WC Fic: "Loyalties" (part 1 of 4)
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Title: Loyalties (part 1 of 4)
Author: Ivorysilk
Rating: R
Summary: Organized Crime wants to borrow Neal. Peter, still smarting over Neal's betrayal in order to go after Fowler, has no objections to Neal being out of his hair and someone else’s problem for a while. Neal, on the other hand, is dragging his heels and reluctant to cooperate, but won’t explain exactly why. Peter realizes Neal knows, or at least knew, this perpetrator from his life before, and seems to have a history with him, seems to feel loyal or protective towards him, but doesn’t care. Peter makes sure Neal is aware of his options: doing his job and wearing an orange tie undercover, or not doing his job and wearing an orange jumpsuit for the rest of his life. (Cleaned up slightly from a fic written for this prompt (spoilers) at the anonymous kink meme, which was supposed to be a short thing to break my writer’s block but turned into a 30 plus page thing which is really annoying to post as comment fic so oops? Also being used for my h/c bingo.)
Spoilers: Somewhere post Point Blank.
Warnings (highlight to read): Lack of beta. Language. References to physical brutality, torture, or rape. (not seen on-screen). Adult themes and suchlike. Also being used for my h/c bingo square: "kidnapping".
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, or this universe. I am writing this for my own self-indulgent fun, and because, like Neal, I clearly covet other people's things, even as I know they will never be my own.
Comments, positive or negative, are treasured. Thanks for reading.
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The case file lay between them, Haggerty’s photograph on top. Neal could barely look at it.
Ruiz wanted Neal, thought Neal was the perfect undercover agent: knowledgeable, skilled-and expendable. Peter, who would normally at least try to respect Neal’s wishes, try to understand-Peter, who normally resisted other units using Neal, who tried to protect Neal if necessary--Peter was pushing, pushing … and Neal didn’t know how to tell him no, didn’t know how to explain his reluctance, didn’t know how to ask, just this once, that Peter trust him, without giving him any reason to do so.
Neal knew that after - well, after basically conning Peter and trying to kill Fowler, that Peter wasn’t about to give him the time of day without a damned good reason. His credibility with Peter was now actually worse than it had been when Peter was chasing him, and that wasn’t even an exaggeration.
And now, Neal badly needed for Peter to trust him.
Because he couldn’t take this job. He couldn’t go against Haggerty, couldn’t do anything that would mean he was going against Haggerty. He’d promised, once, that he’d never disobey Haggerty (Haggerty, his voice soft and low in Neal’s ear, had asked him, and so Neal had) and Neal wasn’t sure that if it mattered, when it mattered, that even now he could bring himself to do anything Haggerty wouldn’t like. He just … he just couldn’t. He’d never been able to.
Peter had to understand. Sometimes … even though he worked on this side for now, sometimes what had occurred in the past needed to be respected. Sometimes, the past couldn’t be changed just because Peter said it must.
But this time, Peter refused to understand, refused to see Neal’s signals, refused to listen at all.
"You know him." Peter's voice was cold, hard. “You’re the only one available right now with the right skill set and knowledge to infiltrate this gang, Neal, and yet you’ve all but refused to do so. Even though you know what’s at stake.”
"Peter ... please. I don't -- " Neal tried not to panic. He knew what panic did. A good con never panicked, because that meant, essentially, it was over and it was all your own fault. You had to calculate your risk, because con artists didn’t have safety nets. They couldn’t afford them.
"Just admit it, Neal. You've been dropping hints all day. You're getting sloppy, and I know you. So, if you know this guy, if you’ve got a history, if you were friends or ran together or whatever, just admit it. Because it sure seems like you’ve met him before."
Trapped by Peter’s sharp gaze, Neal gave up, dropping his eyes to confess, "Yeah. I ... I knew him once."
A shared cell, for half a year, six months that had seemed much longer, that had seemed to go on forever. Haggerty bragged every night--about the jobs he'd done, how he worked, how brilliant he was. Neal had listened for hours to Haggerty’s voice, talking on and on and on, about the things he’d done, the things he’d seen, the things he’d procured.
Peter couldn’t know. Neal needed to believe that Peter didn’t know who Haggerty was, not really, and not what he’d been to Neal. Neal needed to know that Peter wouldn’t make him do this, couldn’t make him do this, not if Peter knew the truth about Neal’s relationship with Haggerty. Neal needed to believe.
“He may not remember me,” Neal said, grasping at straws.
Peter snorted disbelievingly. “Sure seems like you remember him.”
Neal tried to keep his face blank, tried not to let any emotion show. Because he had tried to forget. He’d tried.
“I have a good eye for faces,” Neal said, trying to flash a careless, business-as-usual grin. “You know that. Peter, I -- “
"So you can help with this." Peter's voice was unyielding. Neal froze, out of tricks.
"Peter ... please. Please, I am asking you as a friend --" Neal was desperate. The day he'd learnt Haggerty was going to be transferred, that after one last night he might never see Haggerty again, he'd started shaking and couldn't stop, until the night before Haggerty was transferred and Haggerty had made him stop.
"As a friend? Right. That's ... you and I, Neal, you and I are not friends right now, get it? We're at work, and we're here because each of us have to be. But friends ... friends don't con each other. Friends don't -- you know what? We are not having this conversation here. And you are not getting out of this like you do everything else. This is work, and right now, you had better understand which side of the law you are on. You don't get to do what you want when you want and protect your criminal friends here. When your contract is up, when my ass isn't on the line, do whatever you want. But for now, and after the crap you just pulled, you are going to do what I say. And for now, you are going to take this file and get out of here. No--" Peter held up a hand. "I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear why you can't do this or whatever. You will start tomorrow, and so help me, if I find out you spook him, if I find you do anything to jeopardize this case, I'll put you back in prison so fast your head will spin. You understand me?" Peter was looking at him, gaze unrelenting, but there was pain in his eyes if you knew to look.
Neal knew to look. He also knew there was no reasoning with Peter, not in this mood. And--maybe, maybe this is what he deserved. Kate was dead. Mozzie had been badly hurt. Peter hated him, Diana despised him, and Elizabeth was probably scared of him. Maybe this was what he'd earned. He backed down, and picked up the file he'd been afraid to look at. "Yeah Peter. I do. I understand."
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“Well, sweetie, you can’t expect him to just give up his friends like that,” Elizabeth said as she poured the wine before dinner that evening.
“You know, El, I can and I do. He’s working for this side of the law now, and the sooner he understands that he can’t just do whatever he wants the better. He’s had a lot of time to get used to his situation-I can’t just let it slide all the time. You know what’ll happen if he steps out of line, and frankly, I’ve done too much covering for him already. If Reece knew-“ Peter shook his hand out as Elizabeth handed him a pot holder. The dish cover was hot.
“But honey, you know how loyal he is to his friends,” Elizabeth said as she brought over the rest of their meal, setting it down on a trivet.
“He has different loyalties now. He has to.” Peter sat down and began serving himself.
“Have you talked to him about it?” Elizabeth’s tone was reasonable and her question fair, but Peter was having none of it.
“What’s he going to say, El?” he exploded with frustration. “Some other half-truths and lies and glib smiles? Neal can make anything seem reasonable and plausible and before you know it you’ve agreed to letting him do whatever he wants. He has to learn he can’t just-“
“Peter,” Elizabeth interrupted. “Don’t you think you’re being too hard on him? This is Neal. You know how-“
“No. I don’t. I think that’s the problem, I haven’t been hard enough. Maybe some time with Ruiz will fix that.” Peter’s voice was tired, exasperated.
“Well, then, let me ask you this-if the situation were reversed, if it were your friend you had to infiltrate and then sell out, could you do it? Would you be able to live with yourself afterwards? If it were Neal?” Hard questions, and Peter took a moment to consider his answer. Because he knew what he’d already done, for love, for his friends.
For Neal. To cover for Neal. To protect Neal.
“I don’t know, El,” he said finally. “I’d hope it never comes to that, but Neal’s an adult, and so is Haggerty. Neal is no saint, but Haggerty doesn’t even come close. This case is important-we’re not even sure the extent of Haggerty’s reach, but he’s into some really dark stuff. Over the last few days I’ve wondered how Neal ever even came to know Haggerty-Haggerty may be into some of the same things Neal was, but there’s not all that much overlap-Haggerty’s also violent and amoral and whatever Neal may be, he has morals. Not the same ones as you and I, mind, but he has some. Haggerty’s the kind of guy who’d kill his own mother and chop her into pieces without a qualm.”
“No. Neal’s not like that. Not at all.” Elizabeth sounded worried.
“I have no idea how Neal feels he would owe any loyalty to anyone like that at all.” Now doubt was creeping in, because as he said the words, Peter realized that it was unlike Neal to be friends with that kind of man. And as he spoke, he realized that he hadn’t let Neal explain-and that in the past, Neal’s history with his fellow criminals, particularly violent ones, wasn’t as friendly as all that.
“Then, sweetie,” said Elizabeth wisely, “don’t you think you owe it to him to find out?”
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“You’re an idiot,” said Mozzie. “Seriously, Neal, you need to re-consider what you’re doing.” Mozzie played with the controls on the hospital bed. There was a position that allowed him to still see Neal without feeling like everything was straining too - there.
“It won’t be so bad, Moz. Remember, I’ll have the entire FBI watching out for me.” Neal had been pacing, but eventually plopped himself down-well, gracefully, Neal was nothing if not always ostentatiously graceful-in the hard plastic chair by the bed.
“You think I trust a bunch of Suits with anything, least-wise ensuring you, a criminal need I remind you, are kept safe and secure? Neal, I am not joking. You need to talk to the Suit.” Mozzie tried to look Neal in the eye, but Neal wasn’t looking at him and Mozzie didn’t exactly have a good angle for it.
“He didn’t want to hear it, Moz.” Neal sounded upset, but only barely, and only if you really knew Neal.
“Did you tell him who Haggerty is?” Mozzie knew how Neal could be.
“He knows who Haggerty is.” Neal smiled, then, rueful yet bright.
“Neal. Don’t be dense. Did you tell him what Haggerty is to you?” Sometimes, Mozzie agreed with Alex--he wanted to just shake Neal.
“He’s someone I shared a cell with. Don’t read more into this than it - “ Neal was now trying that old lie again.
“Neal, come on. I was there that year, remember? I visited you at the prison and in the infirmary. I worked on your transfer application. Kate used to come to me, crying, after visiting with you there. I remember, Neal.” Mozzie tried to make his voice gentle. He remembered that year, where Neal had seemed to grow thinner, less able to hide the marks and bruises, week by week. He wondered that Neal would have thought he could forget.
“Kate used to cry? She never-“ Neal raised startled blue eyes to Mozzie, his eyes flashing with grief and pain, as they often did whenever he mentioned Kate, he remembered Kate, something reminded him (so many things reminded him) of Kate.
“There was nothing she could do, and she didn’t want you to know that she knew, she didn’t want you to worry you were upsetting her,” Mozzie said, still very gently. “You had enough to deal with. Neal, you really can’t do this.”
“Peter’s right, Moz. I’ve had it pretty easy until now, and I’ve screwed up big-time. He wants to know if I can play the game, if I can do as I’m told rather than picking and choosing. You know he’s right--it’s time I earned my keep. And what am I going to tell him, anyway, huh? I can’t talk to him, Moz. Not about this.” Neal had turned his head away, and from his hospital bed, Mozzie ached to reach out to him, to turn his focus back to the issue, to not allow Neal to run from this. He couldn’t run from this.
“You have to talk to him, Neal, exactly about this. Have you even been able to read the file?” Neal’s issue-a large part of it, anyway-was that he’d never been able to admit what had happened to him in those months he’d shared a cell with Haggerty. Even at the time, getting him to cooperate with the transfer application, no matter Neal’s desperation to get back into a cell of his own, had been frustrating.
“I’ll read it.” Neal was smiling now, his broad and brilliant deflecting grin.
But Mozzie had known him too long and too well to allow Neal to evade him so easily. “Neal. Neal, my friend, you-“
“Moz. It’ll be fine.” And now Neal’s voice had that stubborn don’t-push-me edge that Mozzie recognized meant that there was no reasoning with him, not anymore. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later, Moz.”
And Mozzie was protesting, and calling Neal’s name, but he was stuck in a hospital bed and there was nothing he could do as Neal walked out of the room and back to his own personal hell.
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Neal couldn’t sleep. Much as he tried to tell himself that it had been years ago, that Haggerty couldn’t, wouldn’t touch him now, that Haggerty was nothing more than yet another mark-he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop his mind from its image of Haggerty as someone who symbolized fear and terror, who had haunted his nights for months even after Haggerty’s release, after Neal’s transfer back to supermax and a solitary cell (thank you, Moz!) and even after Peter had sprung him. He tried to tell himself that Haggerty wouldn’t even remember him, wouldn’t even recognize him now-strong and healthy and well-dressed, a far cry from the sniveling, weak wreck he’d been in those days.
The case file lay untouched on his dining table. He would open it, read it, study it in the morning, he told himself. He would. Everything was fine-just another op. He was part of the Bureau now-protected, part of the team, an asset. He wasn’t someone society wanted to forget, not anymore.
But he kind of was, right now. He hadn’t heard from Elizabeth in weeks, not that she’d ever really been the one to initiate contact with him anyway, but Peter never mentioned her either, never passed on any wishes from her. Peter actually looked at him like he wanted to forget he existed, sometimes, nowadays. Neal caught himself wondering, more and more frequently, if Peter wished he could rescind their agreement, and wasn’t sure if there was anything he could do to make Peter want him again. Diana just made it known he was angry with Neal, and whereas before Jones had treated him like a friend and colleague, now he was treated with little more than professional indifference. As for his crew--Mozzie was laid up in a hospital bed, and that was entirely Neal’s fault. Alex had spooked and fled. And as for Kate, his Kate--Kate was gone, and the world had moved on right past her. Sometimes he felt like he was the only one who remembered her laugh, the way her hair fell in her eyes when she got up in the morning, her perfect little grin when she hacked into yet another supposedly secure system. Kate wasn’t waiting for him anymore, she didn’t love him anymore. She wasn’t coming back, either.
His mind kept turning in circles, but he wasn’t finding any answers. So when he got a call from Jones at a little past three in the morning, telling him that Ruiz had wanted his ass down at the Federal Plaza before yesterday, he was wide awake and more than ready to get the show on the road.
Just before he walked out the door, he remembered the file, and stuffed it in his bag. He’d tell them he hadn’t had time to read it. Preparation was everything, but he hadn’t had time, he’d say, and hopefully this time, it didn’t matter. He’d ask Jones or Ruiz would brief him on the pertinent info when he got there, and before they asked him to do whatever it was they were going to ask him to do.
Because it wasn’t like Neal didn’t already know more than he’d ever wanted to about Thomas Joseph Haggerty.
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When Peter arrived at the office the next morning, a little later than usual (he’d had a dentist appointment, and Elizabeth would have given him more grief than it was worth if he’d cancelled again), he arrived to chaos. They were working with Organized Crime for this op, and Agent Ruiz-who was technically the agent in charge--had already contacted Neal. What that meant was that Neal had already been wired and set up and sent out, hours ago. They’d had a break in the case in the early morning hours, and since Peter had so efficiently sent in the paperwork authorizing Neal’s assistance last night-well, Ruiz hadn’t wanted to waste time.
Peter couldn’t blame him, exactly. It was what he would have done, had he been the lead on a case as sensitive as this. It was what he would have done, had he learned what Ruiz had learned last night.
At the same time, Peter was extremely frustrated-Neal had been sent out without a thorough briefing, and without the precautions Peter himself always took with any agent going out into the field. Had Peter been in charge, he would have would have checked out the intel first, would have made sure the risk to his people-any of his people--would be minimal.
Besides, after considering El’s words the night before, he had wanted a chance to talk to Neal before he’d gone out. He’d wanted to hear the explanation, find out why exactly Neal had been so reluctant to participate in this case, find out what exactly Neal’s history had been with Haggerty. Had Neal just done some freelance work for him-a few forgeries, a couple of thefts? Or had Neal done anything more? What kind of relationship did they have, why did Neal feel he owed this scumbag anything at all? Did Haggerty have-and a cold thread of fear worked its way in here, past the anger that had been clouding his judgment regarding Neal the last few days-any kind of hold over Neal? Should he be, as El had suggested, worried for Neal’s safety any more than he normally was?
Calm down, Peter, he told himself. This is just another job. Neal’s done these kinds of things-both before the Bureau and since-hundreds of times. You’re over-thinking things.
And then his cell phone rang. The caller I.D. read ‘M. Diaz’. He didn’t recognize the name.
“Suit,” came Haversham’s voice over the phone. “This is not a secure line. But we had a deal, and as I’ve been lowered to stealing from my caretakers, and as there is no telling if Big Brother is listening, I must be brief.”
“Or you could just get on with it, Haversham. Aren’t you in the hospital? And what’s Caffrey done now?” Why did Haversham always have the very worst timing?
“Caffrey is it? What happened to Neal your friend? And you should give me some credit-sneaking a phone from a sweet, over-worked medical staff person is scarcely an adequate test of my skill. And what makes you think that Neal has done anything at all?” Haversham’s pedantic voice was seriously grating on Peter’s nerves.
Distracted as some probie handed him coffee, and Diana gestured with a case file, Peter walked and talked. “Why else would you be calling me? So what is it this time? And you know, she might have just leant you the phone if you’d asked.”
Haversham ignored him, saying instead, “A wise man once said that three may keep a secret if two of them are dead.” Diana grinned as Peter rolled his eyes. He waved her off, indicating that he needed a minute.
“Are we back to that quote thing, again? Who is it this time, Emerson? Listen, if you’re going to give me information, just give me information. Or are you going to try to argue about the honour amongst thieves thing again?” The man had been badly injured, and so Peter tried to be patient with Neal’s little friend, he really did.
“No, and Franklin-Benjamin, of course, not Thomas. My point, Suit, is far more literal. Namely, that in this case, certain information may in fact remain a secret when two of the three involved may end up dead. Or worse.” Peter wondered how hard Haversham had to work at always being so cryptic. Or at being so damned irritating.
“Haversham, I don’t have time for this. What happened to brief?” Diana was gesturing more urgently in front of Peter’s office.
“Maybe I should just get to the point,” Haverhsam stated.
“That would be fantastic,” muttered Peter.
Haversham ignored him again, as Haversham was often wont to do. “Suit, do you know how Haggerty and Neal met?” Haversham’s tone was that of painstakingly casual inquiry. It made Peter want to grind his teeth.
“No, and why should I care?” he managed to bite out instead, squelching the urge to hang up on the little man. He knew that if Haversham had bothered to contact him-from the hospital, when fairly badly injured and on an unsecured line, no less-it must have been important.
“They met in prison, Suit, when Neal was downgraded-briefly-to close security. Haggerty was in for six months for tax evasion; it’s all they could get him on.”
Peter was confused. Neal had been downgraded, and he hadn’t even tried to escape? Had he been running a con from prison? “I didn’t know about--”
“They shared a cell, Suit.” Haversham’s tone was flat.
Peter’s blood ran cold. “They what-I didn’t know about-what exactly are you saying, Haversham?” Doesn’t need to mean anything, Peter thought. Please don’t let it mean anything.
“I’m telling you that that’s how they met. They shared a cell.” Haverhsam’s voice remained calm. How could he be so calm? Peter’s mind was racing.
“So they were roommates. Shared war stories. They probably had a lot in common, both being, you know, criminals. Doesn’t need to mean anything.” I put him there, thought Peter. I put Neal there.
“Maybe not, Suit. Maybe not. Maybe they were just business associates. And maybe the five times that Neal ended up in the infirmary during those six months were just a coincidence, too.”
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On to part two ...
On to part three.
On to part four.
Title: Loyalties (part 1 of 4)
Author: Ivorysilk
Rating: R
Summary: Organized Crime wants to borrow Neal. Peter, still smarting over Neal's betrayal in order to go after Fowler, has no objections to Neal being out of his hair and someone else’s problem for a while. Neal, on the other hand, is dragging his heels and reluctant to cooperate, but won’t explain exactly why. Peter realizes Neal knows, or at least knew, this perpetrator from his life before, and seems to have a history with him, seems to feel loyal or protective towards him, but doesn’t care. Peter makes sure Neal is aware of his options: doing his job and wearing an orange tie undercover, or not doing his job and wearing an orange jumpsuit for the rest of his life. (Cleaned up slightly from a fic written for this prompt (spoilers) at the anonymous kink meme, which was supposed to be a short thing to break my writer’s block but turned into a 30 plus page thing which is really annoying to post as comment fic so oops? Also being used for my h/c bingo.)
Spoilers: Somewhere post Point Blank.
Warnings (highlight to read): Lack of beta. Language. References to physical brutality, torture, or rape. (not seen on-screen). Adult themes and suchlike. Also being used for my h/c bingo square: "kidnapping".
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, or this universe. I am writing this for my own self-indulgent fun, and because, like Neal, I clearly covet other people's things, even as I know they will never be my own.
Comments, positive or negative, are treasured. Thanks for reading.
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The case file lay between them, Haggerty’s photograph on top. Neal could barely look at it.
Ruiz wanted Neal, thought Neal was the perfect undercover agent: knowledgeable, skilled-and expendable. Peter, who would normally at least try to respect Neal’s wishes, try to understand-Peter, who normally resisted other units using Neal, who tried to protect Neal if necessary--Peter was pushing, pushing … and Neal didn’t know how to tell him no, didn’t know how to explain his reluctance, didn’t know how to ask, just this once, that Peter trust him, without giving him any reason to do so.
Neal knew that after - well, after basically conning Peter and trying to kill Fowler, that Peter wasn’t about to give him the time of day without a damned good reason. His credibility with Peter was now actually worse than it had been when Peter was chasing him, and that wasn’t even an exaggeration.
And now, Neal badly needed for Peter to trust him.
Because he couldn’t take this job. He couldn’t go against Haggerty, couldn’t do anything that would mean he was going against Haggerty. He’d promised, once, that he’d never disobey Haggerty (Haggerty, his voice soft and low in Neal’s ear, had asked him, and so Neal had) and Neal wasn’t sure that if it mattered, when it mattered, that even now he could bring himself to do anything Haggerty wouldn’t like. He just … he just couldn’t. He’d never been able to.
Peter had to understand. Sometimes … even though he worked on this side for now, sometimes what had occurred in the past needed to be respected. Sometimes, the past couldn’t be changed just because Peter said it must.
But this time, Peter refused to understand, refused to see Neal’s signals, refused to listen at all.
"You know him." Peter's voice was cold, hard. “You’re the only one available right now with the right skill set and knowledge to infiltrate this gang, Neal, and yet you’ve all but refused to do so. Even though you know what’s at stake.”
"Peter ... please. I don't -- " Neal tried not to panic. He knew what panic did. A good con never panicked, because that meant, essentially, it was over and it was all your own fault. You had to calculate your risk, because con artists didn’t have safety nets. They couldn’t afford them.
"Just admit it, Neal. You've been dropping hints all day. You're getting sloppy, and I know you. So, if you know this guy, if you’ve got a history, if you were friends or ran together or whatever, just admit it. Because it sure seems like you’ve met him before."
Trapped by Peter’s sharp gaze, Neal gave up, dropping his eyes to confess, "Yeah. I ... I knew him once."
A shared cell, for half a year, six months that had seemed much longer, that had seemed to go on forever. Haggerty bragged every night--about the jobs he'd done, how he worked, how brilliant he was. Neal had listened for hours to Haggerty’s voice, talking on and on and on, about the things he’d done, the things he’d seen, the things he’d procured.
Peter couldn’t know. Neal needed to believe that Peter didn’t know who Haggerty was, not really, and not what he’d been to Neal. Neal needed to know that Peter wouldn’t make him do this, couldn’t make him do this, not if Peter knew the truth about Neal’s relationship with Haggerty. Neal needed to believe.
“He may not remember me,” Neal said, grasping at straws.
Peter snorted disbelievingly. “Sure seems like you remember him.”
Neal tried to keep his face blank, tried not to let any emotion show. Because he had tried to forget. He’d tried.
“I have a good eye for faces,” Neal said, trying to flash a careless, business-as-usual grin. “You know that. Peter, I -- “
"So you can help with this." Peter's voice was unyielding. Neal froze, out of tricks.
"Peter ... please. Please, I am asking you as a friend --" Neal was desperate. The day he'd learnt Haggerty was going to be transferred, that after one last night he might never see Haggerty again, he'd started shaking and couldn't stop, until the night before Haggerty was transferred and Haggerty had made him stop.
"As a friend? Right. That's ... you and I, Neal, you and I are not friends right now, get it? We're at work, and we're here because each of us have to be. But friends ... friends don't con each other. Friends don't -- you know what? We are not having this conversation here. And you are not getting out of this like you do everything else. This is work, and right now, you had better understand which side of the law you are on. You don't get to do what you want when you want and protect your criminal friends here. When your contract is up, when my ass isn't on the line, do whatever you want. But for now, and after the crap you just pulled, you are going to do what I say. And for now, you are going to take this file and get out of here. No--" Peter held up a hand. "I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear why you can't do this or whatever. You will start tomorrow, and so help me, if I find out you spook him, if I find you do anything to jeopardize this case, I'll put you back in prison so fast your head will spin. You understand me?" Peter was looking at him, gaze unrelenting, but there was pain in his eyes if you knew to look.
Neal knew to look. He also knew there was no reasoning with Peter, not in this mood. And--maybe, maybe this is what he deserved. Kate was dead. Mozzie had been badly hurt. Peter hated him, Diana despised him, and Elizabeth was probably scared of him. Maybe this was what he'd earned. He backed down, and picked up the file he'd been afraid to look at. "Yeah Peter. I do. I understand."
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“Well, sweetie, you can’t expect him to just give up his friends like that,” Elizabeth said as she poured the wine before dinner that evening.
“You know, El, I can and I do. He’s working for this side of the law now, and the sooner he understands that he can’t just do whatever he wants the better. He’s had a lot of time to get used to his situation-I can’t just let it slide all the time. You know what’ll happen if he steps out of line, and frankly, I’ve done too much covering for him already. If Reece knew-“ Peter shook his hand out as Elizabeth handed him a pot holder. The dish cover was hot.
“But honey, you know how loyal he is to his friends,” Elizabeth said as she brought over the rest of their meal, setting it down on a trivet.
“He has different loyalties now. He has to.” Peter sat down and began serving himself.
“Have you talked to him about it?” Elizabeth’s tone was reasonable and her question fair, but Peter was having none of it.
“What’s he going to say, El?” he exploded with frustration. “Some other half-truths and lies and glib smiles? Neal can make anything seem reasonable and plausible and before you know it you’ve agreed to letting him do whatever he wants. He has to learn he can’t just-“
“Peter,” Elizabeth interrupted. “Don’t you think you’re being too hard on him? This is Neal. You know how-“
“No. I don’t. I think that’s the problem, I haven’t been hard enough. Maybe some time with Ruiz will fix that.” Peter’s voice was tired, exasperated.
“Well, then, let me ask you this-if the situation were reversed, if it were your friend you had to infiltrate and then sell out, could you do it? Would you be able to live with yourself afterwards? If it were Neal?” Hard questions, and Peter took a moment to consider his answer. Because he knew what he’d already done, for love, for his friends.
For Neal. To cover for Neal. To protect Neal.
“I don’t know, El,” he said finally. “I’d hope it never comes to that, but Neal’s an adult, and so is Haggerty. Neal is no saint, but Haggerty doesn’t even come close. This case is important-we’re not even sure the extent of Haggerty’s reach, but he’s into some really dark stuff. Over the last few days I’ve wondered how Neal ever even came to know Haggerty-Haggerty may be into some of the same things Neal was, but there’s not all that much overlap-Haggerty’s also violent and amoral and whatever Neal may be, he has morals. Not the same ones as you and I, mind, but he has some. Haggerty’s the kind of guy who’d kill his own mother and chop her into pieces without a qualm.”
“No. Neal’s not like that. Not at all.” Elizabeth sounded worried.
“I have no idea how Neal feels he would owe any loyalty to anyone like that at all.” Now doubt was creeping in, because as he said the words, Peter realized that it was unlike Neal to be friends with that kind of man. And as he spoke, he realized that he hadn’t let Neal explain-and that in the past, Neal’s history with his fellow criminals, particularly violent ones, wasn’t as friendly as all that.
“Then, sweetie,” said Elizabeth wisely, “don’t you think you owe it to him to find out?”
****************************
“You’re an idiot,” said Mozzie. “Seriously, Neal, you need to re-consider what you’re doing.” Mozzie played with the controls on the hospital bed. There was a position that allowed him to still see Neal without feeling like everything was straining too - there.
“It won’t be so bad, Moz. Remember, I’ll have the entire FBI watching out for me.” Neal had been pacing, but eventually plopped himself down-well, gracefully, Neal was nothing if not always ostentatiously graceful-in the hard plastic chair by the bed.
“You think I trust a bunch of Suits with anything, least-wise ensuring you, a criminal need I remind you, are kept safe and secure? Neal, I am not joking. You need to talk to the Suit.” Mozzie tried to look Neal in the eye, but Neal wasn’t looking at him and Mozzie didn’t exactly have a good angle for it.
“He didn’t want to hear it, Moz.” Neal sounded upset, but only barely, and only if you really knew Neal.
“Did you tell him who Haggerty is?” Mozzie knew how Neal could be.
“He knows who Haggerty is.” Neal smiled, then, rueful yet bright.
“Neal. Don’t be dense. Did you tell him what Haggerty is to you?” Sometimes, Mozzie agreed with Alex--he wanted to just shake Neal.
“He’s someone I shared a cell with. Don’t read more into this than it - “ Neal was now trying that old lie again.
“Neal, come on. I was there that year, remember? I visited you at the prison and in the infirmary. I worked on your transfer application. Kate used to come to me, crying, after visiting with you there. I remember, Neal.” Mozzie tried to make his voice gentle. He remembered that year, where Neal had seemed to grow thinner, less able to hide the marks and bruises, week by week. He wondered that Neal would have thought he could forget.
“Kate used to cry? She never-“ Neal raised startled blue eyes to Mozzie, his eyes flashing with grief and pain, as they often did whenever he mentioned Kate, he remembered Kate, something reminded him (so many things reminded him) of Kate.
“There was nothing she could do, and she didn’t want you to know that she knew, she didn’t want you to worry you were upsetting her,” Mozzie said, still very gently. “You had enough to deal with. Neal, you really can’t do this.”
“Peter’s right, Moz. I’ve had it pretty easy until now, and I’ve screwed up big-time. He wants to know if I can play the game, if I can do as I’m told rather than picking and choosing. You know he’s right--it’s time I earned my keep. And what am I going to tell him, anyway, huh? I can’t talk to him, Moz. Not about this.” Neal had turned his head away, and from his hospital bed, Mozzie ached to reach out to him, to turn his focus back to the issue, to not allow Neal to run from this. He couldn’t run from this.
“You have to talk to him, Neal, exactly about this. Have you even been able to read the file?” Neal’s issue-a large part of it, anyway-was that he’d never been able to admit what had happened to him in those months he’d shared a cell with Haggerty. Even at the time, getting him to cooperate with the transfer application, no matter Neal’s desperation to get back into a cell of his own, had been frustrating.
“I’ll read it.” Neal was smiling now, his broad and brilliant deflecting grin.
But Mozzie had known him too long and too well to allow Neal to evade him so easily. “Neal. Neal, my friend, you-“
“Moz. It’ll be fine.” And now Neal’s voice had that stubborn don’t-push-me edge that Mozzie recognized meant that there was no reasoning with him, not anymore. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later, Moz.”
And Mozzie was protesting, and calling Neal’s name, but he was stuck in a hospital bed and there was nothing he could do as Neal walked out of the room and back to his own personal hell.
****************************************
Neal couldn’t sleep. Much as he tried to tell himself that it had been years ago, that Haggerty couldn’t, wouldn’t touch him now, that Haggerty was nothing more than yet another mark-he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop his mind from its image of Haggerty as someone who symbolized fear and terror, who had haunted his nights for months even after Haggerty’s release, after Neal’s transfer back to supermax and a solitary cell (thank you, Moz!) and even after Peter had sprung him. He tried to tell himself that Haggerty wouldn’t even remember him, wouldn’t even recognize him now-strong and healthy and well-dressed, a far cry from the sniveling, weak wreck he’d been in those days.
The case file lay untouched on his dining table. He would open it, read it, study it in the morning, he told himself. He would. Everything was fine-just another op. He was part of the Bureau now-protected, part of the team, an asset. He wasn’t someone society wanted to forget, not anymore.
But he kind of was, right now. He hadn’t heard from Elizabeth in weeks, not that she’d ever really been the one to initiate contact with him anyway, but Peter never mentioned her either, never passed on any wishes from her. Peter actually looked at him like he wanted to forget he existed, sometimes, nowadays. Neal caught himself wondering, more and more frequently, if Peter wished he could rescind their agreement, and wasn’t sure if there was anything he could do to make Peter want him again. Diana just made it known he was angry with Neal, and whereas before Jones had treated him like a friend and colleague, now he was treated with little more than professional indifference. As for his crew--Mozzie was laid up in a hospital bed, and that was entirely Neal’s fault. Alex had spooked and fled. And as for Kate, his Kate--Kate was gone, and the world had moved on right past her. Sometimes he felt like he was the only one who remembered her laugh, the way her hair fell in her eyes when she got up in the morning, her perfect little grin when she hacked into yet another supposedly secure system. Kate wasn’t waiting for him anymore, she didn’t love him anymore. She wasn’t coming back, either.
His mind kept turning in circles, but he wasn’t finding any answers. So when he got a call from Jones at a little past three in the morning, telling him that Ruiz had wanted his ass down at the Federal Plaza before yesterday, he was wide awake and more than ready to get the show on the road.
Just before he walked out the door, he remembered the file, and stuffed it in his bag. He’d tell them he hadn’t had time to read it. Preparation was everything, but he hadn’t had time, he’d say, and hopefully this time, it didn’t matter. He’d ask Jones or Ruiz would brief him on the pertinent info when he got there, and before they asked him to do whatever it was they were going to ask him to do.
Because it wasn’t like Neal didn’t already know more than he’d ever wanted to about Thomas Joseph Haggerty.
********************************
When Peter arrived at the office the next morning, a little later than usual (he’d had a dentist appointment, and Elizabeth would have given him more grief than it was worth if he’d cancelled again), he arrived to chaos. They were working with Organized Crime for this op, and Agent Ruiz-who was technically the agent in charge--had already contacted Neal. What that meant was that Neal had already been wired and set up and sent out, hours ago. They’d had a break in the case in the early morning hours, and since Peter had so efficiently sent in the paperwork authorizing Neal’s assistance last night-well, Ruiz hadn’t wanted to waste time.
Peter couldn’t blame him, exactly. It was what he would have done, had he been the lead on a case as sensitive as this. It was what he would have done, had he learned what Ruiz had learned last night.
At the same time, Peter was extremely frustrated-Neal had been sent out without a thorough briefing, and without the precautions Peter himself always took with any agent going out into the field. Had Peter been in charge, he would have would have checked out the intel first, would have made sure the risk to his people-any of his people--would be minimal.
Besides, after considering El’s words the night before, he had wanted a chance to talk to Neal before he’d gone out. He’d wanted to hear the explanation, find out why exactly Neal had been so reluctant to participate in this case, find out what exactly Neal’s history had been with Haggerty. Had Neal just done some freelance work for him-a few forgeries, a couple of thefts? Or had Neal done anything more? What kind of relationship did they have, why did Neal feel he owed this scumbag anything at all? Did Haggerty have-and a cold thread of fear worked its way in here, past the anger that had been clouding his judgment regarding Neal the last few days-any kind of hold over Neal? Should he be, as El had suggested, worried for Neal’s safety any more than he normally was?
Calm down, Peter, he told himself. This is just another job. Neal’s done these kinds of things-both before the Bureau and since-hundreds of times. You’re over-thinking things.
And then his cell phone rang. The caller I.D. read ‘M. Diaz’. He didn’t recognize the name.
“Suit,” came Haversham’s voice over the phone. “This is not a secure line. But we had a deal, and as I’ve been lowered to stealing from my caretakers, and as there is no telling if Big Brother is listening, I must be brief.”
“Or you could just get on with it, Haversham. Aren’t you in the hospital? And what’s Caffrey done now?” Why did Haversham always have the very worst timing?
“Caffrey is it? What happened to Neal your friend? And you should give me some credit-sneaking a phone from a sweet, over-worked medical staff person is scarcely an adequate test of my skill. And what makes you think that Neal has done anything at all?” Haversham’s pedantic voice was seriously grating on Peter’s nerves.
Distracted as some probie handed him coffee, and Diana gestured with a case file, Peter walked and talked. “Why else would you be calling me? So what is it this time? And you know, she might have just leant you the phone if you’d asked.”
Haversham ignored him, saying instead, “A wise man once said that three may keep a secret if two of them are dead.” Diana grinned as Peter rolled his eyes. He waved her off, indicating that he needed a minute.
“Are we back to that quote thing, again? Who is it this time, Emerson? Listen, if you’re going to give me information, just give me information. Or are you going to try to argue about the honour amongst thieves thing again?” The man had been badly injured, and so Peter tried to be patient with Neal’s little friend, he really did.
“No, and Franklin-Benjamin, of course, not Thomas. My point, Suit, is far more literal. Namely, that in this case, certain information may in fact remain a secret when two of the three involved may end up dead. Or worse.” Peter wondered how hard Haversham had to work at always being so cryptic. Or at being so damned irritating.
“Haversham, I don’t have time for this. What happened to brief?” Diana was gesturing more urgently in front of Peter’s office.
“Maybe I should just get to the point,” Haverhsam stated.
“That would be fantastic,” muttered Peter.
Haversham ignored him again, as Haversham was often wont to do. “Suit, do you know how Haggerty and Neal met?” Haversham’s tone was that of painstakingly casual inquiry. It made Peter want to grind his teeth.
“No, and why should I care?” he managed to bite out instead, squelching the urge to hang up on the little man. He knew that if Haversham had bothered to contact him-from the hospital, when fairly badly injured and on an unsecured line, no less-it must have been important.
“They met in prison, Suit, when Neal was downgraded-briefly-to close security. Haggerty was in for six months for tax evasion; it’s all they could get him on.”
Peter was confused. Neal had been downgraded, and he hadn’t even tried to escape? Had he been running a con from prison? “I didn’t know about--”
“They shared a cell, Suit.” Haversham’s tone was flat.
Peter’s blood ran cold. “They what-I didn’t know about-what exactly are you saying, Haversham?” Doesn’t need to mean anything, Peter thought. Please don’t let it mean anything.
“I’m telling you that that’s how they met. They shared a cell.” Haverhsam’s voice remained calm. How could he be so calm? Peter’s mind was racing.
“So they were roommates. Shared war stories. They probably had a lot in common, both being, you know, criminals. Doesn’t need to mean anything.” I put him there, thought Peter. I put Neal there.
“Maybe not, Suit. Maybe not. Maybe they were just business associates. And maybe the five times that Neal ended up in the infirmary during those six months were just a coincidence, too.”
*********************************************
On to part two ...
On to part three.
On to part four.