A/N This portions should have come at the beginning of Chapter Two. I will fix it all further down the road. I apologize. The previous afternoon...
"He's alive, Peter." Elizabeth's voice was choked with relief as she followed him across the patio. Relief he shared, but now that he knew, the situation demanded swift action. "I can't even imagine what he's been through all this time," she continued, "not knowing who he is. He sounded so lost. He needs us, and we need to go now, not next week."
"I am going now, El," he assured her, making a beeline to his laptop. He'd heard both the us and we in her plea, but he chose to ignore it. The right thing was to call the Marshals, but he couldn't bring himself to do that. If Neal's claim was true, if the desolation and desperation in his voice were genuine, his emotional state was precarious at best. The way the Marshal Service would reacquire him would be brutal and traumatizing; he'd seen it before, and he wouldn't put an emotionally compromised Neal through that again. But he had to be sure, and the only way he'd know was to see Neal for himself, preferably unobserved.
"Then why did you tell him Tuesday?" Elizabeth asked as she watched him flip open his laptop. Her voice sharpened in alarm. "What are you doing?"
"Seeing how long it will take me to get to Jonesport," he responded, accessing Maps and typing in his destination. "I need to check things out before I meet with him," he explained. "To make sure I know what's really going on." A little over eight hours, and it was just mid-afternoon. "I can be there tonight; have eyes on him by morning."
"What do you mean you will be there tonight?" She demanded. "We will be there, Peter Burke." There was a stubborn set to her jaw, but her eyes and her voice betrayed the emotion behind her words. "I need to see him, Peter."
He understood, he really did. He wanted to see Neal too. Sure, part of it was because he needed to verify his story. But a larger part was that he just needed to see him alive. It had been five months, and every time he'd thought about Neal, it had been of him in the water, struggling and hurt, unable to keep himself afloat.
"Listen, El," he said. "I understand how you feel, but this is going to get..." He hesitated, the magnitude of what he was doing settling heavily upon his chest. "Complicated." Understatement. It could be his job. His career. Everything he'd worked for. "I need to get up there and see if what he's saying adds up before I decide how to proceed. If this...amnesia thing is real, then-"
"You don't believe him?" Her tone was incredulous. "You heard him, Peter. That wasn't Neal playacting or running a con; that was Neal reaching out for help."
He agreed; that was why he was choosing this course of action. But just as he'd wanted to believe Neal was alive, he wanted to believe Neal was being truthful about this. He wanted to believe Neal would have never willingly put them through the hell of thinking him dead the last five months. But Neal was a con man, the best he'd ever seen. He couldn't simply discount that without pause. The Bureau and the US Marshals certainly would not.
"You know my motto where Neal is concerned," he told her, quickly composing an email to Hughes and the team about a sudden family emergency. "Trust but verify." He flipped the computer closed. "Well, I'm trusting enough not to send the Marshals after him, but I need to verify, El. There's a lot at stake here. Not just for him but for me too. If he really is suffering from memory loss then I'll bring him home and do everything I can to help him. But I have to know for sure."
"You're doing the right thing, Peter," she encouraged, placing a hand on his arm. "Not sending anyone after him. He doesn't remember anything about his life and that would traumatize him so much. Well," she added with a thoughtful look. "Except your name and number and that that he can trust you." She gave his arm a squeeze. "And I know what you are willing to risk by honoring that trust. Let me help."
He let out a sigh. Whatever help she would offer, no doubt, would I require her to accompany him to Maine. "How?"
"Let me call my dad." That he hadn't expected. "You said you need to be sure," she reminded him. "My dad is a licensed psychologist; he can help with that." She wasn't wrong. If Neal really had amnesia not only would it have to be verified by a professional, but he'd need help. "He can give us some guidance, you know? Tell us what to look for, how to determine if what Neal is telling us is true."
Us.
"I'd like some professional guidance," Peter began, "But I don't think-"
"And you might as well add Elizabeth and I to that email. Do you really think I'd stay here if there were a family emergency?" She snorted. "They'd see right through that." She gave his shoulder another squeeze. "I can help, Peter. Let me."
He sighed, moving his cursor and making the change.
"Give your dad a call," he conceded. "I'll call the kennel. If you are coming, I'll book a flight."
