WC: Chicago - Epilogue
White Collar -- Fanfiction
Disclaimer:
All recognizable characters are property of Jeff Eastin and USA Network.
No copyright infringement intended.
Title: Chicago - Epilogue
- Rating: PG-13
- Category: Pre-canon, Alternate canon, Neal Mozzie friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Drama
Epilogue
“How do I look?” His eyes fixed on the folded down visor mirror, Neal straightens his tie and pulls his hat slightly off kilter. His tight-lipped smile fails to hide the nervousness behind it.
“Caffrey, are you dragging me along as the third wheel on a date?” From his position in the passenger seat of the curbside parked car Peter Burke watches his consultant with a querulous frown.
“Not quite,” Neal mumbles. “How do I look?” He repeats.
“Like … your spiffy self.” Peter shakes his head, checks his watch. “We have a plane to catch in less than two hours. You don’t know what it took to get permission to take you out of New York for this case. Now, will you tell me what we’re doing here?”
“Calling on a lady.”
“Isn’t that what I just asked?”
“You said date, not lady.”
“I didn’t know those terms were mutually exclusive in your case,” Peter sighs.
“C’mon. Let’s go. We only have a few minutes.” Neal smirks. He pulls the key from the ignition and climbs out of the driver’s seat. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”
Peter follows his lead. He looks back and forth along the street and then scans the fronts of the surrounding row houses.
“Are you sure it’s safe to leave the car here?” He asks and reluctantly closes his car door.
“Nah, no worries,” Neal replies and continues to smile that nervous, excited smile. “This neighborhood has long been gentrified.” He starts heading along the sidewalk and waves Peter to follow. Peter checks the door lock one more time and hurries to catch up.
“And why can’t I shake the feeling that your departure some unspecified time ago lowered the number of criminal elements roaming these streets by one?”
“By two, to be exact.” Neal keeps up his brisk stride.
“Two?” Peter closes up to his consultant. “And here I thought young Master Caffrey used to be the lone wolf kind of criminal.”
“I guess one could say that this is the place where the young and brilliant Master Neal learned that marching and, well, stealing to the beat of someone else’s drum wasn’t his cup of tea.”
“So, am I going to meet whoever ensured that you never followed another command in you life?” Peter feels his excitement rise. He playfully nudges Neal with his shoulder. “Because I think I have a bone to pick with that person.”
By Peter’s side, Neal comes to a slow, uncertain halt. He glances over at Peter and the agent finds himself taken aback by the expression that suddenly haunts his friend’s face, a peculiar look that falls somewhere between simmering rage and outright disgust.
“Yeah, me too.” Neal states acidly. A forced chuckle issues from his throat. Then the shadow in his face dissipates as fast as it came as a strained, crooked smile is pulled in place. “But, no, that’s not who we’re here to see.” With a tip of his head he signals Peter to move along.
“So, how young are we talking?” Peter carefully continues to prod, keeping his tone light.
“Too young.” Neal shrugs. “Too stupid.” He stops again, this time with a purpose. “We’re here.”
Peter sweeps his eyes over the dark green awnings, the tinted windows and the heavy door of the corner building in front of them. He finally settles on the bright neon advertisement flashing above the door.
“The neighborhood watering hole?” Peter is puzzled. “Let me guess, this is where you made your first million selling fake IDs to the local hoodlums.”
Neal rolls his eyes and reaches for the door handle. He changes course mid-motion.
“Listen, Peter,” Neal scratches his stubbly chin. “I was hoping we could keep the anklet on the down low in there.”
“Worried about losing your notoriety?” Peter teases.
“Something like that,” Neal squirms. “Just try not to advertise it, alright?”
“Yeah, sure. Now let’s go meet that special lady of yours.” With a grin Peter brushes past his consultant, dealing him a pat on the back before opening the door to Annie’s Bar. With Neal in tow, Peter steps inside and pauses.
“I certainly see where you acquired your taste in clothing.” Peter surveys the room that is tightly packed with men in expensive suits and their female counterparts.
“Trust me, this isn’t even remotely how I remember it.” Neal gapes at the noisy after work crowd.
“Is that her?” Peter points out a pretty brunette who has her eyes fixed on his consultant over the rim of her cocktail glass. Neal only shakes his head without even looking in her direction.
“Come on, let me buy you a drink,” he says and steers Peter past the suited patrons to the far end of the oak bar. Neal settles onto a bar stool tucks his chin down and disappears behind the brim of his hat and the leather-bound bar menu.
“Caffrey, we really don’t have time for this.” Peter checks his watch again.
“A few minutes. Please, Peter.”
With a defeated sigh, Peter slumps onto the bar stool next to Neal’s. He scans the beer selection written on the chalkboard above the bar. Then his eyes fall onto a set of small picture frames arranged bottom shelf by the cash register. Peter has looked at enough of Neal’s handiwork to recognize a Caffrey original when it stares at him from a framed cocktail napkin.
“Are those-?“ Peter doesn’t finish his thought because the gray-haired, energetic presence behind the counter is making a beeline for him.
“What can I get you, handsome?” The barmaid slides napkins and coasters in front of the pair.
“I’ll have a pint of the Harvest Ale, please.”
“Beer drinker. My kind of guy.” She winks at Peter then raises an eyebrow at the menu that continues to obscure his consultant’s face. “What’s with your friend? Is he hiding from his ex or dodging his boss?”
“I’m his boss,” Peter replies with a smile. “And I have no idea what’s gotten into him.” He nudges Neal with his elbow. “Tell the nice lady what you want, Neal.”
“A shake and a cheeseburger, please.” Neal announces from behind his menu.
“Honey, we haven’t served shakes here since nineteen-“ The barmaid suddenly falls silent and as she studies Peter’s face, trying to place it among the thousands of guests that must have sat across from her over the years. “What did you say your friend’s name was?” She finally asks.
Peter sits back on his barstool, his face warming with the realization of whom they have come to see.
“This here … is Neal.” His hand settles on Neal’s back. “And something tells me that you’ve already had the questionable pleasure of his company.”
Peter watches Neal try to curb the smile that threatens to split his face as he slowly lowers the menu and raises his eyes at the woman across the counter.
“Hi, Annie,” he says softly.
The woman stares at him, her face inscrutably blank, until Neal’s barely contained grin slowly falters and he begins to uncomfortably shift on his seat.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Annie replies and finally her face lights up. “Neal! You little rascal.”
“Ah, I see you’ve met,” Peter chuckles. Next to him, his consultant’s face is grabbed by a pair of small hands that threaten to pull Neal off his barstool and over the counter.
“Now take that silly hat off and let me look at you, boy.” Annie lifts the trilby from Neal’s head and hands it to Peter. For a second Peter wants to voice his protest at his undeserved demotion to wardrobe assistant, but he keeps quiet when he watches the expression in Annie’s face turn serious and unexpectedly tender as she rakes her fingers through Neal’s hair. “I see you finally got that haircut. It suits you. Makes you look all grown up.”
“I am,” Neal says quietly.
“You’re going to have to give an old hag like me a minute to get used to that thought.” Annie shakes her head with an affectionate smile. “Because in my head you’re still that skinny young lad saying goodbye to me in the parking lot out back. It was snowing and you had that sweater on that was two sizes too large, remember? And you were…” She falls silent as she gently brushes her thumb over his left eyebrow and temple.
Torn between fascination and polite detachment, Peter observes the scene unfolding next to him. There is unspoken understanding and unmissable sadness passing between the older woman and his friend, and for a moment the two of them are lost to Peter and to the present. Then Neal’s gaze flits over to meet Peter’s curious eyes. He folds both of his hands around Annie’s, lowers it from his face to the counter.
“Yeah, I remember,” he says with a distracted smile and a deep, shaky breath.
“Well, it looks like you’ve grown to fill out a nice suit.” Annie squeezes his hands.
“Speaking of suits,” Neal snaps out of whatever memories still lingered. “Annie, I want you to meet Peter.”
“Peter Burke.” Peter extends his hand. “Special Agent Peter Burke, to be exact.”
“FBI?” Annie’s eyes open wide in surprise as she shakes Peter’s hand. She looks at Neal. “So, you’ve become an agent?”
Neal shrugs and throws a pleading glance at Peter.
“Neal’s my right hand man,” Peter confirms.
“And here I was, worrying for all those years.” She reaches across the counter to pinch Neal’s cheek, making him blush. “Let me tell you, Peter, for a while this young man here was on a slippery slope.”
“Oh, I believe it.” Peter smirks and reaps a scowl from his consultant.
“I knew you’d grow up to do great things!” She beams. “Mozzie had his doubts, but I always felt he’d be the perfect guy to get you on the right track.”
“Wait, Mozzie?” Peter raises his eyebrows.
“You’ve met him, Peter?”
“Met him? You wouldn’t believe the stories I could tell-“
“We’ve kept in touch.” Neal hastily interjects, his elbow jabbing Peter’s arm.
“I imagine he wasn’t exactly tickled pink to see you go into law enforcement,” Annie remarks with a surreptitious glance at Peter. Peter only rolls his eyes.
“Don’t worry, the little guy’s immunity is practically written into Neal’s contract.” He levels a finger at Neal. “You better not tell him that!”
Across the bar, Annie chuckles, visibly amused by the pair’s rapport.
“Frankly, I always envisioned you becoming an artist.” She takes his right hand, her flingers playing with his. “I thought you had talent, kid. But I suppose there is something to be said for a real, stable job after … you know … everything.”
Peter looks at his consultant, but Neal’s face is inscrutable.
“Well,” he sighs, “you could say that art crime is Neal’s premier area of expertise.”
“Some things never change,” she replies fondly.
“But some apparently do,” Neal makes a point of looking around the crowded bar. “When has this place turned into a hotspot of yuppiedom?”
“You learn to roll with the punches, my boy,” she shrugs. “We hit a rough patch some ten years ago, thought we had to shut the place for good. But then an investment company from Portland bought an interest in the business. Sent a business consultant who spent a small fortune renovating the place and taught us how to sell fifteen-dollar cocktails! Things were slow for a while but then the neighborhood started to turn around. And here we are.”
“Investment company, huh?” Peter grabs the menu, reads the footer at the bottom of the page. “Steve Tabernacle Enterprises.”
By his side, Neal clears his throat.
“Listen, Annie, we need to get going,” he says regretfully. “Our plane is leaving soon, and I have to get Peter back to his wife before dinner.”
She looks disappointed by nods her understanding.
“Come on, I’ll walk you boys out the backdoor, okay?”
Annie waves them to follow her around the counter and through the kitchen door. She hooks her arm under Neal’s, pressing herself tightly against his side as they weave their way through the kitchen area. When they reach the small parking lot behind the bar, she turns to face him. Unwilling to let go off him, she brushes her palms over the shoulders of his coat then straightens the knot of his tie.
“Such a heartbreaker,” she sighs. Then she pulls him in for a long hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Now don’t you let me wait another eternity for a visit, you hear me, laddie?”
“I promise,” he replies and his voice a little gravelly. “Peter keeps me on a tight schedule, but maybe in couple of years, when my, um, my probationary period is up?”
“I’ll personally put him on the plane back here.” Peter offers a handshake. Annie gives him a quick hug instead.
“Thank you, Peter. You take good care of this kid, okay?”
“Always.” Peter smiles. He puts his hand on the small of his consultant’s back and doesn’t let go until they are back in the street.
“So, there appears to be some riveting history there, Mr. Tabernacle.”
“Hm,” Neal mumbles. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks straight ahead.
“There is no way you’re getting away with not telling me about this, Caffrey. Not after I just lied to a perfectly lovely lady to make you look good.”
“Technically, you didn’t lie.”
“I still did you a favor. And in the interest of fairness-and in the interest of avoiding two weeks of mortgage fraud investigation-you should tell me what you and Mozzie were doing in Chicago God knows how many years ago.”
“I can’t.” Neal shakes his head with determination and a sly grin.
“Why not?”
“Because Mozzie would never forgive me. He loves telling the story of how I fell out of the sky.”
THE END.
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