talk."
"Talk…" Neal echoed. He placed the mug back down on the table and again wrapped his palm around it. It felt strange now, finding a place to start his story. But he knew he had to tell it. There was no manipulating the truth now. He owed that much to Peter. Yet he hadn't even spoken to him in detail about what had happened while he was Jason's captive. There was so much unspoken right now. "I'll start with this," he began. "We were right when we speculated that I'd think about running." He looked up then and met Peter's eye. "Because I did. Consider running."
Peter's face remained passive though there was a brief flash of something conveyed. "Alright," he replied very slowly, tone a little wary. He nodded slightly. "Okay. We talked about that." He paused. "So you thought about it, and then you didn't. You called me."
"I almost didn't call you," Neal responded, surprising himself with the honesty. But he knew it had to be done.
"Almost," Peter repeated. "Fine. But then you did."
Neal nodded back and said, "Yeah. Eventually I did. But I was in the process of not calling you. That's my point. I almost called Mozzie instead."
"Mozzie." Peter made a brief face, nearly a quick wince. "Dammit. You do need to call him, Neal. He's been asking about you, and I never got back to him."
"I'll call him," Neal replied, a little dismissively. Mozzie was the least of his concerns now. He cleared his throat and then continued. "I'm not being clear again. What I was trying to tell you before, Peter, is that in the process of not calling you, I was actually…" He paused, reconsidering his words. How to do this. If he was going to. And he needed to. "Let me back up. I need to tell this from start to finish."
"Where's it start?" Peter asked. "I'm still a little lost, Neal. What's this have to do with a gas station?"
"It starts when I finally got out of the woods," Neal answered. He paused again, initially thinking back to the house, when he first got his freedom. The events that followed. He suddenly recalled a detail. "I had Jason's wallet," he said slowly out loud, brow furrowing. "I forgot I had that. It had fifteen dollars."
"What?" Peter raised the mug to his mouth again as he also frowned. "Again, I'm not following."
"I don't know where it went…" Neal shook his head slightly, a little conflicted by this. He looked perplexed for a moment but dismissed it. It was a detail he'd have to consider later. "Anyway. Forget it." He returned to the story at hand. "Like I said, it starts when I got out the woods."
Peter said nothing. He just nodded, and he waited.
And with that, Neal started to unwind the story. Slowly at first, but he forced himself to simply talk. He had to.
He began with details on the context, on how he felt when he finally found the road, and when he spotted the gas station ahead. He didn't mince words this time, but he avoided looking at Peter, afraid that any change in his expression or response might cause him to reconsider the admission he knew was required. He stared at the coffee instead, delivering the sequence of events as though the black liquid was his only audience.
He described his thought process in the gas station. He explained how he canvased the space, and located the security cameras, and his tactic for avoiding them as he moved around the store. He described the woman in detail, and her children, and then added his continued thoughts about them, with a deep regret as to whether he had taken from them something they really needed.
He talked and talked.
Peter didn't say a word.
He was still talking when the food arrived. The waitress put the plates down and he conversed through it, knowing if he stopped, his rhythm would be interrupted and he might not be able to start again. He had gotten to the point about the car now, and described the way he looked at the vehicles on the street, and why he had chosen this one, and the thoughts that had gone through his mind. He mentioned his dream, and the way there were scenarios that realistically played out in his head, and then spoke about the moment he started to have doubts.
He spoke about the news that morning, how he had heard the headline and became alarmed. Then he went back and explained that he'd tried in the evening to tell him, but couldn't bring himself to do it. He began to describe how he felt at the office, and what he thought the meeting would be about.
Then he went silent. His throat felt dry. All of the words were out.
Peter was silent too. Neal slowly raised his eyes, first glancing across the untouched plates of food, and slowly meeting Peter's eye. The man's look was a combination of things. His brow was furrowed, his eyes were narrowed just slightly, and his lips were a thin pressed line.
"I'm sorry, Peter," Neal said next. He didn't know what else to say. "And whatever you want to do, I get it, and I'll take it. I can't go back in time, and in the end I chose to call you, but I'm sorry. I'm sorry I almost didn't."
A pause of silence passed between them.
"Jesus Christ, Neal," Peter finally responded. He raised his hand to his jaw, rubbing at his jawline with a perplexed look. "What the hell were you thinking…? I mean, you just told me exactly what you were thinking, I know, but… Jesus."
"I know. I'm sorry," Neal said again. "And I mean it." He didn't feel better from the admission. He didn't know how to decipher Peter's reaction. He expected anger. He expected to be rejected. But he didn't know what to do after that.
"You broke the law," Peter said, tone stiff. "Neal, do you understand if you got caught—"
"I know," Neal interjected. "I know, Peter." He ran a hand through his hair, fidgeting slightly. His body ached, and he deserved it. "It's all the things I said I might think about doing but not do. And then I did it."
"But… why?" Peter asked. He shook his head. "Why, Neal?"
"I knew you'd ask me that. And even though I thought about it, I don't have a good answer," Neal admitted earnestly, shrugging a big dejectedly despite the sharp pain it caused. "I didn't even know where I'd go. I didn't even think through any of that, and… And I don't know. Maybe I thought Mozzie would know. In the moment it seemed to be the right thing to do, and then I realized it wasn't."
"Remember what I just said about being smart?" Peter asked, tone a bit rigid. "Well, that was stupid. That was very stupid, Neal."
"I know."
"Why wouldn't you just call me? Why not just ask the gas station if you could use their phone? Why, Neal? Instead of pursuing this half-baked, harebrained idea to –"
"I don't know what you want me to say," Neal interrupted, tone rising slightly. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I don't have any good answers. Okay?"
"Okay? Okay, Neal? No. It's not. God dammit," Peter responded, leaning back his own seat, leaning hard against the back of the booth. "You could literally be in jail right now, do you understand that?"
Neal nodded. He did. He knew that. He'd expected it. "I know…"
"You don't know," Peter retorted, snapping slightly. He gave him an icy look. "You don't goddamn know. You realize how many times I've put my neck out for you? Defended you? Even when I shouldn't have? And then you risk everything in a hasty, idiotic moment." His voice trailed off, frustration lacing the words. "I mean, come on. Dammit, Neal."
"If you have to tell them," Neal responded, trying to keep up with the reaction, which he was absorbing with conflicted feelings, and continued with, "then I understand. It's my fault. I deserve it. I'm sorry I put you in this position, Peter. And if we have to end things, I get that too. I do. But I am sorry. I didn't think and—"
"Stop, Neal. Just stop." Peter shook his head, sighing out loud. "Just stop for a minute." He let out a deep, frustrated breath. "Jesus Christ."
Neal felt an instinct to apologize again. But it was futile. The apology was just words. So he stayed silent. He stared at his coffee. The black liquid stared back. He didn't know how he had expected Peter really to react. His stomach was in knots, not knowing where this was going next. But the truth was out.
"I honestly don't know what to say to you," Peter said next. "I'm…" He shook his head, as though at a true loss of words. "I'm just kind of surprised, Neal. Really. This isn't what I expected. And I don't know what the hell I expected you to tell me after all this, but… Not that, Neal. Not what you just told me."
Neal hesitated, but then asked tentatively, "So what happens now?"
"What happens?" Peter repeated, looking at him a little incredulously.
"If you end our agreement," Neal started, tone a little wary, "then I have to go back to prison, but if—"
"Stop it," Peter replied. He waved one hand in the air, dismissively, brow furrowing. "Stop. I'm not putting you back in prison." He ran a hand over his jaw again.
"But I broke the law," Neal objected.
"You think I'm ignoring that?" Peter retorted, raising his eyebrows. His tone grew a little bit louder. "That's loud and clear, Neal. But you are not going back to prison. Understand me? So just stop with that."
Neal felt some of his tenseness alleviate at that comment, despite Peter's gruff tone. But he was slightly perplexed at the response. In committing these crimes, he was in breech of his agreement with the Bureau. Peter's insistence was a bit counterintuitive.
"You deserve to be punished," Peter continued, tone aggravated, "and trust me, I'm going to punish you. I just don't know how yet."
Neal's stomach turned slightly. "But I didn't run," he pointed out slowly. "I called you."
"Fortunately you did," Peter responded, sighing once again in irritation. "And when you did, by the way, do you even realize the shape you were in?" He paused, as though waiting for a response. "Hey," he said when none came. "Look at me." He waited, and then stressed his name. "Neal."
Neal shuddered slightly at the tone but raised his eyes, meeting his handler's stare. The look was direct and serious. He waited.
"Do you realize the shape you were in?" Peter persisted, repeating the question.
Neal paused, and then slowly replied, "I mean, I had been shot, but it wasn't a big—"
"Not a big deal?" Peter interjected. "Think again, Neal. You were bleeding, dehydrated, and quite honestly delirious. You could barely stand. You wouldn't have made it another block. Not a big deal?"
"I…" Neal trailed off and then just nodded. "I wasn't thinking, Peter."
"Damn right you weren't…" Peter retorted. "And honestly, that's the only thing keeping me from coming across the table right now, Neal. That you weren't in a state of mind to think. You were coming out of an unprecedented seventy two hours in captivity, which to be fair we haven't even talked about and I don't even know the full extent of and—"
"Don't defend me," Neal replied, shaking his head.
"Defend? Oh, listen to me when I say I'm not," Peter replied, scoffing slightly at the comment. "I'm not defending an ounce of it. But what I am considering is that you weren't in a normal state of mind."
"I'll never do it again, Peter."
"You'll never be able to, Neal. In fact, I don't know if you're ever going off anklet again," Peter replied stiffly.
Neal's jaw dropped slightly at that, but then he closed his mouth and stayed quiet. He wasn't in a position to argue. He knew from experience not to test that comment now.
"I honestly don't know why you have to play with fire…" Peter muttered. "Constantly." He exhaled slowly. "How'd I start this conversation, Neal?" he asked. "And no, do not look away. Hey. Look at me."
Neal returned his straying eye contact to Peter reluctantly.
"How'd I start this conversation?" Peter repeated.
"You told me to talk," Neal stated.
"No." Peter's tone was slightly impatient. "Try again. That's not how I started it."
Neal paused and then hesitated. "I… I don't know," he admitted.
"I told you I liked working with you," Peter replied, tone solemn. "Understand?"
Neal didn't. "And now you don't…" he said slowly.
"No, Neal. Did I say that?" Peter replied stiffly. He shook his head slightly. "Neal, we've talked so many times what it means for you to keep this agreement. This agreement that I like."
Neal nodded. "I know." Then he added. "I really like it."
"I know," Peter replied, tone softening slightly. He paused, shifting in his seat. "I know, Neal." He exhaled again. "Look, I need to process this, Neal. Honestly. I need to think about it."
"Okay…" Neal agreed. He didn't know what to expect. He was open to whatever Peter told him. "What happens now…?"
Peter sighed, and then he took a deep breath. He looked a little conflicted, but then responded. "First we eat," he said. "And that's we, Neal."
Neal viewed the burger in front of him disinterestedly but didn't argue. "And then what?" he asked.
"Then we're going to go back to the office. You're going to give the police your statement. And you're going to leave out every God damn thing you just told me." Peter's tone was a bit hard. He paused, eyeing Neal carefully, and then softened his tone. "You understand me?"
Neal nodded. "Yes."
Peter eyed him for a moment, expression wary, and then reached for a french fry. "Dammit, Neal," he muttered.
Neal frowned and squirmed slightly, uneasiness remaining.