"Making plans in your apartment isn't natural," Neal stated as he wiped a hand across his forehead. "I keep waiting for Peter to bust through the door."
It was definitely an odd feeling sitting at Mozzie's dining table again. Just the phrase "Mozzie's dining table" was strange. But, the presence of the black duffel bag in the center of the table was not. The bag sat there like a familiar black hole he couldn't help being drawn to.
He started to reach over and unzip it, but was deterred.
"Don't open that yet," Mozzie said from the kitchen counter as he poured two glasses of red wine.
The apartment was a tad more decorated than it had been earlier in the week. The previously empty built-in bookshelf on the far wall was now adorned with a sparse assortment of history books, books on art, crafts, various other non-fiction titles, and romantic spy novels. An obscure far eastern film with bad subtitles played muted on the large flat screen TV.
Mozzie approached the dining table carrying the two filled glasses.
He was a triad of eccentricity, practicality, and paranoia. Once he decided he was concerned about something, getting him to let go was nearly impossible.
"I would be doing you a disservice as your friend if I didn't continue to remind you that this is a bad idea, Neal," Mozzie said as he pointed with a finger at the duffel bag. "I'm gonna say it again: you should let the suit handle this."
"Your dissent is noted," Neal replied as he took the glass from Mozzie's hand and had a sip before setting it down. He stood up and reached to unzip the bag again, and wasn't stopped this time. "Did you get everything?"
He rummaged through the bag's loosely packed contents and found that it did contain exactly what he had asked for. Cold weather parka, knife, everything cold weather survival that he would need. He had come to expect no less from his friend over the years. Mozzie may have always been odd, but he was reliable and good-hearted enough for Neal to gladly deal with it.
"This bag of holding contains all your heart's desires," Mozzie replied. Neal raised an eyebrow as he zipped the bag shut again. He sat back down and picked his glass back up.
"Bag of... holding?"
"I've taken an interest in Dungeons and Dragons lately," Mozzie said dismissively. "I'm in a group. You should come with me, provided you survive this outing."
"I am absolutely not role playing with you," Neal said with a chuckle. "And I'm going to be fine."
"So junior and lady suits go on a stake out, see some nutcase threatening a lackey with a knife, and you really wanna find out where that leads?" Mozzie asked, drinking his wine a little too quickly.
"If it involves Peter, yeah, I do. We've been over this."
"You usually run from violence."
"When it's not pointed at someone I care about, I do," Neal said as he watched Mozzie walk toward the window. He knew the man was frustrated with him over his decision, but there was no getting out of it with a clean conscience. "Moz, if I don't go and something happens to him…"
"I know, I know. You can't blame me for trying," Mozzie said as he turned around. "Since you're still set on doing this, you're sure all you need me to do is babysit Elizabeth?"
"Without you, she's a sitting duck and you know that."
"Perhaps," Mozzie replied. "Hmm, it might be fun to take her to Saturday."
"She'd like Tuesday better," Neal said. "It has plumbing."
"Spartan living won't be within her comfort zone, but it may be necessary," Mozzie said, then suddenly held up a finger. "Or maybe I'll take her to October."
"There's an October now?"
"I've been working on rebuilding a network of backup locations," Mozzie replied. "If the days aren't safe, we'll venture out to the months. As for communication, we still have that unused back channel we established before you went to prison."
"It's still active?"
"It's old and because it's unused, it's too valuable to retire. This is the ideal situation for it," Mozzie replied. "When you're out there, if you need to get a message to me, I'll be listening."
"Good to know we won't be completely out in the cold," Neal said. "Make sure you keep Diana and Jones informed if you can."
"I'll keep Lady Suit apprised of the situation," Mozzie said. "Junior suit only if I can't get to Lady Suit."
"That's fine," Neal said. "If we need to pass a message to them, you're the only way. I'm covering all possibilities here."
"Yeah, except the one where you get killed," Mozzie replied. "I've taken the liberty of getting you prepared to prevent that. If you're going, then this is going with you."
"What?"
Mozzie placed a smaller black bag on the table and produced a black semi-automatic gun from it. He extended it out to Neal, grip first.
Neal shook his head and waved it away.
"I don't carry a gun, you know that, Moz," Neal said.
"If you're going on this, you need it," Mozzie said, continuing to extend the weapon in midair. "I know you don't like them, but you're not going to protect the suit from nutso knife guy with charm and good looks alone. He's not your type."
Neal eyed the piece suspended in the air carefully and looked back up at his friend.
"You offering me this means you're worried and you know something I don't. Spill it."
Neal watched his friend's internal struggle of conscience as the man set the gun down on the table and turned away. It took him a moment to recompose himself before he faced Neal again.
"I think... the suit's going to leave without you," Mozzie said carefully. "And for once, I agree with him. But I'm also smart enough to know that if he does, you're going to chase after him, anyway."
"He put a lot of work into things being different since he decided to stay in New York. He said we were in this together," Neal said.
"Well… he lied," Mozzie said hesitantly. "I've been keeping track of him. He was drunk at a bar in StuyTown Tuesday night talking to the bartender about you. I've had his secret drinking spot there bugged for a while. Down to the chair he sits in."
"He has a 'secret drinking spot'?" Neal said. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"
"No good reason to?" Mozzie said and from his tone, Neal knew that it was filled with hope no further questioning would occur. His friend wouldn't be so lucky.
"Moz…"
"Okay, so I didn't tell you because that's where he goes to vent," Mozzie said. "About lots of things, but he talks to the bartender about you a lot and I knew if I told you I had it bugged, you might want to hear what was being said."
"I've already heard what Peter's had to say about me when he thought I wasn't listening," Neal said as the memory of Peter's stated warning to Jones flooded back into his mind.
"Don't volunteer to take him on. Trust me. You'll regret it."
The words echoed so hard he had to shake his head to stop the cycle. That was the past. It wasn't true anymore. He didn't regret it.
Did he?
"It's one thing for me to not approve of your relationship with the suit. It's another for me to lie about his intentions," Mozzie said. "The other night, he was deciding whether to leave you behind because he's afraid you'll be killed."
Peter couldn't really be that worried, could he?
"I've never seen Peter anything I would call drunk… tipsy, maybe," Neal said, attempting to divert his thoughts from the past back to the situation at hand. He sighed as he examined the color of the liquid in his glass. "How drunk was he?"
"Drunk enough he stumbled walking out of the bar," Mozzie said. "The man with the knife you told me about? He was outside waiting on him. They talked."
"He was there?" Neal said. "What did he say?"
"I don't know, I was too far away," Mozzie said. "I had the inside of the place bugged, I didn't do the outside. But... the suit wasn't exactly ecstatic to see him."
"How close were you?" Neal asked, leaning forward toward him. "Did you at least get a picture?"
"I did," Mozzie said as he picked up the yellow manila folder off of the dining table. He opened the front cover and plucked a large photo out of it with his thumb and index finger. He handed it to Neal, who then held it out under the chandelier.
It pictured Peter and the man standing in front of the bar under the streetlight toe to toe with each other. Peter stood with hands on both hips as the taller man stared down at him with a grin, his red scarf swept aside by the cold air.
Neal suddenly brought the photo closer and examined it.
"Mozzie, is that-"
"It is."
It was the man from the bank surveillance photo.
"With the higher resolution picture, I talked to some contacts of mine, showed it around quietly," Mozzie said. "I-"
"Just tell me who he is," Neal said, continuing to study the photo.
"He's Torin Ashborne," Mozzie said quietly. "Arms dealer, smuggler, hitman, former IRA terrorist… pretty much everything you've never aspired to be."
"How does he know Peter?"
"I don't know, Neal," Mozzie said. "I only know two things: that's his real name… and that everything else has been erased."
"Erased?"
"He's a ghost," Mozzie said. When he didn't get a reaction out of Neal, he rolled his eyes. "You know. A ghost ghost. There's nothing that proves his real identity exists anymore, it's all been burned by people powerful enough to make sure it stays that way. This guy was designed to be invisible."
Neal sat down at the table and placed the photo back into the folder as he contemplated what to do with the new information.
Mozzie pushed the gun on the table toward him again.
"If you insist on following through with this, I insist you take the gun."
"I'm not taking the gun, Moz," Neal said, pushing the gun back. "I'll take everything else, I'm not taking that."
Mozzie sat quietly for a moment staring at the empty wine glass on the table.
"Neal, you think this is some... jaunt you and Peter are going to take and everything's going to be fine just because it always has been. This isn't that."
"I've dealt with Keller-"
"This isn't Keller," Mozzie said, standing up from his seat. "Look, I can admire to a certain extent your dedication to helping the suit and I'm not even really trying to stop you at this point. I'm trying to help you. You need the gun. Do you think the suit's not going to have one?"
"Mozzie-"
"It's clean, so if you have to-"
"Mozzie, if I need a gun, I'll get one, you know that," Neal said as he stood up. "I'm a CI still on probation. I don't want to screw this up and not be able to go with him because they put me back in prison for illegal possession of a firearm."
Mozzie grumbled.
"You are pretty useless in prison," he said, turning around and pacing a few feet away. "Okay, fine. I will retain the weapon for usage in defense of milady Burke."
"Milady Burke?"
"Join me for game night upon your journey's end."
"Moz, I am not-"
"You can be a thief; we need one," Mozzie said with a hand wave as he walked away to refill his wine glass.
###
On Friday afternoon, office coffee dribbled into the bottom of his "Female Body Inspector" mug that Mozzie had thoughtfully purchased for him as a Christmas gift last year.
The Murray case fell apart early in the morning when they discovered that their primary suspect had committed suicide, and with no real evidence against anyone else, the whole thing had been set aside as unsolved. The suspect showed no signs of being self-destructive, but there was no evidence of foul play, either, so they were legitimately at a stopping point.
Regardless, the higher-ups in the Bureau had been less than pleased at the outcome. Neal chose to believe that was where Peter had been all afternoon: dealing with the fallout of something that couldn't possibly be perceived as their fault.
Dealing with circumstances gone awry was something he and Peter both did well, and it was part of what made them such an effective team. But, still, what had happened hadn't been their doing or their negligence. If Peter had to face the higher-ups over it, he should at least have said something to him about it.
He knew what his partner was doing, though, and why. Peter was trying to absorb any of the imagined blame that was being thrown out to protect him. Neal still had his sentence to finish out, and any black marks on his record, real or invented, could set him back again. Maybe send him back to prison.
Instead of informing him, Peter just hadn't shown up until around noon, had greeted him, popped into his office, and left without much more than saying he had a meeting to get to. He did make it a point to say he would be back in a few hours, though, which Neal supposed should have made him feel better.
But it didn't.
The case wasn't why Peter was gone and it wasn't why Neal's stomach was twisted in a knot.
He noticed that Peter performed his job as well as normal this week, but hadn't been quite himself otherwise. Their recently restored back and forth banter had remained less than ordinary since "that Friday." He was better since that day overall, but remained off-kilter. Distant.
In the evenings, Neal sat at home on edge, awaiting Peter's phone call to let him know he had orders. He refrained from having too much to drink at any given time to make sure he would be ready to leave at a moment's notice. He hadn't asked Peter directly if he could go with him, but Neal decided it wasn't negotiable especially considering the new information he had received.
He was about to turn from the coffee machine to go back to his office, but was jerked from his thoughts by Peter's strained, muffled voice beyond the glass wall of the elevator bay. He halted and watched for a moment, then slowly approached the glass to observe. He wasn't really trying to be sneaky, but he wasn't going to do anything to cause the scene he was witnessing to end, either. He stopped in front of his old desk.
Peter stood in front of the elevator, pointing with aggravation at the salt and pepper-haired man Neal had only seen in photos. The man's face was partially obscured by light reflections in the glass, but his suit made him appear to be a man of status and wealth. Peter's suit may as well have come from the mall.
As Peter stepped closer to the man in an obvious challenge to his authority, Neal realized his partner was furious.
More furious than he had been with Neal over his methods to get him out of prison. Peter wasn't being as loud as he was that day, but the same fire was there in his stance, his countenance, the minutiae of his motions. That fire that existed solely to consume all excuses for the stranger's transgression and leave behind nothing but the ash and the bones.
He watched his partner's eyes burn into the stranger as he spoke, but the glass wall distorted every syllable of the low, heated monologue beyond recognition.
Neal suddenly realized that what he was witnessing was a deep-seated, aged enmity that wouldn't ever be undone with a six-pack of beer and a ball game. Not even with time, as Peter's anger with him had been undone.
Neal rarely saw Peter truly, thoroughly angry, and was grateful for it. His partner was typically the picture of calm and rational behavior, a model FBI agent. He didn't do emotional extremes with any semblance of regularity, but when anger finally surfaced, Peter was typically calculated, cold, and condescending.
But not today.
Today, there was fire.
It was fire, focus, and barely contained rage. Were they not in the office in full view of multiple agents and interns, this whole scene would be playing out very differently.
Neal would never breathe a word of it to anyone, not even Mozzie, but the potential of Peter's anger was one of the few things that actually frightened him. He had been pursued by the man and sent to prison, not once, but twice. That was his job, though. It wasn't personal.
Whatever this was, there had to be a personal element for it to elicit this reaction from him. Work-related or not, there was bad blood between these two men.
He couldn't imagine what it would be like to have an angry Peter pursuing him. Targeting him. He didn't want to think about it.
But, the ignorant stranger didn't appear to be bothered by the prospect.
The man said something else that Neal couldn't hear through the glass, then turned and got back into the elevator.
Peter lingered there and watched as the doors shut and carried his enemy away. He breathed deeply through his nostrils as his jaw was clamped shut. He made his hand into a fist at his side and flexed it. He turned to begin his walk into the bullpen but froze when he saw Neal watching.
They both stood still, communicating silently. Bad news.
Peter composed himself and entered the room as the glass door shut on its own. He quickly marched straight for his private office.
Neal tailed behind him just as quickly. Peter hadn't told or gestured for him to follow, but he knew the look he had just been given all too well. What happened next was never fun.
He noticed that the rest of the team pretended not to notice the two moving together through the middle of the office. All eyes were discreetly on them as they passed. Anyone who had been employed in white collar for any significant length of time knew they were the star members of the division and that when one made a move, so did the other.
Their moods, their attitudes were synced. Their motives sometimes weren't, but that was the nature of their agent/CI relationship.
"Peter, what's happening?" Neal said, after shutting the door to the private office behind him with a small thud. He felt an anxious pain low in his chest starting to build.
Peter stopped at the window and stood still, but Neal could see his reflection in the glass. Peter's jaw was set, and his eyes were hardened. Neal watched the translucent face carefully as it suddenly changed from anger and determination to normalcy. This time, Peter was putting on a mask.
"I have my orders," Peter said as he turned around to face him. "I'll be out for at least a week. I have two hours to departure."
Neal swallowed. This was it.
The pain in his chest flared.
"I'm going with you," Neal said quickly, moving from the front of Peter's desk to back in front of the office door. It wasn't a request. He hoped Peter wouldn't turn his anger on him, but he wasn't about to let this go.
"I want youto stay here," Peter said in a low, stern tone and pointed at him as he approached. Neal shook his head in defiance and continued blocking the only exit.
"This is that thing, isn't it?" he accused. He put his finger in the middle of Peter's chest. The older man didn't even flinch. "You said we were in this together."
"Neal, I don't-"
"Don't try to lie to me, Peter, especially not now. You wouldn't have purposefully changed your demeanor just now if this wasn't it. You were pissed with the guy at the elevators and now you're leaving for an unknown amount of time with no more explanation to me than 'orders'? No. I'm not stupid."
Peter closed his eyes.
"Yes, Neal, this is it," he admitted. He held up his hand. "That doesn't change the fact-"
"It changes everything," Neal said the last word through gritted teeth, pressing himself harder against the back of Peter's office door. He wasn't letting him leave. "Take. Me. With. You."
He watched Peter's jaw twitch just slightly at his demand. The man's irritation was just starting to show through again before he smothered it.
"No. Neal, if this is as dangerous-"
"There, you said it; this is dangerous," Neal said, pointing at him. "I'm going."
"I said we were in this together; I didn't say you could go where I have to go. I need you for something else."
"I'm not doing anything else but coming with you. Peter, I swear, if you don't commit to taking me, I will walk out this door and throw a Walmart toddler fit in the middle of this division right here, right now in front of God and everybody."
"You've been to Walmart?"
"I've seen YouTube," Neal replied sharply, tilting his head slightly to show the seriousness of his unorthodox threat. "And if you lie to me right now, if you commit, and you skip out of here without me, anyway, I will cut this godforsaken box off my ankle, I will disappear, and you will never see me again. You said we were in this together, and I know you knew what I thought that meant when you said it. Didn't you? Or did you con me?"
His eyes shone bright, blue, and every bit cold steel towards Peter, his chest rising and falling steadily with indignation at the idea that he was going to be left behind. He gripped the doorknob tightly in his left hand guarding it against his friend's intention to snatch it and leave.
Peter's expression softened and he glanced up at the ceiling. Neal knew he was trying to find the right words to convince him to move out of the way, but there wasn't a combination that was going to work.
"I don't want you to go, because I don't know if I'm coming back."
"That is the opposite of convincing me to stay here," Neal said, crossing his arms and widening his stance.
"I need someone to take care of El-"
"Moz will take care of El, and we will take care of each other; I've already set it up with him. Her safety is already taken care of," Neal said in a low voice, pushing himself off of the door, putting himself almost chest to chest with his partner. "If anyone can help make sure you get to come back, it's me. You know it's me."
"I didn't want to involve you," Peter said, turning around and walking back to the window. He turned once more back toward Neal and pointed straight at him. "And Mozzie will kill you if you disappear with me instead of him. And he'll kill me if I come back without you. "
"You're not involving me; I'm involving me," Neal said, following him. "And I'm not giving you or Moz a choice. I already told him I'm going with you; he and I had that discussion already."
"It might not be my choice to let you," Peter said, turning back toward him. "I have to request that you be allowed to accompany me, and then there's the marshals and your radius to deal with…"
"You're making excuses. Demand that I go with you, refuse the assignment if I can't," Neal said. "If you're important enough for them to want you this much, you've got enough leverage to get me on board. They need you, and there's more than enough proof that we're effective when we work together. I'm too good at this job, remember?"
"Neal…"
"No, you don't get to disappear; that's my trick, and I'm not even allowed to do it anymore," Neal interrupted, crossing his arms. "Make the demand. Or I'll call Elizabeth right now and spill it all because I know you didn't tell her everything."
"You wouldn't-"
Neal instantly produced his phone from his pocket and held it up.
"Fuck around and find out," he deadpanned.
Peter let out a frustrated growl and turned his hands into fists as he looked back out the window into the pale New York sky. He sighed, then looked back.
"... I hope you like the cold."
###
The argument in the elevator bay wasn't unnoticed by Diana or Jones as they pretended they were paying close attention to the background check they were looking at on Diana's computer.
She quickly averted her eyes back to the monitor as Peter and Neal approached her desk and made their way up the stairs behind her. Once Peter's office door was shut, she glanced over at Jones and spoke quietly.
"You think this is it?"
"Might be," Jones replied, cutting his eyes toward her. "But we need a better vantage point than this. Let's grab some coffee."
They both stood up and quickly walked together with their cups to the kitchen area just below the balcony in front of Peter's office. Diana glanced back up toward it as she stood next to the coffee machine.
"What's happening?" Jones said, pouring coffee from the carafe into his cup with his back to the balcony.
"They're talking," she said, discreetly watching the scene unfold in the office above them. Neither of their two colleagues had so much as glanced out into the bullpen to see if they were being observed.
"Shit, Neal just blocked the door. Peter's trying to leave and Neal's not letting him out."
"I guess he really wasn't lying about how serious this is," Jones said as he turned around.
Diana moved to the front of the machine and poured coffee into her own cup.
"It's not like him to get in Peter's face like that," she said, as she turned around and continued to observe the confrontation through the glass. They couldn't hear anything, but the body language of their boss and his CI was self-explanatory. She could almost feel the heat radiating from Neal through the layers of glass between them.
"So, what do we do?" Jones said. "You're running lead on this, not me; this was your deal with Caffrey. I'm along for the ride."
"If Peter's truly leaving, he'll let us know. I don't think he'll leave to go on anything without telling us," she said as she watched Neal get chest to chest with Peter. "Something just pissed him off."
"Caffrey said he was going with him," Jones said. "Wanna bet on Peter's trying to make him stay here?"
"Not really," she said. "The guy we saw the other night, that's who Peter was arguing with; how well do you think he knows him?"
"Looked like it was well enough to me," Jones replied. "Peter's not pissed like that often. Well, except at Neal; that, I've seen a few times."
They turned their heads back toward Peter's office door as it swung open and Peter stepped out. Neal followed and made cautious eye contact with them both before he began his descent down the stairs.
Peter walked into the kitchen area and approached them.
"I've been placed on special assignment and I'm going to be out for at least a week," he said. "I'm relying on you two to hold down the fort while I'm gone. Can you do that?"
"Sure thing, boss," Diana said.
"And Neal's going with me. He'll be off anklet for the duration."
"Going off on vacation with the boss sans-anklet," Jones said. "Sounds like fun to me."
"Hardly," Peter said flatly.
Neal stepped in closer to them.
"You know the only person who might be able to reach us."
"There aren't any guarantees," Peter stated, placing his hand on Neal's upper back.
Neal knew that touch meant for him to keep anything else he had to say to himself. He had already pushed his partner to the limit to get what he really wanted; keeping his mouth shut was a concession he was willing to make.
"We won't be coming back to the office," Peter said, reaching an arm out to hug Jones. When they embraced, Jones clapped Peter on the back.
"Be careful, boss," he said as he let go.
Diana and Neal hugged each other at the same time as the other two.
"Take care of Peter," she whispered into his ear, casting a glance and a grin at her boss. Neal gave her a mock salute.
"Yes, ma'am," he said, clicking his heels together, his smile lighting up the kitchen. When he noticed Peter eyeing him, he instantly toned down his demeanor and averted his eyes to the floor.
Peter rolled his eyes at Neal stifling a grin.
"We have to go," he said, placing his hand on Neal's back again and nudging him toward the way out. "Take care of everything while we're gone."
"You got it," Diana said as they walked back into the aisle.
Peter took his hand off of Neal's back as they entered the elevator bay. He pushed the up call button.
They waited in uncomfortable silence for the first time in a while until the elevator dinged and the door opened. The red and black interior felt more ominous to Neal than it probably should have as they entered and stood against the back wall.
The doors slid shut and as the elevator began its ascent, Peter looked up at the ceiling and clasped his hands in front of him before he spoke.
"The only way this works is if you do what I tell you to do."
"I know."
"No, you don't know," Peter said, turning in the elevator to face him. "Tell me that you'll pay attention to me, that you'll do what I ask you to. If you can't-"
"I understand, I'll pay attention, I'll do what you ask me to," Neal said. "But, you have to listen to me, too. We're partners, this isn't a dictatorship anymore."
"Technically, it is still a dictatorship," Peter said. "But I know what you mean. Bancroft's office is only a few floors up and I'm about to have to plead my case for you."
"I'll talk to him-" Neal said.
"You're going to wait on me outside and let me talk to him."
"He likes me-"
"It's not a matter of him liking you. I have to talk to him about some other things and you don't have the security clearance. You being in the room will create more problems than it will solve."
"As long as I'm going, I don't care," Neal said as crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall.
"I can make it happen," Peter said as they watched the numbers on the elevator ascend. "I don't want to go without you, I just-"
"I know what you just," Neal said, waving a hand to cut him off. "And I have to go with you because 'I just', too, so we're even."
Odds were high they would be joined on the elevator by another passenger soon, so Neal decided to ask the last question on his mind before they weren't in private anymore. He knew the answer already, but he wanted to make sure he got the truth.
"Who was that man?"
Neal watched as his handler squirmed in place at the unwelcome question.
"Torin. He's a contractor… and the last person on earth I wanted you involved with."
"Why?"
"Because he's going to want you… and he always gets what he wants," Peter said.
"There's nothing he can offer me to give up what I've got right now."
"I can't believe that after years working together, you still have cotton in your ears. Did you not hear a word I just said?" Peter asked, turning toward him. "He always gets what he wants. The only time Torin doesn't get what he wants is when what he wants changes."
###
"There's a problem with the move."
Two weeks earlier, Torin stood only a few feet away from an ornate, piano black desk. Floor to ceiling windows to his left allowed the winter light to filter in through the thick wooden blinds. Everything in the room was dustless and well organized with not a stray paper or pen in sight.
The modern decor contrasted sharply with the appearance of the ancient man behind the desk. Impeccable and thin rectangular glasses sat perched upon the bridge of his nose as he peered closely at the glowing laptop screen before him. His cursor movements were reflected in crystal smooth glass lenses.
"That's not possible," he said, his nose wrinkling at the news. He turned in his office chair slowly toward him. "You've had almost ten months to lay the groundwork for this. The move is scheduled for 60 days. Do not tell me there's a problem now."
Torin wasn't sure when the old man's voice had turned so acidic. It was a voice that had never been jovial, animated, or warm, but the acidity in it was new.
"It's gone," Torin said.
"What's gone?" the voice creaked.
"The painting. It's gone."
Torin observed quietly with his hands behind his back as the old man stared across his desk. The mean bastard was taking time to digest what he had just heard.
There was no easy way to say it and Torin knew better than to try beating around the bush this time. It never went well when he did that.
"There is a time and place for jokes, Torin," the old man said, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands together in his lap. "I know you didn't forget the lesson I taught you about that when you were 17. The welts lasted far too long."
Torin shuffled his feet, but managed to stop himself from swallowing.
"It's not a joke. It's gone."
"This painting has been successfully hidden for decades… and I give you the task of moving it and suddenly it's missing?" the old man said, standing up from behind his desk. He slowly began to walk around it. "Explain to me how or I swear to Jesus I'm going to beat the dog shit out of you."
"I don't know how, just who," Torin replied, being sure to hold his ground despite the old man's menacing approach.
"Just like you don't know how that FBI shithead got a lead on the transfer account, right?" the old man said, stopping only a foot away. "You expect me to believe you have no idea how that happened and that now you have no idea how this happened, either?"
"No, I expected you to shoot me, to be honest," Torin replied.
"You've been a consistent pain in the dick since I found you," he replied. "I raised you from the miserable little street rat you were into an extremely skilled operative. And you reward me with this incompetent shit?"
"I know who it was, asshole," Torin said. "I have people hunting him right now."
"Who?"
"Leon."
"Leo finally turned on you, huh?" the man said, cracking a grin. "I told you if you kept fucking with him what was gonna happen. The man has his standards and you just had to keep poking the bear with the pointy stick like the mental fucking five year old you are."
"He knew what he signed up for. It's been over a decade, he's had time to adjust."
"Some people don't adjust, Torin," the man snapped. "They're controlled, but they're catered to just enough to keep them around and in line. I told you how to handle him."
"Yeah? And what about me? Am I being handled?"
"You know exactly what your situation is right now, don't bait me. Finish this job and we can talk about changing that."
"You know what happened wasn't my fault."
"Everything is someone's fault. They decided that was yours. You're lucky this job isn't something we can change horses midstream on," the old man said. "Here's what you're going to do. Pay Burke for the files on the transfer account and for his silence. Get him to keep his mouth shut. You can't just kill him, it'll draw too much attention."
"He's still not the kind you can pay."
"Hardass, all-American justice, red, white, and blue type guy?" the man said. "Eh, it's admirable. I used to believe in that shit, too. They bleached those colors outta me decades ago."
The man took his glasses off and rubbed his temples on both sides as he leaned back onto his desk.
"So we can't pay him," he sighed. "Goddamn, I hate getting rid of someone people will miss, especially a patriot. Complicates the whole shit."
"I've already started that process. It'll look clean. I just need some help on your end to sew it up."
"What do you need?"
"I need you to get two of my guys into his division to see what he knows. Maybe steal the files. He's got a CI named Neal Caffrey," Torin said. "Kid's father killed Senator Pratt, got Burke put in prison for it. Burke's gotten into a lot of trouble over that kid. He's a tender spot with him."
"So tell Burke the kid'll be put back in prison if he doesn't keep quiet."
"I have a better idea," Torin replied. "Let me borrow him."
"You can't just 'borrow' an ASAC, you idiot," the man replied.
"You know Leon and Burke went to Quantico together," Torin replied. "He could help me catch him. Close the loop. Threaten the kid to get him to help."
"You gotta have something to pin on the kid for that to work," the man said.
"Already got it," Torin replied. "Leo's been in contact with Burke for years via pager. He thought I didn't know and I let it ride in case I needed it later. Wouldn't be hard to say Burke's leaking case info out if he's meeting an ex-spook a few times a year. It'd be even easier to say his CI's doing the leaking and use that to throw his little ass back in prison."
"Hmm, not bad," the man said. "See, you don't disappoint me often, you just gotta try a little harder. Get in contact with the section chief and tell him he has a leak in the New York FBI office… white collar specifically and I'll get your men the credentials they need to get in. I'd use my own men, but I'm keeping my distance from this mess on the ground. Make it look like it'll be pinned on Caffrey if he doesn't cooperate. Threaten to pin it on him personally if that doesn't work."
"On it," Torin said, turning around and walking toward the door.
"Oh, and Torin?"
"Yeah?"
"If you don't clean this up, I won't have a choice but to let you be cleaned up this time. You're on the bubble with a lot of people and I'm out of room to protect you. Recover that painting, make the move, and neutralize the problems. All of them. You're out of time."
###
Peter returned to his superior's office and sat in the same chair he had been in before. But, he didn't sit like a chastised student this time.
Neal going with him was the last thing he wanted right now, but maybe it was what needed to happen. He had to admit that he was less worried about his younger, carefree partner getting in trouble these past few months, but he knew exactly what Neal would do in the current situation if left to his own devices. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that this was the best way to make sure he didn't go back to prison, at least in the short term.
As he sat waiting for his superior to finish up paperwork related to his current task, he caught himself toying with the idea of letting Neal slip away again like he did on the federal courthouse steps. Even after letting him slip out of the country, he couldn't stop himself from trying to make it right. One island paradise, a gunshot wound, and a cuffed most wanted fugitive later, Peter had brought him back home to New York.
The flight back had been long and Peter hadn't slept a minute of it. When Neal woke up in the seat next to him, he expertly feigned like he hadn't been awake over 24 hours.
When the New York skyline had come into view outside of Neal's window, Peter noticed him swallow hard. Placing a hand on his shoulder was the best response he could think of.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I just… didn't think I'd ever be here again," Neal said. He leaned his head against the glass and closed his eyes.
"It never felt like freedom, did it?"
"Just another kind of prison," Neal replied as he looked down at his lap. "I didn't know I could miss a place so much."
Peter cracked a one-sided grin. Despite how close their friendship had become, Neal still had his barriers up. Ready to come home, but not ready to admit what that wanted.
"I hope it wasn't the place you missed," he said, letting his hand drop off of his friend's shoulder.
He dismissed the memory. He couldn't let it be cut that close this time.
His eyes cut across the desk in front of him like a seething parent, but his target paid no mind.
"He assists in legitimate covert operations, Peter," Bancroft said, studying the paperwork on his desk.
"He's a goddamn monster that runs illegal black ops and you know it."
Bancroft stopped writing, placed his pen down on the paper, and looked up at him.
"Do you have proof of that?"
Peter shook his head in disgust and looked away.
"You know how that works."
"You'll destroy your career and mine, too, if you refuse this op," Bancroft said. "I don't like him any more than you do and I don't want to send you on this any more than you want to go. But it has to be done or we're both screwed."
"What does he have on you?"
"Not as much as he does you."
"Okay, I get it," Peter said, sighing. "But, I want a favor."
"You're not in a position to be asking for favors and I'm not in a position to give any out."
"You're not in a position to turn this one down." Peter said. "Neal goes with me."
"I can't say I didn't expect this, but the US Marshals will have a fucking fit, Peter," Bancroft said, leaning back in his chair. "They barely even let us take him off anklet for a day and you want a week? Or more, depending on what this turns into?"
"Look, he's either gonna go with me or he's gonna run, it's one or the other," Peter said. "He wants to maintain his deal with the Bureau, but I don't think he's going to just let me go do this alone without consequences. You know we do our best work together. Get them to let him come with me. You have the pull to do it, I know you do. It fits."
Peter didn't really believe what he was saying, but if he could get the man to believe it, he wouldn't have to deal with Neal running off in the middle of all of this. He didn't want him involved at all, but it was the lesser evil of him going off anklet unsanctioned and somehow showing up when he was needed, anyway.
"Like I didn't have enough breathing down my neck right now," Bancroft replied. "Fine. I'll make the call. Hell, I'll get Bruce to get on a three way call with me and the marshals about it. You're not the only one pissed here."
"Bruce knows about this?"
"Yes, and he's pissed about it," Bancroft said. "We have your back here as much as we can and will pull the strings we have to pull, but no more. I'll make sure you get Caffrey, but beyond that, I promise nothing. "
"Thank you," Peter said and didn't attempt to mask the irritation in his voice. With as many years as he had put in at the FBI, he expected more support. Bancroft sat back up in his chair and clasped his hands together on the desk.
"My involvement in this has to appear to be minimal and you know why. They'll put the kid in prison and with the leverage being used against you, you'll share a cell with him."
"There are worse things than sharing a prison cell with Neal Caffrey."
"I'm sure there are, but there's still your wife to think about," Bancroft replied. "The rest of your team. Even that little bald creep you use to help in cases. I can only protect them so much if he decides to go after them. Torin has everything he needs on everyone he needs to get them to do what he wants. Nevermind the pull his boss has. That's a whole different animal."
"So you put those two agents into my division and lied to me about it," Peter said. "How am I supposed to trust you now?"
"I let them be put there while I was trying to come up with a solution to this problem," he said. "I was trying to stall him by letting him fruitlessly poke around."
"Well, it obviously didn't stall him for long."
"What did you think was going to happen when they didn't find those files?" Bancroft said. "You and Caffrey pulling those financials is on the record, Peter. There's no burying that or going back from it. You flew too close to the sun."
"Do you have any idea what he wants? What's this really about?" Peter asked. "Why is that account so important to him?"
"That's above my clearance and yours. All you're being told to do is help him find Leon."
Peter paid careful attention to the way his superior had worded his last statement. He had been in the Bureau long enough to know that what you're being told to do isn't always the same as what you're expected to do. Whether Bancroft had worded it that way on purpose was a foregone conclusion.
All he had to discover now was the nature of the expectation.
"When will Neal be cleared?"
"Within the next two hours. Don't leave the building."
"Excuse me?"
"You're not exactly a willing participant in this and you just told me that Caffrey is a flight risk. Until this op is set in motion in a couple of hours, you're both on lock down. You're not going anywhere."
"You can't-"
"I can and I am," he said. "I'm not doing this to be a dick, Peter, but I have to look like I at least have some control over the both of you. I already let you get away with a lot, including giving the second White Collar division office to a convicted felon instead of the agent who should be in it. I like you; you get shit done and at the end of the day, that matters a lot to the Bureau. But you have to at least look controlled. You're loved inside your own division; you're resented everywhere else."
"I'm very aware other divisions may have a problem with how I run white collar and that that puts me under scrutiny," Peter said, his expression darkening with every word. "But I'm not a lapdog."
"Far from it, Peter," Bancroft said. "I'm simply asking that, for the next two hours, you act like one and so does he. What you do after you leave this building is up to you. If it wasn't, I wouldn't be going out of my way to ensure that you take Caffrey."
"You're saying once we leave here… we have license to do what we have to do to resolve whatever this is?"
"Find Leon. Anything past that is you, whether it brings success or failure. Consequences or rewards, Peter. They're on you and the kid from here."
