Please make sure you've read chapter 9, because I've had issues with the site, and I'm not sure if the updates showed, even though they were there. If you did, then enjoy chapter 10 ;D
So, here comes the last chapter.
Of course, the way I'm saving Neal's ass from Guantanamo ( with what he gets on top, but I'm not revealing that yet ) is problably unlikely, but it's really the only solution for a happy ending I could see.
Now, I don't beg for reviews, but this is the end, and I'd appreciate if you could leave a final review, even more so if you've never done that on the other chapters, and you still appreciated the story. Your choice.
Chapter 10: Winning ( on all sides )
A few months had passed since the rather surprising events in New York – almost one year in fact – when Chuck received news from Neal Caffrey. Or rather, when General Beckman sent everyone a postcard via Casey, who was still grumbling at being used as an errand boy. Bryce hadn't contacted them, not even once, after their departure – at least, not directly. Agent Burke sent them reports on the conman's health, at first, on how the interviews were going.
It seemed Caffrey really was a sweet talker, because what was first profiling as an accusation of treason had slowly, but surely, turned into thanks for service rendered to his country, to the Agency, to... well. Enough that Caffrey had bought his freedom with it, apparently.
Even more than that, the particular circumstances of Neal Caffrey's legal situation and the silver tongue of the man had gotten him yet another thing: Caffrey still had one official identity that was completely clean – he wasn't going anywhere near "Neal Bennett", whom the Washington irish mob might still be targeting, anyway, but "Danny Brooks" on the other hand... And somehow things had been arranged – Sarah still couldn't believe it, even if she had been told nearly six months ago.
It was a bit more than unbelievable, to be frank.
Casey waved the postcard angrily at Chuck, who was trying to evade the irate attacks while bringing a drink to his very pregnant wife – and if the little boy in there ended up being called Bryce, well, Caffrey didn't need to know, right? He'd find out if and when he decided to come around. Which would happen eventually, Chuck was certain, if Sarah and him made it clear they wanted to know Neal Caffrey too, not just the mask of Bryce. If they made it clear that they were willing to move forward in their friendship.
"No, but, do you believe that, Bartowski? The man is a criminal, and he gets that kind of chance? How do you even go from con artist to FBI agent? Oh, right, with a pardon! A pardon that's not even official, since, you know, 'Brooks' never did a thing under this name!"
Chuck had to admit, even if Caffrey officially went by his WITSEC name now – he had kept his first name, though, changing it back legally, for once – he still had the same face as the one on his old wanted posters – not that the posters were half as charming as the man himself, and they were a few years old now. Even if it happened that people could look uncannily like other people without even being related, it'd be interesting to see if anyone realized what was going on.
The computer nerd handed the glass of water to his wife, just as she gave Casey – Casey, Caffrey, how had he not noticed it before? Not that it meant anything, but still – a dark look.
"And how did he go from conman to one of the best CIA agents? He also worked for the FBI for five years already, and they like him a lot. It was obvious they'd want to keep him. Bryce died twice for the Agency, Casey. And Caffrey never killed anyone when not working for the CIA, nor did he do anything remotely grave or endangering to national security. It's not as if they were allowing a repentant terrorist to enter the FBI. Moreover, everything about Neal Caffrey is so legally blurred, and everything about Bryce Larkin is so CIA-shadowed, that it's not as if 'Neal Brooks' can officially be linked to his other aliases... which will certainly be very useful to the FBI, as it is."
Casey growled something under his breath, as his grandson ran all over the room – being a grandfather was tough on him, but the NSA agent surely was proving very useful at containing the brat when needed.
Sarah raised her eyebrows at him.
"Do I need to remind you how many 'special circumstances' we've got, ourselves, to officially erase what we did when things went South because of Fulcrum, of the Ring, of Volkoff and of Daniel Shaw? I remember you stealing from the government, once, and yet you're still here, aren't you? So, what were you saying?"
Casey squinted at the blonde meaningfully.
"Just that it helped when someone conveniently lost the samples of Neal Caffrey's and Bryce Larkin's DNA in all databases, Walker. Nothing more."
Chuck, who was turning pancakes upside down, looked up, a slightly guiltily pink look on his face.
"Someone did that? Wonder how it happened..."
Casey drawled, just as he got his hands on Nathan before the kid could run into a wall – Morgan's genes, the colonel assured, and Chuck was inclined to believe him, with his Grimes-experience.
"Apparently there was a system failure, and because of that all the samples were wrongfully ordered for destruction, as well as all the files on the matter."
Chuck pointedly avoided to look at Casey – he had to focus on the pancakes, remember?
Sarah sighed – even if she had found actual reasons for Neal Caffrey's turn of luck, she still had a hard time believing it. Though, she was happy Bryce could still have a life, even after everything.
"He's still angry at us, isn't he?"
It semeed obvious, considering Beckman had been the one to inform them that Caffrey – Brooks had just successfully finished Quantico. Not exactly a shock, considering the man's past, and the fact he had already successfully passed the Farm's training – not the same thing, but good enough to evaluate his skills. He was now heading back to Manhattan – years of seniority, even when he hadn't actually been an agent, seemed to still count for his preferred choices. Then again, perhaps the reason was simply that though the FBI wanted Caffrey back, they still trusted him better when working with Peter Burke and the rest of his old team.
"More likely that he's being prideful and / or unsure we want anything to do with him. Don't worry, Walker, Larkin'll get back to you two... eventually."
Morgan opened the door to the bathroom, where he had disappeared earlier, and groaned as he saw the others' faces.
"Oh come on, can't you stop talking about Chuck's former-best-friend-n°2 for just one morning?"
"What do you want me to say, Morgan? It's not everyday a friend comes back from the dead."
"Maybe, but with Larkin, it sure does seem like it's everyday..."
oOo
Neal looked around Kyle Bancroft's office, curiously polite, as his actually-though-not-exactly new superior held his face in his hands.
"I still don't know how the Bureau could go with this, Caffrey..."
Neal gave him a smile full of charm – and perhaps some cheekiness too.
"I'm not the one who's going to complain, Sir."
"You don't say... Ah, hell, let's just roll with it! But I'm warning you, Caffrey; if anything happen, I'm not sticking my head for you, so you'd better stay in line. I won't defend you, and you shouldn't ask that of your partner either, except if it's blatantly obvious you didn't do anything and people are just trying to get rid of you. Which would be ironic enough, considering the lengths the Bureau has proven they'd go to to keep you, but either way..."
Neal wasn't stupid, and knew very well that because his credentials now said "Neal Brooks", it didn't mean everyone would just forget who he was – even if they couldn't prove it in court, they knew. There would probably be a few people who'd try to get rid of him – for the FBI, for their own gain, your pick, both reasons were possible, and he wouldn't be surprised if some of these people did it for both reasons. Bringing him down with sufficient evidence – not that he would leave anything like that behind him, but some people might fabricate proofs just because they didn't like him – would probably propulse their career – unless it ended it, but that, that was double or quits, depending on who they brought the evidence to; someone who wanted to keep Neal Caffrey at hand, or someone who wanted rid of him.
Bancroft pushed the gun, the FBI badge, and the credentials across his desk, towards Neal, who eyed the weapon distastefully; he might have used one as Bryce Larkin, and he was damn good at it too, but he still wasn't going to wave it around unless necessary. Bancroft didn't let go of the three items yet, though.
"They like you, Caffrey, Larkin, Brooks, whoever you are, but it doesn't mean they won't keep an eye on you."
Neal smiled genially at his superior – there was a hint of cold awareness hidden underneath, though, as well as a glint of challenge.
"They can try, Sir, but they won't find a thing."
Or at least, not anything worth risking the wrath of those who wanted him right where he was now. Neal wasn't just going to become a model agent when there were funnier and better ways to do his job – he'd just have to be careful whenever he'd go somewhere slightly grey. The FBI had know that, when they had agreed to his idea; he was a former conman, after all, and a former CIA agent. They couldn't just expect him to suddenly become the most law-abiding citizen in the USA.
As long as he stayed discreet, it'd be alright.
And anyway, it wasn't as if even the usual FBI agents never made peculiar choices either, without it meaning they were corrupt or anything like that.
Bancroft let go, and Neal pocketed the credentials, put the badge on his belt, and made the gun disappear under his suit jacket – incredible, really, what you could make look like it wasn't even there, with the right training; Peter'd never get it.
"Well, then, Sir, I should go down to White Collar. I'm sure Peter has a lot of mortgage fraud cases waiting specially for me down there."
If there was one thing Neal dreaded even when he had first given the idea, it was suddenly being the probie even in his own unit. Diana and Jones, not to say Peter, would probably take every chance to remind him he officially was a rookie.
He'd deal with it – as long as it didn't last more than one year, then he'd get annoyed at them.
Except if they also treated him like an idiot, or rather, like a probie in the sense that probies, despite just getting out of Quantico, don't actually know how things work.
"One moment, Caffrey."
Neal stopped, hand on the door knob, and turned back to his new boss.
"Sir?"
Bancroft looked him in the eyes, as if to make sure he was fully grasping what the man was about to say. To make sure Neal wouldn't just blow it all to hell in less than a month. Or worse, a week.
"It's an incredible chance you got there, and even though I'm not allowed to see what you did for the CIA, I still know what you did for this office, and I'm almost certain you deserve it. Now, whenever someone calls you, except if you are undercover, which you will probably do a lot of, you'll be Neal Brooks. I'm calling you Brooks, from now on, and so should all your colleagues who are not calling you by your first name. Solve cases, do your thing, I don't care, as long as you're not caught. And, please, no more funny business. I'll look away whenever you do something a bit... particular on a case, but not for something blatantly illegal."
"No disappearing nazi treasure, no stolen music box, got it."
"I'm serious. If there's even one thing that goes askew, and I know it, you can be sure they'll know too. And then, I wouldn't be surprised if you ended up in Guantanamo. Even for a stolen pen."
Well, maybe that was exaggerating a bit, but Neal got the idea.
"Understood, Brooks?"
"Understood, Sir."
oOo
Jones stood – or really, sat on his desk, but that didn't seem very professional – by the entrance, staring at the glass doors, with Diana. They knew that, any minute now, Neal would walk back in, after ten months away. Three months recovering, yet a few more completing his debriefing – the CIA really was a pain in the ass for that, it seemed, but they guessed that with what Neal had done, it wasn't so surprising – and taking care of the virus he had used to separate himself from his Bryce Larkin identity on the servers, then five months at Quantico.
Neal would walk back in, with a gun, a badge, and FBI agent credentials. Jones was more than a bit disturbed by the idea.
Diana too, for the matter. And let's not talk about Peter.
"At least we can be sure he won't be the kind of guy who just wave his gun around at any occasion..."
"You sure about that? He was a CIA agent, and from what I gathered, he already killed on duty."
She gave him a disbelieving look – not about the killing bit. Jones didn't take it personally. He himself wasn't believing his own words. But he had felt someone had to say it nonetheless.
"He's Neal, no matter his past. I bet you we'll have to force him to use his gun most of the time."
"Not taking that bet, Diana."
Someone coughed lightly next to them, and the two agents jumped slightly.
Neal was there, smiling at them, and everyone in the office except them – not anymore, though – was already staring at him, unsure whether they should greet him – they were happy to see him again, no doubt about that – or just stay bemused at the scene. The two couldn't believe it; they had looked away from the doors for what, twenty seconds perhaps, in two hours, and Neal arrived just at that moment?
If they didn't know how impatient he could be, they'd think he had waited in a dark corner just to startle them.
"Happy to see you too, guys."
Jones and Diana exchanged a glance, decided they could well get rid of the awkwardness, and probably scared Neal to no end by hugging him successively without warning.
"What? We haven't seen you in months, Neal. And I still remember you clearly, lying in a hospital bed with cuts and bruises all over your body."
The returnee shrugged – Jones tilted his head to the side.
"You didn't go to see Bancroft yet? I thought they had decided he'd be the one to greet you back, for whatever confidential and particular-to-your-case-only reasons they have."
"I saw him. Why do you ask?"
"I don't see your gun or your badge."
Ah, that was certainly weird to say about Neal. Jones guessed he'd get used to it. One day. Perhaps.
Neal opened his jacket – grey, very neat and stylish, he had definitely gone back to June's, and no one would ever think he was a FBI agent, but Diana guessed that was part of Neal... The badge was there, at his waist. He turned around a bit, lifting the jacket pan, and miracle, the gun was here too.
"How did you..."
"It all depends on the vest you're wearing, how you stand, how you behave."
Diana squinted at the conman – retired, perhaps, but still a conman; and he'd have to be one, even if for the FBI. They wanted Neal for various reasons, and going undercover was one of them.
"Or you're a magician."
He didn't seem to disagree, and smiled at her just before turning around – and finding himself facing Peter before the ASAC could even tell them he was there. The older agent looked shocked; he obviously had forgotten what it was like to work with the ever elusive Neal Caffrey during the last month.
"Or that. Hey, Peter. Happy to see me?"
After a floating moment of nothing-to-say, Peter took a step back – he had been about to pat Neal on the shoulder and greet him, but now they were a bit too close to one another for his liking. And Neal was evidently too happy with having surprised him to care.
"Welcome back, Neal."
Peter's eyes went down to the badge on his former CI's belt – never thought he'd see that, even after the news that Neal was going to Quantico; then again, who'd have thought his harmless best friend had been a very successful CIA agent in another life?
"Or, should I say, Agent Brooks."
"Still your best friend, Peter. I'm not going to call you Boss."
Peter suddenly wanted to rip that smuggle little face off, but it'd have to wait.
"Any news from your friends in Burbanks?"
Neal avoided to look at him, and shrugged. But Peter knew his partner had been the one to ask a certain general to send the news that he was back in duty, so he could tell that, one day, Neal'd get over whatever it was that was keeping him away from his other friends.
Meanwhile...
"Alright, Probie, time to get to work. I've left mortgage frauds on your desk."
