Neal worked hard to school his face into an emotionless mask as he approached Peter's office door. Had it not been for Alex's text, he wouldn't dream of doing what he was about to do and his insides squirmed viciously with preemptive guilt. He rationalized with himself that it could be literally years before he saw Alex again, she flitted in and out of his life with the ease of water trickling through cupped hands.
This rationalization combined with his growing urge to, as Mozzie would put it, fight the man made the decision for him. That, and the fact he was still smarting from Peter's earlier tongue-lashing which Neal knew was only the warm up to the warm up, enabled him to knock on the glass door.
"Come in."
Looking up as Neal walked into his office, Peter's face immediately took on a stern look. Glancing out and down onto the Bull Pen, he realized the rest of the team had already gone for the day. Sighing, he rubbed his tired eyes and arched a brow at his biggest headache of the day and frankly, his life.
"What is it now, Neal?"
He watched as the kid leaned morosely against his doorframe.
"Peter, I'm not feeling so well. My head is killing me and I feel like I'm going to puke. Can I go home? I think it will pass if I just lay down."
Agent Burke's Neal-radar went clean through the roof.
"Is that right?" he said dryly. "Neal, do you really expect me to believe that all of a sudden you have a flu or some other magical disease when you know full well that I'm going to be tearing your behind up in less than an hour?"
Neal had the gall to look wounded.
"This has nothing to do with that," he murmured quietly. "I genuinely don't feel well. I'm not trying to get out of anything, I just want to lay down. You can... do whatever you're going to do to me tomorrow, but can I please just go home and go to bed for the night?"
Peter stopped his initial retort from flying past his lips and took in his protégé of sorts more carefully. Neal did have a clammy look about him. His usually pristine hair was limp across his forehead which bore a sheen of telltale sweat. His cheeks were hot and flushed looking and his breathing seemed a little labored. Standing up, he crossed over to the kid and placed the back of his hand on the damp forehead before taking it away in alarm.
"Jeez, Neal, you're burning up!"
Turning back to his desk, he rooted for his car keys with all anger towards the younger man temporarily forgotten. Finding them under a rubble of paperwork, he scooped them up and shrugged on his suit jacket.
"Come on. I'm taking you home. El will fix you something up to-"
"No!" Neal interjected hastily. "I just need to lay down in my own bed. I couldn't stomach anything to eat anyway, the sight of food would make me hurl. Even El's Cornish Hens are unappealing right now."
Peter peered at his clammy looking C.I. and raised a brow.
"Neal," he murmured softly. "Is this a caper? Because if it is, if you're pulling some sort of stunt to put off what you know you have coming to you, I give you my word I'll make you regret it. I'll make you regret it in such a way that you'll never forget. I'm not kidding, I'm deadly serious. I will be beyond furious if I find out this is some scam so think very carefully before you answer me. Do you feel sick right now?"
Neal looked the older man calmly in the eye before nodding his head slowly.
"I feel sick right now, Peter. Really sick."
Agent Burke examined the kid for what felt like an eternity before giving a short nod.
"Ok Neal, I know you don't lie directly to my face so I can only assume you're telling me the truth. Plus, you really do look like you're gonna throw up. I'll bring you home and you get straight into bed. If you're not feeling up to coming in tomorrow, don't, and El will come over at some point to see how you're doing. Do you want to stop at the store to get anything or are you ok to go straight home buddy?"
If there was ever a time Neal was going to have "guilt" listed as his cause of death, it was now. His earlier surliness at being chewed out evaporated as he saw the raw concern in Peter's eyes. The glass vile in his pocket, now empty, seemed to weigh as heavy as his guilty soul. Mozzie's one-shot creation had done its job a little too well. He felt flushed, feverish and nauseas. He didn't know or want to know what ingredients went into his old friend's dubious concoction but had been assured that the effects would wear off within an hour or two at the most. The vile had been in his desk drawer for months just in case he ever needed a reason to escape the confines of the White Collar office. It took conjured up thoughts and memories of Alex's skin on his to keep from coming clean, from blurting out the truth to Peter and letting the chips fall where they may.
Before he could blink, they were somehow in Peter's car with the older man keeping up a constant stream of old Burke family cures for various ailments. Neal leant his burning forehead against the cool glass of the passenger side window and felt the raw guilt mix with his nausea, mumbling responses here and there. Panic began to tickle his insides. How the hell had he ended up in this position? His plan, beautiful to him at its inception, now seemed outrageously idiotic and downright spiteful. The thoughts of Peter's easy trust in him never lying to his face curdled like sour milk in his gut even though he hadn't technically lied.
He did feel sick.
He did think it would pass if he could lie down.
He wasn't trying to get out of anything, just postpone it.
His dogged aversion to lying directly to Peter's face had seen him willingly ingest whatever chemically sophisticated poison Mozzie had whisked up. It had seemed cockily clever at the time he tipped it back his throat, but now it just seemed moronic and duplicitous. It was as Peter was offering to bring him to the drug store for over the counter pain meds that he felt the truth bubbling up his windpipe and kicking its way through his dry lips.
"Peter-"
"... I really think you should get that night time stuff El forces me to take when I have the flu. It completely knocks you out, you'll get a great night's sleep. I think she gets it in that place on-"
"Peter-"
"... fifty second street. Or is it fifty third. I keep forgetting where-"
"Peter!"
Agent Burke blinked and stalled the car at the upcoming red light, raising a brow at his now very serious looking C.I."
"Yeah? Are you going to get sick? Not in the car, Neal, please! I just got it cleaned and it cost me a fortune. Open the door and-"
"I'm not going to get sick," Neal muttered, feeling very much like he was going to get sick. "I need to tell you-"
His phone, clamped tightly in his hand, cut him off. Glancing down, he saw the sender of the text shining up at him and as Peter drove forward as the light switched to green, he furtively flicked the message open. The picture of Alex, in less than godly attire, sent his pupils into mere pinpricks of their former selves. Swallowing hard, he silently asked whatever higher power that may or may not exist for forgiveness.
"Neal?" Peter said worriedly, glancing over at his still very pale and clammy looking passenger. "What do you need to tell me?"
The younger man closed his eyes for a moment and rationalized, pleaded and outright lied to himself. It was a once off and in a court of law, he hadn't lied directly to Peter's face. It was one night and from the picture he had just seen, it promised to be one hell of a night. Peter never needed to know. He would be right as rain tomorrow, or rather, in a few hours and it would be like the vile inside him never happened. He'd suffer Peter's plans of cruel and unusual punishment and everyone would be happy. Everyone except him that was, but that was par for the course these days.
"Just that I think the sushi in the fridge back at the office is bad," Neal offered weakly. "I wouldn't advise you to eat it, you should throw it out when you get in tomorrow."
Peter looked at him as if were a particularly addled psych patient.
"We're gonna get you home and into bed in a few minutes, bud," he said quietly. "You're feverish as hell, that's why you're uhh... not making that much sense right now. Just close your eyes for a few minutes until I get you to June's."
Neal obligingly closed his eyes but not because he was feverish but because he couldn't physically bear to see Peter's concern that he most certainly didn't deserve. It seemed to take an intolerable age for the car to roll to a gentle stop. Opening his eyes, Neal sighed in relief at the familiar sight of June's imposing brownstone. Clicking off his seatbelt, he shook his head as Peter did the same.
"No, honestly, I'm fine," he murmured, unable to meet the man's eyes. "I'll just run up and throw myself into bed. There's no point you climbing five sets of stairs just to go straight back down them again. You're not getting any younger."
Peter snorted.
"Be careful you," he chided gently. "Ok then, off you go if you're sure. Check in with me tomorrow morning. Do not leave that bed and come into work if you're not feeling one hundred percent, I mean it. You look sick as a dog."
Neal smiled wanly, feeling like the Judas he was.
"Thanks for the lift, Peter. I'm sure I'll be perfectly fine tomorrow. I'll see you in the office. Bye."
"Bye, Neal," Agent Burke replied worriedly. "Call me if you need anything, do you hear me?"
"I hear you," Neal said as he clambered out of the car, shutting the door quietly behind him. Waving back at Peter as the car slowly pulled away, the C.I. made his way into the house and to his apartment in record time. Pushing open his door, he was unsurprised to see Mozzie sipping wine at his dining room table with an array of tools in front of him. The balding man eyed his old friend speculatively before his brows shot up in surprise.
"You took it! You took my instant illness improvisation! Jeez, it worked a treat. You look like hell."
Neal groaned.
"Instant illness improvisation? You sound like a bad rodeo clown, Moz. When does this stuff wear off? I feel like I've been hit by a truck."
Mozzie shrugged.
"If you took it within the last hour, it should only last for another hour tops. What made you take it? Is the Suit getting you down? If he is and you need a little break, I've fixed the little uhh... snafu with your anklet. You're good to go."
Neal brightened.
"You're sure? You're one hundred percent sure? I cannot afford to get caught again; Moz. Peter is livid."
Mozzie nodded, throwing back some more expensive red.
"I'm sure. It's full proof. As for the Suit, you don't look like you've been raked over the coals. Usually when he voices his disapproval, you're a little on the disheveled side."
Neal forced back a flush. Mozzie didn't know how Peter dealt with his transgressions off book and he sure as hell didn't need to know. He shrugged as nonchalantly as he could.
"I didn't take your instant illness improvisation for the good of my heath, Moz."
"Brilliant!" Mozzie exclaimed. "I saved you from a Suit meltdown. I will accept payment in fine wines and cheeses, at your early convenience."
Neal rolled his eyes.
"I think I'm in credit on both those things."
He pointed to his anklet.
"If I take this off, it's not going to send an alert? You're absolutely sure? I need you to be absolutely sure, Moz."
"I'm absolutely sure," Mozzie confirmed, reaching out and tossing over their illicit key to Neal who caught it deftly. "Try it. It'll stay green, it won't even know it's being taken off. I'm rather a genius you know."
Neal took a deep breath before reaching down and deftly unlocking and unhooking the bulky anklet from his ankle. Nothing. The green light stayed resolutely green, flicking innocently up at him. Elation, the sheer thrill of the con, swelled inside him and he grinned over at Mozzie widely.
"Youare a genius, Moz, you really are."
Mozzie gave a mock bow and stood from the table.
"Now that I have been of service, I must leave for personal reasons of a female nature. Enjoy flagrantly breaching your house arrest, I'm proud to have been a part of it but if the Suit catches you, I disavow you. You're on your own."
With that, the little guy was gone.
Feeling the temptation of Alex fill him, overriding the guilt still in his gut, Neal dragged himself into the shower. The second the burning hot water hit his skin, he felt instantly better. He hummed to himself as he showered, enjoying the freedom of his ankle. Jumping out of the shower, he dried and dressed quickly. Looking in the mirror, he saw that his pallor was practically back to normal and his trademark twinkle was back in his eye. Shooting off a text to Alex to say he was on his way; he did a final check in the mirror. Dark blue shirt that brought out his eyes and beautifully tailored pants, he knew he looked good. Spying the anklet on the table, he figured he should probably refrain from leaving it in plain sight. Scooping it up, he sighed as the knock came at the door which sounded like June's.
As much as he adored his landlady, he had places to be.
People to see.
Bounding over to the door in a picture of youthful, exuberant health he pulled it open with a wide grin.
"Sorry, June, can't stay. I'm going to meet a certain lady and-"
His world immediately stopped spinning.
Peter, with what looked like hot soup in one hand and Tylenol in the other, looked from Neal's rapidly paling face to the blinking green anklet in his right hand. A terrifying snarl of anger spread across his features, his eyes darkening to storm clouds of grey. His voice, when he spoke, was a strangled whisper of burning anger.
"Feeling better are you, Neal?"
…...
TBC