Work Text:
“Thanks for helping us out,” Dave said. “You know, they still say you could have charge of Organized Crime if you want it.”
“No thanks,” Peter said, settling himself down in the Organized Crime surveillance van with his nice warm coffee. “I’m quite happy with White Collar. But anytime you’re short staffed, I’m happy to help out.”
He settled down in the extra chair and pulled a headset on.
“Yeah, flu has been a real killer this year,” Dave said. “People are going down in droves.”
“You’re telling me,” Peter said. “Half my office is down with it right now.”
He had even preemptively sent Neal home amidst much complaining because Neal had complained of a chill in the office. Neal had insisted the heating was just broken, but Peter was taking as many precautions as possible after how many people had puked in the office. Neal was under strict orders to study his case files at home and only come back to the office in an emergency until either he was better or the office was flu free again.
“Been watching this guy Borelli for weeks,” Dave said. “Word is he’s connected high up to one of the most influential Italian mobs. Even operates overseas. He always has lunch outside, even in the snow. Hasn’t tipped anything off yet, but here’s to hoping.”
Dave raised his coffee cup to Peter.
Peter obligingly “clinked” their coffee cups together.
Borelli sat at an outdoor café table amidst the falling snow, eating a bowl of soup and sipping a coffee.
A lean figure strolled up to the other side of Borelli’s table dressed in a stylish dark coat and a scarf.
“You didn’t say Borelli was meeting anyone,” Peter commented.
Dave shrugged. “I didn’t know.”
The figure pulled his scarf down and Peter choked on his coffee.
It was Neal.
“Neal, what the hell are you doing?” Peter whispered to himself. Either he was horning in on the investigation just because Peter was involved, or he was involved with the mob and their crimes. Neither was good.
“Larkin, my friend, good to see you again,” Borelli said.
“Shh!” Neal said. “He’s dead. That name can’t be used anymore. Remember?”
“Ah, yes, I forgot. My apologies, friend. I remember seeing the obituary in the paper now,” Borelli said.
Neal nodded. “You know you’re being watched?”
Peter jerked. Why was Neal tipping the mobster off on the FBI?
Borelli shrugged. “Not by anyone important. We can speak freely.”
“I wish,” Neal said. “What did you need to meet me for?”
“Do you remember Milan?” Borelli asked.
“Which time?” Neal asked, leaning back and playing with the saltshaker.
“The time you were tortured,” Borelli said, so casual as if it were commonplace.
“Right. Then,” Neal said, with far less bitterness than Peter had expected. “Don’t tell me they’re back.”
“Not sure yet,” Borelli said. “But I have seen things that make me think…maybe. And that would be—”
“Disastrous,” Neal said. He kneaded his forehead. “You don’t need to tell me. But…why come to me? You know I’m busy.”
“Word was you had retired to Boca Raton and started a software company,” Borelli said. “When I was told you were not… This comes straight from the top, my friend. This is your mission.”
“Should you choose to accept it,” Neal just about whispered, but the cameras still picked it up. As they did his sad half smile.
“Choose? I wasn’t aware those with your training were allowed to choose what happened to them,” Borelli said.
“No, it’s a…never mind,” Neal said. “I don’t know if you noticed, Jeremy, but this happens to be the US of A. AKA not my territory. AKA, what you’re asking is illegal.”
“Then what are you doing here?” Borelli asked.
“Jeremy? I thought his name was Antonio,” Dave said.
“Neal, what are you doing?” Peter whispered. He had to know he was being recorded by the FBI. So why was he being so open about this…whatever this was? Unless this was some elaborate plot to steal something or break the stakeout on behalf of Peter.
“Favor for a friend of the director,” Neal said. “Officially anyway, I’m on loan to another agency. Unofficially? I was told I’m not fit for field work anymore and given one of those retirement assignments you get when you’re too broken to work anymore but not quite bad enough to be disappeared for everything you know.”
“Another agency?” Peter repeated.
Why was Neal insinuating he was an agent of the federal government? Was on some interagency task force?
He didn’t have any of his usual tells. True, he was a really good liar. But Peter trusted his instincts when it came to Neal. And his gut said Neal wasn’t lying.
Which made this even more confusing. Because either Peter’s gut was wrong (he was never wrong when it came to Neal), or Neal had been lying to them all about being a criminal when he was really an agent of the US government.
Which was even more impossible than Peter’s gut being wrong.
“I am sorry, my friend. It was not because of Milan, was it?” Borelli asked.
“No. I got shot in April of 09, and was under the hands of…you know who, for a while. When the rescued me, they didn’t even debrief me, just stuck me right back in Sing Sing. My girlfriend disappeared, and when I told them she could be in danger, they said I was…going off the rails. It was this or their ‘mandatory therapy program.’ Even though I was right about everything, how I handled it proved I apparently ‘care too much.’ So they benched me without benching me. They even had the audacity to say this was a thank you for all I’ve sacrificed during my years of service. I can’t even go to Roosevelt Island without setting off alarms. Sure, some thank you.”
Neal’s voice was full of bitterness. Full of pain that Peter knew had to be real.
His gut curdled. Either Neal was spinning a spectacular lie to the Italian mobster or…
Or they had stumbled across something they didn’t have the clearance to listen to.
“I am sorry, Bryce—whatever you go by now. I am sorry,” Borelli said. “You know how they are. They have their reputation for a reason.”
“If I had known that when they approached me, I never would have joined,” Neal said, an emptiness in his eyes that almost scared Peter. “I thought it would be fun. I thought I’d get to save the world.” His voice dropped to a whisper.
“Watched a few too many James Bond movies, eh?” Borelli asked.
“Hey, James Bond is cool,” Neal said.
“He is a terrible spy,” Borelli said. “Anyway. I am on an assignment right now I cannot leave. And you are the only other person with the expertise to handle this. So the director needs you to do this. It is in a consulate so technically foreign ground and so your territory. Drop point Alpha William Victor. Is there anything else you need, Nancy Queen Ida John?”
“No.” Neal slammed the saltshaker down on the table, his face sullen. “I hear and obey. I’d better get going.”
“Take care, my friend,” Borelli said.
“You too.” Neal stood up and stalked away.
Dave put his phone down. Peter hadn’t even noticed him pick it up.
“This stakeout’s called off. Apparently we’re intruding on the hush hush in someone else’s territory. Sorry to have wasted your time,” Dave said.
“Big surprise,” Peter muttered. “I’ll get out here.”
“Right. See you. Thanks again,” Dave said.
“You’re welcome.” Peter hopped out of the van before he could second guess himself and ran down the street.
Neal was still there, making his way down the snowy sidewalk. His head hung low and he had his hands jammed into his coat pockets.
“Neal.” Peter grabbed his arm and jerked him to a stop. “Wait up.”
“You heard that?” Neal asked, not sounding surprised. His blue eyes were full of sadness. “Peter, I have to go. There’s something I have to get done.”
“For who?” Peter demanded.
Neal yanked his arm out of his grip. “You can’t know who.”
“Because you’re an agent of the US government?” Peter demanded.
“No,” Neal said definitively. “I am not an agent of the US government.”
“I thought you said you never lie to me,” Peter spat, disgusted. He was sick of getting the run around with Neal. If he didn’t want to share the truth about this, then…
Maybe Peter had never known Neal as well as he had thought he did.
“I don’t,” Neal said.
Peter waited for more, but none came. He scoffed. Neal was lying. Or he was involved with something so much worse, he didn’t even want to know. He turned and marched down the sidewalk, away from Neal.
“We’re called officers,” Neal said quietly.
Peter’s foot froze to the sidewalk. He spun and faced Neal. “What?”
“It’s a common misconception,” Neal said. “The agents are the informants who aren’t actually on the payroll. We’re called officers. Not that popular culture will ever catch onto that.”
Officers. Not agents.
Neal was CIA.
“We should talk.” Neal grabbed Peter and escorted him.
“Yes, we should,” Peter said.
“Not here.” Neal glanced around the street. “Try to keep up.”
Neal led him on such a runaround, that if Peter didn’t know any better, he’d think he was trying to get him lost.
“You really think you’re being tailed?” he asked.
“Can’t be too careful,” Neal said curtly.
Finally, they stopped in an abandoned brick building right in the edge of Neal’s radius.
“We should be relatively safe here,” Neal said.
He stopped in the middle of a dingy brick wall and started counting with his finger.
“Is anything about Neal Caffrey even real, Bryce Larkin?” Peter asked, trying and failing to bury the hurt in his voice.
He had thought they were friends. Maybe even best friends.
Neal spun on him, his eyes more intense and dangerous than they had ever been. “First of all, never say that name again. Never use that name. Never search it anywhere. Not even secretly with Diana behind my back with her contacts like you always do. Don’t even say it in the FBI offices. Bryce Larkin doesn’t exist, as far as you’re concerned. If you mention it to anyone or search it anywhere or Diana or anyone else starts asking around about Bryce Larkin, I’ll get killed. Worse, you and Elizabeth will probably get killed. Promise me you won’t investigate it.”
“I…I can’t…” Peter started.
“Promise me on El’s life!” Neal said. “Or chances are, you’ll have to watch me die in front of you.”
Peter chilled further. He had never, ever seen Neal like this. It was as if he had transformed into a completely different person.
“I promise,” Peter said.
Neal slumped. “Okay. You’d better mean it.” He turned back to the bricks and began pulling some out. “As for the other part, everything about Neal Caffrey is real. You just…didn’t know everything about me. Just the parts I was legally allowed to tell you.”
“You following the law?” Peter joked halfheartedly.
“When it comes to my job, yes, every time,” Neal said, his eyes still so intense. “I don’t play around when it comes to national security.”
He pulled a metal lockbox out of the space uncovered by the loose bricks. It had a high-tech lock with a scanner instead of a keyhole or a code.
“Is Neal Caffrey even your real name?” Peter asked.
“Of course,” Neal said. “Neal George is my birth name, and Caffrey is my mother’s maiden name. I took it when I turned eighteen. That was always true. I just have extra names you don’t know about.”
“So…” Peter said. “CIA. How did that happen?”
“You know I…allegedly…had confidence schemes ripping off colleges for the scholarship money,” Neal said. “Well, for one of those identities I created for those schemes, I thought, why not actually start college? Might be interesting, learn stuff that’ll help me with cons, that sort of thing. And I did. And I made friends, had a good time, and decided to stick around and actually get the degree I signed up for.”
“Where was this?” Peter asked. He had so many more questions, like what kind of degree, did he join a frat, was he in sports, what was his college experience actually like?
“Stanford,” Neal said. “I didn’t know it at the time, but it’s a major CIA recruitment facility. I was approached, and they already knew everything about me, much more than you’ve ever found. Based on all that and on what they saw in my classes, they wanted to recruit me. It sounded like fun, and like a way I could continue to do what I do while making a difference, so I said yes.”
Neal pressed his thumb to the pad of the box. It beeped and flashed green. He threw the lid open.
“So…all this time, you weren’t really a conman anymore?” Peter asked. “You were one of us the whole time? And here I’ve been working my ass off to bring you over to our side, and you were already here.”
Neal pulled a pistol—a pistol! Standard issue government service pistol—out of the box and buckled on the holster. Next came a badge and ID which went into his pocket. A key to his anklet.
“Peter, joining the CIA was the biggest mistake of my life,” Neal said. “I’d rather be known as a conman than as Bryce Larkin, the man who doesn’t know how many of the targets he was ordered to eliminate were actually enemies of a traitorous organization inside the federal government instead of genuine threats to national security, the man who has so much blood on his hands he can’t even keep track of it anymore, the man who was so good at turning off his emotions and being the perfect cold CIA operative that his only friend in the entire world was a man he had betrayed to save his life and never talked to again. Neal Caffrey at least had a chance of not being the monster the CIA molded Bryce Larkin into.”
Peter’s mouth went dry. The gun, the missions, the everything…it was so much more than he had ever thought Neal capable of. But he knew one thing for certain.
“You’re not a monster,” Peter said. “No matter what name you go by or what you’ve done.”
Neal smiled sadly. “I knew you would say that.”
He propped his foot up on the wall and unlocked his anklet.
“If you hate it all this much, then why are you doing this?” Peter asked. “Why listen?” If Neal was being forced into this, Peter didn’t care how long it took or what it did to him, he would fight the entire federal government to free Neal.
“Because Jeffrey was right. This is a matter of national security,” Neal said. “If what he suspects is true, then a lot of people are in danger and I’m the only one who can save them. It doesn’t matter what I think about my bosses. Besides, he knew my activation codes. I’m being ordered on a mission and I only disobey my orders from my bosses if it’s necessary to protect people. I don’t go rogue, not for them.”
Peter’s shoulders straightened. He respected the hell out of Neal. He was so much more than he had expected, and yet he lived up to every single ounce of the potential he had always seen in him.
“I’m proud of you, Neal,” Peter said.
“Now, you need to go, and I need to find out the details of my mission,” Neal said. “I guarantee you’re not allowed to know about it. See you at the office?”
“Come over for dinner when you get the chance,” Peter said. “And Neal? Be careful.”
Neal gave his best crooked smile. “You know me, Peter. Careful’s my middle name.”
Neal was gone for three and a half days. Hughes announced that Caffrey was helping him with something that was need to know and they didn’t need to know, and Peter felt all kinds of a fool for not connecting the dots earlier. Interagency liaison. Hughes used to be NSA and still had considerable ties back to them. The current director for the Office of the Director of National Intelligence was NSA. Being on loan to the NSA likely gave Neal far more authority to work inside the US than just being CIA would.
It also explained a lot. Neal’s skill with guns but hatred of them, his mistrust of all government officials, his confusion at Peter’s insistence on actually following the law instead of just giving a wink and a nod at his methods.
He could also easily picture a young Neal steeped in cons and a big fan of Mission Impossible and James Bond joyfully accepting the CIA’s offer thinking it was a much different organization than he learned it was in reality. And Neal’s major adjustment problems were also struggles from being an intelligence officer to a law enforcement setting.
Even the resistance to violence in his cons was because those were just for fun and he only hurt people to protect the nation.
For the first time in decades, Peter hadn’t told El anything about it. Oh, she could sense something was wrong and she easily guessed it was about Neal, but when Peter said he wasn’t sure he was legally allowed to tell her and he wasn’t even sure if he was legally allowed to know what he knew, she backed off.
If anyone told her, it should be Neal, not Peter.
Peter and El were having a quiet evening at home, with Peter pretending to read a book about sextants and wondering if he’d ever see Neal again, when there was a knock at the door.
He leapt up and flung open the door, ready to joyously welcome Neal back, but his voice froze in his throat.
Neal did indeed stand on his doorstep, but his face was coated in blood.
“It looks worse than it is.” Neal was in a simple pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and his left arm was in a sling. “I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not from my activities. I tripped on the way here and couldn’t catch myself because of my arm.”
“Come on in,” Peter said. His instinct was to disbelieve Neal, but Neal did say he never lied to him.
“Oh my gosh!” El said. “Come in the kitchen, let me clean that.”
Neal smiled at her and let her drag him into the kitchen.
“Are you all right?” El asked as she gently wiped his face.
“My face hurts,” Neal said, pouting. “And so does my arm.”
Ham. Peter rolled his eyes. El always fell for it, too.
“Here, why don’t I get you some ice once I clean this?” El asked. “What happened to your arm?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” Neal winked at her, but Peter got the feeling he wasn’t entirely joking.
Peter huffed and stewed in silence while El cleaned Neal’s face and taped gauze over the cut, then hustled him to the couch with some ice.
“So.” Peter settled himself on the couch next to the catlike Neal basking in the attention he was getting.
“So?” Neal asked.
“We should talk,” Peter said.
“Should we? I’m just here for the dinner you promised,” Neal said.
“Neal, I need to know more,” Peter said. “Now don’t tell me that while you were off doing whatever Hughes wouldn’t tell me about that you didn’t go to your superiors and find out how much you can share with us.”
Neal sighed. “It’s not much, at least, not nearly as much as you would like. But thanks to Chuck, I can at least share something with you.”
“Who’s Chuck?” El asked.
“My college roommate,” Neal said. “An old friend, who’s much nicer to me than I deserve. He’s a good man, Peter, like you.”
“You went to college?” El gasped, delighted.
“Neal Caffrey didn’t,” Neal said. “But yes. Allegedly I graduated from Stanford. I did all the work myself so I’d better have earned that degree.”
“Stanford!” El repeated. “That’s impressive. Good for you!”
Neal smiled. “Thanks. It kinda just…happened. Thanks to my years at Stanford, I work for the CIA. I have for years, and you can’t tell anyone, not even Mozzie. Especially not Mozzie.”
“What are you doing here?” Peter asked. “Officially, that is.”
“Officially, looking for the traitors who got me killed twice,” Neal said.
“Not literally,” Peter said.
“Yes, literally,” Neal said. “Heart stopped. Bleeding out. And before you ask, no, I don’t know how they revived me. All I know is they thought I was something they desperately want. Which is why you can’t ever tell anyone this or what’s left of their organization might get you and me killed. There were a lot of them we had to root out in the intelligence community, and quite a few are still embedded in the FBI. Officially, that’s why I’m here. Because I’m the one with the expertise in who they are.”
“So if you’re CIA…how much of Neal Caffrey is real?” El asked.
“All of it,” Neal said. “I’m still the same foolhardy conman you know. I’m just also an idiot who watched too many James Bond movies as a kid and thought being a spy would be fun.”
“How many of Neal Caffrey’s escapades were actually CIA missions?” Peter asked.
Neal winced. “First of all, I’d never be allowed to tell you the answer to that question, and second, would you believe me if I said half of those aren’t even real?”
“What?” Peter asked.
“I like it when people say I did cool stuff!” Neal spread his hands defensively. “I don’t correct them when they’re lying about me doing cool stuff! A fake reputation is all a man has sometimes!”
Peter sighed and decided to try a different line of questioning. “How long were you actually in prison?”
“Imprisoned in general or in Sing Sing?” Neal asked. “Because I did spend a lot of it locked up, but a good bit of it was by that organization I told you about.”
“That’s why Peter could never find anything on your childhood!” El said. “Because of the CIA.”
Neal slightly flushed. “Elizabeth, um…” He glanced around and then sighed audibly. “That was the Marshals actually.”
“The Marshals…” Peter quickly put the pieces together. “You were in witness protection.”
“My family was,” Neal said. “I lived under an assumed identity since I was three years old. Didn’t learn the truth until I turned eighteen.” He shrugged sadly. “It’s why I’m so good at hiding and lying. The Marshals trained me to do it as naturally as breathing because our survival depended on it.”
Peter’s heart shattered into a million pieces. The callous conman who only stole for fun disappeared in his mind, replaced by a broken kid who had been taught by everyone around him that lying and deception were the only way to survive.
“Now that my bosses allowed me to to to Chuck again…” Neal shifted in his seat. “Peter, I have bad news about your mentor.”
“Kramer?” Peter asked. “What about him?”
“A few years ago, he joined the organization that tried to kill me multiple times,” Neal said. “He’s a traitor and he’s just set his sights on capturing me by using my commutation hearing. I’m going to be gone again, for about a week. I’ve been ordered to make sure Neal Caffrey is squeaky clean and has no evidence of alleged past misdeeds to be uncovered. I’m telling you now because there will be things popping up mysteriously that used to be…missing. And you’re not going to be allowed to investigate them. Now you know why. Doing it could get both me and you killed. Either by the traitorous organization or possibly by the actual government. So please, just accept it as a gift and a sign that I’m…trying to be better.”
“What about Kramer?” Peter asked.
“When I get back, you, me, Hughes, and Chuck are making a plan for Kramer,” Neal said. “Now, I’m not saying any of this to sway your opinion on what to say at the commutation. But it would be really really nice to see the outside of a prison cell or this little radius for reasons other than cannot be spoken of on pain of death.”
Peter gaped, unsure how to process any of this, unsure of what he was supposed to say.
El knew exactly what to say. She grabbed Neal’s hands and smiled. “Thank you for trusting us with this, Neal.”
Neal smiled. “I believe I was promised dinner?”
Neal Caffrey had stolen a lot of art.
That was presuming that all of the art that mysteriously showed up with a typed notecard that said “Sorry for borrowing your stuff,” was from Neal.
But it was a lot. Rumors quickly got out that it was the CIA returning items they had appropriated over the years. Of course, nobody could confirm or deny.
Even the Raphael went back. Based on Neal’s sudden closeness with Sara Ellis again, Peter guessed he had gotten permission to tell her the truth too.
There was really no question, in the end, what Peter recommended at the commutation hearing. He feared for his life at El’s hands if he did otherwise.
As for Kramer, the mysterious Chuck, and Neal and Hughes…
Peter decided he wasn’t much of a fan of the CIA.
Somehow, due to some weird CIA finagling, three weeks after Neal got the news that he had been freed and immediately disappeared into the unknown, he showed back up with a shiny new FBI badge. Hughes said it was all legal and no one was allowed to ask any questions. Oh, and would Peter please teach the good officer how us agents did things around here?
Neal’s stupid grin made Peter both proud and want to shove Neal’s hat so far down his throat he would be choking on wool for weeks.