Chapter 2: Interrogation Gone Wrong
Previously on Gods Among Men:
Oudea's eyebrows furrowed as he looked up thoughtfully. "Except this statue isn't real."
Elena spun around, shocked. "A forgery?"
"Perhaps you should discuss this with one of your archeologists."
"Victor Moreau, alias Neal Caffrey." The blue eyes looked up, twinkling with unexplained mirth. "You are hereby arrested by the Paris Police Prefecture for stealing and forging the Winged Victory of Samothrace from the Louvre Museum."
Neal was crying, tears streaming from his innocent eyes and staining his cheeks as he shook his head vehemently.
"Come on, Neal," Peter whispered as he paced in front of the wooden table. "You need to help me here." The FBI agent stopped right in front of Neal, his arms outstretched as he leaned in, beseeching those innocent eyes to see from his perspective. "I can't help you if you don't help me."
Neal just glared back, almost insulted at what the older man was asking from him.
"Honey?" Elizabeth called from upstairs. "Did Neal finish yet?"
And then the wail started, reaching new octaves with each passing second. Neal was sobbing now, banging his small plastic spoon against the plastic surface in front of him.
Frustrated, Peter reluctantly broke his gaze, turning away as he increased the volume of his voice, over the infant's cry. "He's not eating, hon," he called back to her, desperately. He looked down at the mashed bowl of dirty green, sniffing it slightly before turning away disgusted. He looked at his wailing son, annoyed at the situation, but also couldn't help but feel sorry for the child. No one should be forced to eat mashed peas.
Even if it's supposedly healthy.
Elizabeth walked into the kitchen, wearing a chiffon black dress with a sweetheart neckline. She had a simple pearl choker, and let her burgandy hair fall down to the shoulders. Peter froze at the sight of his wife and the disappointed look that crossed her face. Slowly he stepped away from his son, letting her do her magic.
Elizabeth's high heels tapped against the wooden floor as she made her way to Neal, picking up his bowl and placing it to the side as she reached for the teddy bear nearby and handed it to the distressed child. Neal stopped crying instantly, cuddling into Mozart.
Peter's eyebrows rose slightly. "Of course he likes Mozart."
Neal and Mozzie, even if it were a little bit cheesy. Elizabeth laughed, not missing the uncanny similarity.
"Can you handle him?" She asked, as she leaned in to kiss her husband. "I will only be out for a bit."
"I've handled much worse," Peter replied, softly. His eyes glazed over and he stared fondly into the distance. What could Neal Burke do to Peter that Neal Caffrey hadn't already tested?
El noticed the change in mood immediately, her own eyes misting from the sadness in her husband's eyes. It had been over a year since Neal had… She shook her head, pulling herself out of her thoughts. But Peter hadn't returned yet, she noticed.
El couldn't help but feel pity for her husband. Since that day, Peter had never quite been the same.
Peter would smile, but it would never quite reach his eyes. He would kiss her every morning, but it never quite came from his heart. He would be at his office and out of his office on time, now more punctual than ever before. He was respected by his colleagues, even more so due to his role in taking down the Pink Panthers. His case closure rate did drop down, but he still remained an active and valuable asset for New York's White Collar Division. The D.C. branch called him, almost weekly, bargaining with the FBI's top agent to come to the main headquarters.
But Peter would turn the offer down.
And instead he would gaze out the window. Almost as if he were waiting.
No, since the Pink Panthers had been taken down, nothing seemed to fit completely anymore.
Funny how much a con man had weaseled his way into becoming part of their family.
Yet, since Mozzie had last visited the family, something seemed to have changed. Someone had sent a bottle of wine. Peter's smile started to reach his eyes. There was an unexplainable fire rekindled, as if he were back on a chase. A chase as good as nearly a decade ago, when he first chased after the infamous con-artist, Neal Caffrey. Her husband started coming home at odd hours.
And Mozzie disappeared.
Elizabeth didn't miss any of these subtle details. She didn't miss how the last month seemed to be like a plane on a runway, ready for take-off. Or like the wail of a firework before it erupts into a multi-colored flower of lights.
Or more like a calm before the storm.
Her husband was hiding something from her, once again keeping secrets that could derail the short bout of peace that they were living.
Yet, in place of trepidation, Elizabeth was feeling something akin to excitement and anticipation. Even though she didn't have the slightest clue what Peter was chasing, she wanted to believe that her husband's secret was real. That he may still be alive somewhere...
"El?" Peter called to her, closing the gap between them as his arms wrapped around her. She smiled at him gently and reached up to him, her fingers intertwining in his hair briefly. He returned the smile, leaning forward for a quick peck.
"Bye, hon," she said, turning away to pick up her purse. She opened it to quickly glance over the contents. "There's mashed sweet potato for Neal for dinner. Don't forget to take out the trash. And Neal needs his nap after his lunch is done." Elizabeth was rambling now, even as she closed her purse.
"El," Peter interrupted, forcing her to look up at him. Peter smiled, reassuringly. "I know." He went over and picked up the baby still clinging to the bear. "Your little con and I will get along perfectly together. You go take care of your event."
El smiled as baby Neal curled onto his father's shoulder, trying to bite the white collar, but mainly just drooling over the white shirt. Peter didn't seem to mind, letting his child cuddle into the crook of his neck. She nodded, before reluctantly leaving the house to her boys.
Peter stared at the door that closed behind his wife. He sighed, before dropping his little boy onto his play mat, letting the toddler learn to turn over and start crawling. Or more like kicking his back feet in an attempt to move forward.
The FBI agent settled into his couch. He figured he could start looking through the case files, when his phone started ringing. Peter smiled automatically as soon as he saw the number on the phone screen, and lifted it quickly.
"Diana," Peter greeted. "How are you?"
"I'm good, boss," Diana replied, and Peter could imagine her smiling on the other end.
"DC pampering you?" He asked, only partially joking. Diana laughed in return.
"Not quite as much as New York did," She replied. "How is Elizabeth?" A short pause. "Neal?"
"They're good," Peter replied neutrally, although his heartbeat quickened at the mention of his son's name. Diana must have noticed something.
"Look, this was about what you told me a couple of weeks ago."
Peter stood up from his couch, nervously starting to pace as he kept his gaze fixated on his son. "And?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "It sounds a bit…" she trailed off, not quite knowing what she should say.
"It sounds a bit like Mozzie's conspiracy theories, right?" Peter asked, knowing full well how he did sound. He rubbed his head, not quite knowing where to start.
Diana scoffed on the other end. "Yeah," she said softly. "But I did look into a rather large list of staff and employees at the Louvre Museum. No one seemed particularly suspicious. Or fit his description."
Peter nodded, disappointment coloring his face. "Okay," he breathed out. He had hoped. Especially after the ex-con had revealed his container of evidence and all said evidence pointed to his survival. And possibly his new residence in Paris.
The more realistic side of him told him not to get his hopes up too high.
Diana heard the disappointment, and she sighed. "I'll keep searching, boss. If Neal Caffrey is alive…"
"Then there is no team better than you, Jones, and I that can catch him." Peter interrupted, smiling proudly.
"Just like Cape Verde," She replied, almost nostalgically.
"Just like," He agreed. As if on cue, baby Neal suddenly started crying again, having struggled enough to move maybe an inch. "Sorry Diana, Daddy Burke duty calls."
Diana laughed on the other end. "No problem, boss. Good luck."
Peter closed his phone, walking to his child and picking him up, sniffing at his diaper. "How did you manage to soil your diaper if you didn't eat anything for lunch?" Peter asked his now calm son. The innocent coo'ing he received in return Peter could only describe as a con.
The vexed father gathered his son into his arms, picking up the phone just in case as he made his way to the diaper station. Gently placing his son on the board, he pulled the diapers and cleaning wipes, preparing himself for the task ahead. Months into daddy duty, and he would still never understand diaper duty. Neal coo'd as he started playing with his feet, ready to turnover on the station, if it weren't for Peter's steady hand on his chest.
The phone's loud ringtone started again, startling baby Neal. Peter reached for the phone, tucking it against his shoulder as he began changing the diaper.
"Peter Burke," he answered.
"Peter, this is Bruce." A deep voice replied back to him. The seriousness prompted Peter to stop, and he looked up concerned.
"Bruce, what is it?"
There was a pause. "We need you in Paris. Right now."
"Paris?" The FBI agent looked startled. His heart started fluttering, and his instinct told him, he knew - he knew exactly what this was about.
"Peter, we have repercussions on an international scale." Bruce's voice sounded desperate, indicating how much was at stake. "We don't know how he did it - hell, I don't even know how he's alive. We caught him, but he won't talk. He said he will only talk to you."
"Who?" Peter breathed out, even though he already knew the answer. The man looked ready to break down just as tears blurred his vision. He is alive. That was the only thought that ran through his head.
"Peter, it's Neal Caffrey."
{White Collar}
12 hours.
That was all it took to travel half-way across the world. That was all it took for Peter's world to turn upside down.
Peter should have been tired, given the New York traffic, the security checks at the airports and the 8 hour non-stop flight. In hindsight, he probably should have slept in the flight, given that he hadn't had any sleep the night before because of a different Neal.
But Peter wasn't tired. He was bouncing his knee nervously as he waited in the hallway, his eyes darting around as he noticed the officers frantically running around him.
He said he'll only talk to you.
Then why the hell had he not seen Neal yet?
"Agent Peter Burke?" A voice called from his side. Peter got up instantly to face the officer whose hand outstretched in greeting. Peter accepted, shaking his hand. "My name is John Durand. I will be escorting you to our suspect." Peter nodded, not quite trusting his voice yet. The officer turned around, leading the way.
"My understanding is that this man is a notorious criminal?" The officer turned slightly to address the FBI Agent. "And that you were his handler before he escaped."
"He was an ex-convict," Peter started carefully. He would have said more, if he hadn't seen Bruce Hawes.
The Section Chief of the FBI turned around, his face grim as he nodded in greeting towards Peter. Bruce returned his gaze to the glass pane, into the interrogation room.
The interrogation room.
Peter's mind blanked out, and the FBI agent found himself gliding towards the window pane as if he were in a daze.
Neal Caffrey sat on the other side, dressed in a white tank and grey sweatpants, his brown curls sticking every which way. His hands were cuffed to the table, restraining him, yet he was still smiling even as he played with the chains around the cuffs. There was no registration of consequence, just a carefree man. Alive and breathing.
Peter let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. Because for almost a year, he had cried - sobbed into the night, wishing he had been a minute quicker. Wishing he had somehow prevented Neal from getting shot. A month ago, the grief transformed into hope by a single wine bottle anonymously sent. Hope that he will one day see his CI again. The relief he felt today, seeing someone he had presumed he would never see again, made it all okay. It made the world spin correctly again. His eyes teared up slightly.
"Agent Burke," Officer Durand called out. "Are you to interrogate him?" Peter snapped out of his thoughts. Peter nodded, not quite trusting his voice yet. Durand pointed to the door. Seconds later, Peter was at the door, wondering how he got there so quickly.
Peter's hand hovered over the handle for a brief minute, as he wondered, was this a dream? He opened the door slowly, tentatively.
Peter stepped in nervously, just as Neal looked up. The brilliant blue eyes lit up instantly in recognition, and Neal's face immediately split into a large grin. "For the record," Neal started. "This does not count as 4-0. Especially because you didn't catch me. The French police did."
It took all of the self-control and discipline that Peter had fostered over his career as an FBI agent to keep himself from running into Neal and clinging onto the slippery conman tightly, never letting him go. Hell, he was going to cuff the man to his leg after this. Or he could slap some sense into the other man, but he had a feeling his wife would take care of that later. But his short lived joy was maligned by the fact that this was an interrogation room, and Neal was a suspect. So, Peter schooled his smile into a stern gaze and slowly made his way to sit across from Neal, keeping in mind the audience outside of the room. "No, I suppose it doesn't."
Neal smiled brightly, happy to finally see his partner after a year. "How are you?" He asked gently, gesturing to the man in front of him. "How is Elizabeth? Your son?"
Peter started nodding slowly. "They're fine," he answered, purposefully choosing not to comment on his own state of being. "You?"
"Peachy," Neal replied, picking his hands up inches from the table, the maximum extent of his restraints. "As you can tell."
Peter broke his facade and scoffed. "Can't keep yourself out of trouble?"
Neal raised his eyebrows. "Hey! I was making an honest living when La PP stormed into my studio midday and dragged me to the headquarters."
"Honest living?"
"I am an archeologist, restoring marble sculptures on the side, and even have some Caffrey originals around too," Neal explained, pride layering his voice. Peter looked at him dubiously, a smile still dancing on his lips. "I have a degree," Neal insisted. "University of Phoenix online. Go Cardinals," He added as an afterthought. Peter shook his head, lightly chuckling.
"What, you got your archeologist degree the same year Mozzie got his law degree?"
Neal shrugged. "Helps with tuition cost," the con man joked.
"Then why are we here, like this?"
Neal's smile faltered, and looked down at his cuffs. "About 10 months ago, I had an opportunity of a lifetime. I never thought I'd regret accepting it."
Peter didn't seem to notice and instead leaned back into his chair as his heart continued to leap at the sheer joy of watching Neal move and talk. Hell, right now, he didn't even care if Neal stole the greatest treasure on Earth. Just as long as Neal was alive and breathing.
"Peter?" Neal called to him, pulling him out of his thoughts. "You okay?"
Peter looked away briefly. "I will be," he replied honestly, trying to hone in on his own conflicting emotions. He was relieved and happy, but also angry and confused. If he were being honest, he didn't know what he was doing here.
His sight caught the reflective pane, where he knew the FBI section chief and the French Officer stood, probably impatient with the current exchange. Peter sighed, almost irritated. He didn't want to accuse his CI anymore. At the moment, he didn't want to be an FBI agent - just a friend who truly missed his brother.
But with an international issue, it would be tough to dismiss his professional responsibility and let emotions cloud his judgement.
"So you know nothing about what you were brought in for?" Peter asked. He found himself hating questioning his CI, hating having to meet him in these conditions.
Neal scoffed, turning down to pick at the cuff chains. "Do you think I do?" Neal asked. Peter turned his attention back to the alleged thief. Neal cocked his head curiously, almost challenging the man in front of him to answer. And Peter noticed Neal hadn't answered his question. Misdirection. Or maybe he was overthinking this.
"What were you doing in Paris?" Peter asked, steering the questions in another direction.
Neal hesitated slightly. "I've always loved Paris. Kate and I came here once. I wanted to go back, search for myself in the City of Lights."
"Did you find him?"
Neal looked up thoughtfully. "Maybe."
There was an impatient rap on the reflective pane. Peter cleared his throat as he adjusted himself in the metal chair. "Why did you call me over? If you had nothing to do with this crime, why bring me here?"
"They knew I was Neal Caffrey," Neal explained. "They were using my previous alleged crimes against me. I figured if someone could vouch for me, it would be you."
Peter nodded, instantly ready to trust the conman. "And can I trust you on this? That you had nothing to do with this?" Neal opened his mouth, ready to answer. "You've never lied to me before. I'm holding you to your word." No, Neal has never lied. He did omit facts though. Maybe a little fact like Hey Peter, I'm not actually dead.
Neal gazed into Peter's eyes, maintaining eye contact. "All I'm saying is that you should check your sources before coming to me."
The FBI agent nodded, getting up to exit the room. "We'll get you out of this, Neal."
For a brief minute, something broke in those electric blue eyes, like a crack in the con man's mask. For just that moment, Neal seemed to be begging Peter, indicating to him that perhaps something was wrong with this whole situation.
"Maybe," Neal whispered back, before the door closed on him.
Peter walked straight to the two officials, keeping any semblance of emotion out. "I need to speak with whoever accused him of stealing."
"We cannot do that," Durand objected. "It was an anonymous tip."
"Then when did it happen? Does Neal have an alibi that checks out?" Peter asked. Bruce looked at the FBI agent curiously, as if he said something wrong.
Durand shook his head slightly. "We are looking through all of the security footage for the past 10 months. It will take some time unfortunately."
"But you saw him at the crime scene?"
"Everyday for the past 10 months. He has the skills, accessibility and motive to steal the Winged Victory of Samothrace from the Louvre." Durand insisted.
Peter gaped, shocked. "He stole an 8 foot marble statue from the most secure Museum in the world?"
"Peter, I did debrief you on that before you boarded the flight," Bruce started. "Did you not hear me?"
Peter pinched his forehead. "I may have missed certain details," Peter admitted. At Bruce's incredulous glance, he felt he needed to provide more of an explanation. "Bruce, I watched my CI die in front of my eyes. A year later, I hear he's alive, and 12 hours later, I see him alive."
That was enough for the French policeman to round up on the FBI Section Chief. "Is this man too close to this case?" Bruce held up his hands trying to pacify the angry official, even as Peter tried to explain himself. "Take this Peter Burke off of my case, and let us handle the criminal our way. We will find the statue before sundown."
Peter's eyes widened at the implication, and began to vocally protest, but Bruce beat him to it. The Section Chief's eyes blazed with indignation as he enunciated each word. "Neal Caffrey is a United States Citizen. He has specifically requested to be extradited to his home country. We will deal with him as we see fit."
"Bruce, please." Durand amended quickly. "This crime has international repercussions and can cause a political strain in our relationship with your country. I cannot keep the media out forever. We need to find the real statue and fast."
"But we have no hard evidence that Neal did this." Peter contradicted. "You can't convict a man because someone said so."
"There were replicas of portions of the Nike in his studio. A wing, a foot, a hand." Peter shook his head, indicating that wasn't enough. "Our source is very reliable," Durand concluded.
"Then let me speak to them. We can get down to a conclusion."
Durand considered the request and then finally acquiesced. "Elena Durand. My daughter." He finally stated the name. "I will call her in."
"Your daughter?" Peter repeated. "Aren't you too close to this case?"
Durand bristled at that. "My daughter is a world renowned archeologist. Her hard work, and her talent alone had provided her opportunities few could only dream of."
"But you're protecting her. You don't want her anywhere near a police precinct and you're willing to let an innocent man take the fall."
"Peter, you and I both know Neal isn't innocent." Bruce interrupted.
"No, what I do know is that the FBI reneged on Neal at every opportunity. So he took his own freedom. And now you want to take that away again?"
"Peter!" Bruce looked a bit shocked. Peter didn't back down, instead glaring at both men in front of him. The FBI agent now stood protectively in front of the reflective pane, his hands at his hips and obstructing the view to the suspect.
"I said I will call her in." Durand interfered. "We will talk to her, and we will find out if your ex-CI is as innocent as you claim."
The French Officer turned, stiffly walking away.
Bruce sighed. "Peter, I'm sorry about Neal, I truly am." The FBI agent didn't respond, turning to look at his CI. "But do you truly believe that he is innocent?"
Peter replayed his brief conversation with Neal in his head. The human part of him, the older brother, had an answer even before the question was asked. The FBI agent, the logical part, had an answer he didn't like.
Because no matter how he replayed it, he could see the obvious misdirections Neal had used.
"I don't know, Bruce." He admitted softly. "I don't actually know."
{White Collar}
Elena Durand didn't want to visit the police station. In fact, she didn't want to have anything to do with the Winged Victory now.
Or Victor for the matter.
Part of her still believed he was innocent, with his sweet smile and bright attitude. Even after grueling days of hard work, where the stench of chemicals stuck to them like blood sucking leeches and calluses covered their hands, Victor was there for the team. He would bring in coffee, a warm smile and numerous horrible jokes. He was a walking encyclopedia, spewing out facts about the Helenistic time period that even some of the other archeologists didn't know. And his eyes still glowed with passion after working non-stop for as long as 14 hours. He truly loved art and life and everything in between.
Elena sighed. She had taken the information Oudea had given her to her father. Thinking back, it was probably not the best decision she made, especially given that her father had a particular dislike towards the charming young man. She should have known that he would arrest him first and ask questions later. Apparently, he brought the entire cavalry to Victor's studio.
But when someone from an influential position like Oudea's requests her to re-authenticate the sculpture, her hands are basically tied.
And when it did come out that Victor was indeed Neal Caffrey, an ex-convict who faked his death prior to settling in Paris… Well, whatever she thought knew about Victor went down the drain.
Now she sat in the middle of an interrogation room, like another criminal, waiting for the police to question her.
The door opened, and an older man walked in. Elena stood up as he reached forward to shake her hand. "Elena Durand?" She nodded.
"My name is Peter Burke," the man introduced himself. "I am an FBI agent from the New York White Collar Crime Division in the United States."
"They call a regional employee for an international issue?" She hadn't meant to say it condescendingly. It was only curiosity talking. And Peter understood that before she needed to explain herself.
"I've worked with Neal - Victor - prior to his new life in Paris. He actually requested for my presence here."
Elena nodded. "Do you think he did it?"
Peter looked at her meaningfully. "I was told you do."
"I don't know," She replied back honestly. Her voice shook slightly, and she wondered if her testimonial was implicating an innocent man. "I was told by one of our sponsors that the statue was fake, so I requested the Paris Police Prefecture to look into a reliable authenticator to re-evaluate the statue. Next thing I know, my father had arrested Victor."
Peter leaned back in his chair, a new thought forming in his head while he listened to her. "What would you say is your relationship with Victor?"
Elena looked up confused, although her eyes hardened at what the agent was suggesting. "I don't understand how that has anything to do with the case at hand."
Peter nodded, not pressing her to answer the question, but also knowing what the answer would be if he had. Neal did have a way with women. "So one of your sponsors said that the statue was a forgery." She nodded. "And how did he know?"
"He didn't say."
"But you brought forward the question to Officer Durand?"
"Yes."
"Who is this sponsor?"
Elena hesitated briefly before responding. "Fredric Oudea," she replied. "His family is one of the wealthiest in the country, if not the world."
Peter signaled to the one of the reflective panes. Shortly after, the door opened, revealing Officer Durand on the other side.
"Can we please bring in Mr. Oudea for questioning?" Peter asked.
Officer Durand hesitated. "I'm afraid Monsieur Oudea had left for his home country."
"I talked with him earlier this morning, father." Elena started carefully. Peter and Durand shared a look. "It is true, you can look at the security footage at Louvre. It was after I talked with him that I brought the information to you." Either Elena was lying, or there was an imposter.
Durand turned to his daughter. "Elena, how did this Monsieur Oudea look?"
"He was short, shorter than me, and had a bald head. He had these thick framed glasses and…" even as Elena was talking, she noticed Peter turn pale.
Quickly rummaging into his coat pocket, Peter pulled out his phone, opening his photo gallery and skimming through the photos. He turned the phone towards her, showing her a picture of a man.
"Yes," she recognized instantly. "That was Monsieur Oudea. Do you know him, Monsieur Burke?"
Peter turned red, and he mumbled underneath his breath. "Damn it, Mozzie."
A/N: So, do you think Neal did it?
I loved writing baby Neal, he was absolutely adorable. As for where this story is going to go... it's actually a lot more complicated than I anticipated, so I guess I'll let the characters do the writing.
For the purposes of the story, I couldn't let Peter hug Neal. I might have to hold off on that scene until Neal gets off the hook. If he gets off the hook.
There will be more of an explanation of how an 8 foot statue in the most secure Museum in the world can be stolen and forged. I think it warrants for some flashbacks. The only problem I have is juxtaposing that with Peter/Neal moments. Because if there is anything I like most in the world, it's the relationship between our favorite law enforcer and the most charming con in the world.