Reposted 02/17/11 with a special thank you to mam711 for beta-ing the chapter for me.
Diamonds are Forever
Chapter 2 – Resistance
The truth is precious and long sought after; it can set us free or it can send our world crashing down into ruins around us.
April 20, 2005
Neal climbs out of the yellow cab and stands on the sidewalk in the glitzy area of Midtown Manhattan. The light spring rains fall, blotting against the black fabric of his tux. He sucks in a breath and stares up at the marvelous structure in front of him; the Isaac Stern Auditorium. He gazes at the grand building of Carnegie Hall. His keen blue eyes wander over the narrow Roman bricks; with the small and delicate detailing etched in terracotta and brownstone, it is remarkable. He appreciates the beauty and the craftsmanship; he's in awe of the architects' work.
He thinks of his girlfriend, Kate; she's always held a wild fascination with the Italian Renaissance and he knows she would've loved to have seen this. But she's sitting at home in their tiny, one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. She's unaware of what he's doing here tonight; it's easier for her that way. Of course she knows he's a thief and a con. She's accepted that much of the man he is. But she prefers not to know the specifics of what he's doing, and he prefers to keep her in the dark about his exploits. With the FBI closing in on his every move he knows the less she knows, the better it is for them in the long run.
He brushes those thoughts far away. He places the fedora to his head and straightens his jacket. He's here to work tonight. He's primed to play the part of Nick Halden. He's here for a job; he passes through the entrance and flashes his ticket and a charming, white smile at the attendant before he enters the concert hall.
Neal climbs to the very top balcony to meet his associate, the plush carpeting squashing beneath his feet. He climbs the hundred and thirty-seven steps; he counts them in his head because he knows his girlfriend would have done so. His ears tingle with the delicate melody flowing from the stage below. The string quartet is playing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. It's one of Kate's favorites, Neal thinks with a little smile gracing his lips.
Once at the pinnacle of the venue, Neal settles into his seat. His eyes trace over the high, vaulted ceilings and grand interiors. The white and gold detailing of the concert hall is simply breathtaking.
He's completely awestruck.
His eyes trail back towards the stage, to the musicians. He rests his palms down upon the edge of the tier. His sight immediately locks to the woman with the long, tumbling locks and the dazzling smile she wears while she is lost to the melody. He's always been one to quickly identify an extraordinarily beautiful woman from a throng of people. But more than that; he's always been one so completely absorbed and in love with the Arts and the Classics that he can spot a fellow idealist from a crowd.
All his attentions focus upon the cellist. She cradles the vast instrument so delicately. Her movements flow exquisitely and almost unconsciously along with the music.
Neal's attentions are so fixated on the brunette playing the cello that he doesn't notice as Mozzie sits down beside him and he clears his throat loudly to get Neal's attention.
Neal's eyes pull from the musicians and over to the little man shaking off his rain-splattered trench coat. Mozzie lays the garment at the back of his chair and smiles at the elderly woman he's just disturbed.
"You're late, Moz," Neal utters.
"Good evening, Mr. Halden," Mozzie says meeting his eyes with a knowing smile.
"Mr. Haversham," Neal says with a nod. He knows by now to play along with Mozzie's paranoia. Mozzie's over-secretive with his identity, so much so that Neal doesn't know his real name after all this time. "What have you got for me?"
"That's your young lady," Mozzie points back down, with a flicker of a finger, back in the direction of the stage.
It takes Neal a moment to process what the man is saying. "Her?" he questions under his breath. "The cellist?"
"That's Sara Ellis, Sterling Bosch's newest insurance investigator," Mozzie confirms with a nod of his head before he moves in closer. "My sources confirm that she's been poking around, asking a lot of questions. She's the one looking into the stolen Raphael, Neal."
"Of course she is," Neal chuckles. Neal knows it's not just Sterling Bosch chasing after him now; his latest exploits have Agent Peter Burke and the FBI also knocking on his door unexpectedly in the middle of the night.
He honestly doesn't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing that his target is the woman he's been watching. He's learned quickly in his line of work that it's best not to mix business with pleasure; sure it's fun; but it's got him into trouble many times before. But this woman doesn't look like a shrewd investigator, and certainly not Sterling Bosch's finest. She looks young and too caught up in the splendor of the music. She doesn't seem to be someone driven by money and greed.
"So what's your plan?" Mozzie asks.
Neal doesn't answer the question. He merely shakes his head and offers a confident grin. He's Neal Caffrey, and charming the beautiful women of New York is what he does best.
x-x-x
After the concert Neal waits to introduce himself to her. He cradles the stem of the wine glass in his hand and he watches discreetly from across the room. She's smiling brightly and conversing with various ladies and gentlemen of the Upper East Side. She spies him looking at her, and she raises her champagne towards him in an unspoken gesture and grins.
His plan is simple: approach the enemy before she comes for him.
Neal orders another two glasses of champagne. She knows he's been watching her all night and he can work with that. Seducing the rich and powerful is a delicious sport he's come to enjoy. He turns around from the bar, with his fingers curled around the two champagne flutes and a smile that's all business.
He hadn't planned for the man with the chiseled jaw line and Italian good looks to steal her attentions away. Her smiles are only for the man who cradles her hand in his own before kisses her cheek.
Sara breaks away from the crowds, letting the tall man, with dark eyes, lead her away from people and to somewhere more private. Neal doesn't follow them, at least not all the way. He waits a few idle seconds before he peels from the room and trails after them discreetly; they've disappeared into a small alcove and he waits in the brightly-lit lobby.
Their rendezvous is short lived; the man returns from the small, secluded area and leaves the auditorium in a quick flourish. Neal moves to the balcony to find his target alone. She's standing and gripping the metal railing as she stares silently out over the twinkling cityscape.
She's vulnerable and he knows he shouldn't approach her, not now. He's already turning on his heel and planning to 'meet' her another time.
"Excuse me, Mr.-?" She's the one that calls him back.
"I'm sorry," he utters apologetically and pulls the cigarette from his jacket pocket. "I was just looking for a place to smoke this. Filthy habit, I know."
She smiles lightly in reply and runs a hand through her chestnut hair.
"Would you like me to leave? I shouldn't really be smoking this anyway."
"No, stay, please." She draws the satin-smooth wrap around her shoulders. "The least you can do is tell me your name."
"Nick Halden," he extends his hand towards the woman.
"Sara." Her flawlessly-manicured fingers come to shake his hand and she offers him her pretty smile. "Is that for me?" she points to the remaining flute. He nods and passes the drink to her. She downs its contents in one. She sets the glass down onto the metal barrier and stares down at the racing traffic below.
"I enjoyed your performance very much," he tells her and he means it.
"Thank you."
"Can I buy you a drink?" He extends the offer after he spies the tiny goose pimples gradually appearing on her bare arms.
"I'd like that." She seems eager to forget earlier events and lets him lead her back to the bar.
"Same again?"
"Please," Sara settles on to a high stool, crossing her legs and smoothing down the material of her skirt. She lets a faint bell of laughter rise from her throat when Neal clinks their glasses together. She takes a sip, her long lashes flutter down.
Neal spies the three men walking toward them from over the woman's shoulder; the mood is spoiled and he inwardly groans.
"Neal Caffrey?" Agent Peter Burke asks questioningly as he approaches the pair of them.
Neal can only flash a shiny, devilish smile; this tenacious FBI guy is quickly becoming a thorn in Neal's side. His cover is broken and Sara's gaze cools towards him. She knows immediately who he is and why he's chosen to talk with her.
"Agent Burke, always a pleasure," Neal says charmingly though he inwardly curses the man's persistence.
"Excuse me," Sara slides off her stool and her hand catches hold of her purse. She throws the newcomer a look before she hurries away.
"Mr. Neal Caffrey," Peter utters and he's all business. "I'd like to ask you a few questions."
"I see you've brought company," Neal's eyes move to the tall, bulky agents at Peter's flank. Peter is asking the con man to come willingly and without a fuss, but he has the muscle backing him if Neal doesn't choose to comply.
"If you could come with us," Peter requests dryly.
"Why not," Neal murmurs. He drains the remaining contents of his glass and stands to his feet. "Lead the way."
x-x-x
Present day
Sara stands in front of the brightly-lit mirror in her bathroom. The tips of her fingers blend the tan-colored powder to the corner of her eyes. Once she's satisfied with her handiwork she takes a step back. A sigh passes her lips as a fragile attempt to regain her composure. She eyes the darkened circles with a mild scrutiny; this week has taken its toll on her and what she really needs is a good night's rest.
She smoothes down the silk of her shirt and stares back at her reflection. Her father, when he was alive, had raised her to be strong. He wouldn't tolerate her tears or her self-doubt. She'd done everything right; she knows she would've made him proud.
She's struggled to move on with her life after the death of her father; being that she was independent and over-achieving even at school, her daddy was the only one who truly understood her. Her father was always her closest friend and confidant. She thinks she's done a pretty good job living the life they'd always wanted for her. She's respected and successful at Sterling Bosch. Some might even say feared but that didn't matter. She's risen up the ranks quickly; she's shown herself to be shrewd and determined, and she's landed herself a promotion and a big office before she's even turned thirty.
She's still young and yet she has all the wealth and possessions that she desires. She tells herself that her momentary lapse is due to the fact that she's merely tired. She's come back from the dead, as it were, and is feeling introspective.
And she thinks maybe Neal Caffrey has something to do with her confusion. He's in her apartment, he's cooked for her and their conversation has stirred memories that she'd much rather forget. The young con man, with his dashing good looks, clouds her judgment.
She hates that any man could possess this effect over her; but especially one that's so conniving and one that represents everything she loathes within society. He manipulated the law to his own advantage and has now, somehow, become an associate within the FBI.
And one that, regrettably, has slipped through her fingers once before.
She flicks off the bathroom light and steps back along the quiet corridors and into the living area. She feels anger and irritation swell in the pit of her stomach at the sight before her.
"Caffrey?" Her voice is both stern and shrill even in her own ears. She shouldn't be surprised that she's caught him in the act of doing what he does best. He's a thief, and now his body is frozen. He doesn't speak for a moment; he's bent over her desk and he's holding onto something.
"What are you doing?" she demands from him. "What do you want from me?" He's here and he's used her for some hidden purpose. She wants answers from the one man, she's smart enough to know, that she doesn't really trust.
"I need something from you," Neal replies.
She shakes her head in disbelief. He sounds almost earnest in his request. But she knows better than to trust him. "Start talking, Caffrey."
Sara moves in closer and rests her hands firmly at her hips. He's good, he's deceptive and she knows that from past experiences. Working together on the Halbridge case had made her want to give him the benefit of the doubt. His kindness towards her did make her want to see him in a different light. His sweet words and slick attempts to charm her could have worked, as reluctant as she was to admit it. But she knows how good he is at fooling people into lowering their defenses and she's not about to give this man an inch.
"This isn't what it looks like," he begins. She's watching him intently and he knows she doesn't believe him.
"It looks like you're stealing from me," she bites with annoyance.
"Right, well, I can explain" he says and tries to keep the regret and irritation of getting caught in the act from showing. He's always been so quick, so slick in his operations; now either he's losing his touch or she's even more conniving than he'd thought. Or maybe today just isn't his day.
"This ought to be good," she snipes back.
Neal sets down the unopened package to try to appease that murderous look in her eyes. He pushes the FAA's envelope into the middle of the table, but his gaze never truly leaves the only source of answers and truth.
"Listen, Sara," he says smoothly. "There appears to have been a misunderstanding between myself and the airport's security official. This is evidence for a case I'm working on and it appears that there's been some kind of a mix-up."
"You're lying." Whatever he is doing here is personal and they both know it. "You used my name and my contacts to get what you wanted." There was no other explanation as to why she was involved and she lets her eyes meet with his own, daring for him to tell her that she's wrong.
"Does Peter know about this?" she asks idly when he doesn't speak. She should call the FBI agent; Peter Burke seems to be the only person who can keep this man in check. She's too tired from the last couple of days to want to deal with Neal's deviousness and would much prefer to have Peter take this one.
"Do you think I'd be here if he did?" Neal shoots back and she holds her retort at the very tip of her tongue.
"What's so important with this parcel?" she asks out of curiosity.
"It's a long story," he answers quickly. "But I need it."
"Good night, Neal." She's done. She picks up the package and moves towards the door.
"Sara." He doesn't know what else to say, he just knows he can't leave empty-handed.
She only turns the handle and pulls open the door open. Her gaze is steeled over. She's done with his crap and she's letting him know it. And yet he can't let it go.
"You asked me before if I'd lost someone," Neal says unsurely. Since the moment he'd first met her, they've always played games. They've always kept their agendas close and well hidden for the most part. They've been careful in how much of their lives they disclose to one another. But this time, if he wants the envelope she's holding onto, he knows he's going to have to give a little away. "Well, I did, and that package that you're holding may contain her last words."
Sara listens to his admission. Her hands cradle the parcel closely to her chest, and Neal Caffrey, the smiling con man, holds her gaze firmly. Only this time he isn't smiling and his mind isn't constantly turning behind his eyes coming up with some elaborate excuse or lie to tell. This time he's only selling the truth behind those wonderful eyes.
This is, in fact, the most honest she's ever seen him.
"I hope that you find what you are looking for," she states lightly. She pushes the brown envelope over the desk towards him.
For a moment he only stares down at it. He doesn't know what to do with it.
She smiled more back then.
He picks up the package as the thought occurred to him. Her hazel eyes meet with his and he only sees a look of understanding. He hadn't meant to drag her into his quest, he really hadn't, but he needs to know the truth. And in his search both their masks have fallen and the sharpness of truths unspoken have filtered through the cracks.
"Sara?"
"You can leave now," she opens the door with a click. She watches the flickers of protest on his face but he thinks better than to argue.
To reach for answers while drowning in a sea of grief is only natural. Instinctively we try to make sense of why the bad things happen, of why our loved one was snatched so cruelly and senselessly away. We hope the truth will make sense of tragedy and offer a light in the painful darkness.
Sara pours the last of the wine into her glass once he's left the apartment. She idly hopes he finds the answers and the truth. She hopes that he can make sense of things and find some semblance of closure.
Her fingers unconsciously move to the circle encrusted with diamonds.
But what if the truth doesn't bring the peace to our souls that we believed it would?
Neal leaves Sara's apartment and walks the starry night streets of Brooklyn. His fingers curl and grip tightly at his prize. The day has ended with a small triumph and he holds the piece of the puzzle in his leather-gloved hand. He thinks idly that he would've been feeling something; if not happy, then at least relieved that he may finally get some answers. He thought that he would have felt some sort of glimmer of hope.
But he doesn't.
Instead he feels the uncertainty spread within him.
He makes it to June's lavish town home and up to his own living space. He finds Mozzie sipping at his vintage wine and hunched over the dining room table. He's staring dully over their postponed chess game. Neal steps forward without a word and he sets the unopened package down on the table. Mozzie's keen eyes take in the captured prize. He looks up with a triumphant smile, which soon gives way to questions.