I've decided not to apologize for how sweet this fic is, after all that's the point of fan fiction isn't it? To give you things you never saw in the series.
The only apology I'll give is for the fact that Peter and Neal clearly weren't this close at the beginning of canon but I wanted this so...sorry ;)
As for warnings, there's non-explicit but clear and somewhat extensive references to some of the ugliest things that can happen in prison.
Peter sat frozen in horror as Neal Caffrey was led out of the court room. The con's expression was blank and inscrutable as he walked, dressed in humiliating orange and his hands visibly cuffed, guards flanking him and news photographers scrambling in a frenzy to get a picture of the guilty defendant.
Peter felt a sickening pit in his stomach, knowing the turmoil that was likely raging behind Caffrey's stone-cold mask of a face at the judge's sentence. He almost desperately wished that the mask would drop, that the judge could see the sensitive, lonely, hurting person that Peter had seen peeking out so briefly three weeks before; the terrified kid that the mask protected. Maybe then His Honor wouldn't be so smug, talking about sociopaths and flight risks and sending the kid somewhere he had absolutely no business going.
But the blank expression stayed firmly in place, the world class con man showing nothing to the world except what he wanted it to see.
As it was, Peter could do nothing but flash his badge and growl threateningly at a press photographer snapping pictures of the scene,
"Give him some damn space for the love of—" —the photographer moved out of the way.
His heart was hammering in his chest, his fists clenching in anger and horror. A first time non-violent White Collar criminal sentenced to four years at Sing Sing Penitentiary?
All the stories Peter had heard about Sing Sing came flooding back—beatings from both guards and prisoners, brutal murders, men assaulted multiple times a week—and now, in each one, Neal Caffrey starred as the main character. A broken man, his eyes filled with hatred and horrible hurt, his gaze begging Peter for help the agent couldn't give as the man himself spat bitter accusations, 'YOU did this to me Peter Burke! YOU did this, no one else!"
No, no, no, NO—Peter shoved the thoughts into the darkest corner of his brain. That was NOT what would happen to Neal Caffrey. Those stories came from the penitentiary of sixty years ago. Intense public scrutiny and reforms had changed things significantly for the better in more recent years.
Sing Sing was filled with some of the roughest people of society and Peter's heart throbbed at the thought of putting the friendly, good natured, sensitive Neal Caffrey in there. But though prison would be rough, more likely than not Caffrey would emerge relatively unscathed.
More likely than not...Peter swallowed down the implications of that phrase as bile rose in his throat again. There was still a very real non-zero chance...
He shook his head, physically wiping the thoughts away. He knew people who worked at Sing Sing, good people, wardens and guards that he respected. He would cash in every favor he had ever curried if he had to, but Neal Caffrey would be okay. He might hate prison, might struggle with the loneliness and chafe under the lack of freedom, but he would not walk out of Sing Sing Penitentiary in four years a ruined and broken man.
But Caffrey didn't know that.
There was no doubt in Peter's mind that the same stories that had rushed to his thoughts were circling viciously in Caffrey's as the guards stowed him in a holding cell to be taken to the prison.
Here was the moment El had urged Peter to take, ruined now by the outrageous sentence of four years in a supermax. For bond forgery! Even without Sing Sing's reputation, almost half a decade of the kid's life would be gone, spent behind concrete and bars with the dregs of society.
Caffrey would likely spit in his face (well, with Caffrey it would be the verbal equivalent) and never want to see Peter again, but Peter knew he owed it both to Neal and himself to try.
He made his way quickly to the holding area, flashing his badge,
"Special Agent Peter Burke. Caffrey was my case and I'd like to speak with him." The guard didn't seem bothered to ask what the agent could possibly have to do with him at this point,
"The prisoner will be transferred in about forty-five minutes but he's yours until then."
Well, it would probably take less than one minute for Caffrey to tell him to get the hell out.
He took a breath and opened the door, stepping into a dismal cell. The concrete bench where Caffrey sat cuffed was the only furnishing in the bare, grey room.
The man's face as he turned was the same porcelain mask of dreadful calm that he had donned as he left the courtroom.
Perhaps no one else would have noticed, but Peter's attention was drawn instantly to the way Caffrey's chest was rising and falling, his breathing almost audibly labored despite his attempt to control it, and the animal-like desperation in his eyes.
Neal Caffrey put on a world class act, but the mask hid a raging storm of intense panic below.
"Coming to gloat Agent Burke?" The bitterness in Caffrey's tone was tinged with discernible distress and the question stabbed Peter in the gut like a blade.
Did he really think Peter would gloat?
Yes, Neal Caffrey now hated him and he understood why, but the words hurt far more than Peter would have imagined.
Whatever the con held against him for his role in all this, Caffrey needed to know the truth, at least about that. Peter met his eyes directly,
"No, Neal. I'm not." The words were quiet and their gazes held steady for an eternity of a moment before Caffrey's eyes dropped. He seemed to crumpled in on himself, growing heartbreakingly small.
He was nodding.
"I know, I-I know that Peter, I don't know why I said that." His words were stumbled and when he looked up again Peter was stunned at the child-like openness in the blue eyes. "Why are you here?"
Peter took a careful step toward him, unsure of what had happened.
Neal Caffrey had just apologized...to him.
Somehow, Neal had understood the situation.
He understood that Peter was almost as dismayed and hurt as he was, that Peter didn't want him in Sing Sing anymore than he wanted to go. And he didn't blame him.
The appeal in his expression, in his posture, in his voice, was as clear as Neal would ever allow, please help me.
Peter lowered himself on the bench next to the con.
"Listen to me Neal," he began, his voice gentle but deadly serious, "Sing Sing is not what you are imagining. You won't come out of there having been abused for four years."
Caffrey flinched and Pete could hear his breath catch in his throat at the blunt words—Peter putting a voice to the dread that had no doubt shadowed his mind over the past half hour. Peter spotted the tremor in his hands, quickly stilled as Neal clasped them tightly together.
"I've...definitely heard—stories." His voice was shaky and thick like he was speaking around a painful lump in his throat. He was barely trying to hide it how close to tears he was.
Neal was facing the same images that Peter had scrubbed from his own brain but without the reassuring knowledge the agent had. To him those images weren't a horrible but unlikely vision of someone else but an impending and very real reality. It hit Peter like a physical blow just exactly how terrified Neal Caffrey was. The man was just too damn good at what he did, at forming those masks to keep the world out, but to allow someone to hear that weakness? It called for more than just encouraging words from Peter.
Peter reached into his pocket and removed the handcuff key that he kept on his person, unlocking Caffrey's handcuffs and gently taking hold of one of Neal's slack hands. He ran an absent thumb over the mostly-healed scab on the con's wrist from the arrest.
Neal's skin was like ice and the now-constant tremor that shook him was easy to feel. Peter placed the hand between both of his own, his grip firm, reassuring. Slowly, desperately, as Peter had given him the permission that he needed, Neal clung back with anguished distress.
"Neal. I promise you—no, I swear to you that it's not like that anymore. A lot of the stories were true but they took place years ago. I know people who work there now, people I respect. I'll talk to them, tell them about you. They'll keep an extra eye on you. You will be okay. Do you hear me? It will not be fun but you will be okay." Neal's breathing had grown harsher as Peter spoke, until, with the last words, he emitted a noise that sounded like a strangled half-sob of relief and devastation.
The sound put Peter's heart through a wringer and he moved to circle his arm around the slender shoulders, a hand placed gently on Neal's far arm, the other still being held with the desperation of a drowning man.
"You swear?" The trust in Neal's eyes was humbling as they met pleadingly with Peter's own.
"I swear."
They sat silently for a minute or so as Neal internalized the truth of Peter's words. He began to calm down, the trembling growing far less violent and his grip on Peter's hand growing more lax, though he didn't remove it all together.
Peter was fighting his own battle in the meantime, the horrible stories had set the bar very low but prison would still be awful for the young con. He was still battling guilt, not for putting him away for a little while, no, that was justice, but for the utter lack of justice in sending him to a supermax for four years. Neal's looks, his youth, his commitment to non-violence—in the real world they were assets, but in prison they were very real liabilities. Peter, however unwillingly, had played a part in sending him there, the least he could do was make sure Caffrey was prepared.
"Neal, prison isn't going to be easy, but you can get through it. You just need to be careful, make the right friends—you're good at that!" Peter had the feeling that he wasn't saying anything very helpful but he wasn't sure what would be helpful to say, what would get Neal through the next few hours, the next few days, the next four years—"Sing Sing isn't a horror show but there are dangerous people, try not to make enemies." The words sounded trite, even to him. These were things Caffrey was smart enough to figure out on his own—
"Why do you care?"
The question seemed to come out of nowhere.
It was more curious than bitter but hit Peter like a physical blow, a lot of Neal's words seemed to be doing that recently. He just stared in horrified confusion at the question.
"That you don't get beaten up or assaulted?"
"No," Caffrey's voice was quiet, "just about me—in general."
The question, asked with such confused sincerity, broke Peter's heart. But it also, he realized, finally gave him the chance that Elizabeth had urged him to take.
The chance to tell a lost and hurting boy that he mattered.
He put a hand on Neal's knee,
"Has it ever occurred to you," he paused then looked up to meet Neal's eyes, "that you're worth caring about?"
WCWCWCWCWC
"Based on the defendant's psychological evaluation reporting him as having sociopathic tendencies and his status reported by the FBI as a high flight risk, I hereby sentenced Neal Caffrey to four years at Sing Sing Penitentiary."
Neal's heart dropped like a stone, his mouth going dry as a desert and nausea welling up as the judge ruled a sentence far harsher than he had thought possible for the crime of which he had been convicted.
After that—numbness.
He felt nothing as the proceedings wrapped up, almost like he was in a dream, his thoughts floated meaninglessly, detached from reality.
He was being led away, he finally realized, led to a holding cell where he would then be taken to—
He caught a brief glimpse of Peter Burke's face, twisted into an expression he'd never seen on the agent before. He snapped out of his daze, reality crashing down like a tidal wave and nearly drowning him.
Sing Sing Penitentiary.
Every story he had ever heard, every whisper of the horror that occurred on a daily basis played through his mind. Stabbings, assault, abuse—
He was going to die. He knew this with sudden surety.
If he didn't, he would most certainly want to.
He was shoved unceremoniously into a dismal cell with the future drawing closer like a pitch black storm cloud.
Neal wasn't sure how long he sat in the holding cell, tournament by images that chilled him to his core, his stomach roiling with nausea, ice cold despair and fiery horror battling viciously for dominance.
The door to the cell opened and he looked over instinctively.
Peter Burke.
"Coming to gloat, Agent Burke?" The words were ugly and hollow, horribly unlike him, but he couldn't bring himself to care...until he saw Burke's expression.
Neal was startled at the anguished hurt and grief that filled the agent's face at the question. The gentle brown eyes met Neal's with pained reproof.
"No, Neal. I'm not."
The same man that had looked so discerningly at Neal struggling not to break down, that had grieved for Neal for reasons Neal himself didn't understand, that had cared for him quietly and given him hope, was now asking with an unspoken question, do you really think I would do that?
No. He didn't.
Peter Burke would never do that.
He felt a wave of shame and dropped his eyes, no longer able to meet Peter's.
"I know, I-I know that Peter, I don't know why I said that."
The last thing he wanted to do was push away the one person who could give him any hope.
He hated how stuttering his words were, the great Neal Caffrey had stammering from fear, loneliness, and shame, but Peter Burke just looked on with compassion.
Peter Burke was here, somehow and for some reason that Neal still couldn't understand, but Neal ached to let him in.
He looked up,
"Why are you here?"
A strange expression crossed the Agent's face but he stepped carefully over and lowered himself on the bench next to Neal. Burke's next words seemed to have read his mind, bringing back all the chilling fear and utter horror that had receded slightly at his appearance,
"Listen to me Neal," he began, his voice gentle but deadly serious, "Sing Sing is not what you are imagining. You won't come out of there having been abused for four years."
Neal couldn't help but flinch at the words that gave voice to the demons that had tormented him over the past...minutes? Hours?
"I've—definitely heard...stories."
An understatement, yes, but the most he could manage around the painful lump in his throat that threatened tears.
The agent sat quiet for a long moment before making a move that startled Neal with it's pure raw tenderness.
Peter removed a handcuff key and unlocked the cuffs, taking Neal's newly freed hand, ice cold and shaking, between both of his own warm, steady ones, and simply held it.
Neal felt something break inside him.
He felt himself clinging with utter desperation to Peter's strength and comfort, listening as the agent earnestly slayed the demons that had taken hold, brightening the dark future that Neal had seen so clearly.
Relief, pure, beautiful, utter relief, was the only emotion he felt as the agent gently reassured and pushed away the unspeakable possibilities.
Neal couldn't hold back the strangled sob that shook his entire body.
He felt an arm circle around his shoulders, grounding him with a kind, steady, strength that no one had ever given him before. His breathing was hitched and his voice shaky but he couldn't bring himself to care as he looked up, meeting honest warmth in Peter's gaze,
"You swear?"
"I swear."
And just like that, everything was okay.
For no reason that he could put into words, Peter was someone he trusted unconditionally, Neal had no doubts he was telling the truth. He sat in silence, letting the physical effects of his terror fade away, sitting in the comfort of someone who cared.
Peter cared deeply, it seemed.
The agent was saying something now, talking about prison and everything it meant, but all Neal could feel was the steady hand still holding his and the arm that had wrapped around his shoulder.
With the more intense worries banished, the question flew forefront to his mind once again.
"Why do you care?" Neal broke into the agent's words, desperate for an answer to the question that had circled through his mind constantly over the past weeks since his arrest.
"That you don't get beaten up or assaulted?" Peter sounded horrified.
"No, just...about me. At all."
Peter was silent for long enough that Neal ventured to look up at him. An expression of intense grief resided on the agent's features, his eyes searching for a sign of humor as he looked intently at Neal. He placed a gentle hand on Neal's knee.
"Has it ever occurred to you," Peter began hesitantly, looking up to meet Neal's eyes, "that you're worth caring about?"
Neal was stunned into silence.
You're worth caring about
The utter sincerity with which Peter asked such a bewildering question took his breath away and threw him entirely off balance.
You're worth caring about
He'd always, in his entire life, had to earn someone's care and love, to do something for them in return for what they gave him. Ellen, perhaps, had loved him from a sense of responsibility, but Mozzie cared for his front man and Kate for the romantic that swept her into a dazzling fairytale. And there was no one else, really, to base it off. But here was an anomaly, an outlier in everything he'd ever experienced.
You're worth caring about
Here was someone who he'd never given anything but trouble, who had no responsibility, no reason to care whatsoever, yet who offered care, concern, compassion—love—and offered it freely—willingly even.
You're worth caring about
"Why?"
Peter's head bowed slightly, badly hiding a look of sorrow, before he lifted it again.
"You've made a lot of mistakes Neal Caffrey, but in all the years I've been chasing you've never become jaded or bitter though you've doubtless seen some of the worst of humanity. You never resorted to violence, you've shown a kind of compassion and kindness—a protectiveness of the weak that I've never seen in a criminal. You have a good heart Neal, even if you hide it. That's why you're worth it."
The words weren't elegant, just simple and honest—with an impact far greater than the agent could ever imagine.
No one had ever seen Neal before.
Not like this.
"You're talented kid." Mozzie saw his gifts and wanted to use that talent.
"You've got a good head on your shoulders, Halden." Adler saw his brains and exploited his intelligence.
"You are really attractive Nick." Kate saw his allure and loved his romance.
"You're brilliant, Caffrey." Keller saw his ability needed his expertise.
But now—
"You have a good heart, Neal." Peter Burke went far deeper.
He saw through everything that everybody else got stuck on, every bauble and mask that decorated Neal, the agent looked past the point where most stopped, saw through to the place that no one else had never bothered to go, and saw him.
For once Neal Caffrey had no idea what to say.
What could he say, he wondered, to a man who had stripped him down to his essence, had weighed him, and had not found him wanting?
How about the truth? an internal voice prompted. He usually ignored that particular voice but this time he listened. What could it hurt?
Neal smiled. It was embarrassed, small, and shy, fathoms away from the dazzling grin that he pasted on so often, but he could feel it spread across his face, more genuine than any he had given in years.
"Agent Burke—" they were past last names at at this point, "—Peter...I think I'll be okay in prison now."
It was the truth.
Not the whole truth, old habits died hard and anyway the whole truth wasn't something that could be spoken in words. But it was the truth and it was enough.
There were a lot of lonely, difficult, and boring days ahead of Neal, but now there was something to help him pull through.
Peter smiled back at him, the expression genuine and warm.
"I doubt having a federal agent visit you in prison will do much for the reputation you'll want to uphold Neal, but," he fished a small card out of his pocket, "I'll miss those calls. Maybe don't call at midnight though?" Neal laughed, taking the business card that held the Agent's phone number,
"Now what's the fun in that?"
Peter rolled his eyes and stood up, still smiling, and turned to Neal, putting a hand on his shoulder in an echo of the stance he had taken those three weeks ago in the FBI interrogation room.
Again, warm brown eyes met blue, but this time there was more than sorrow in the gaze.
Peter squeezed Neal's shoulder gently,
"Take care, Neal."
And he was gone, leaving a composed and gently smiling prisoner in his place.
And that's a wrap! Thanks so much for reading! I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and I read and appreciate every comment but comments or no, I appreciate your time.