Wherever You Happen to Be: Chapter 14
For Chapter 13, click HERE
“Reese, I’d really love to know what your interest is in this case,” said the District Attorney.
“Well, we stumbled upon some information looking into something else. It seemed only appropriate to pass it on.”
“Well, we’ve contacted his attorney. Actually, his attorney is deceased, but his daughter has taken over her father’s practice. She’s going to go through her files and get back to us, but so far, everything you’ve given us has panned out. What are they putting in your water coolers down there?”
“Scotch!” said Reese, and they hung up laughing. He stepped to the door and motioned for Peter, who nodded and indicated he’d finish his briefing with Diana and Clinton later. Reese waved them all over, mouthing, “Bring them!”
They trooped over obediently and looked at him.
“That was the DA, and it looks very likely that the charges against Karl Cadman Marsden are going to be dropped in light of new evidence received.” He looked at Peter. “Have you talked to Kramer at all?”
Peter shook his head. “The last time I spoke to Kramer was when I went up there to see Neal and he wasn’t there.” Everyone in the room squirmed a little, knowing the truth of Peter’s eventual visit with Neal. “We had words-I left mad. So, no. I haven’t talked to him.”
“Well, there’s something else that you all don’t know,” said Reese. They shuffled nervously, exchanging glances. “Did you ever ask yourself why Kramer was keeping Neal on such a short leash up there?"
“Because-“ Diana began, and then realized that she might not be comfortable speaking as freely in Reese Hughes’ office as she was in Peter's. “Not really, sir-why?”
“Well, Peter here knows-which I suppose means that both of you know, that Kramer’s plan is to keep Neal on the anklet with additional charges.”
“He said Neal had a lot of skeletons,” Peter said. “And he was going to use whatever he found.”
“Well, what Kramer has is a lot of suspicions, and a lot of rumor. Now, I suspect,” he said, looking hard at Peter, “that some of what he knows is actually true, but I also know for a fact that some of the things he’s been trying to pin on Neal were done by someone else.”
“So…what are you saying, sir?” asked Clinton.
“I’m saying, ‘The leg bone doesn’t seem to be connecting to the anklebone’ the way Kramer hoped it would. I’m saying Kramer hasn’t found anything else he can pin on Neal. Now, when he went up before the Board, he was making all sorts of innuendo, all sorts of smoke, but the fire hasn’t materialized. I don’t think they would have approved Kramer’s deal unless they thought-like Kramer thought-that he had the goods to keep Caffrey a long time.” He paused and shuffled papers from one side of his desk to the other, then cleared his throat. “It will probably cause a stink cloud the size of Hiroshima, but tomorrow morning I’m going to go to Bruce and the Board and everyone else and make them give us our C.I. back!” he thundered.
In the silence that followed, Diana raised her hand. “Yes, Agent Berrigan?”
“Um, Sir, would it be okay to cheer now?”
Reese waved them away. “Only if you do it outside my office. Peter, when the paperwork comes through, you want to go and get him yourself? Might be fun to see Kramer’s face.”
“It’ll be pretty good to see Neal’s face,” Peter said. “Thanks, Reese.”
“My pleasure,” he said, and waved them out without looking up.
****
It was midmorning in the Art Crimes Division when the doors were pushed open and Special Agent Peter Burke from White Collar in New York walked in. There was a ripple through the office, but the desk where Neal usually sat was empty. Peter’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment he wondered what the devil Kramer thought he was pulling, but then Neal’s face appeared out of the conference room door, followed by the familiar heads of Agent Matthews and red-headed Agent Scooperton. Neal’s face broke into a wide grin, but he tamped it down almost immediately at a look from Peter. Peter waved Neal back and mounted the steps to Kramer’s office with alacrity.
Kramer met him at the door, and the two men exchanged hard looks, then Peter stood still and handed Kramer an envelope from his breast pocket.
“What is this?” Kramer demanded.
“It’s an order returning Neal Caffrey to my custody as my Confidential Informant,” Peter said. Kramer ripped open the seal and read, his expression growing dark.
“This is-you can’t do this.”
“I am doing this,” said Peter. “It’s already done. I’m just here to take him home.”
“But…I told you what would happen if you defied me. I told you I’d find something else to charge Neal with, something that will-“
“If you could have, you’d have done it by now. And you are formally forbidden to dig through his files unless you have reasonable cause or new evidence comes to light.”
“I-we’ve cracked those codes between him and Kate,” Kramer said, indignant.
“I think you’ll find that none of the works of art referenced in those codes is missing any longer. I understand they made an amazing discovering just a few weeks ago in a farmhouse outside of Prague. No missing art, no crime to investigate.”
“You won’t get away with this,” Kramer said, his face mottled with rage.
“I will, and you know why? Because I’m on the side of justice. You made this a personal vendetta, and there’s no room in the law for a personal vendetta.”
“I follow the law!” Kramer snapped. “I only do what the law allows.”
“I agree-and that’s the problem! You’re skimming along the edge of the law, fulfilling the letter but not the intent.”
“You’d know about intent, I’ll wager!”
“I would, yes! You know as well as I do that sometimes justice is better served by grace than legalism.”
“That’s your problem, Peter-all carrot and no stick, huh?”
“Not what I’m saying!”
“Then what are you saying? Spit it out, man!”
“I’m saying if you treat your C.I. like a criminal, that’s all he’ll ever be. If you give him choices-“
“I gave him choices! I gave him plenty of choices! And after all that, after everything I’d done for KC, he turned on me, betrayed me without even-“ Kramer broke off abruptly, looking confused. “I mean…I mean….”
Peter’s voice was gentle. “I think we both know what you mean.”
Kramer looked shaken, off-balance, and his breathing was rough and labored. “Not-not what it looks like,” he muttered, reaching for his tie. He swung his head from side to side as though looking for something, and his eyes grew confused. His face had gone gray, pasty, and he struggled for composure.
“Phil?”
Kramer’s eyes swung toward Peter but they were empty, vacant of understanding. “Not what it looks like….” Kramer said again, and crumpled to the floor.
Thunderstruck, Peter closed the distance between them and knelt by his old mentor’s side, checking for a pulse. It was thready and fast. He stood up and threw open the glass door to Kramer’s office.
“Medic!” he yelled. “Help! We need a doctor! Now!”
He loosened Kramer’s tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons and checked his airway.
“Stay with me!” Peter said urgently. “Phil-stay with me!” His bellow had summoned help. He could hear running footsteps, sensed that others were coming. He checked for a pulse again and found it with difficulty. He touched his hand over Kramer’s chest, wanting to make sure there was a heartbeat, but while he watched the barrel chest rose and fell once, then rose no more.
“No, damn it!” Peter snapped. “Don’t you-don’t you dare die on me!”
Peter went up on his knees and straddled Kramer’s supine form, placing his hand over the left side of the chest. Deliberately, he pumped twice, compressing the heart, then leaned forward and breathed firmly into Kramer’s slack mouth. He pumped again, forced breath into the still lungs. And again. Nothing.
Someone fell to their knees beside him.
“How can I help?” said a woman’s voice.
“He’s stopped breathing! Do you know CPR?”
“Yes,” said the woman. “What do you want me to do?”
“Do the breathing,” Peter said. “I’ll do the chest compressions, you do the breathing, okay? We can keep it going longer that way.”
“Okay.” She scrambled over to Kramer’s head and knelt beside him. “What happened?”
Compress, compress. “We were…we were arguing.” No sense lying about it. Half the office had probably heard their raised voices.
“He’s been taking heart medication,” said the young woman. She breathed into Kramer’s mouth. “And his blood pressure is way too high.”
Compress, compress. “I didn’t know that.”
“He didn’t want anyone to know it.” She paused to breathe. They were talking in rhythm with the CPR, timing their words for when each of them could talk.
“Figures,” Peter muttered. Sweat was forming, trickling into his eyebrows. Compress, compress.
The woman smiled, and her dark eyes flashed. “Yes-he was like that. He had a heart attack about a year ago.”
“I…I didn’t know,” Peter said, wondering what else he didn’t know. Had he villainized Kramer without remembering the smart, patient, stubborn man he was? His arms were aching, his shoulders burning from the effort.
Others had joined them. Peter felt a hand on his arm.
“You okay? I can take over.”
“That would be great,” Peter groaned. They timed it carefully, then Peter rolled and the other man took his place. Another man knelt and took over for the woman who’d been doing the breathing, and Peter stood up and helped her to her feet.
“Thanks,” she said shakily.
“No-thank you,” Peter said. “You…you saved my life back there.”
“You saved his.”
“Not yet, I didn’t,” said Peter. “Where are the damned paramedics?” But almost before the words had left his lips, they were coming, they were rounding the corner, bringing a stretcher and their expertise. Peter let out a whoosh of relief and sagged against the wall, suddenly dizzy.
“Hey, are you okay?” asked the woman, but at that moment, Neal rounded the corner and took in the scene before him. He saw Kramer on the floor, saw the paramedics working on him, turned wildly, looking frantically around and saw Peter. He walked over and the two men grinned at each other quickly and embraced. Peter’s arms were trembling and he felt weak and unsteady, but his grip on Neal’s neck was strong and solid.
“Hey, kiddo,” said Peter.
“Hey yourself,” said Neal, but their joy at seeing each other was tempered by the drama unfolding before them. “What happened?”
“He collapsed. We were…arguing. He went pale, seemed to lose his train of thought and…down he went.” He looked at Neal, at the woman at his side. “I didn’t know he’d had a heart attack.”
“I think he had a stroke the other day,” said Neal. “He said it was nothing. I thought he was just tired, out of breath, but later, it seemed like more than that.” He looked at the woman beside Peter. “I told Chandra about it.”
“It wasn't the only time,” she admitted. “I knew about the first one, the one he was hospitalized for.”
“I heard that was high blood pressure.”
“Well…that’s the story he told, but I heard indirectly that he’d actually had a heart attack.”
“What’s going to happen?” Neal asked. His eyes slid anxiously toward the figure being lifted on the stretcher. “Will he be okay?”
Peter came up beside him and they looked at Kramer’s gray face, at his blue lips around the ventilator.
“Time will tell,” he said. “We’ll have to wait and see.”
****
“How is he?” Neal asked.
“He’s recovered enough to be giving the nurses hell,” Chandra said with a smile. She touched Neal’s arm. “It’s going to be quiet around Art Crimes without you.”
“What-Party Central? Never!” The smile slipped off his face and he looked grave. “Kramer-will he be…okay?”
“He’s tough, and he’s recovering. If he does what the doctors recommend, he could outlive us all.”
“I always intended to die young,” Neal said.
“And beautiful,” Chandra said. “Don’t forget beautiful.”
“I won’t forget you, Beautiful,” Neal said.
“Okay,” said Chandra. “Now I’m ready for you to go.” She smiled to soften it, then leaned in and kissed him gently on the cheek. She nodded toward the door. “Peter’s in there with him, if you want to go in.”
Neal nodded, swallowed, and went in.
“Hello, Sir,” he said. Kramer managed to look imposing even in a hospital gown. “I hope you’re feeling better.”
“What I’m feeling is like a damned fool,” Kramer rumbled. He jerked his head at Peter. “Petey here’s been telling me about the charges against my former C.I.”
“KC?” said Neal.
Kramer nodded. Too many secrets out of the bag now. “Seems I was wrong about him after all.” He looked at Peter. “And you were right about me.”
“Phil-“
“No-let me talk. Honesty is supposed to be good for you, they say.”
“It depends,” Neal muttered, but grinned when Kramer gave a wheezy laugh.
“No-I…I should have stood by KC when he was accused. I was so busy being angry at being played for a patsy that I…well, I maybe forgot what this is all about.”
“Catching the bad guys?” said Neal.
Kramer shook his head. “Justice," he said. He looked over at Peter and put a hand on his arm. “A wise person once told me that justice is sometimes better served by grace than legalism.”
“That does sound wise,” said Neal. “Are you sure you didn’t read that on your fortune cookie?"
He was doing what he often did, deflecting when he felt uncomfortable, but the two agents in the room were not fooled.
“Neal,” said Kramer, “you have to know that my intentions were….”
Neal’s eyes blazed, but he said nothing.
“Well, they weren’t good, but they were honorable. I thought it was me, that I had messed up with my own C.I.”
“You did,” Neal said bluntly. “You should have stood by him until you were sure.”
Peter felt the leading edge of that anger touch him as well, and looked away. They would have to talk-a lot-but later.
“I should have,” Kramer acknowledged. He looked at Peter. “They tell me KC’s getting out of jail.
“It’s never too late,” said Peter.
Kramer waved at all the wires and tubes. “It was almost too late.” He gave another wheezy chuckle. “Or maybe I’m too mean to die.”
No one said anything for a moment, and Kramer looked from one to the other in consternation. “What---no contradictions from the dynamic duo?”
Neal opened his mouth, then closed it, but Peter said, “None,” very distinctly.
And then they all laughed.
****
“Hail the conquering heroes!” Mozzie cried when they emerged through the walkway at the airport terminal. “What-no head on a stick?”
“No heads on sticks, Moz,” Neal said. “Can’t get through airport security.”
“Well, I’m going to kiss the heroes if nobody else wants to,” said June, and stepped forward to cup their faces in turn in her lavender-scented hands. She smooched them each on the cheek.
“It’s so good to see you, Neal,” said Elizabeth. “I knew you two would emerge victorious-triumphant over the bad guys!”
Neal smiled. “I have kind of a soft spot for bad guys.” His eyes edged over to Diana. “So do you. C’mon-admit it!”
“I do not!”
Sara sauntered over and linked her arm through Neal’s. “I do,” she said with a wide smile. “Apparently, I have a type.”
“Does that mean we’re over?” asked Mozzie, looking worried.
“I’m afraid so,” said Sara gently, but to her consternation, Mozzie sank into a chair, weak with relief.
“Thank Socrates!” he cried. “Thank Aristotle! I’m exhausted from having to maintain appearances!” He looked at Neal. “I don’t know how you do it! She is very high-maintenance!”
Sara started toward the little man, murder in her eye, but Neal wrapped both his arms around her and pulled her close. “It’s okay,” he told her. “The bad little man is all gone. I’ve got you now.”
She opened her mouth to protest and he kissed her. Nobody looked away, but neither Neal nor Sara appeared to object.
“Okay,” said Elizabeth briskly. “Don’t you think it’s time we got this show on the road?”
"I think it’s time for the show to close,” said Clinton. “I’m ready to-“
“Close?” Neal protested, surfacing from his kiss at last. “Are you kidding me? It’s time to get things going again! I’ll bet things have been downright stuffy in White Collar without me. Admit it!”
“Neal!”
“Caffrey!”
“If you don’t-“
“C’mon! You know you missed me!
“I do have some mortgage fraud cases that need to be looked at,” Clinton said.
For a moment, Neal’s face fell, then he grinned all over his face. “Mortgage fraud sounds pretty damn good to me,” he said, “as long as I’m back where I belong.”
“Prison?” asked Diana.
“A zoo?” Peter quipped.
“Ha ha.” He glared at them. “You know what I mean!”
“I know, Neal,” said Elizabeth, and reached to squeeze his arm.
“You have missed me,” Neal insisted.
“I’ve missed you,” said Mozzie. “What am I, second-class pâté?”
“Whatever you say, Caffrey,” said Clinton, sounding bored. Peter was smiling, but said nothing.
“No, he’s right,” said Diana. “Until the new guy took over his desk-“
“My-my desk? You gave away my desk?! Peter-”
“Neal?” Peter was going for nonchalant and overshot. Neal looked at him, eyes narrowed. “You’re bluffing,” he declared. He turned and walked in front of them, leading the way out, his step jaunty and self-assured. “You didn’t give my desk away. You need me.”
“Is that right?” said Peter, trying hard to tame the twitch of his mouth.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Caffrey.”
Neal thought about all the nights and days away from them, all the time spent wondering if he would ever…. His steps slowed, and he swallowed. “You…all of you worked hard to get me back,” he said, but, for the first time, he sounded uncertain.
Peter stepped up and matched his stride with Neal’s, put a warm, solid hand on the back of Neal’s neck. “It’s okay, Neal. We all know where you belong.”
“Behind bars,” muttered Diana, then grinned. “Just kidding. You belong at White Collar.”
“No,” said Neal. He stopped and turned and looked at them all. “With you. With all of you-wherever you happen to be.”
Peter stopped trying to hide his smile. “Darn tootin’,” he said, and turned them all toward home.
****fin****
“Reese, I’d really love to know what your interest is in this case,” said the District Attorney.
“Well, we stumbled upon some information looking into something else. It seemed only appropriate to pass it on.”
“Well, we’ve contacted his attorney. Actually, his attorney is deceased, but his daughter has taken over her father’s practice. She’s going to go through her files and get back to us, but so far, everything you’ve given us has panned out. What are they putting in your water coolers down there?”
“Scotch!” said Reese, and they hung up laughing. He stepped to the door and motioned for Peter, who nodded and indicated he’d finish his briefing with Diana and Clinton later. Reese waved them all over, mouthing, “Bring them!”
They trooped over obediently and looked at him.
“That was the DA, and it looks very likely that the charges against Karl Cadman Marsden are going to be dropped in light of new evidence received.” He looked at Peter. “Have you talked to Kramer at all?”
Peter shook his head. “The last time I spoke to Kramer was when I went up there to see Neal and he wasn’t there.” Everyone in the room squirmed a little, knowing the truth of Peter’s eventual visit with Neal. “We had words-I left mad. So, no. I haven’t talked to him.”
“Well, there’s something else that you all don’t know,” said Reese. They shuffled nervously, exchanging glances. “Did you ever ask yourself why Kramer was keeping Neal on such a short leash up there?"
“Because-“ Diana began, and then realized that she might not be comfortable speaking as freely in Reese Hughes’ office as she was in Peter's. “Not really, sir-why?”
“Well, Peter here knows-which I suppose means that both of you know, that Kramer’s plan is to keep Neal on the anklet with additional charges.”
“He said Neal had a lot of skeletons,” Peter said. “And he was going to use whatever he found.”
“Well, what Kramer has is a lot of suspicions, and a lot of rumor. Now, I suspect,” he said, looking hard at Peter, “that some of what he knows is actually true, but I also know for a fact that some of the things he’s been trying to pin on Neal were done by someone else.”
“So…what are you saying, sir?” asked Clinton.
“I’m saying, ‘The leg bone doesn’t seem to be connecting to the anklebone’ the way Kramer hoped it would. I’m saying Kramer hasn’t found anything else he can pin on Neal. Now, when he went up before the Board, he was making all sorts of innuendo, all sorts of smoke, but the fire hasn’t materialized. I don’t think they would have approved Kramer’s deal unless they thought-like Kramer thought-that he had the goods to keep Caffrey a long time.” He paused and shuffled papers from one side of his desk to the other, then cleared his throat. “It will probably cause a stink cloud the size of Hiroshima, but tomorrow morning I’m going to go to Bruce and the Board and everyone else and make them give us our C.I. back!” he thundered.
In the silence that followed, Diana raised her hand. “Yes, Agent Berrigan?”
“Um, Sir, would it be okay to cheer now?”
Reese waved them away. “Only if you do it outside my office. Peter, when the paperwork comes through, you want to go and get him yourself? Might be fun to see Kramer’s face.”
“It’ll be pretty good to see Neal’s face,” Peter said. “Thanks, Reese.”
“My pleasure,” he said, and waved them out without looking up.
****
It was midmorning in the Art Crimes Division when the doors were pushed open and Special Agent Peter Burke from White Collar in New York walked in. There was a ripple through the office, but the desk where Neal usually sat was empty. Peter’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment he wondered what the devil Kramer thought he was pulling, but then Neal’s face appeared out of the conference room door, followed by the familiar heads of Agent Matthews and red-headed Agent Scooperton. Neal’s face broke into a wide grin, but he tamped it down almost immediately at a look from Peter. Peter waved Neal back and mounted the steps to Kramer’s office with alacrity.
Kramer met him at the door, and the two men exchanged hard looks, then Peter stood still and handed Kramer an envelope from his breast pocket.
“What is this?” Kramer demanded.
“It’s an order returning Neal Caffrey to my custody as my Confidential Informant,” Peter said. Kramer ripped open the seal and read, his expression growing dark.
“This is-you can’t do this.”
“I am doing this,” said Peter. “It’s already done. I’m just here to take him home.”
“But…I told you what would happen if you defied me. I told you I’d find something else to charge Neal with, something that will-“
“If you could have, you’d have done it by now. And you are formally forbidden to dig through his files unless you have reasonable cause or new evidence comes to light.”
“I-we’ve cracked those codes between him and Kate,” Kramer said, indignant.
“I think you’ll find that none of the works of art referenced in those codes is missing any longer. I understand they made an amazing discovering just a few weeks ago in a farmhouse outside of Prague. No missing art, no crime to investigate.”
“You won’t get away with this,” Kramer said, his face mottled with rage.
“I will, and you know why? Because I’m on the side of justice. You made this a personal vendetta, and there’s no room in the law for a personal vendetta.”
“I follow the law!” Kramer snapped. “I only do what the law allows.”
“I agree-and that’s the problem! You’re skimming along the edge of the law, fulfilling the letter but not the intent.”
“You’d know about intent, I’ll wager!”
“I would, yes! You know as well as I do that sometimes justice is better served by grace than legalism.”
“That’s your problem, Peter-all carrot and no stick, huh?”
“Not what I’m saying!”
“Then what are you saying? Spit it out, man!”
“I’m saying if you treat your C.I. like a criminal, that’s all he’ll ever be. If you give him choices-“
“I gave him choices! I gave him plenty of choices! And after all that, after everything I’d done for KC, he turned on me, betrayed me without even-“ Kramer broke off abruptly, looking confused. “I mean…I mean….”
Peter’s voice was gentle. “I think we both know what you mean.”
Kramer looked shaken, off-balance, and his breathing was rough and labored. “Not-not what it looks like,” he muttered, reaching for his tie. He swung his head from side to side as though looking for something, and his eyes grew confused. His face had gone gray, pasty, and he struggled for composure.
“Phil?”
Kramer’s eyes swung toward Peter but they were empty, vacant of understanding. “Not what it looks like….” Kramer said again, and crumpled to the floor.
Thunderstruck, Peter closed the distance between them and knelt by his old mentor’s side, checking for a pulse. It was thready and fast. He stood up and threw open the glass door to Kramer’s office.
“Medic!” he yelled. “Help! We need a doctor! Now!”
He loosened Kramer’s tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons and checked his airway.
“Stay with me!” Peter said urgently. “Phil-stay with me!” His bellow had summoned help. He could hear running footsteps, sensed that others were coming. He checked for a pulse again and found it with difficulty. He touched his hand over Kramer’s chest, wanting to make sure there was a heartbeat, but while he watched the barrel chest rose and fell once, then rose no more.
“No, damn it!” Peter snapped. “Don’t you-don’t you dare die on me!”
Peter went up on his knees and straddled Kramer’s supine form, placing his hand over the left side of the chest. Deliberately, he pumped twice, compressing the heart, then leaned forward and breathed firmly into Kramer’s slack mouth. He pumped again, forced breath into the still lungs. And again. Nothing.
Someone fell to their knees beside him.
“How can I help?” said a woman’s voice.
“He’s stopped breathing! Do you know CPR?”
“Yes,” said the woman. “What do you want me to do?”
“Do the breathing,” Peter said. “I’ll do the chest compressions, you do the breathing, okay? We can keep it going longer that way.”
“Okay.” She scrambled over to Kramer’s head and knelt beside him. “What happened?”
Compress, compress. “We were…we were arguing.” No sense lying about it. Half the office had probably heard their raised voices.
“He’s been taking heart medication,” said the young woman. She breathed into Kramer’s mouth. “And his blood pressure is way too high.”
Compress, compress. “I didn’t know that.”
“He didn’t want anyone to know it.” She paused to breathe. They were talking in rhythm with the CPR, timing their words for when each of them could talk.
“Figures,” Peter muttered. Sweat was forming, trickling into his eyebrows. Compress, compress.
The woman smiled, and her dark eyes flashed. “Yes-he was like that. He had a heart attack about a year ago.”
“I…I didn’t know,” Peter said, wondering what else he didn’t know. Had he villainized Kramer without remembering the smart, patient, stubborn man he was? His arms were aching, his shoulders burning from the effort.
Others had joined them. Peter felt a hand on his arm.
“You okay? I can take over.”
“That would be great,” Peter groaned. They timed it carefully, then Peter rolled and the other man took his place. Another man knelt and took over for the woman who’d been doing the breathing, and Peter stood up and helped her to her feet.
“Thanks,” she said shakily.
“No-thank you,” Peter said. “You…you saved my life back there.”
“You saved his.”
“Not yet, I didn’t,” said Peter. “Where are the damned paramedics?” But almost before the words had left his lips, they were coming, they were rounding the corner, bringing a stretcher and their expertise. Peter let out a whoosh of relief and sagged against the wall, suddenly dizzy.
“Hey, are you okay?” asked the woman, but at that moment, Neal rounded the corner and took in the scene before him. He saw Kramer on the floor, saw the paramedics working on him, turned wildly, looking frantically around and saw Peter. He walked over and the two men grinned at each other quickly and embraced. Peter’s arms were trembling and he felt weak and unsteady, but his grip on Neal’s neck was strong and solid.
“Hey, kiddo,” said Peter.
“Hey yourself,” said Neal, but their joy at seeing each other was tempered by the drama unfolding before them. “What happened?”
“He collapsed. We were…arguing. He went pale, seemed to lose his train of thought and…down he went.” He looked at Neal, at the woman at his side. “I didn’t know he’d had a heart attack.”
“I think he had a stroke the other day,” said Neal. “He said it was nothing. I thought he was just tired, out of breath, but later, it seemed like more than that.” He looked at the woman beside Peter. “I told Chandra about it.”
“It wasn't the only time,” she admitted. “I knew about the first one, the one he was hospitalized for.”
“I heard that was high blood pressure.”
“Well…that’s the story he told, but I heard indirectly that he’d actually had a heart attack.”
“What’s going to happen?” Neal asked. His eyes slid anxiously toward the figure being lifted on the stretcher. “Will he be okay?”
Peter came up beside him and they looked at Kramer’s gray face, at his blue lips around the ventilator.
“Time will tell,” he said. “We’ll have to wait and see.”
****
“How is he?” Neal asked.
“He’s recovered enough to be giving the nurses hell,” Chandra said with a smile. She touched Neal’s arm. “It’s going to be quiet around Art Crimes without you.”
“What-Party Central? Never!” The smile slipped off his face and he looked grave. “Kramer-will he be…okay?”
“He’s tough, and he’s recovering. If he does what the doctors recommend, he could outlive us all.”
“I always intended to die young,” Neal said.
“And beautiful,” Chandra said. “Don’t forget beautiful.”
“I won’t forget you, Beautiful,” Neal said.
“Okay,” said Chandra. “Now I’m ready for you to go.” She smiled to soften it, then leaned in and kissed him gently on the cheek. She nodded toward the door. “Peter’s in there with him, if you want to go in.”
Neal nodded, swallowed, and went in.
“Hello, Sir,” he said. Kramer managed to look imposing even in a hospital gown. “I hope you’re feeling better.”
“What I’m feeling is like a damned fool,” Kramer rumbled. He jerked his head at Peter. “Petey here’s been telling me about the charges against my former C.I.”
“KC?” said Neal.
Kramer nodded. Too many secrets out of the bag now. “Seems I was wrong about him after all.” He looked at Peter. “And you were right about me.”
“Phil-“
“No-let me talk. Honesty is supposed to be good for you, they say.”
“It depends,” Neal muttered, but grinned when Kramer gave a wheezy laugh.
“No-I…I should have stood by KC when he was accused. I was so busy being angry at being played for a patsy that I…well, I maybe forgot what this is all about.”
“Catching the bad guys?” said Neal.
Kramer shook his head. “Justice," he said. He looked over at Peter and put a hand on his arm. “A wise person once told me that justice is sometimes better served by grace than legalism.”
“That does sound wise,” said Neal. “Are you sure you didn’t read that on your fortune cookie?"
He was doing what he often did, deflecting when he felt uncomfortable, but the two agents in the room were not fooled.
“Neal,” said Kramer, “you have to know that my intentions were….”
Neal’s eyes blazed, but he said nothing.
“Well, they weren’t good, but they were honorable. I thought it was me, that I had messed up with my own C.I.”
“You did,” Neal said bluntly. “You should have stood by him until you were sure.”
Peter felt the leading edge of that anger touch him as well, and looked away. They would have to talk-a lot-but later.
“I should have,” Kramer acknowledged. He looked at Peter. “They tell me KC’s getting out of jail.
“It’s never too late,” said Peter.
Kramer waved at all the wires and tubes. “It was almost too late.” He gave another wheezy chuckle. “Or maybe I’m too mean to die.”
No one said anything for a moment, and Kramer looked from one to the other in consternation. “What---no contradictions from the dynamic duo?”
Neal opened his mouth, then closed it, but Peter said, “None,” very distinctly.
And then they all laughed.
****
“Hail the conquering heroes!” Mozzie cried when they emerged through the walkway at the airport terminal. “What-no head on a stick?”
“No heads on sticks, Moz,” Neal said. “Can’t get through airport security.”
“Well, I’m going to kiss the heroes if nobody else wants to,” said June, and stepped forward to cup their faces in turn in her lavender-scented hands. She smooched them each on the cheek.
“It’s so good to see you, Neal,” said Elizabeth. “I knew you two would emerge victorious-triumphant over the bad guys!”
Neal smiled. “I have kind of a soft spot for bad guys.” His eyes edged over to Diana. “So do you. C’mon-admit it!”
“I do not!”
Sara sauntered over and linked her arm through Neal’s. “I do,” she said with a wide smile. “Apparently, I have a type.”
“Does that mean we’re over?” asked Mozzie, looking worried.
“I’m afraid so,” said Sara gently, but to her consternation, Mozzie sank into a chair, weak with relief.
“Thank Socrates!” he cried. “Thank Aristotle! I’m exhausted from having to maintain appearances!” He looked at Neal. “I don’t know how you do it! She is very high-maintenance!”
Sara started toward the little man, murder in her eye, but Neal wrapped both his arms around her and pulled her close. “It’s okay,” he told her. “The bad little man is all gone. I’ve got you now.”
She opened her mouth to protest and he kissed her. Nobody looked away, but neither Neal nor Sara appeared to object.
“Okay,” said Elizabeth briskly. “Don’t you think it’s time we got this show on the road?”
"I think it’s time for the show to close,” said Clinton. “I’m ready to-“
“Close?” Neal protested, surfacing from his kiss at last. “Are you kidding me? It’s time to get things going again! I’ll bet things have been downright stuffy in White Collar without me. Admit it!”
“Neal!”
“Caffrey!”
“If you don’t-“
“C’mon! You know you missed me!
“I do have some mortgage fraud cases that need to be looked at,” Clinton said.
For a moment, Neal’s face fell, then he grinned all over his face. “Mortgage fraud sounds pretty damn good to me,” he said, “as long as I’m back where I belong.”
“Prison?” asked Diana.
“A zoo?” Peter quipped.
“Ha ha.” He glared at them. “You know what I mean!”
“I know, Neal,” said Elizabeth, and reached to squeeze his arm.
“You have missed me,” Neal insisted.
“I’ve missed you,” said Mozzie. “What am I, second-class pâté?”
“Whatever you say, Caffrey,” said Clinton, sounding bored. Peter was smiling, but said nothing.
“No, he’s right,” said Diana. “Until the new guy took over his desk-“
“My-my desk? You gave away my desk?! Peter-”
“Neal?” Peter was going for nonchalant and overshot. Neal looked at him, eyes narrowed. “You’re bluffing,” he declared. He turned and walked in front of them, leading the way out, his step jaunty and self-assured. “You didn’t give my desk away. You need me.”
“Is that right?” said Peter, trying hard to tame the twitch of his mouth.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Caffrey.”
Neal thought about all the nights and days away from them, all the time spent wondering if he would ever…. His steps slowed, and he swallowed. “You…all of you worked hard to get me back,” he said, but, for the first time, he sounded uncertain.
Peter stepped up and matched his stride with Neal’s, put a warm, solid hand on the back of Neal’s neck. “It’s okay, Neal. We all know where you belong.”
“Behind bars,” muttered Diana, then grinned. “Just kidding. You belong at White Collar.”
“No,” said Neal. He stopped and turned and looked at them all. “With you. With all of you-wherever you happen to be.”
Peter stopped trying to hide his smile. “Darn tootin’,” he said, and turned them all toward home.
****fin****