Sorry this chapter took forever to upload, but with school starting back up, college application deadline approaching, and laziness, I was unable to finish it until now. Thank you so much for all of the reviews I received, keep them coming!
A helpful hint for this chapter would be a formal time line- I know I've been vague about everything because of the age difference and I didn't really mention where this story begins in the actual show because a lot of the shows plots are still in my story. So here's a shaky gist:
Neal was 13 when Ellen decided to tell him about his family and ran away all the same (poor baby). He then fled to Russia and met Jorgen a couple months later. Months before his 15th birthday is when the incident with Jorgen happened and then he returned to the U.S. He continued his crime spree in the U.S and appeared on the FBI's radar when he was 15 (although they didn't know his real age). He was caught when he was 17 (he claims to have allowed himself to be caught in order to find Kate), though was thought to be older, and worked his deal early in his sentence and didn't have to spend much time in prison. Since then he has worked with the FBI for a year and a half and in that time span the music box and Kate's death, Ellen's death, and his Father's betrayal have happened. Though Peter wasn't framed for the murder of the senator and didn't go to jail, so the return of Hagan hasn't happened. This story takes place a few weeks after Neal's father ran. Neal's real age is only known by the select few in Peter's immediate team including Hughes (who didn't retire but probably won't appear in my story). And so now you are caught up to speed on my crazy distorted timeline of Neal's life!
Warning: this chapter's got a lot of hurt in it :(
"Neal, did you get the door?! I told you not to move!" Elizabeth hollered from inside her room. "Well fine then, tell whoever it is that I will be right down." But the disobedient teen didn't have to tell him, because Jorgen had heard it all. Neal gulped down a boulder which proceeded to crush his insides; he was lost for words and he simply stood staring at the large man before him.
"So nice to see you again Mikhail, or is it Neal?" he spoke smoothly but his words were laced with devilish intent. Jorgen lifted his jacket slightly to reveal a gun tucked in his trousers. "I suggest you come with me now before that agent's wife walks in on something she doesn't need to see. I wouldn't want to have to kill her," he said casually in his thick Russian accent.
The nonviolent boy balked at how his once kindhearted friend could so easily threaten the life of an innocent woman. Not wanting Elizabeth to be put in harm's way, he immediately stepped out onto the doorstep with Jorgen and shut the door softly behind him. The taller man ushered Neal into the black sedan before hastily driving away.
When Elizabeth heard the knock at the door, she was pulling her laundry out of the drier, but she didn't want to leave and let the clothes wrinkle. El heard Neal answer the door, despite that she had told him not, and rushed the basket of the fresh clothes to her room. As soon as she had finished her task she shuffled downstairs only to find that the door was closed and neither Neal, nor the stranger at the door were in the house. Worry took over as she opened the door and peeked outside; no sign of Neal. Now her worry was turning into panic as she returned to searching around her house, "Neal?! Neal, where are you?!" she called, but no one answered.
Tears hung in her eyes as El pulled out her phone and called her husband on speed dial. How could she let this happen? She knew that Neal might possibly be in danger and yet she left him alone! Now Neal was gone and it was all her fault, and she could do nothing to get back the young man she cared so much about.
"Hon? What's wrong?" Peter said as he answered his phone. Even though he couldn't see her watery blue eyes, his love telepathy was telling him that his wife on the other end of the phone was upset. This could only be about Neal and he couldn't help but to hold his breath.
"Peter, he's gone," she breathed trying to hold back a sniffle.
Agent Burke's face fell into a whirl of concern, worry, and frustration. "El, don't worry, we will find him," he said wanting to take his own advice. "Did he run out on his own? What happened?"
"I'm so sorry Peter; I shouldn't have left him alone! I went upstairs to do some laundry and then someone knocked on the door. I told him not to get it, I didn't want him to strain himself, but of course he did anyway. And then when I came downstairs a minute later he was gone! I even looked out in the street and he was nowhere to be seen; Neal can't move that fast and I could tell he was hurting when he was painting but I let it slide. Peter, someone must have taken him!" The smart woman came to the same conclusion as her husband.
At first Peter was angry, he thought that Neal had left to go work on the case alone, but now he wished that Neal had left of his own accord, at least he would be relatively safe. Now he was sure that Jorgen had taken him.
"Calm down Honey, this isn't your fault. It's gonna be okay, we will have him back before dinner time," Peter said trying to reassure his wife as well as himself.
The next step the agent made was to pull up Neal's tracking data on his laptop. He was glad El couldn't see the expression on his face as he ended the conversation with an 'I love you' and hung up the phone. Neal's anklet had been cut; the last feed they had received was traced from outside the Burke's house.
"Lift your pant leg Mikhail," From that request Neal deduced that Jorgen knew all about his little deal with the FBI. After a moment of hesitation, he did as he was instructed and decided to be the slight bit compliant in order to improve his chances of not dying. The unwanted Russian visitor was sitting in the back of the car with Neal while a driver, probably also Russian, drove the car. The man hardly fit in the back seat with his strongly built stature but still bent down to cut Neal's tracking anklet himself.
The stunned young man still had not said a word since he stepped out of the house, so Jorgen simply read his mind and responded to his disoriented questions. "Of course you're wondering how I found you, why I'm in the U.S, and why I coaxed you. I don't mind answering your questions; after all, I would still like to think of us as friends. What do you think, Mikhail, are we still friends?" he asked in perfect English although accompanied by a Russian accent.
Neal avoided eye contact not sure of what to respond. Emotions and thoughts swirled in his mind, but one thing he knew for sure: he wasn't friends with a murderer. So he danced around his answer whipping out his silver tongue, "I was friends with the Jorgen I knew five years ago."
"Cryptic and avoiding the question, you are just like the Mikhail I knew five years ago," he said with a small smile. "I'll let the answer slide, because I remember the boy I took care of for nearly a year and a half, and he is still family." The teenager swallowed another lump in his throat as he heard the compassion in Jorgen's voice, yet at the same time, there was a hint of insanity. "I missed your smooth talent, your misdirection, your charm. Despite my affiliations with the mob, as you probably have discovered with your FBI captors, I still enjoy a good white collar con. I looked for Mikhail Raskolnikov, but you did a good job burning that identity; I couldn't find a trace. My business associates and I wanted to pull a large con, an extremely difficult one, one only the best con artist could pull off. News of Neal Caffrey reached my ears a while back: an art forger, thief, and con. He was everything Mikhail was but better and more refined. I decided to offer him a job with the promise of a large sum of money and an undeniable heist, but Caffrey was almost as slippery as Mikhail was. Imagine my surprise when an informant of mine, a corrupt law official, tells me of a young Neal Caffrey who was arrested and swindled a deal with the FBI after only being imprisoned for two months. Can you even imagine my shock when the young man in the photo stared back at me with Mikhail's older, more mature face? That's when I decided we needed a reunion."
"I arranged for business to take me to the U.S and in my spare time I searched for any trace of Mikhail or Neal. Of course you remember our shared love of art? Well when touring the Guggenheim for pleasure one day, you never cease to amaze me, but another surprise came as I studied The Ballet Class that I realized was not the original, but in fact, an extremely skilled forgery. Upon further examination, I could make out the initials NC discretely hidden in a brush stroke. It hit me; if this was truly my Mikhail, he would've played a game to test his skills. I could imagine the boy forging masterpieces, stealing the originals while replacing them with his own, and then holding on to the originals to see if his forgeries were ever noticed. That game of yours led me to your other paintings and then hatched the plan to steal them as Sly Cooper. Then you can probably put together the rest from there," he finished.
Throughout the entire monologue Neal listened silently gritting his teeth all the while to hold back his emotion. Normally, as a conman, hiding his true feelings hardly took an ounce of effort, but now in his weakened state he felt suffocated and overwhelmed. Jorgen had assumed the lesser of the boy's questions, but larger ones were still looming. Questions that caused mountains of pressure hung on Neal's tongue: when did you turn into a murderer? When did human lives become disposable? Didn't you see the security guard had a family to take care of? Why have you continued to kill people? Wasn't one life enough? But all he could muster was, "Why?"
Jorgen's face distorted as he understood his old friend's single word; but the emotions he displayed were not ones of regret or sadness. "The world's not kind to softies, Mikhail; one of us had to grow up. I had a choice: let our heist be compromised and worse, you killed, or murder the untimely man. I saved your life boy. I found that life is easier with certain people out of the way; it's so rewarding to let all of your anger and suffering out on ending the life that caused the distress." At this, Neal lost it and shook his head furiously.
"No! Never. You don't get to decide to take a man's life no matter the grievance they've caused you! I won't ever be able to erase the image of you brutally beating that innocent man! He didn't deserve to die, his wife didn't deserve to lose her husband, and his daughter certainly didn't deserve to lose her father!" He spoke adamantly as he finally looked into Jorgen's eyes for the first time. They were dark and cold; no longer the honey brown eyes he remembered, but black as coal.
This time, it was Jorgen to break eye contact. He stared hard at the seat in front of him with a solemn expression on his face. "I couldn't lose you," he said softly, "not after I had already lost my wife and son." Neal remembered the story: the story of how the man's wife and child were killed, and another reason Jorgen had been so eager to take young Neal under his wing.
The young man couldn't take it. "Why did you kidnap me?" The car had arrived at a luxurious sky rise hotel that he could only imagine housed the villain for his stay in the U.S.
"To take you back of course; it'll be like the old times again, but better. We aren't naïve and inexperienced anymore," he responded with little emotion.
Neal shook his head again, but much less furious than the last time. He pitied the heartless man who sat beside him as Jorgen tried to cling to any piece of humanity he had left. "I can't Jorgen. I won't work with you again; I won't go back to crime." The boy's chest ached immensely and he wasn't sure if it was from the sadness he felt, or the bullet wound in his chest.
"As much as I wished you wouldn't refuse, I'm not giving you a choice. You'll work for me and be happy or you'll work for me and be miserable. I have the money and power to give you anything you've ever wanted, Mikhail, but if you don't take me up on the offer I will use my power to take the lives of everyone you cherish, just as my loved ones were stripped away from me, just as you slipped through my fingers."
Neal fought back the flush of hatred, anger, pity, and anguish that threatened to spill out at every seam. 'Peter, please,' he pleaded internally. 'I need you, please save me.'
I hope everyone enjoyed this exciting and revealing chapter! I tried to make Jorgen as tragically evil as I could while combining hatred and sympathy. Yes, his corrupt law official that he mentions was Senator Pratt. Please let me know what you guys think in a review!