Work Text:
His Better Half
Peter smiled to himself. It seemed as if Neal Caffrey, quiescent for months, had risen from the ashes like a phoenix. Peter had deduced that fact by reading the communiqué from Interpol detailing the audacious theft at the Prado Museum in Spain. The renowned masterpiece titled “The Three Graces” by Rubens was found to have been swapped out and a forgery left in its place. It was a magnificent forgery without doubt. The artist had captured the symmetry of the three zaftig women with amazing precision, and every leaf on the bower of flowers above their heads was exact. Only after careful scrutiny by numerous authenticators were the tiny initials “NC” found tucked away within a floral petal.
The international authorities had tracked Caffrey, his girlfriend, and his diminutive cohort in crime to Dubai, but once in the United Arab Emirates, they had seemed to disappear. No doubt, Neal and company, keeping a low profile, would stay there for a bit while enjoying the hedonism of the exotic paradise until they thought the heat had died down.
Peter knew that Neal wouldn’t sit still for long. Pretty soon the two would resume their game of “Where’s Waldo,” and he relished the thought. Now all he had to do was wait for Neal to call and bring it on.
Exactly one week later Peter received a blocked call on his cell phone. “Hello, Neal,” he said without preamble.
“Hi, Peter,” came the bubbly response. “It’s been awhile. Did you miss me?”
“Actually, I think I did.” Peter surprised himself by his own admission. “How are you enjoying the creature comforts in the Middle East? Is Dubai as luxurious as I’ve heard?”
Neal laughed. “You are so behind the times, Peter. Dubai is yesterday’s news. Right now I’m in the middle of ‘An Extreme Adventure Tour’ in Mongolia. They have us riding those really sturdy ponies across the Mongolian steppes like Genghis Khan, and I slept in a yurt last night.”
Now it was Peter’s turn to laugh. “You’ve really ‘yurt’ my feelings, Neal, if you expect me to be that gullible.”
“Oh Peter, Peter, Peter,” Neal groaned. “That was so beneath your usual acerbic drollness that I’m embarrassed for you.”
“Yeah, well, it’s been so long since we talked, my banter needs work. Now that you’re back, you can inspire me to new heights.” Peter snarked.
“Well, I’ll keep checking in to see if you’re intrigued by any new cases and need my expertise,” Neal deadpanned. Before Peter could respond to that, the call ended.
Actually, Peter was right. Neal wasn’t in Mongolia; he was right here in New York City with Mozzie looking for Kate. They had an argument while in Dubai and Kate had left in a huff. Their relationship was tumultuous on any given day. Their saga was a series of break-ups and make-ups, time and time again. Right now, however, Neal was ready to break something that had nothing to do with Kate.
“Mozzie!!! What is that annoying little ditty that keeps playing over and over again and drilling holes into my skull?” demanded Neal. He and Mozzie had been staying off the radar in one of Mozzie’s safe houses in New York for the last week, and it was more than tedious living in each other’s pockets.
“I’m playing ‘Candy Crush’ on my android. I’ve reached level 30 and I’m convinced that there is just no way that you can pass this level in 60 moves,” Mozzie huffed. “Even when you get five candies in a row and the little chocolate ball with jimmies blasts the hell out of the board, the evil game makers withhold some of the apples and cherries so you can’t possibly win without forking over 99 cents again and again.”
“If you think the game is rigged, then why play,” Neal was baffled.
“I think I’m addicted,” answered Mozzie sheepishly.
“And I think that I need to go out and get some fresh air,” Neal said cynically.
Neal strolled leisurely through the streets of Greenwich Village, eventually finding himself in Washington Square. It was a beautiful weekend day and there was quite a bit going on in the park. Apparently the main attraction was an exhibit of youthful artwork crafted by children afflicted with muscular dystrophy. Their pictures were on display and for sale, with the proceeds going to a fund that was doing research into the disease. The exhibit drew quite a crowd, with many people clustered about perusing the work. There was also a throng at a nearby pergola selling catered delicacies. Neal bought coffee from the vendor and was about to move on when he became aware that an attractive dark haired woman was staring at him from behind the makeshift counter. He was used to being stared at by women, so he gave her his best smile and moved on to study the artwork.
Neal was standing in front of a delicate watercolor landscape when someone behind him remarked, “Are you thinking of buying that or stealing it?”
When Neal wheeled around, he came face to face with the staring woman. “Do I know you?” he asked.
“No, you probably don’t, but I know you! I’ve been looking at pictures of your face on a white board in my dining room for months and months,” the mystery woman stated emphatically. No matter how much swagger she was projecting, she was actually quaking in her shoes.
Neal was still totally perplexed until the woman cocked her head to the side and said, “I’m Elizabeth Burke. My company is catering this event. And you’re Neal Caffrey, the man that is giving my husband hypertension with your antics.” Elizabeth mentally reassured herself that this criminal fugitive wouldn’t try anything with so many people around.
Neal was flummoxed and that wasn’t something that he had much experience with. All he could think to say was, “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in the world, I had to walk into hers.”
Elizabeth giggled nervously listening to the surprised young man misquote a line by Humphrey Bogart in the classic film “Casablanca.”
“Peter said that you like old movies,” she added timidly. Now Elizabeth began to get an inkling of why her husband was so fondly fascinated with this young man.
Neal eyed her suspiciously and said, “Mrs. Burke, you have one hand in the pocket of your jacket. Do you have your finger on your phone’s speed dial to your husband by any chance?”
“No, Neal, I haven’t called Peter.” Elizabeth held her hands up and splayed her fingers. She now felt a bit bolder since he didn’t appear threatening. “Do I need to call him? He’s told me that you’re a non-violent criminal, but should I be afraid of you?”
“No, no no!” Neal hastily reassured her. “I’d never hurt you; I’d never hurt anyone. You have to believe that, Mrs. Burke.”
Elizabeth stared at this kid who looked like he could have been a student at nearby New York University with his mop of unruly hair, his faded jeans ripped at the knees, and an oversized Henley shirt. “I believe you, Neal. And my name is Elizabeth. Calling me Mrs. Burke makes me feel like I’m your school teacher. Come sit with me and we’ll get to know one another. I feel like the relationship is all one sided…just you and Peter with me being a spectator.” Peter would undoubtedly be exasperated with her, but she just couldn’t let this alone.
Neal was obviously uncomfortable under her scrutiny, but unsure if his refusal would anger her. Since he really didn’t want to make Elizabeth mad, he let her lead him over to a nearby table where he sat ramrod straight in the chair facing her. Somehow this nervous young man seemed anything but intimidating.
“I don’t bite, Neal, really. And I swear I did not call Peter or any law enforcement when I realized who you were,” Elizabeth vowed. She wasn’t sure why she was suddenly so impulsively brazen, but it certainly gave her a feeling of empowerment.
“Ooookay,” was all that Neal could come up with at that moment. Geez, words were his stock in trade. Normally they tumbled off his silver tongue like water rippling in a brook. Words were his claim to fame. Now he was reduced to uttering sounds that were barely one step above monosyllabic. He needed to get a grip!
“So, Mrs……um, Elizabeth, why don’t we talk about your husband. He’s a much worthier and more interesting topic……more layers to him, not superficial like me. How long have you two been married?” Neal tried to re-direct this weird conversation, and the quicker he accomplished that, the better.
“Almost six years now,” Elizabeth answered.
“Well just let me say that he is truly a lucky man to have someone as beautiful and as fearless as you by his side. How did that come about, exactly? Peter doesn’t really present himself as ‘Mr. Smooth, Suave and Sophisticated.’ How did he snag your attention?”
Elizabeth giggled, now almost a co-conspirator with her husband’s nemesis. “Well, no, Peter is not ‘Mr. GQ,’ but that is part of his charm.”
“Huh,” said Neal as he pondered this. After a few beats, he continued, “A successful person, as you undoubtedly are, who’s in the social end of the business world, must appreciate that the proper presentation of oneself is important. A person’s appearance should reflect their feelings of self-worth, thereby influencing those whom they meet. Wouldn’t you agree, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth stifled the urge to giggle again as she weighed these words coming out of the mouth of a kid with torn jeans and no socks. He really was fun!
“You’re alluding to Peter’s boxy Brooks Brothers suits and those nasty ties that he favors, aren’t you, Neal?” Elizabeth queried.
“Not if you picked them out for him,” Neal hastily answered.
“No, I didn’t. Peter prefers his suits to be comfortable and long-wearing. But he does have a hideous yellow ‘lucky’ tie that makes me nauseous, and I’m still trying to figure a way to use it as a hanger for my fern. But then he’d miss it and I’d feel terrible, so I wouldn’t even suggest it. That’s just who Peter is, the sum of his parts, and I have come to love the fashion-challenged whole of him,” Elizabeth sighed.
Just then, Elizabeth’s cell rang. As she looked at the screen, a soft smile came over her face. Neal just knew it was Peter. He’d pushed his luck far enough. It was time to beat a hasty exit. He stood up abruptly, told Peter’s wife that he was charmed to have met her, and swiftly melted into the crowd.
Finally, Elizabeth answered the call in a sing-song voice, “You’ll never guess who I just had coffee with!”
As she related the particulars of their meeting to Peter, El seemed to find it amusing that Neal actually seemed a little bit afraid of her. What she didn’t tell Peter was that when her mind first connected the dots, and she realized that the man her husband had been chasing for years was right in front of her, she was the one who felt a flash of panic. She should have been dialing 911 instead of staring. But intrepid curiosity had trumped fear. And being reckless and bold had gotten her a first hand look at a very young man who she had adroitly maneuvered off balance. There was none of the slick conman about him in evidence that afternoon. Teasing Neal had been fun, and she really thought she could understand Peter’s soft spot for him. Somehow, she took comfort in the certainty that this “criminal” would never be a danger to Peter. Secretly, she was glad that he managed to slip away, although she’d never share that thought with her husband.
Peter was not surprised when days passed and he hadn’t heard from Neal. The guy was probably ducking him, unsure if Peter thought that Neal was stalking his wife and was angry. After talking with Elizabeth, he was sure that this chance encounter was as much of a surprise to Neal as it was to his wife.
Later in the week, in lieu of a phone call, Peter was the recipient of a package delivered by Fed Ex to his home. Inside were two Hermes silk ties in muted conservative hues of gray and brown. The third tie was a pink Stephano Ricci paisley jacquard creation with a note attached.
“You need to update your wardrobe, Peter. Your wife agrees. And you need to retire that monstrosity that you refer to as your lucky tie. It’s only lucky because nobody has tried to bury or burn it yet. This pink tie can replace it. Remember, only real men, secure in their masculinity, can pull off a pink tie.” XOXO, Neal.