Chapter Text
Since arriving in Paris, Neal almost had it all. He could almost write a self-help manual: how to have your cake and eat it too. Distance between the cake and the eating was the vital component; that made it possible to, in a manner of speaking, not let the right hand know what the left hand was eating. It was pretty easy to make sure that Peter in New York didn't know what he in Paris was helping Mozzie do, even though he knew Peter guessed there were some things of that nature going on. But, out of respect for Peter (as well as a firm desire to never get caught by anyone again), the cons were minor – minuscule, really, so that they could slide by undetected by much of anyone, and not really risk pinging anyone's radar.
Neal still talked to Peter regularly – at least several times a week – during his lunch break, which, thanks to the time difference, lined up exactly with Peter's morning commute. Neal actually had a bit of a reputation among the staff at the Louvre for guarding his lunchbreaks jealously, almost religiously. He wouldn't have traded those phone calls for anything. But despite the constant contact, and his certainty that Peter told him pretty much everything about his life, from details about the most intricate ops at work, as security permitted, of course, to details about mundane things about house upkeep and health, to lively descriptions of El's and Little Neal's activities, Neal felt like he was on the outside of Peter's life. He was an observer – a favored observer, perhaps even loved – but he wasn't a part of the action in Peter's life anymore. It was safer for Peter and Peter's family that way, and even for Neal, but Neal missed it acutely nonetheless.
And then there were the nightmares.
Actually it was only one nightmare. But Neal had witnessed it so many times, he could recall it vividly when awake. He'd been having it every so often for years, since he was first in Paris, back when even Mozzie still believed he was dead. He'd had it for the first time within a week of moving into the Parisian apartment where he still lived.
In a nutshell, barring variations: Woodford escapes from jail, and goes after Peter.
Even years later, he could still remember waking from that nightmare the first time. Of course, he quickly realized that it was just a dream. He had wanted so badly to pick up the phone to check for certain! What would Peter have thought, he wondered, getting a call from a dead man just after bedtime – but Woodford and his gang hadn't even been sentenced at that point; radio silence was absolutely vital, though he was hoping for Peter and/or Mozzie to pick up on the clues soon.
How could he have been so stupid, he wondered? What in the world was he thinking, killing himself off to protect the people he said cared for so much, just glibely assuming that Woodford would never think of tracking down Peter Dunbar? Of course he would try to track down Peter Dunbar. Peter Dunbar had never been part of the court proceedings or attempted deal talks, which said loud and clear: I cut a plea bargain. Oh, if only Woodford knew: having cut a plea bargain would have been soooo much safer for “Peter Dunbar” than having been an undercover FBI agent. It wouldn't take a genius to realize pretty quickly that Peter Dunbar was really Peter Burke. Neal had been awake all the rest of that night, wracking the depths of his creative mind to figure out a way to stop Woodford, but he came up completely empty. His only hope was that Peter remembered Woodford's reputation for violent retribution and had prepared for the eventuality somehow.
He thought briefly, even, of taking out a hit on Woodford. There were logistical problems with that, and he could vividly imagine Peter finding out that he'd done it and didn't want to go there, but also the idea just made him sick. He didn't go any further with it.
But what *would * he do if Woodford got out and went after Peter?
Peter *was* pretty good at defending himself... Neal had mentioned the problem on one of his earliest visits back to New York, after the miraculous return of the money missing from the Federal Reserve heist. Peter agreed with him that there wasn't much to be done, short of keeping on checking up on Woodford. Neal felt a little better after that. At least the idea was in Peter's head.
Neal had not been able to work up to a complete confession. Peter wasn't told that Neal had put him in that position knowingly and on purpose. Neal could hardly admit that to himself, much less to Peter. He had needed money; that was true, and it wasn't like he could have asked Peter to steal it for him while Mozzie helped him with the safe. And he had been, understandably, up to his eyeballs in frustration with the FBI at that point. But how, he wondered whenever these thoughts came to him, how in the world could he ever have decided to take those frustrations out on Peter? Peter had been trying to do his best by Neal – Neal knew that in his head, if not always in his heart. Peter was the one person on that side of the law who always had Neal's best interests at heart – or at least almost always. And Peter was not in a position always to bend the FBI to his will – Neal wasn't an idiot; he had always understood that. How could he have put Peter in this position? And what was one thousand times worse, Peter's family? His innocent unborn son, that was so wanted and loved, and had been waited for for so long? It went beyond terrible. It was treachery. It was unthinkable.
And so Neal tried not to think about it. But there was also nothing he could think of to do about it. All he could do was to hope that nothing ever happened, and that he could be there to intercept Woodford if it did.
On a happier note, also shortly after Neal had begun visiting New York again, someone robbed the Louvre. It wasn't a physical theft, so it wasn't directly Neal's problem; someone used some kind of fancy electronic scheme to siphon money out of an an endowment fund. The responsible people at the Louvre were stumped, and found themselves in good company: several other large European museums had also been hit, and were similarly stumped. But Neal had a brainwave soon after he heard of it, and put a request to his supervisor. He was almost surprised when the superior told him he loved the idea and to go ahead with it. Neal called Peter's boss immediately, remembering to use his French accent on the phone.
The best three weeks of Neal's life followed that. He was free and he was working with Peter, and Peter was the consultant while Neal was the boss, a turnaround not lost on either of them. And as soon as they were both in their “situation room” (a small office provided by the museum), the identical moment that Peter set his things on the table, looked at Neal with a smile in his eyes, and said, “so, where are we with this?” Neal felt his world shift into perfect alignment.
They made short work of the perpetrator; the man and his partners were in custody within two weeks – Interpol's custody, of course – handed over complete with damning evidence and a handful of fat leads to several other suspected villains. Benet and Burke (Peter even let him get away with that ordering this time) were the darlings of continental law enforcement and had earned the Louvre's undying gratitude, or so they were told. With a week left to spare, Peter asked Neal to come show him Normandy, a part of France he'd always wanted to see, since his grandfather had been part of the D-Day invasion there. Neal jumped at the chance, and spent the week helping Peter navigate in French while hearing a bunch of Peter's family history. He loved every minute.
He dropped Peter off at the airport himself, when the three weeks were up.
“This has been wonderful,” Peter said as they were standing at Departures. “I wouldn't have traded this for anything. Especially this last week.”
“I'm surprised you didn't want to fly Neal out here for it,” Neal said.
“I'll do it with him sometime,” Peter said. “But I'm glad I got to do it with you.”
Neal was choked up for a moment, and put on his fake smile to cover it. “Yeah, it was great!” he said honestly. “You know we'll get asked to do this again – I mean the 'catching bad guys' part, right?”
Peter grinned.”They'd have to be crazy not to ask us," he said. “It's been nothing short of fantastic, Neal.”
They hugged, and then Peter said, “Goodbye. I'll miss you. Come to New York soon, okay?”
Neal's eyes were bright. “Do you need me for something?”
Peter half-laughed at Neal's expression. “Nothing specific. We just always want to see you,” he said.
Only a little less enthusiastically, Neal nodded. “I'll see what I can work out.”
“Bye, then,” Peter said. “I'll say hello, to everyone who knows.”
“So, El.”
“Yeah,” Peter said, raising a hand in farewell as he walked into the airport. When he was inside, he looked back in Neal's direction, thinking of Neal's hopeful face and grinning as he wondered how Neal could still act so much like a kid.
When Peter disappeared inside the airport, Neal sighed and returned slowly to his car. While he loved his work at the Louvre and the freedom he had to do whatever he liked outside of it, he longed to be able to live in New York again. In Paris, for the most part, he did everything his way, modified only slightly by what Mozzie wanted to do. He came and went as he pleased, did what he liked, and answered to no one. But then, there was no one relying on him, and no one to keep pressuring him to be better than he was. Again, there was Mozzie, but Mozzie was reluctant to press him into anything, now that he was away from the influence of the Suit. These couple of weeks that he and Peter had worked together had been the best because he'd had those things again. He'd been able to call Peter in because Peter was good; and he himself was good; but together they made each other spectacular.
At least, that was what he thought. He hoped Peter thought so too. He hoped that Peter needed him as much as he needed Peter. He'd heard it, momentarily, in Peter's request that he come to New York, and remembering his own reaction made him want to cringe, because when he was being honest with himself, he knew there was no way in the world Peter needed him like that. Yes, even Peter realized that he did slightly better work with Neal there, but besides that... it was silly to pretend that he might.
Oh, how Neal wanted him to.
Sometimes, Neal let himself imagine circumstances in which Peter would need him very badly. (Especially right after he woke up from the nightmare). If he could do something brilliant for Peter, something that was needed desperately and that no one else could do...