The Whistler's Whistle
Fake Smiles Don't Fool Me
A/N: This is actually half of one chapter, which I am struggling with, so I thought I'd split it up so I can at least say I posted something! It shouldn't be too long until the next chapter, which is a bit more eventful than this one, I think. I totally forgot to thanks my beta SherlockXHolmes23 in my last chapter (sorry about that!) so I'll thank her twice this time around. So yeah, next chapter in a few days hopefully (maybe). Please leave a review! Constructive critiscm encouraged, flames aren't welcome.
Warning: See previous chapters.
Disclaimer: I own nothing here!
"The cruelest lies are often told in silence." - Adlai Stevenson
At the sight of Neal at the bottom of the stairs, Elizabeth pulled away and went to dry her eyes without smudging her mascara and she nudged her husband with one hand.
"Go." She whispered, momentarily forgetting that they didn't have to speak in hushed tones to hide what they were saying from Neal. "Ask him if he's hungry or…."
Peter nodded and went slowly up behind the young man. Once, he would have sighed at the way the ex-con fussed over his dog. Normally, he would have smiled at the way Satchmo basked in the attention Neal was happy to give but the way that Neal seemed to lean on the dog, his arms having wrapped around the animals flanks gave the appearance that he was forcing himself to care enough to pet the dog.
Forcing himself to be normal.
It wasn't going to fool anyone, least of all Peter Burke.
"Hey, Neal." Peter said as he sat down beside the other, wincing as his knees creaked. "You only just wake up?"
Neal shrugged meekly and gave the man a transparent smile in return.
"You hungry?" Peter pointed towards the kitchen and Neal followed his gaze. Elizabeth held up the cereal box quizzically and gestured to the fridge.
Neal caught on and while he wanted to refuse the food, he knew that wouldn't go down too well. He hadn't eaten since properly since last week besides and despite the torrent of feelings raging inside Neal, he didn't want to become malnourished or faint and give everyone another excuse to treat him like glass.
"A little bit."
Peter seemed pleased with the answer and he pulled him friend up off the floor with a helpful hand.
Neal picked at his breakfast but made an effort to eat some of the cereal before it turned into mush and while it didn't make him feel sick, it certainly wasn't satisfying.
The three of them spent Thursday playing scrabble (of which Neal won nearly every game) and by three that afternoon, Neal had fallen asleep on the couch while Elizabeth and Peter watched a movie. That was until Peters phone buzzed in his pocket and he frowned at the unknown number.
It was only going to be one person.
Mozzie.
The agent answered the phone and held it up to his ear, waiting for the muffled breathing on the other end to say something. He didn't have to wait long.
Suit, I'm only ringing to enquire about Neal. June told me what happened.
"Yeah, Mozzie…." Peter looked at Elle for help and then at the pale figure of the ex-con. "He's not really acting any..….I think he's trying to act normal for us."
"You knew he was going to do that Suit." There was a flap of activity and it sounded like Mozzie was in the subway. "I'm not going to pretend that I've forgotten how he ended up like this, but I want to see him. Soon. I'm his friend, Suit and you can't keep him away from June or me-"
"Keep you away? Why would I want to do that, Haversham?"
"Because you can't admit that you don't know how to fix this! You don't have any idea how to handle Neal now that he's not…..look, I'll come around tomorrow."
"Of course." Peter sighed, secretly glad that he'd managed to take the call without starting a large argument with the criminal. "Don't make it too late, Mozzie and don't….."
"Don't what?"
"I know you won't treat him any differently, but just make sure you don't. He doesn't handle that too well."
Nice observation Suit. No wonder you're top Fed of the White Collar unit.
Then Mozzie hung up and Peter had to refrain from throwing the phone across the room.
That wasn't going to help matters.
Neal woke up around seven, just in time for dinner and he managed to eat all of it without actually tasting it. It was his favourite, once upon a time, but he barely registered his arm moving to put the food in his mouth.
He did it because that's what he was supposed to do, to convince them that he was okay.
Neal pretended to cope well. He laughed when he was supposed to laugh.
He ate when he was meant to be hungry.
He tried to sleep even when insomnia suffocated him the seconds he allowed himself to close his eyes, but again, the silence and the darkness together was too much.
One, he could struggle through, paint on a fake smile and pretend it wasn't so bad.
But both? An eternity of quiet seemed like a daunting prospect to Neal.
One he didn't want to face, regardless of whether he was alone or not.
Peter wasn't sure what had woke him up so he lay still, his arms around Elizabeth (who hadn't stirred) and waited nervously in the dark. He glanced at the clock and frowned at the fact it was only a few minutes past twelve and he waited a few tense seconds.
Then he heard it; a quiet, muffled cry.
Neal.
Peter carefully unwrapped himself from around his wife and slipped out from beneath the covers before going into the hallway. The light didn't shine from beneath the guest room door, so Peter pushed it open and peered into the darkness, unsure what exactly he was suspecting to find.
What he found made that newly formed crack in the agent's heart widen and splinter outwards and in an intuitive movement, he had rushed forward towards the bed where Neal was.
The ex-con was at the foot of the bed, once again entangled in the bed sheets so tightly that the material restricted his movements and he struggled in his sleep. He twisted and rolled from side to side, his chest heaving, his legs kicking out in all directions and his movements were so frantic and heart-wrenchingly desperate that he must have wrenched his muscles.
But it was the cries that left Neal's lips that were the worst. Sharp, agonized whimpers that were just below his breath, almost as if he was subconsciously afraid of someone hearing his terror, his nightmare.
Peter clamped one hand down on Neal's ankle, the green-lighted anklet chafing the skin until it was red. With the other hand, he reached across Neal's writhing body and tried to pull one arm back down from where it snaked around the ex-cons neck.
Neal lashed out more viciously at the sudden presence and gave another silenced cry, his face contorted in a terrifyingly fearful grimace.
"Neal! Neal!" That was a useless approach but seeing the other man's state only worsen, Peter pulled his friend closer and ran his knuckles gently over Caffrey's ribcage.
It wouldn't have hurt too much, but it was sure as hell enough to wake Neal up and the young man shoved Peter backwards in the dark, his strength unparalleled as the adrenaline gushed through his veins. The agent, unsure whether Neal was awake or not, jumped up and flicked on the light and Neal froze in shock and fear and panic.
He blinked a few times, his movements shaky as he drew himself up onto his knees and looked up at the older man, who tried to brush away the bruises he could already feel forming.
"Peter." Neal's voice was cut, crisp, cold. "Peter….I'm sorry….I..."
Peter waved his apology away and went forward back to the bed where he sat gingerly, unsure whether it was best to leave Neal alone. But something made him stay.
Maybe it was the shining of Neal's eyes or the way his hair fell across his forehead in tufts like he'd dragged his fingers through it and pulled at it with everything he had. Either way, Neal didn't react when the older man sat unusually close.
Peter waited, watching Neal intently without directly staring at him.
But when Peter looked at Neal, he didn't see Neal Caffrey.
Not the real Neal George Caffrey. He was merely a husk, a skeleton of his former self and that self was gone.
Peter could only hope it wasn't gone forever.
No matter how hard he tried, the agent couldn't bury the feelings he had. Self-pity. He felt awful for feeling bad for himself, of all people, but he had lost his friend.
He couldn't talk to Neal, not like they used.
He missed Caffrey's sarcastic comments.
His wit.
His way of getting Peter to spill every secret he held to his chest.
His astounding innocence when it came to the cruel ways of the world.
His smile.
Neal hadn't smiled, not once, in over a week. Well, he had. In the early evening, the three of them had sat down to watch one of those cheap comedies with Ben Stiller and with the subtitles on. Neal's lips lifted at the corners when he felt he was supposed to laugh and get the joke because that's what he would have done before.
What they hoped he would do again.
Peter didn't believe that smile because it was as fake as they came.
As fake as the bonds Caffrey forged.
Brilliantly crafted, nearly identical except to an expert. An expert who knew every scratching of the ink and every flick of the letters and hue of the faded colours.
An expert like Peter, who noticed the way one side of Neal's real smile would reach slightly higher than the other, the way his eyes crinkled ever so slightly, darkening with everything the darkness didn't represent.
Fake smiles didn't fool Peter and Neal knew it.
He plastered one on anyway. The show had to go on.
"Nightmare. I'm fine." Neal said it with a loose shrug and a cavalier voice, "Don't worry about it."
"But I do worry, Neal. I always do."
Even though Neal didn't know exactly what his handler was saying, he knew enough from Peters pained expression that it was time to drop the lies for a moment.
"I was back there. When it happened. But-"Neal's broken up sentences were distracted and hard to follow because he refused to raise his voice, which would have made things easier. "But I was burning. Kate. She was burning…"
It always came back to Kate.
Neal let his eyes close, just to escape it all for as long as possible but no matter how quiet or how dark it was, that unsettling knowing still lingered. He couldn't escape.
He wasn't ever going to either and what made it worse was that he still couldn't accept it.
He still hoped, somewhere, beneath the pain and the silence and the rage, there was that spark of light.
But it was dwindling.
Its warmth was fading.
Peters hand was warm as it settled on the back of his neck, his touch light, hesitant and unsure and Neal didn't have the strength to shrug it off.
"I'm okay now. You can go back to bed." The ex-conman blinked and began to pull the duvets back up so he could feign sleep some more.
But Peter just settled on the edge of the bed and didn't move.
In fact, he didn't leave until he was sure that Neal Caffrey had fallen asleep.
It took over an hour.
Mozzie came the next night as soon as the clock struck seven. He'd knocked dully without the usual rhythm in his movements and while he tried to act normal and smile with Elle (who the small man had admitted, was a dear friend) he didn't try to hide the cold callousness he felt towards Peter. While this angered the agent, he felt that in front of Neal, it was unfair to bring it up.
Neal was sat in the kitchen drawing a small statue of the archangel Michael without ever looking down at his sketchpad and he didn't notice Mozzie's presence until the short man came up beside him, clutching a small books in his hands.
Neal glanced up at Mozzie, then behind at Elle and Peter who pretended not to watch.
"Hello, Moz."
"Neal."
They both refused to look at each other for a little while, partly because they knew they were being studied closely by the FBI agent and his wife. Neal stood up, somehow looking smaller to Mozzie than he usually did and he went to the back door and let himself out into the yard.
He sat down on the steps, arms resting on his knees and he made no motion to move or speak when Mozzie sat beside him. The shorter man deliberately kept his hands in front of his body, concealed from view from anyone who spied on them through the windows.
Mozzie had been through the motions inside his head over and over again until they were engraved into his brain, every argument, every plea ready to be thrown at Neal until the conman could see it.
He cared about Neal Caffrey more than anyone else in the world. Neal knew that, they both did. They were brothers in every sense of the word besides blood and Neal was the closest thing Moz had to family.
He was family.
Which was why he couldn't just sit back, be idle and let the Suit decide how Neal was going to live the rest of his life. Confined. Patronized.
Mozzie knew many great con men, all of who had something that one might think would hold them back and yet in fact, it gave them strength. It gave them an edge.
But Mozzie understood that Neal had built a life for himself in New York, one that didn't remain standing on a foundation on lies and pillars of deceit. Mozzie couldn't accept that. Not now. No one else had thought of a good way to communicate with Neal, a fluent way and while Mozzie, an expert in code had a dozen up his crinkled sleeve, he could think of only one that felt natural enough to convince Neal.
He let his left hand rest on his thigh, fingers together and he began to tap. He did a quick tap, then two with a pause straight afterwards and it was obvious that Neal had caught his attention because the conman's eyes seemed to brighten with interest. Once he was sure the other was following, Mozzie continued with his usual speed and fluency, at a rate most people would be lost at.
But not Neal.
We could leave.
"Leave?" Neal echoed softly, his voice was so soft that he could barely feel the vibrations of his throat as he spoke. "I can't."
Mozzie rolled his eyes exasperatedly as he backtracked and looked back at the house to check that no one was watching or listening to their exchange.
Why?
"You know why." Neal said after a couple of seconds, his eyes remaining firmly fixed on Mozzie's hand as it tapped against his leg. He remembered a similar conversation he and Mozzie had had before, far too many times. "Peter. Elizabeth. June."
Mozzie's face softened slightly and his fists uncurled at his sides.
I know it will – Mozzie paused, thinking, searching for the right word, but he couldn't find one - be hard.
"You think?"
But Neal, don't you get it?
Neal said nothing, his fingers twitching against his thigh, desperate to reply with some other sarcastic comment that did nothing for either of them. But he forced himself to talk, to feel a little bit more normal. Mozzie began to tap away again, faster this time, but Neal found it easy to keep up.
The FBI are not going to care about what happens to some con.
That was true. Hughes might have, but the boss's boss, the big shots? Neal Caffrey wasn't worth a dime to them.
They will throw you back in prison. You know they will. If we leave now, we can go anywhere.
"Who say's..." Neal cleared his throat awkwardly, on hand rubbing absently at the back of his neck "Prison?"
Suit might not say it, but he's thinking it.
"He wouldn't."
Want to test that theory? Stick around and you'll find out Neal.
Neal remained silent, Mozzie remained still, both caught up in their own thoughts, their own beliefs.
"Like where?"
Some island in the south pacific where the tribes communicate with blinking. I don't know Neal, but it's better than prison.
"Anything is better than prison."
Mozzie nodded eagerly at the robotic voice that sounded vaguely like Neal before thinking through all the things that could mean. What do you want, Neal?
The con man would've scoffed at such a stupid, such an obvious question that sounded like Mozzie didn't think at all. How could he say what he wanted? There was so much he still wanted, needed and so much he now couldn't have. A part of Neal, a rather significant part, wished he was still in prison and had never been released in Peter's custody.
At least then, he'd be all right.
Locked up, but not deaf. Never deaf.
But then he thought over everything the agent had done for him, everything he was trying to do. It wasn't enough for Neal and yet, it was all there was ever going to be.
Nothing would be enough for Neal Caffrey anymore.
"I want to hear again, Mozzie. That's all I'll ever want."