Chapter Text
Liz stumbled into the Post Office 10 minutes late, feeling like she was still half-asleep. Agnes was teething, and had been up half the night crying, and then the alarm clock had decided to stop working.
And of course, since the day was turning out so great, the first thing to great her when she stepped off the elevator was her every cheerful C.I.
“Lizzie. Isn’t it a lovely day? You’re looking positively radiant.”
“Liar.” She growled, the tone doing nothing to dampen Reddington’s smile. He simply handed her a huge take-out cup of coffee (She hadn’t had time to pick one up.) She gave in and offered him a faint smile as she took a sip. Just the way she liked it, of course.
“What horrid psychopath are we after today?” She asked, starting toward her desk.
“Oh, the usual brand of murderers and thieves. And something a little special.” Red answered, following after her.
******
“The Terrence gang has their fingers into everything in their area.” Red informed the group, once everyone had assembled in the war-room. “Drugs, Forgery, shakedowns, murder. The leaders of the gang are twin sisters Alexis and Naomi. They’re very good. Local law enforcement hasn’t been able to pin anything on them.”
“And you think we’ll be able to?” Ressler interrupted.
“They’ve hired a new forger. He’s very good, the FBI has him listed as one of the best con-artists in the world. He’s also young-minded and arrogant, though. He’ll be our way in.”
“So, what’s the name of this mysterious conman?” Liz asked, hiding a yawn behind her hand.
“Perk up, Lizzie. You’ll love him. He’s a real charmer. He’s going by Sean Birch, at present, though he has almost as many aliases as me, but the FBI know him best as Neal Caffrey.” He paused, waiting to see if anyone recognized the name.
“Neal Caffrey died two years ago.” Cooper pointed out.
“Who was he?” Samar asked curiously.
“He was an art thief and forger.” Liz answered. “We actually did a week’s study on him at Quantico. He was, as Reddington said, the best, and he had a three year career, evading everyone, before a white collar agent named Peter Burke finally cornered him and took him in. He broke out three months shy of his sentence, and then turned C.I. for the New York office. Burke was his handler for four years, and then he was killed during an operation two years ago. Or, supposedly killed.”
“And he’s been laying low ever since then. Enough so that the FBI have never questioned his death.” Red finished. “My advice; if you want to catch this one, you’re going to have to call in some help.”
******
Peter Burke seemed to be a fairly laid back agent, Liz decided. Not what she had really expected from the man who had hunted down and then turned one of the most capable criminals of the day. From the way his expression hardened any time Caffrey’s name was mentioned, though, she had no doubt there was steel behind his affable nature.
“Neal is smart. You can’t catch him the same way you do your run-of-the-mill criminals.” They were all in the war-room again, a day later, the New York agent briefing them. “But he’s also pretty cocky, and he’s a sucker for a pretty face, so you can use that against him.”
“We?” Ressler asked. “I thought they called you down to catch him.”
“If Neal catches sight of me down here, he could walk right in, or he could rabbit, and right now I’m honestly not sure which it would be. If he runs, you’ll be searching for him for another two years, at least, and I don’t think that fits with your timeline. I’ll organize this from the background, and see how he responds if we miss him before I make any plans to go after him directly. Now, Neal likes his luxuries…”
******
The plan was simple. Find out where Caffrey was hanging out, something Reddington did without too much trouble, and then lure him into a trap, which was where Samar and Liz came in.
And it failed spectacularly. Something, nobody was quite sure what, tipped him off, and a ‘trip to the men’s room’ turned into a complete disappearance. Peter wasn’t overly pleased about it, but neither did he seem all that surprised. Neal hadn’t taken so long to catch, he assured them, simply because he was lucky.
The second attempt went just as badly, and then the third. Reddington made a comment about FBI inability at one point, and Ressler answered with a suggestion that the crimelord have his men bring their fugitive in if he could do it better. Red was not happy to admit he’d had just as little luck himself.
“Something’s definitely keeping him here.” Peter commented, after a fourth failed operation. Although, they had come away with a nice-looking black fedora this time. “Otherwise he’d be long gone, or at least in a different part of the city.”
“He’d be easier to catch with a bullet in him.” Samar suggested coolly. “Just the shoulder, or leg, something to slow him down, if we want him alive.”
“Suggest that again and I’ll put one in you.” The New York agent responded, glaring at her. “Neal doesn’t like guns. He avoids them whenever possible, but he can sure as hell use one if he feels threatened. I’d really rather not have to drag him in for injuring, or killing, a federal officer.” He considered a moment, staring at the fedora that sat on his desk unseeingly a moment, then smirked.
“Where’s the best hat shop in the area? Neal’s going to need a new one.”
******
Peter went with them this time, and, while the team watched the obvious exits to the shop, he went looking for the back way in. He found it mostly by accident, just coming around the corner as his quarry stepped out the hidden exit.
Neal actually looked younger, surprisingly. Gone was the neat suit and slicked hair. Instead he wore a pair of blue jeans and a white T-shirt, both still well made and in good condition, just tight enough to show off his slender physique. Over the shirt he wore a leather jacket, left open. His hair was a little longer, left mostly untamed, curling around his face and brushing his neck. A chain of alternating gold and silver links hung around his neck.
“Neal, stop.” Peter ordered, gun half-raised in what had long since become a subconscious movement. The other man looked back at him, not seeming overly surprised.
“Are you going to shoot me, Peter?” The smile turned it into a rhetorical question, but Peter answered anyway.
“No. Not anymore than you’re going to try to run.” He tucked his gun back into its holster and held up the handcuffs instead. Neal eyed them with a frown.
“And if I did?”
“I imagine the other agents are closing around, by now. Even if you slip past, we’ll just come after you again. If Reddington’s men don’t find you first. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t hesitate to bring you down however they had to. Don’t be stupid, Neal.”
Heaving a resigned sigh, the criminal held his wrists out and Peter cuffed him. Then he produced another, very familiar type of cuff.
“Peter, no, not the anklet again.” Neal protested, glaring at the tracking unit, though he didn’t stop the older man from locking it around his left ankle. This one was actually a lot less obvious, almost ornamental. “Where’s it centered here?”
“At the moment, on me.” Peter held up his right wrist, which held a bracelet that obviously matched the anklet. “It’s completely controlled from here. No key. If you prefer, I heard they can make them in collars, too.” He reached out to snag the chain Neal wore, giving it a tug.
“Peter, I never knew you were into that type of thing. Does Elle know?” Peter just gave the younger a long look. Neal’s smile faded and he looked away.
“You never learn, do you? What the hell are you doing, Neal?”
“I wasn’t-” Neal began. Peter scowled at him, already spotting the lie. Neal paused, then began again.
“There’s a girl…” He leaned back against the wall, fiddling with the handcuffs. Peter let him. He had the anklet on, now, and there had really been no need for them in the first place, but he had been in the mood to add that bit of mental enforcement.
“Of course there is. Another Kate.”
No,” he was quick to deny. “It’s different. She needed my help.” Peter settled his hands on his hips, a faintly disbelieving expression on his face. Neal took that as a cue to continue.
“I’ve been helping out some people. Abuse victims and people who needed to disappear. Innocent people.” He added quickly. The agent’s expression didn’t change.
“Anyway, there was this girl, Laurie’s her name now. She needed to get away from her abusive ex-boyfriend, so I set her up with a fake I.D. Something went wrong, though, and some people found out.”
“The Terrence sisters?” Peter asked. Neal offered him a grin, but it was only returned with a frown.
“Yeah,” he admitted, giving up that attempt. “They threatened to let her boyfriend know, if I didn’t do a few little jobs for them. One thing led into another. I tried to get Laurie away, but then Naomi and Alexis grabbed her and her daughter and they have them hidden somewhere. As long as I play nice, they’ll be fine.” Peter let his arms drop, taking on the long suffering look that Neal was quite familiar with.
“Why didn’t you come to me? You know I would have helped you.”
“You had a new baby to look after.” Neal answered, relaxing now that he was sure Peter wasn’t going to try to strangle him or shoot him or something. “How is he, by the way? I heard you named him after me. And Elle?”
“They’re fine, Elle misses you, she made me promise to bring you home.” Neal blinked, a little taken aback about Peter’s comment about ‘taking him home’, but, then, the Burkes were as close to a real family as he’d ever had.
“Now, you are going to stay where I can see you, at all times. Director Cooper has already offered a nice little cell to drop you into and if you take off on me even once, I will use it.” Neal just nodded obediently, knowing the threat wasn’t idle.
Peter gave him a long look, and Neal returned it with his best innocent expression, until the corner of the older man’s lip quirked upward.
“You’re smiling.” He pointed out, grinning back.
“Sean Birch?”
“Well, Burke seemed a little obvious, and I’m not entirely sure it fits me.” Peter just huffed a laugh, and then lifted his wrist to talk into his communicator.
“I already told you, you’re not shooting him. Everything’s under control, I’ve got him. Around the back.” He dropped his wrist and started up the alley, Neal obediently falling in behind, hands slipping into the pockets of the jacket.
The criminal was a little surprised at how comfortable, how right it felt, to be shadowing his jailer again. He shouldn’t be, though, he supposed. It had been the majority of his life for four years.
Peter made things simpler, too. It was a lot easier to ignore the opportunities when they weren’t there, when you knew that there was someone who was going to catch you. And Peter always had. He was like an external conscience, really, and lord knew Neal needed that. Even the weight of the anklet felt familiar again, a reminder of the security. It had taken him a while after his ‘death’ to get used to not wearing it.
“Someone wanted to shoot me?” He spoke up, as they stepped out onto the street.
“The Mossad agent. Samar Navabi.”
“Oh, the one with the knife. It’s a very nicely made blade.” Peter gave him a knowing look, which was returned with one of pure innocence.
“Give her back her knife.” Neal huffed and pulled a large collapsible knife out of a hidden pocket inside the jacket and reluctantly handed it back to Samar. She tucked it away and gave him a dark look.
“Try to pick my pocket again and I will use it on you.”
“So noted.”
“Why isn’t he cuffed?” Neal smiled charmingly at the blond man who was eyeing him distrustfully.
“I don’t really like handcuffs.” He answered as Peter stepped away to take a phone call. “They’re nice to play with in the bedroom, but are a really big fashion faux pas out on the streets.”
“Great. Another Reddington.” The agent growled, producing his own set of cuffs. Neal patiently let him put them on him. He baulked, though, when the agent grabbed his arm to pull him over to one of the cars.
“Hey, back off, Blondie.”
“Ressler, let him go.” Peter called, and both turned to look at the senior agent, who then pointed at another car, presumably his own. Neal pulled his arm free, pocketed the second set of cuffs in with Peter’s, and started toward the car.
“Neal, give him back his badge and wallet.”
“Spoilsport.” Neal muttered, but turned to toss the items at the agent, who had just reached to check his pockets at the comment, before going to slide into the front passenger seat, though he left the door open and his legs out.
“I don’t like him.” Ressler growled as he moved over to Elizabeth and Samar.
“Of course you don’t.” Samar answered. Elizabeth turned to look as Reddington and Dembe drove up. The crimelord stepped out and sauntered over cheerfully.
“Mission complete, I assume?” He glanced around, spotting Neal, who was fiddling with the new anklet.
“Neal, Elizabeth wants to talk to you.” Peter called, gesturing toward the car, and Neal leaned back to turn on the Bluetooth connection and take over the call.
“Another Elizabeth?” Ressler commented, as the New York agent came over.
“My wife. She’s been worried about him. Are we ready to head back?”
“With all the trouble he’s given us, I’m surprised he’s behaving so well now.” Red commented. Peter shrugged.
“It’s all a game to him. He tries to pull something, I catch him and he behaves for a little while, and then it starts again. He’s not a bad person, he certainly isn’t out to hurt anybody, he just gets bored easily, tends to fall in with the wrong people, and has a problem with impulse control.”
“So don’t trust him.” Samar commented. “Simple enough.”
“I trust Neal to be Neal. He’ll throw a con, if it will get someone into real trouble. He doesn’t have any problems with working with us. He actually told me why he’s hanging around, in fact. The sisters have his new girlfriend and her daughter captive, which means he’ll be even more eager to help than he usually is.”
“That anklet’s more secure than those cuffs were, isn’t it?” Ressler again. Peter took a glance at his prisoner to find Neal watching them, fiddling with the anklet absently.
“He could get his way out of it, if he really wanted to. He’s done so a number of times.” Peter admitted, turning back. “Think of it as a security blanket.”
“Yours or his?” Liz asked.
“Both, a bit. I like knowing where he is, and he won’t admit it, but I think it’s a bit easier for him to follow the rules when he knows he’ll get caught. Usually.”
“Not always though, apparently.” Liz interjected suddenly. Peter glanced back at the car and swore.
“How the hell did he slip it?” Ressler snapped.
“He’s Caffrey.” Peter answered. Reddington just laughed, earning himself a few glares, which were only returned with a cheerful grin.
“I think I like this one.” He commented.
“Anyone have a laptop with wifi?” Peter interrupted. “We need to get him back before he finds the tracking chip I dropped on him.”
******
Neal had found the tracking chip. And the second, and the third. The fourth, though, he missed, and that was the one that led the team back to his apartment.
“You’re getting really sneaky, Peter.” The younger man had commented when Peter had hauled him out onto the street, being very sure to keep a hand on him. “I’m almost proud.”
He was far less impressed, though, when he saw where he would be spending the night.
“They work here? It’s worse than prison, at least there are some windows there. We’re not actually going to stay here, are we?” The agent dragged him down a set of stairs into a large empty area, pushing him the last few steps up onto the platform of the glass cage.
“Shut it, Caffrey. You are staying here.” Peter snapped. The anklet had already been replaced, apparently Neal had managed to interrupt the wireless signal and confuse the tracker into unlocking. Aram had assured Peter that he could fix that bug, given a day or so, and Ressler had mentioned the box.
A quick pat down and Peter pocketed Neal’s wallet, phone, a lockpick kit and, surprising, a small box that, when he opened it, held…
“An engagement ring? This really is Kate all over again.”
“No, it’s not.”
There was a cot on the platform, and Peter just sighed and quickly cuffed him to the frame of it, then stepped away, over to the control panel.
Neal sat down, giving the older man a confused look, then his eyes widened as the glass walls started closing around him, jerking at the binding.
“Peter, don’t.” He begged, pulling a pin from the waistband of his jeans and going to work on the cuff. He had just barely got it off, though, when the glass locked into place.
“Peter, let me out. Please. I won’t go anywhere, I promise.” Peter just gave him a disappointed look and turned to head back up the stairs.
“Peter!” As the agent reached the top of the stairs, the room’s lights went out, leaving only the red emergency lights. Neal’s call took on an edge of fear.
“PETER!”
******
“You’re sure that cage is escape-proof?” Peter stood in the observation room, keeping his voice low, even though he knew full well that he could have yelled and Neal wouldn’t have been able to hear him. The captive had stopped calling, after swearing at him colourfully, and had taken a few attempts to break the glass with his shoulder, before abandoning that attempt as well, now pacing the cell restlessly, occasionally stopping to tap at the glass or study the join along the front.
“Reddington himself couldn’t manage to get out of there without outside help.” One of the guards answered. “And that’s not a boast. It cost one of his people her life, and almost Agent Keene, as well.”
The senior agent nodded, just watching his friend on the display a moment more. He wasn’t particularly comfortable leaving him in there, of course, especially after his tone of voice, and the obvious agitation now, but it wouldn’t hurt him, and Peter didn’t have the time to rebuild the healthy fear and respect the criminal had developed over their years together. Neal needed to drop back into that mindset now, before his impulsiveness caused them trouble.
“He’s not claustrophobic, is he?” The other tech, a woman, asked.
“No.” Peter answered quickly. “No, I wouldn’t do that. He just doesn’t like being contained. He’s… Well, you know all those Native American stories about the trickster Raven? Neal’s the raven, and he really hates having his wings clipped. He’ll be fine, just let him sulk, and I’ll be back in the morning. If anybody lets him out of there before then, I will have them charged with aiding and abetting.” Peter cast one last concerned look at the monitor, seeing that Neal had sat down against the wall in the back corner, knees up and arms resting carelessly on top of them, his head pressed back against the glass. He forced himself to turn away, then, and left the room to head back to his hotel. Neal would be fine, and he could deal with the resultant pouting in the morning.