The Con Man's Daughter
Title: The Con Man's Daughter
Author: Afiawri
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Neal, some OFCs, Peter
Word Count: 1670
Thanks: to the mods of whitecollarswap for running this swap
Fic for: preromantics
Peter asked no questions of her until she was seated in the conference room with her daughter asleep against her thin, designer-clothed shoulder.
“So.” He cleared his throat. “What do you want with Neal Caffrey?” He had a notepad out, like this was official. Like she was here reporting a crime.
The little girl stirred against her shoulder, turning her hair. The woman, Marissa, stroked hair that looked just like Neal’s. “I want him to meet his daughter.”
Neal walked into the conference room with a smile on his face and coffee, actual coffee, in his hands. There was a kid in there with Peter. The kid looked like she was just waking up, but Peter’s quick glances at her before returning his attention to the mother made it clear he was already freaking out. Time to rescue the poor thing. Both of them.
Neal breezed in the door, but then Peter’s eyes snapped to him in a way he’d never seen before. “What’s wrong?” Neal stopped short.
The woman in the chair in front of him turned. “Anthony.”
“Marissa. Hi.”
She stood, with her daughter still in her arms, as graceful as she’d ever been. Neal’s heart clenched. Not because he loved or missed her or was surprised to see her. Because this felt like being caught in a way handcuffs never had.
“You left without ever saying goodbye.”
Neal’s eyes darted to Peter and back to her. He choked down the instinct to make his excuses and run. He had to come back here tomorrow and she had to know that. Whatever guilt she had to inflict, whatever tears she wanted to cry in front of him, whatever she wanted, he’d have to be there and accept it. There was no patching it up with a smile and a lie and walking away before it fell apart.
He smiled wide and dazzling. “You were always a strong woman, Marissa. I never stopped thinking about you, but I’m glad to see you moved on, found someone else. Had a kid.
“Hi,” Neal said to the girl. The trick to winning over a parent: get their kid to like you. “My name’s Neal. What’s yours?”
“Alessia.”
The girl stared at Neal hard without blinking. She must not have been awake yet.
“How old are you, Alessia? Six?”
“Seven. And a half.”
Neal’s eyes darted back up to Marissa’s somber face. He straightened slowly.
“I didn’t find anyone else.”
Neal bowed his head, his mind working a mile a minute, trying to remember that night, that con. He’d been certain she was wrapped around his finger. They were dozens of miles from civilization- and other men- for months. But they’d used protection. Nothing’s fool proof.
He looked at Alessia again and saw it: she looked just like him at that age. With his mother’s jaw, but the rest of her face, that was how he’d looked in grade school minus a little chubbiness.
His eyes went to Peter. Peter, with his arms crossed and a stern expression. Like he’d just now found out that Neal sunk lower than Peter ever suspected.
“I didn’t know,” he told them both, his voice hoarse.
He cleared his throat to try again, but then Marissa said, “You couldn’t have,” and when Neal looked her eyes had softened. Peter’s arms relaxed in the corner of his eye.
Marissa smiled down at her daughter- their daughter, Neal’s daughter, Neal’s daughter- and said, “Say hi to your father.”
Alessia shook her head, catching a brown curl of hair in her mouth and then spitting it back out.
Neal bent down enough to look her in the eye. “You won’t say hi?”
Alessia whispered to Neal loudly enough that Peter could probably hear on the other side of the table, “Mom wants me to have a dad real bad. But your name’s Neal. My dad’s name is Anthony.”
“My name used to be Anthony.”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to lie,” Alessia said pleasantly.
“That’s what I’m always telling him,” Peter chipped in. Neal threw him a look. Peter raised his hands and left, clearly seeing he wasn’t needed. “But you’ve got his face, sweetie.”
Marissa looked at her daughter expectantly. After a pause filled with Alessia staring at Neal, Marissa staring at her- a pause that Neal had the urge to fill with a thousand questions- Marissa said, “She used to do this adorable thing, when we told her she had my nose. She’d offer it back and apo-”
“I hate when you tell that story, mom! I’m not a baby anymore.”
“Of course not. Silly mommy.” Alessia sighed dramatically and threw Neal a long-suffering look.
Neal watched and somehow he felt disappointed that it was something he’ll never get to see, something she outgrew while he didn’t know she existed.
Alessia did that head tilting thing Neal had forgotten his father used to do.
Alessia liked ponies except when they were spotted because they looked dirty.
Alessia thought the best smell was the smell of hot dogs and the worst sound was when the birds outside of her window at home sang too early, but there song was pretty any other time even though that was usually when they sing.
Marissa still stared at Neal like she used to when Neal was seducing her as a mark; she stared the whole while Alessia told him all these things, legs swinging under her chair and happily licking an ice cream cone. And Neal suddenly can’t shake the thought that ice cream was bad for kids and how often did Marissa feed her that? And he was worrying too much, but it couldn’t possibly be normal for a child to have a list of four favorite ice cream flavors? And really, he didn’t even know he was a father until a couple of hours ago and he really should tell them both to go home now before he freaked out too much.
Marissa laughed out of nowhere as she wiped Alessia’s face. Alessia kept licking her ice cream around the wet cloth her mother used to clean her face.
“How would you like to spend some time with Daddy while Mommy goes and see Aunt Mercede?”
“Um-” was all Neal could think to say.
“She lives in New York now. She was the one who found your picture in the newspaper… a few months ago. I doubt I’ll be more than a few hours, she and I… well, you were there for that fight.” The fight over Neal that had Mercede moving out the same night. The fight that was an integral part of his con. Someday he should apologize for breaking up their family. Or set it right.
“Take her to the Powell-” Out of his radius, but he wasn’t about to bring up the tracker until she noticed it herself- “or, I don’t actually know what you like.”
Neal searched her face for resentment. She looked tired, but amused, like his conning her and stealing from her was an old joke just between the two of them.
“Or you could show her your place.”
On the stairs to his apartment, Alessia said, “My mom really wants you to be my dad. Do you think you could pretend for her? If you’re not good at playing pretend, though, you shouldn’t. Mom says Dad was really, really, really, really good at playing pretend, better than Grandpa.”
When the reached the landing, Neal crouched down by her. “That’s why your mom thought I was Anthony. I was pretending to be someone named Anthony.”
Alessia looked at him steadily. Her eyes were her mother’s: green. “Okay,” she said finally, followed up immediately by, “You know I can see you just fine standing up, right?”
“Right. Of course.” His ability to talk to kids had fled him the instant he knew she was his, like that should make a difference. Because, really, she wasn’t: she’d grown up eight years without his help at all. He opened the door to his apartment and stood there, looking at poisonous paints, sharp corners, expensive furniture…
She squeezed past him before he could reassess his entire apartment. She walked with her hands behind her back and looked, but didn’t touch.
Neal caught up with her, nearly stumbling around the corner. Of course, Marissa’s place was jam packed with antiques, her daughter would know better.
Alessia stopped before the easel and looked up at the painting with wonder in her eyes. “You make the paintings they hang in museums!”
“Uh-” Neal looked at the forgery he was working on for their case. Without Peter’s permission. “I’m not supposed to.”
“Oh. I’m never supposed to do anything that’s fun either.”
Neal laughed. “No, you’re- I mean, you really shouldn’t.” He covered the dry painting.
Alessia nodded sadly and sat down on the floor. “Right. No playing with the dolls in the boxes. They’re collectibles. No eating the cake, it’s for the adult dinner party.” She looked at Neal, pouting.
“What kind of dolls?”
“Barbies. Mom gets me other barbies, but they don’t have the same dresses with lace and necklaces and they have bad shoes.”
Neal holds out a hand. “I know a place where they sell those same barbies. Let’s go there.”
Without looking up from walking her doll across the table while they waited for Marissa, Alessia asked Neal, “So, why can’t you paint?” She petted her doll’s hair and looked up at Neal.
“Because I did something irresponsible with the old paintings.” Neal paused, wondering if she knew what ‘irresponsible’ meant.
“Kind of like conning your dad out of a doll,” said a voice behind him. Neal spun around to see Marissa and Mercede, and then glanced back at Alessia as her mother continued, “You know you weren’t allowed to have that one because Granddaddy wanted to get it for you for your birthday.”
Alessia just shrugged and smiled brilliantly- and that was definitely Neal’s smile on her little girl face.
Author: Afiawri
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Neal, some OFCs, Peter
Word Count: 1670
Thanks: to the mods of whitecollarswap for running this swap
Fic for: preromantics
Peter asked no questions of her until she was seated in the conference room with her daughter asleep against her thin, designer-clothed shoulder.
“So.” He cleared his throat. “What do you want with Neal Caffrey?” He had a notepad out, like this was official. Like she was here reporting a crime.
The little girl stirred against her shoulder, turning her hair. The woman, Marissa, stroked hair that looked just like Neal’s. “I want him to meet his daughter.”
Neal walked into the conference room with a smile on his face and coffee, actual coffee, in his hands. There was a kid in there with Peter. The kid looked like she was just waking up, but Peter’s quick glances at her before returning his attention to the mother made it clear he was already freaking out. Time to rescue the poor thing. Both of them.
Neal breezed in the door, but then Peter’s eyes snapped to him in a way he’d never seen before. “What’s wrong?” Neal stopped short.
The woman in the chair in front of him turned. “Anthony.”
“Marissa. Hi.”
She stood, with her daughter still in her arms, as graceful as she’d ever been. Neal’s heart clenched. Not because he loved or missed her or was surprised to see her. Because this felt like being caught in a way handcuffs never had.
“You left without ever saying goodbye.”
Neal’s eyes darted to Peter and back to her. He choked down the instinct to make his excuses and run. He had to come back here tomorrow and she had to know that. Whatever guilt she had to inflict, whatever tears she wanted to cry in front of him, whatever she wanted, he’d have to be there and accept it. There was no patching it up with a smile and a lie and walking away before it fell apart.
He smiled wide and dazzling. “You were always a strong woman, Marissa. I never stopped thinking about you, but I’m glad to see you moved on, found someone else. Had a kid.
“Hi,” Neal said to the girl. The trick to winning over a parent: get their kid to like you. “My name’s Neal. What’s yours?”
“Alessia.”
The girl stared at Neal hard without blinking. She must not have been awake yet.
“How old are you, Alessia? Six?”
“Seven. And a half.”
Neal’s eyes darted back up to Marissa’s somber face. He straightened slowly.
“I didn’t find anyone else.”
Neal bowed his head, his mind working a mile a minute, trying to remember that night, that con. He’d been certain she was wrapped around his finger. They were dozens of miles from civilization- and other men- for months. But they’d used protection. Nothing’s fool proof.
He looked at Alessia again and saw it: she looked just like him at that age. With his mother’s jaw, but the rest of her face, that was how he’d looked in grade school minus a little chubbiness.
His eyes went to Peter. Peter, with his arms crossed and a stern expression. Like he’d just now found out that Neal sunk lower than Peter ever suspected.
“I didn’t know,” he told them both, his voice hoarse.
He cleared his throat to try again, but then Marissa said, “You couldn’t have,” and when Neal looked her eyes had softened. Peter’s arms relaxed in the corner of his eye.
Marissa smiled down at her daughter- their daughter, Neal’s daughter, Neal’s daughter- and said, “Say hi to your father.”
Alessia shook her head, catching a brown curl of hair in her mouth and then spitting it back out.
Neal bent down enough to look her in the eye. “You won’t say hi?”
Alessia whispered to Neal loudly enough that Peter could probably hear on the other side of the table, “Mom wants me to have a dad real bad. But your name’s Neal. My dad’s name is Anthony.”
“My name used to be Anthony.”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to lie,” Alessia said pleasantly.
“That’s what I’m always telling him,” Peter chipped in. Neal threw him a look. Peter raised his hands and left, clearly seeing he wasn’t needed. “But you’ve got his face, sweetie.”
Marissa looked at her daughter expectantly. After a pause filled with Alessia staring at Neal, Marissa staring at her- a pause that Neal had the urge to fill with a thousand questions- Marissa said, “She used to do this adorable thing, when we told her she had my nose. She’d offer it back and apo-”
“I hate when you tell that story, mom! I’m not a baby anymore.”
“Of course not. Silly mommy.” Alessia sighed dramatically and threw Neal a long-suffering look.
Neal watched and somehow he felt disappointed that it was something he’ll never get to see, something she outgrew while he didn’t know she existed.
Alessia did that head tilting thing Neal had forgotten his father used to do.
Alessia liked ponies except when they were spotted because they looked dirty.
Alessia thought the best smell was the smell of hot dogs and the worst sound was when the birds outside of her window at home sang too early, but there song was pretty any other time even though that was usually when they sing.
Marissa still stared at Neal like she used to when Neal was seducing her as a mark; she stared the whole while Alessia told him all these things, legs swinging under her chair and happily licking an ice cream cone. And Neal suddenly can’t shake the thought that ice cream was bad for kids and how often did Marissa feed her that? And he was worrying too much, but it couldn’t possibly be normal for a child to have a list of four favorite ice cream flavors? And really, he didn’t even know he was a father until a couple of hours ago and he really should tell them both to go home now before he freaked out too much.
Marissa laughed out of nowhere as she wiped Alessia’s face. Alessia kept licking her ice cream around the wet cloth her mother used to clean her face.
“How would you like to spend some time with Daddy while Mommy goes and see Aunt Mercede?”
“Um-” was all Neal could think to say.
“She lives in New York now. She was the one who found your picture in the newspaper… a few months ago. I doubt I’ll be more than a few hours, she and I… well, you were there for that fight.” The fight over Neal that had Mercede moving out the same night. The fight that was an integral part of his con. Someday he should apologize for breaking up their family. Or set it right.
“Take her to the Powell-” Out of his radius, but he wasn’t about to bring up the tracker until she noticed it herself- “or, I don’t actually know what you like.”
Neal searched her face for resentment. She looked tired, but amused, like his conning her and stealing from her was an old joke just between the two of them.
“Or you could show her your place.”
On the stairs to his apartment, Alessia said, “My mom really wants you to be my dad. Do you think you could pretend for her? If you’re not good at playing pretend, though, you shouldn’t. Mom says Dad was really, really, really, really good at playing pretend, better than Grandpa.”
When the reached the landing, Neal crouched down by her. “That’s why your mom thought I was Anthony. I was pretending to be someone named Anthony.”
Alessia looked at him steadily. Her eyes were her mother’s: green. “Okay,” she said finally, followed up immediately by, “You know I can see you just fine standing up, right?”
“Right. Of course.” His ability to talk to kids had fled him the instant he knew she was his, like that should make a difference. Because, really, she wasn’t: she’d grown up eight years without his help at all. He opened the door to his apartment and stood there, looking at poisonous paints, sharp corners, expensive furniture…
She squeezed past him before he could reassess his entire apartment. She walked with her hands behind her back and looked, but didn’t touch.
Neal caught up with her, nearly stumbling around the corner. Of course, Marissa’s place was jam packed with antiques, her daughter would know better.
Alessia stopped before the easel and looked up at the painting with wonder in her eyes. “You make the paintings they hang in museums!”
“Uh-” Neal looked at the forgery he was working on for their case. Without Peter’s permission. “I’m not supposed to.”
“Oh. I’m never supposed to do anything that’s fun either.”
Neal laughed. “No, you’re- I mean, you really shouldn’t.” He covered the dry painting.
Alessia nodded sadly and sat down on the floor. “Right. No playing with the dolls in the boxes. They’re collectibles. No eating the cake, it’s for the adult dinner party.” She looked at Neal, pouting.
“What kind of dolls?”
“Barbies. Mom gets me other barbies, but they don’t have the same dresses with lace and necklaces and they have bad shoes.”
Neal holds out a hand. “I know a place where they sell those same barbies. Let’s go there.”
Without looking up from walking her doll across the table while they waited for Marissa, Alessia asked Neal, “So, why can’t you paint?” She petted her doll’s hair and looked up at Neal.
“Because I did something irresponsible with the old paintings.” Neal paused, wondering if she knew what ‘irresponsible’ meant.
“Kind of like conning your dad out of a doll,” said a voice behind him. Neal spun around to see Marissa and Mercede, and then glanced back at Alessia as her mother continued, “You know you weren’t allowed to have that one because Granddaddy wanted to get it for you for your birthday.”
Alessia just shrugged and smiled brilliantly- and that was definitely Neal’s smile on her little girl face.