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Peter wasn’t sure exactly what carried him to Neal’s apartment that night.
It was one of those gut feelings of his, which were rarely wrong. Maybe it was the way Neal had looked at him at the office, saying, “The marshals aren't gonna give us the information, are they?” There was something significant about the look on his face. He was resigned, but not to defeat. And when Peter was honest with him, he looked decisive. Peter just wished he knew what had been decided.
Something felt off about the situation. He told Elizabeth he just wanted to see how his grieving friend was holding up, which wasn’t too far off. Actually, that was what he was doing. There was no better way to describe what he was doing than that.
June greeted him before he headed up the stairs to Neal’s apartment. “He has company,” she warned him. “A woman. I know how often you and Mozzie—”
“I know, I know,” Peter said, wincing. He and Mozzie both had a tendency to not knock. Then he realized he had no idea what woman would be visiting Neal right now. “Is it Sara?” he asked, surprised. He didn’t think they were seeing each other again, but he wouldn’t be shocked. Or, worse, “Is it Alex?” If she was back in town, that was one more thread of Neal’s life to keep a close eye on.
“No, no, neither of them. Lovely woman, though. European accent, auburn hair.” June must have clocked some sudden change in Peter’s body language, because she asked, somewhat suspiciously, “Why?”
“No reason,” Peter said, trying to move as normally as possible towards the stairs. He wasn’t like June or Neal, though—pretending wasn’t really his element.
The woman she’d described could be Abigail. In fact, given the circumstances, Peter couldn’t imagine who else it could be, and he had a very, very bad feeling about it. Good thing he’d decided to trust his instincts.
Peter paused outside Neal’s door, deciding whether he should knock or just open the door. Most unfortunate incidents that had occurred in the past regarding his tendency to enter without knocking had involved women who, pretty crucially, weren’t lesbians. And knocking would allow them time to come up with a cover story if they were plotting something, so barging in would be a better decision.
But then he heard Neal say, “I’ve thought a lot about your offer,” and remembered he had a third option: eavesdropping.
There was no reason to feel bad about it if Neal was going to go behind his back and meet with the art thief they were trying to catch. He could be stealthy too.
“But I’m not gonna take it,” Neal continued.
Oh?
Peter was suddenly dying to know what the offer had been. What had Abigail promised him? What deal had she proposed? And why was Neal choosing not to take it?
“Oh,” Abigail said, seeming surprised. “You’re staying out of the game after all.”
Was he working an angle here? Something he could hope to gain from convincing Abigail he didn’t make deals with thieves anymore?
Or was he just… choosing to do the right thing?
Choosing to do the right thing behind Peter’s back? That didn’t seem like Neal. Then again, Peter didn’t often get the chance to see what Neal did do behind his back. He usually assumed it was stuff he wouldn’t want to know about, an assumption that was backed up by the friendly banter he and Neal exchanged regarding the other, shadier side of his life. This single instance was the first time he ever considered that maybe that assumption was wrong.
“I am,” Neal confirmed resolutely. “More importantly, you should walk away from the Pascal. You won’t get away with it.”
Even though Peter heard Neal speak in such ways around the office daily, something about hearing it when listening discreetly outside his door fundamentally shifted something in his brain regarding the way he saw Neal. He hadn’t ever realized it or explicitly acknowledged it in his mind outside of lighthearted jokes, but until this moment he’d always assumed that when Neal left the FBI, he left behind the parts of himself that emulated the FBI agents he worked with. In his off hours, he was Neal Caffrey, con artist and thief, though he wouldn’t dare do anything too daring and illegal while on an ankle monitor and being constantly closely monitored by the FBI.
But no. In the privacy of his own apartment, just him and a fellow art thief, one of his own (as Peter would have thought, and assumed Neal would as well from the way he liked to joke), his integrity upheld. It wasn’t a performance, it was reality.
You won’t get away with it. It wasn’t even a warning or a threat. He was stating it like a fact. He sounded like… one of his agents. He almost sounded like Peter imagined he did.
“Well, what about Ellen Parker?” Abigail asked.
Ellen. That’s what this was about. She’d offered him a deal that would allow him to get the information he wanted on Ellen. “The marshals aren't gonna give us the information, are they?” Neal had asked, and he must have been thinking about this offer, because what else could he have been thinking about?
Most of the pieces were clicking into place, but not all of them. Based on the information he now had regarding that deal and the way he observed Neal’s disappointment at the office, he would have expected him to accept the offer. He had always been the wrong-thing-for-the-right-reasons type. It annoyed him to no end, but he tried to focus on the “right reasons” part when possible. Never had he believed that Neal had an inclination to do bad things, but he’d definitely believed on a very deep level that he had an inclination to do wrong things.
And in Peter’s defense, the evidence did support that.
But he hadn’t seen this kind of evidence before, and of course he hadn’t, because the nature of this kind of show of integrity was that he wasn’t there to see it. How often did Neal show his loyalty to Peter where he couldn’t hear it? How often did he prove that his commitment to justice and to the FBI was more than a performance behind closed doors, where he would receive no credit for it?
Neal Caffrey was Peter’s main subject of study. Understanding him was his life’s work. Yet every now and then, he still found ways to surprise him.
This was one way in which Peter definitely didn’t mind being surprised.
“I’ll find a way,” Neal said. It was clear it wasn’t easy for him, but he was committed to the decision.
Peter’s heart warmed. That was what he’d said to Neal before he left the office. His words made a difference. A genuine one.
For better or for worse, it was hard to tell when it came to Neal. He was glad for this opportunity to hear the evidence firsthand.
“You don’t need one,” Abigail said significantly.
“You already broke in,” Neal realized.
“I’ve got everything you want,” Abigail said. “And it’s ready for you just as soon as you get me the Pascal.”
So that was her angle. She couldn’t steal the Pascal because she’d figured out the FBI was onto her, and Neal couldn’t steal the information on Ellen because of his anklet, so she’d offered him a trade. But why go through with her end of the bargain before he’d even agreed to the offer?
Peter tensed. He would be proud of Neal for turning her down either way, but he understood how much more tempting the offer must be now. Peter didn’t know what Abigail was showing him to prove she had it. Neal could very well be holding the information in his hands. Or, more likely, she hadn’t given him the information itself, but some file or paper that proved she’d accessed it.
Please, Neal, don’t do it, Peter silently begged in futili—
“No.”
—ty.
“I’m not gonna do it.”
(Scratch the “futility” part, then.)
There was no way to describe what Peter was feeling other than proud. He was unbelievably proud of Neal in this moment, and mentally filed away the reality that Neal did make a few such decisions when no one was listening.
Unless he knew Peter was listening. Unless he’d anticipated that Peter would—what, come over to his apartment over a gut feeling that something wasn’t quite right? And then stand outside the door listening to his conversation instead of knocking or barging in on instinct, which he’d never done before?
Unbelievable as it was, Neal wasn’t in control here. He was just… doing the right thing.
Which meant Peter needed to mentally adjust what counted as “believable” when it came to Neal’s decisions. It was a little disorienting, but certainly not upsetting.
“Oh. That's a shame, because right now the marshals have no idea that anyone broke in and stole this information, but I could always call them.”
If Peter wasn’t stealthily eavesdropping, he would have snorted.
Neal seemed to find the idea equally laughable. “And what? File an eyewitness report?”
Abigail laughed. “No, see, I don't have to do a thing because they'll search that room and they'll find strands of your hair under the data server.”
Planted evidence.
Where had she gotten strands of his hair?
“And put that together with the anklet outside the building…” Abigail continued.
Peter had that conversation with Neal, too.
“I checked your anklet the other day.”
“Did you notice I was outside the marshals’ New York office?”
“That I did.”
“I didn't set foot inside that building.”
“No, you don't have to set foot inside a building to case it.”
“I'm not gonna break in, Peter.”
“But you were tempted.”
“I was. But I decided that… Your way is the best way.”
And he’d meant it.
He’d actually meant it.
Peter decided he’d heard enough and opened Neal’s door without knocking. “Hi,” he said slightly belatedly, realizing it was probably best for him to play this as though he was just stopping by, hadn’t heard that conversation, and didn’t know who Abigail was. Did Abigail know who he was? He’d been at the museum with Neal, so if she’d recognized him then, then maybe, but they hadn’t interacted, so he couldn’t be sure.
“Hi,” Neal said carefully. He definitely knew Peter had been listening. Peter had never been as good at playing things off.
“I was just leaving,” Abigail said with a satisfied smile. “I won’t bother you any longer. Have a good night, both of you.” Peter could tell from the way she walked that she fully believed she’d won some kind of game, and that Neal now had no choice but to do exactly what she wanted. Unlike Neal, she seemed not to have put together that he overheard their conversation, nor that he was Neal’s FBI handler.
There was a silent five seconds after the door closed behind Abigail.
Then Neal tentatively asked, “Exactly how much of that did you hear?”
“Enough,” Peter said.
Neal sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking away. “Peter, I promise you, I wasn’t going to—”
“I know. I heard. That’s what I mean,” Peter said gently. “I heard more than enough to understand what was going on here. She made you an offer, you turned it down, so she fulfilled her end but blackmailed you in doing so, trying to force you to steal for her something she’s figured out she can’t. Correct?”
Neal nodded slowly. “Peter, I wouldn’t have—”
“I know. I believe you. I heard you. When you said you decided not to steal the file on Ellen, and that my was the better way, you meant it,” Peter said. He took a breath, intending to assert that they would find a way to prove she broke in and tried to blackmail him, but then realized that even though Neal had relaxed, there was still tension. He knew Peter understood, but couldn’t shake his previous apprehension that Peter would readily believe he’d take such a deal.
And the truth was, Peter would have readily believed it. He was rapidly rewriting some of his own deep-seated beliefs regarding his friend and how much he really had changed.
“I’m really proud of you, you know,” Peter said instead. The words felt basic and lame coming out of his mouth, like some meaningless nothing. I’m proud of you. Of course he was. Neal was showing genuine willingness to do the right thing, even behind closed doors, even when it pained him, even when the one thing he currently wanted most was within reach. What was there to not be proud of?
But Peter’s intuition (the part that sounded like Elizabeth’s voice) had been correct, because the last of the tension finally melted out of Neal’s shoulders. “Thanks,” he muttered, not meeting Peter’s gaze like he wasn’t sure what to do with the phrase. Then he moved on for both of them: “You think we can prove she tried to frame me?”
“That’s what we do,” Peter said, making a mental note to make it more common for him to tell Neal how much he appreciated the moments where he made the right decision, even when it was hard. He didn’t want it to sound so out of place and awkward for him to say something as simple and true as I’m really proud of you.
A small smile found its way onto Neal’s face. “Yeah. That’s what we do.”