Chapter Text
Step 4:
Lift his badge when you “accidentally” bump into him, let him see your face and hear your voice, return the badge and leave another card taunting him for missing you again, skip away with the tiniest bit of hope this FBI agent really is one of the good ones
“No Mozzie!” Determination simmered deep in his gut. “I can't give up now. This is the best opportunity I'm ever going to get. With Kate already gone, he won't suspect a move like this so soon, especially with how furious he is right now. I have to take it.”
“Neal. That's what worries me. He knows you. He's just waiting for you to enact whatever ridiculous plan you’ve cooked up.”
He knew Mozzie was right, but dad didn't know everything, especially about Neal. “Right, he expects a plan, just not this plan. Dad will expect me to disappear with a new alias and run off to Paris or the Bahamas or something, not freaking Tucson, Arizona. That's exactly why I’m enacting Phase 4 right now.”
You couldn't raise your son as a prodigy thief and one of the youngest professional conmen in the business and expect him not to lie to you. It was just a matter of time before Neal made a bid for freedom. It was just a matter of time before he got good enough to decide threats and blackmail be darned, he was leaving .
“Neal, your plan doesn't even make any sense! He's a fed! He's not going to take pity on you just because you're a kid!”
“I'm not a kid.” Mozzie gratefully refrained from comment. It was one of their oldest arguments. “And that's why this was a four part plan. I needed to build rapport, gain his trust, convince him I occasionally do have morals. That way, when I call in a tip with actual evidence of blackmail and coercion, he'll believe me.” Or at least take him seriously enough to go after James first. Around the corner Neal caught sight of his next mark, just exiting the building.
Mozzie sighed, knowing his arguments fell on deaf ears despite needing to make his opinions known.
“It’s going to work, Moz.”
“Okay,” he acquiesced, but there was a long pause before he continued, a little hesitantly, “But what about…”
Neal winced, heart heavy in his chest. “I– she won't listen to anything I have to say.” He took a deep breath. “She's a grown woman. I can't make her decisions for her.”
The worst thing about it was that he knew Maria would never see reason. She knew his father was no good, she knew he didn't love her. Neal just couldn't convince her the man would never change. She was going to spend her entire life failing to pry his dad's attention away from the next big score; Neal wasn't going to waste his failing to pry her away from his cheating, scumbag father.
Mozzie must have picked up on how guilty Neal felt about that decision and tried to alleviate the heavy mood. “So it'll just be the two of us then?”
He allowed himself to appreciate the attempt and sighed in mock exasperation, “Three, Moz. It's still three.”
“I don't trust her.”
“You don't trust anyone. Kate is different. As soon as we get out she'll find some way to contact us. She knows the plan.” Peter was getting close now. Neal needed to prepare for his unscheduled meeting with The Man. “Look Moz, I've gotta go. See you in a minute.”
His friend sighed dramatically but confirmed he was in position with their getaway taxi before hanging up. Neal shook himself, plastered on the same boyish grin that helped con the FBI front desk lady and many others before her, and prepared to make his grand entrance, waiting for just the right moment.
And waited. And waited some more.
Risking a glance around the corner, Neal realized the man was just standing in the middle of the sidewalk, grinning like a sap as he spoke into his cell. Probably on the phone with his wife.
Eventually his smile faded a little and he began moving again.
He was moving slowly, but he was close enough to overhear as he said, “I don't know, El.”
So his wife's name was El. Short for Eliza? Ellie? Elizabeth?
“You remember the bond forger we've been tracking for the past couple months?”
Oh! They were talking about him!
“...You say that so casually, as though a wanted criminal didn't break into our home to do so, but yeah, that's the one. Something just feels off about the case, Hon. I can't pin down exactly what it is, there's no reason, no evidence, but I feel it in my gut.”
Neal frowned a little, hardly daring to believe it. Did Peter suspect there was someone behind Neal, pulling the strings? Was his plan working?
“It's almost like he's a red herring. He's a darn good thief and an excellent con artist,” Neal tried not to preen at the praise, “but… there's just, I don't know. Something else to this case. I just know it. Satchmo would never have allowed him in if he was a bad guy.”
Neal should visit him again. He definitely missed the goodest boy in town. But that would have to wait. He had a drop to make. Peter was almost in position.
He took a couple rapid deep breaths before darting around the corner and colliding sharply with Peter mid sentence.
“It g– UHF!”
“Oh gosh! I'm so sorry, sir!” Neal scrambled to his feet before Peter could gather his bearings. “Are you alright?!”
Peter looked up at him, frustration morphing into restrained concern when he realized it was just a kid. Neal widened his eyes fractionally, oozing apology and innocence, and extended a hand.
Peter smiled comfortingly, “I'm fine, kid, no harm done. Are you okay though?”
Neal helped pull him to his feet, swapping his FBI badge for the postcard in the process. He quickly palmed it and clasped his hands behind his back, rocking back on his heels to disguise the motion. “Yes, sir, I'm ok!”
“That's good, but no more blindly running through the streets, got it?”
“Got it.” Neal ducked his head briefly, pretending to be ashamed before stooping suddenly and coming up with Peter's badge.
“Whoa! You're an FBI agent?!” The delighted expression Neal summons is what Mozzie calls his Concentrated Oxytocin Hit. “That's so COOL!”
And it worked like a charm. “Sure am,” Peter chuckled, put at ease by the starstruck kid act.
“Wow! Have you ever caught any bad guys?” Neal handed the badge and phone back.
“A couple. Are you sure you're ok? Must have been in quite a hurry to bowl me over like that.”
“Yeah, sorry sir, just trying to catch the bus! Meeting a real live FBI agent was worth missing it though.” Neal watched as Mozzie's taxi rounded the corner. “Catch you later, Special Agent Peter Burke!”
He was already zipping through the crowds and sliding into his getaway vehicle by the time Peter thought to question the odd goodbye.
Neal grinned, a real one this time, crooked and bubbling with laughter, “Step on it Moz!”
•••
Mozzie dropped him off after informing Neal he would be “unreachable at Thursday #1 for the next 38 and a half hours, don't ask why”.
Neal just wished him a good night and waved him off, mounting the steps to his apartment building. He was in a good mood, tired after a hard day's work, but excited at the prospect of impending freedom. Maybe he could paint a bit before sneaking down for a late dinner. His go-bag was always packed, ready to disappear with him at a moment's notice, so that wasn't an issue, but he didn't want to celebrate too soon. He was fairly certain Peter would come when he called in the tip about his dad and used the raid as a distraction to finally escape once and for all, but there was always the possibility of something going wrong.
If you were smart, you never planned for the con to work perfectly, but without Kate as leverage and by leaving Maria to make her own choices, however poor they may be, there was nothing keeping Neal tethered to his father's illicit scheming. He was old enough to survive on his own now and with Mozzie's help he would be fine.
And with the past year of bothering Peter, testing his patience, his morals, and his investigative ability, Neal was certain this was his golden window of opportunity. The best chance to run that had ever presented itself, and probably ever would. His dad was going away for a long time, regardless of his police credentials and powerful connections. Peter would make sure of it. He was a good agent and a better man. And he would believe Neal.
Neal let a small smile curl at the corner of his lips. It was a good day. He picked the cheap lock and slid the front door closed quietly.
He knew something was up when the smell of a home cooked meal greeted him. Then Maria met him in the kitchen. That was a surprise in and of itself, but the fresh sopes de frijoles put him on edge. Maria didn't cook unless she was in a really, really good mood, and her good moods usually only lasted until Neal spoke in her direction.
He tried to slip back down the hallway, but she called him in before he could make his second clean escape of the day.
“Neal, I have some big news!”
“Oh, you're finally getting sober?”
Shoot, he hadn't meant to say that out loud. He didn't want to start another fight, but she just lifted her chin proudly and declared, “Yes actually, I am.”
Neal looked away, unable to feign even a flicker of excitement to hide his disbelief. “Oh. That's great, Maria.”
It was no different from all the other times she'd made that same promise to quit drinking only to break it the next time dad made a rude comment about her weight or lashed out when something didn't go his way.
Despite trying to hide it, the doubt must have been obvious. He couldn't help it.
Maria looked surprisingly unbothered. “I know you don't believe I can do this, but I can this time.”
“Right.”
“I've got to.” She huffed then, but continued just as confidently, “I'm pregnant, and this time, James is letting me keep it. That's the good news!”
Neal's heart dropped to the floor. “You're pregnant?” he whispered. Maria either didn't notice or didn't care.
“Yes! You're going to have a new baby brother or baby sister! Isn't it just wonderful, Neal!”
Neal managed to nod and offer empty congratulations without setting her off and choke down at least a couple bites of dinner, dread congealing in the pit of his stomach with the masa and beans as he tuned out Maria's one sided gushing.
A baby. A sibling. Another bargaining chip in his father's pocket. Someone truly helpless and innocent he could hold over Neal's head.
Somehow, in just a couple minutes, Neal's prospects of freedom had evaporated into thin air. Maria he could leave. Maria could make her own decisions. But a baby couldn't. A baby relied on its parents for everything, trusting it would be kept safe and cared for and loved in their arms.
If Neal left now, it would be this baby who suffered the consequences. His father didn't even need to be present to make the threat clear.
James was going to let Maria believe a baby would finally make him love her like she wanted, just long enough for it to be convenient. Just long enough to regain control over Neal. Ensure compliance by exploiting one of his “weaknesses”.
Neal knew deep down caring for another person, be it stranger or friend, was never a weakness.
But right now, it felt like the worst thing in the world.
He excused himself abruptly, unable to listen to any more of Maria's unrealistic fantasizing. He held back the panic just long enough to lock the door to his room and wedge himself into the back of his dark little closet, go-bag at his feet, phone in hand, and nobody to call.
•••
“Hello?”
“Peter! Did you get my note?”
“...I can't believe this.” He sounded tired. Neal wondered what an FBI Agent's bedtime was. “ How did you get this number?”
“You really think it's hard to find your personal number? You keep business cards on your desk.”
“Oh. Sure. Of course. And you called me to what? Gloat? Proud of pulling one over on the ~sucker~ FBI Agent are you?”
“Oh that's a good one, I'll have to use that next time!”
He was met with silence. Grumpy silence.
“Oh come on, it was funny! Admit it.”
More silence. No admissions of grudging bemusement. No riposte to parry. Maybe Peter really hadn't appreciated his first in-person encounter with Neal. Maybe this was a mistake.
Why did he think calling Peter would make him feel better? Was he really so pathetic that he had to rely on the one person hell bent on tossing him in jail?
He didn't want the agent upset with him. That would ruin what little of the plan Neal could salvage, but he didn't want to hang up either. He didn't want to be alone right now.
After escaping Maria's chatter about baby clothes and the pros and cons of a home birth, Neal found trying to force his breathing into a regular pattern to be too much, especially with conflicting emotions and anxiety stewing inside his chest. The initial overwhelming despair had mixed furiously with restrained joy and even a trickle of terrified excitement. And it was still kind of awful. Like mixing chocolate moose into a vat of pickled frog legs and hoping it will still taste good on the plate.
He resented the resentment that welled up within what should be truly happy news. He'd always desperately wanted a little sibling. Someone to play with and teach cool tricks to and make up stories for. He wanted to be happy for Maria. He wanted to be excited about baby clothes and picking nursery decorations and coming up with names. But his father's plotting soured all baby related thoughts. He knew this was all just a power play on his part. One Neal had nothing to counter with.
He needed a distraction, something else to occupy his attention. And with Mozzie gone dark, Kate off grid, and nobody else he trusted enough to call while emotionally compromised, why not Agent Burke?
He was the only one willing to jab back when Neal butted his nose into Peter's life. He was the only one to consistently see through his carefully constructed front without cutting off the almost friendly banter or stifling his charm in favor of an interrogation. But most of all, Peter didn't know anything about the burned out shell of a plan Neal was holding together with scotch tape and bits of plywood and an aching longing for freedom.
A little desperate to keep the older man on the line, Neal blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Did you like the card this time at least? I remembered you grew up upstate and wanted to try my hand at something different. I've never watercolored horses before. They've got kinda weird legs.”
“...You paint all the cards yourself?” There was something in Peter's voice that Neal couldn't place. He didn't mind though because at least he answered and it wasn't in irritation or anger.
“Yup. It was fun! I also enjoyed painting the chickens, little blobs with feet and a beak due to the size of the painting.” Shut up, shut up, shut up, Neal, nobody wants to listen to your blabbering. But he didn't shut up. He kept talking. Kept his mind off of his father and Maria and the baby. “You have a total of five personalized Caffrey originals in your possession. You should be honored. Nobody else on earth can say the same, Peter.”
Peter chuckled, “Oddly, I kind of am. They're beautiful.”
The odd tone was deeper now. A little softer. Neal didn’t think he was angry anymore. “You think so?”
“Yeah. My wife agrees. She said, and I quote, ‘The colors are somehow both vibrant and delicate. Like colored spider silk woven into a painting.’”
Oh. Nobody had ever complimented his original art before. His forgeries maybe but never his own work. Kate always liked the classics more and Mozzie tended to focus on market prices over the intrinsic value of art for art's sake.
Neal's breathing hitched a bit as he realized the forgeries and theft would never stop now with a baby hanging over his head.
“Caffrey?” Neal started, lifting the phone back up to his ear. He should probably be more concerned about letting his name slip, but couldn't bring himself to care. “You alright there?”
“Of course! Just surprised you actually liked them.”
“I work in White Collar, my appreciation for art has developed quite a bit from my baseball days.”
“Pitcher?”
“Catcher.”
“Really?”
“I like calling the shots.”
“Fitting you'd go fed.”
“Sure.”
Neal didn't know enough about baseball to keep ribbing in that direction and it was a moment before Peter spoke again. “Why did you call me Caffrey?”
“Can't I just call my very favorite FBI agent in the whole world? My good friend Peter Burke? Is that illegal now too?”
Peter sighed deeply, voice crackling through the speakers. “No it's not a crime, not unless I decide it's harassment, but I should, well, shouldn't actually, warn you, I'm going to call in a trace on your location if you don’t hang up soon.”
“Wow, Peter, so chivalrous!”
“Anything you'd like to confess before you go?”
“I miss your dog.”
“I meant crime related.” He was only pretending to sound annoyed now.
“I mean… technically… the circumstances in which I met your dog…”
“Go on…”
Neal could hear the smile in Peter's voice and reciprocated in kind, pushing through the sudden tears pricking his eyes again. How was it that a federal agent was the only one in his life willing to indulge this kind of cheeky pestering, around a confession no less, when his entire job was to hunt him down and shut him up in prison?
“No, I think you remember well enough.”
“No, no please remind me.”
“Is your memory starting to go already, old man?”
“I’m not even that old!”
“Thirty-one is positively ancient.”
“Right and twelve is practically in diapers. How did you even get mixed up in all this to begin with?”
“Oh you know how it is, one day you're tagging walls in crayon and the next you're recreating Monets. Just for fun of course. Happens to everyone, I assume.”
“Caffrey, I find it hard to believe a kid commits bond forgery of their own volition.”
Oop, this was getting into dangerous territory. “What makes you think that?”
“Most kids your age don't know what bonds are, let alone how to make even a passable forgery of one.”
“Maybe I'm just special. One of a kind.”
That unfamiliar, careful tone was back. “You are special Caffrey. Don't throw your life away,” he pleaded, “Whatever you're mixed up in, I can help.”
Neal recognized it now. It was understanding. Not pity, not judgment, and not feigned. It was genuine compassion that had been making Peter's voice soft, ever since phase two of this ruined plan. The tears Neal had managed to stave off a moment ago returned with some very insistent friends.
He fought against the hard lump in his throat for a long time before he managed to whisper an apology into the phone. “‘M sorry, Peter... Nobody can help me now. You mean well, but you can't.”
Not one to give up on someone that easily, Peter persisted, “Please, kid, please let me help–”
“I’m not a kid.”
“But you are. I met you today, didn't I? You're a good kid.”
“I haven't been a kid since I was nine, and I don't think I've ever been a good one.”
Neal could hear the heartbreak in the silence that followed. Eventually he just quietly pulled his knees closer to his chest and said, “My name is Neal, Neal Caffrey. Thanks for talking with me tonight, Peter. Say hi to Satchmo and El for me.”
He didn’t let Peter say goodbye. He couldn't handle rejecting the sincerest offer of unconditional help he had ever received for a second time. Not tonight. Not ever. Because he couldn't run. Wouldn't run from this. He wouldn't let what happened to him happen to his baby sibling.
If Peter could find compassion in his heart for a notorious criminal, Neal could find it in his for an innocent child who had done nothing to deserve the life they were about to be born into.
A sudden rush of determination flooded his veins, washing the resentment and fear and anger away with hope. He was going to be the best older brother ever, and for that to happen, he needed a new plan.
•••
Laying awake in his bed, next to his sleeping wife, Peter stared at the ceiling.
Earlier in the day he only had a gut feeling that something was wrong with the James Bonds/Postcard Guy case. Now he knew for certain there was a kid in trouble who desperately wanted an out, but couldn't ask for it directly. Not anymore at least.
Something major had happened between the orchestrated meeting this afternoon and the odd phone call this evening, that much was clear. He didn’t know what, but the young con on the other end of the phone had spent the entire conversation unsuccessfully trying to disguise the devastation in his voice.
Peter didn't know why Postc– no, Neal. He didn’t know why Neal called him tonight, but he wasn't going to throw that show of trust back in his face. Not if it got him a little closer to being able to finally help the kid.
It wasn't fully formed. Not yet. But Peter had the beginnings of a plan and would spend all night staring at his ceiling if that’s what it took to gain young Neal Caffrey's full trust.