WHITE COLLAR FIC (1/2)
Mar. 28th, 2011 12:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rillaliciousFandom: White Collar
Title: Letting Go (1/2)
Pairings: Neal/Sara (a bit of Neal/Alex)
Rating: PG, I guess. Pretty much in line with what you see on the show.
Word Count: ~4900
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Eastin and USA. I own nothing. Making no money.
Spoilers: Through episode 2.16.
Summary (highlight to read): After the warehouse explosion, Neal gives Sara something she's been looking for, and it doesn't go as planned. Meanwhile, Neal and Peter try to figure out who is behind it all.
A/N: Special thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ellensmithee for the beta! As always, thanks so much for reading and reviewing. ♥
They leave the cafe together, the breeze feeling cooler now than it did when they entered, and they stop together on the sidewalk outside. Only days have passed since she watched him kiss Alex, after taking those tentative first steps. It came full circle so fast.
Following through with a con is harder than she expected; he's always made it look so easy.
"So, you got what you wanted," Neal says, tucking his hands in his pockets.
This is a good look for him, she thinks, heartbroken with hurt all over his face. It's genuine, or at least passably so.
She nods. "I got the Raphael."
His smile spreads slowly, but there's no humor in it. "This was a con from the beginning."
"In the beginning," she says.
"You want me to believe you really had feelings for me. Is that why you decided to let me down easy now that your client has the painting?"
"Have feelings for you, Neal. Present tense. And yes, I do."
"I'm finding that a little hard to believe after our last conversation."
Sara smiles, as if that will help her take the edge off her words. "There's no future for us, Neal. What would that be based on? I screwed you over and you don't trust me."
"You told me not to lie to you," he says.
"I did. You should have told me the same."
"Would you have stopped lying?"
"Maybe."
"No," Neal says, and he looks down, the brim of his hat hiding his eyes. "You wouldn't have. You needed the Raphael."
'Needed' seems like too strong a word now.
"Didn't you wonder why I let it go so easily?" she said.
Neal, just slightly, shakes his head. "I was too--"
"Self-absorbed?" she offers.
"A guy can't catch a break around you, can he?"
"You're a conman, Neal," she says. "My feelings are real, but I'm not unrealistic. I knew how it would play out."
"When did you decide to do it?" He's looking up now, has gathered himself.
"When the FAA package turned up at your place. When you told me it was about Kate."
"So you found my Achilles' heal and decided to exploit it?"
"Isn't that what a con does?"
Neal's smile is bitter, but she can see a little pride in it too. "That's exactly what a con does."
"Peter wasn't in on it. In case you're wondering."
"I guess that's good." He's still hurting from Peter's accusations, she can tell.
"I thought you might be concerned that he was lying to you."
"Like you were? It crossed my mind."
"You lie to everyone," she says. "Every day."
"Not Peter," says Neal.
"No, not Peter. Never Peter." And here a note of wistfulness slips into her voice.
"What do you mean by that?"
"You're so used to conning everyone, Neal. Don't con yourself."
"Sara..."
"It's been nice, Neal. I enjoyed your soup." She really looks at his face one more time, his perfectly beautiful face, and she wonders how something so lovely can hide so many flaws.
Then she walks away.
~*~*~
Alex has been squatting in a high end foreclosure in New Jersey for four days now. It's an old habit of hers, something she does when she needs to decompress. She knows how to live low to the ground, and she does. She lets herself breathe for a while, because lately, there hasn't been enough oxygen to go around. She needs to put some distance between herself and Neal.
When she wants Mozzie to find her, he does. This isn't like the Spanish silver, she's not accidentally sending out a distress flare because she's backed into a corner. She has time to bide, but she's done waiting. It's been long enough since the explosion. She's ready to find out what went down.
"I'll let him know you're ready to talk," says Mozzie.
"Thanks," she says.
~*~*~
Neal is standing in the park, alone, his mind still on Sara.
"Where is it?" says Alex, suddenly right there beside him.
"Hello, Alex," says Neal. "Nice to see you, too."
She smiles. "Sorry. When you spend four days thinking about one thing..."
"Believe me, I know." Neal pulls the card with the printed address from his pocket.
"How are you?"
"Lucky, I guess," he says.
"And why would that be?"
"Considering Peter thinks I just stole billions of dollars worth of art and gold, I could be back in prison right now."
"Well, you are sitting on it," says Alex.
"Do I have you to thank for that?"
She shakes her head. "If I'd had access, Neal, I wouldn't have framed you."
"You would have framed Adler?"
"Yes."
"Yeah, me too."
Neal turns the card over in his hands, flicking it between his fingers and she stalks around him in a circle. He recognizes her nervous pace, knows her that well, though her steps are long and easy.
"It's in storage," he says. "I think it's secure for now. I don't know who else knows about it, though."
"What are you going to do, Neal?" Her warm breath envelops his ear and he swallows hard.
"I don't know," he says, and there's a silence between them because he's spoken honestly, and it's unfamiliar.
He turns his head to look at her, and they're close now, lips just a breath apart.
"It's yours, Alex, by rights."
"No, it's not. Finding it, that was my birthright. And it's been found."
And then she's kissing him. Softly, slowly. For a moment, he forgets that they don't have all the time in the world right now. Sweet, wild, dangerous Alex. She can make the ground shift beneath his feet, or maybe that's the adrenaline. Sometimes it's hard to tell them apart.
She pulls away and licks her lips, holding his lapels.
"There's a lot of blood on that treasure," she says.
"I know."
"I don't have trouble sleeping at night, Neal. I never have. If I fenced this stuff..."
"We're talking billions, Alex."
"Do you think I don't know that? Jesus, Neal. We'd never have to pull another con again. We could buy an island somewhere and--"
"You've given this a lot of thought," he says, smiling.
"Haven't you? I think I know where every penny would go, but... It's dirty."
Neal nods. He knows all this, even if he's slow to admit to it. Blood money wouldn't have meant anything to Adler, but Neal is nothing like Adler, even though he needs occasional reminding.
He presses the card into the palm of her hand.
"I can't sit on this," he says. "Peter already thinks I'm responsible. And we don't know who's watching."
Alex presses against him for a moment, her lithe body cat-like and distracting as it slides against his. Then she moves back, straightens his tie.
"I'll take care of it," she says, and then she's gone.
It's a breezy warm day, and Alex and the papery leaves drift out of sight with equal grace.
~*~*~
Peter calms down eventually, just about the same time Neal starts to think that a full day at the office in the direct line of Peter's ire has to be better than sitting here at June's, waiting for the phone to ring.
But it's not a summons to work when the call finally comes. Elizabeth is making dinner. They want Neal to come. Sara's invited too, if she'd like.
When Neal shows up on the doorstep alone, Peter snorts.
"You gave her the Raphael," he says.
Neal shrugs. "I didn't have the Raphael. But it may have showed up at her office. Somehow." His smile is weak and plastic. " She told me you weren't in on it."
Peter raises an eyebrow, lets Neal inside. "She was conning you," he says, not a question. "No, Neal. I wouldn't have done that to you. But I had a feeling..." He trails off, regroups. "Ironic, isn't it? Coming clean is what ended it."
"That's one word for it. Tell me you let Elizabeth pick out the wine."
"Of course," says Peter. "Neal," here he takes Neal's arm, holds him back for the moment, "what happened with Sara, I don't want that to happen with us."
Neal's smile is suddenly genuine. "I didn't think I was your type, Peter."
Peter rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean, Neal. You're not just serving a purpose for me. There's more to this. I want you to know that."
Don't con yourself, Neal. It's Sara's voice in his head. Appropriate, he thinks, Sara lecturing him now. Neal nods and looks Peter in the eyes, until he starts to feel uncomfortable, then moves into the house.
There is a woman Neal doesn't know, old enough to be his grandmother, sitting at the table, and he pauses, hesitating a step as Elizabeth enters from the kitchen with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
"Hello, Neal!" Elizabeth's voice is as warm as ever. "This is Ana, she's... a neighbor."
"It's lovely to meet you," says Ana. She's small, gray-haired with elegantly aged hands folded on the table in front of her. She looks out of place here, and for a moment Neal wonders how many people skirt around the edges of Peter's life without his knowledge.
"A pleasure," says Neal. He pulls out his chair.
Elizabeth sets the glasses down in front of them. Wine has already been poured for the Burkes.
"Ana, I'm sure Neal won't mind if you finish your story," says Peter. "Neal's quite the history buff."
Neal, in the middle of sitting down, slows, looks up at Peter. Dammit. Peter flashes that obnoxious smirk, the one that says, I pulled one over on the con. Elizabeth pours the wine.
He wants to tell Peter this really isn't necessary, that he knows what Adler's legacy would have been, but Ana's story is important, he knows this too, and Neal listens. She is Jewish, was born in Serbia, only a few years old when the Nazi occupation began. Her family's belongings, art, furniture, hard-earned wealth, were all turned over to the state, filtered through the government and sold off somewhere. Neal wonders if any of them ended up on a U-boat rigged with dynamite. He knows that's exactly what Peter wants him to wonder. He turns his attention back to Ana. She and her mother survived the camps, but she lost a sister, several cousins, her father.
She intrigues him, and she tells a story well. In another setting, he would have listened without guilt contaminating his fascination.
Neal's wine is almost gone when Elizabeth puts dinner on the table, and she refills generously. It's late for Ana by the time they've finished eating, and she excuses herself politely, with Elizabeth offering to take her home. A look passes between Peter and Elizabeth then, and Neal wonders what kind of damage those two could have done on the other side of the law.
Elizabeth and Ana leave; now it's just Neal and Peter.
"You're subtle, Peter," Neal says, watching his hands spread over the table top.
"Funny," says Peter, "that's not how El described it."
Neal looks up from the table.
"She's not really your neighbor, is she?" he says.
Peter smiles. "'Neighbor' might have been an exaggeration. But I've known her most of my life."
Neal nods. "I didn't steal it, Peter."
"But you know who did?"
"No, I don't. I honestly don't."
"But you know where it is."
Neal's stomach winds in a knot. "Peter..."
"Neal, don't lie to me."
"I don't lie to you."
"Then tell me where it is."
"At the moment?" Neal shrugs. "I don't know."
"Who knows, Neal? Who has it? Is it Alex?"
Neal shakes his head. "I don't know where to find Alex."
"But you know how to find Alex."
Neal sighs. Peter is killing him here.
Peter snorts under his breath. "After all this time, Neal, I know which questions to ask."
"I should be impressed, Agent Burke." A hint of amusement passes over Neal's lips.
"Are you ready to do the right thing?" Peter asks.
"Do you ever give me a choice?"
"Oh, I think I give you more choices than you deserve."
"That's a matter of opinion." But Neal smiles anyway. "Would you be willing to let me promise to do the right thing, and leave it at that?"
"Neal."
"Yeah. Didn't think so."
"Neal, did Alex blow up the warehouse?"
"No."
Peter just watches him for a moment. "All right. And it wasn't Mozzie?"
"God, Peter, no."
"I had to ask. Do you know who it was, Neal?"
"No."
"But you know where the treasure is--you knew where it was, at one point."
Neal sighs. He doesn't intend to lie, but he has to force the truth out anyway. "Yes."
"Who told you where to find it?"
"I don't know."
Peter fixes him with one of those looks.
"Peter, really. All I had was an address."
"So someone set you up."
"I'm getting that impression."
"Someone who was able to get access to your paintings and plant them in the warehouse. Who knows where you store those things, Neal?"
"Just Mozz." And he's horrified by the accusatory look on Peter's face. "Peter, no. I told you, Mozz had nothing to do with this. He wouldn't."
"I think we should have him followed anyway," says Peter. "If Mozzie's the only one who knew, then someone else used him to figure it out."
"He'll lose his mind. You know what he's like. You put a tail on him and he'll never speak to me again."
"Not if he doesn't know there's a tail."
"Peter, this is Mozzie we're talking about."
"So it has to be someone he doesn't suspect. Someone he would never suspect."
Neal's eyes widen. He's serious. "Peter, no. No. I'm not even going to consider it. That's... wrong. No. Peter."
~*~*~
For two days, Neal tails Mozzie himself, and he's never felt worse about an assignment before. He thinks that Peter has finally come up with an appropriate punishment for all of Neal's omissions. It's not that he doesn't see Peter's point; Mozz could be in danger. But the idea of double crossing Mozzie, even if it means doing the right thing, doesn't settle.
"You've been awfully preoccupied for a guy sitting on a couple billion dollars worth of Nazi loot," Mozzie says, looking up from a coin he's been carefully examining. For a moment, he looks like a mad scientist, with the loupe still pinched to the bridge of a pair of goggles.
"I told you, I don't know where it is anymore."
"Ah, yes, you handed it over to Alex. You'll have to forgive me if I keep intentionally deleting that detail from my memory. I don't like the constant sense of impending disaster."
"You think she's going to fence it after all?"
"I'm just saying that Alex has been in tough situations before and reacted... impulsively. I don't know that it won't happen again. And neither do you."
"It's better that I don't know where to find it," says Neal.
"Ah, yes. To avoid questioning by the Suit. Otherwise you would have to lie."
Neal shifts from foot to foot and looks away. That his conscience gives a twitch at the idea of telling the truth doesn't bother him. What Peter would think about that does.
"I'd rather not go back to jail, Mozz."
"You would get more than four years for this," Mozzie says, turning his attention to the next coin.
Neal takes the opportunity to glance out the window, his eyes lighting on every spot that could possibly be used for surveillance.
"You know, Neal," Mozzie says, without looking up, "Time is the coin of your life. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you."
Neal turns back to the table.
"Carl Sandburg," says Mozzie, without waiting for a guess.
"I'm not sure that's even an applicable quote, Mozz."
"Ah, but quotation is a serviceable substitute for wit. Oscar Wilde." Mozzie smiles to himself, reaches for the next coin.
~*~*~
"Nothing," says Peter. They're sitting at Peter's table, Neal's uncomfortable assignment finally at an end.
Neal shakes his head. "Nothing. There's no one following Mozz, Peter. Not anymore."
They're both thoughtful for a moment, silent, and it hits them both at the exact same time.
"Alex."
Neal's phone is out first, but she's not picking up. He presses his fingertips to the bridge of his nose. Again? First Adler and now... whoever this is. He's let her wander right into a trap again.
He's still thinking about it, his mind racing over every scenario, imagining what Mozzie could find out and how fast, when he realizes that Peter's just answered his phone.
When Peter looks up, his face is solemn.
"That was Diana. Neal, they recovered part of the U-boat's contents. They found a partial print. Diana ran it. It's Alex's."
"Of course it's Alex's. She's the one who--" moved it. She wouldn't have parted with it. "Where was it found?"
"In a dumpster, behind a motel in Queens."
"That's got to rule out Alex. She'd never be that careless."
"Neal."
"She's being set up, Peter. Just like I am."
"What if this is the long con? What if it's Alex?" Peter rubs a hand over his face. "You need to consider that."
Neal doesn't trust people blindly. He hardly trusts Alex at all. He thinks about her proximity the last time they spoke. About her breath on his ear. He wouldn't be the first man she seduced in order to get what she wanted. But he knows when someone is trying to con him, doesn't he?
Did you know with Sara?
"I need to find her," says Neal.
"We need to find her."
"Right." Neal looks up at Peter, lost for the thousandth time. Peter, his moral compass. Tell me where to point, Peter, he wants to say. He doesn't know how to do that himself, how to find true North. But Peter always knows.
"I need to know that you're on board," says Peter. "Completely on board, Neal. You can't run your own game while we're doing this. Is that clear?"
Neal nods. "It's clear, Peter."
"Good," says Peter, then he smiles slightly. "Do you think Mozzie can find her?"
Neal returns the smile. "We'll have to find out, won't we?"
~*~*~
When Neal gets to the office, Peter and Jones are deep in conversation. It stops as soon as Peter sees him walk through the door. He doesn't even get the two-fingered wave, it's just a meaningful nod of Peter's head, and he knows something else has gone down.
"Is it Alex?" he says, before Peter can speak.
"No. Not yet. Neal, they found another stash. This one was upstate."
Neal shakes his head. "Either someone's trying to get caught, or the trail's going in the wrong direction, Peter."
"I figured as much."
"Either way, it doesn't sound like Alex."
"I'm not ruling her out, Neal." An uncomfortable pause, and then, "Mozzie hasn't found anything?"
"No." The word a little too sharp.
There's another pause, and Jones fidgets in the stony silence.
"You know," Jones says suddenly, "I think we're out of coffee. I should make some more coffee."
"Yeah." "You do that." Neal and Peter speak at once, but Jones is already gone.
"Last time," says Neal, now that Peter is the only one here, "I was so sure that she was all right."
"This time you're not."
"If that treasure is turning up all over the place..."
"Alex wouldn't do that," Peter finishes. "At least I know now that you don't have it."
Neal wants to be able to pretend that's funny, but he can't. He's worried. Real bad guys aren't caricatures like Adler. They don't zip tie your wrists then wait hours for you to drown. It's not as if Neal's never known anyone who got a gunshot to the head in his line of work. He's averse to guns for a reason, after all.
"Boss!"
They both jump as Diana enters the office. She hands Peter a file.
"We have a name. We've been cross-referencing every business deal Adler ever made with truck and moving van rentals in the days before and after the warehouse exploded. We couldn't find anything. But when we cross-referenced rental company records across the city, we red flagged one name." She points out the relevant line in the file. Neal leans over Peter's shoulder to see, his eyes trailing down the page, and a red flag flashes in the back of his mind.
"George Samson. The dates match up to the timing of both thefts. Both vehicles were returned at odd hours in the morning. When we ran Samson's name, we found what we were looking for. George Samson is a suspected alias of a man named Bertram Karls, a former business associate of Vincent Adler. Karls was implicated in a huge money laundering scheme five years ago, but there was never enough evidence to warrant an arrest."
Neal's mind races to fill in all the blanks, but he comes up just a few seconds too slow.
"There's more," Diana says. "The representative from Adler's company that signed the deal with Karls? Nick Halden."
Peter's head turns so quickly that Neal is sure he hears Peter's neck crack. Neal holds up both hands, steps back.
"I vaguely, vaguely remember the name," says Neal. "I think it was a one time acquisition. I'd have to look at the details to be sure. I wasn't working an angle on that one, I know that for sure. I never even met the man."
Peter just stares at Neal for a moment, as if he's deconstructing every possible excuse Neal might employ. Finally, he nods.
"All right," he says. "I'll buy it. For now. Diana, see if you can get a phone number for Samson from one of the rental companies and pull all records for that number. Tell Jones I want everything we have on Bertram Karls. Neal, have a seat. We're going to take a little walk down memory lane."
Neal clears his throat. "Peter..."
"Oh," Peter says, memory of their last long conversation on the topic of Neal's time with Adler clearly dawning on him. "Right. Let's do this at your place."
Neal nods. "Same deal as last time?"
Peter closes the file and shoots a pointed look as he heads for the door. "We'll negotiate that on the drive."
~*~*~
Another evening of confessions and near-confessions and artfully-avoided confessions leaves Neal in a fog that won't even peel away beneath the jolt of June's Italian roast. But walking into the office and seeing Sara Ellis standing there, just in front of the stairs, impeccably dressed and serious, does what the coffee can't.
Neal stops in the doorway, catches her gaze. The corners of her mouth turn up so slightly that the hint of a smile barely reaches her eyes.
Then Peter is approaching and she turns away and it's gone. Neal walks to his desk, trying not to stare. He sits down and stares instead at the stack of files in front of him.
"Neal? Sara needs our help."
Neal is still watching the unopened files, and he didn't hear Peter's approach.
"Neal."
"What? Oh. Sure." He nods, looks up at Peter. "Why?"
"We actually found a trail for one of the pieces from the U-boat. There was a dedication on the back of the painting and we were able to trace it from there. Sara's company represents the family's other interests." Peter pauses here, waiting for Neal's response.
"And they want us to find out if anything else on the U-boat belonged to them?"
"Yes."
"That'll be difficult considering there are no official paper trails and we only have a fraction of the original cargo."
Neal glances upstairs. Sara is watching him through the glass.
"I don't think she's expecting a miracle," says Peter, and Neal has to wonder if he's playing for double meaning there.
Neal rises to his feet.
"You think you can handle this?" says Peter.
"Peter."
"Just asking. I remember what happened after Kate."
"Sara's not Kate."
Peter pauses here, holds Neal's gaze, and smirks. "No. She's not."
~*~*~
"You ate every possible scrap off Peter's plate, Satch," says Elizabeth. He's sitting eagerly by her side as she rinses the dishes, tail thumping on the kitchen floor.
Please, please, please, please...
Elizabeth shakes her head and points to the dog dish.
"That is what you're supposed to be eating." She turns back to the single wine glass, sighs, runs it under the warm water. Satchmo is usually good company, but tonight she's feeling a little restless. She'd had a feeling Peter would be working late. It might have been nice to call a girlfriend over in lieu of dinner alone.
Outside, something hits the house, the wall by the back door, and the wine glass jostles in her hand. Satchmo is at the door in a second, barking out in alarm, but whoever it is, they're not leaving. Elizabeth sets the glass down, moves out of sight of the windows.
"Satchmo, shhh," she hisses, straining to hear something out there in the darkness.
And then she does. Peter's name, in a woman's voice, panting and strained.
"Peter, please! Are you there?" This time the voice is louder, and Elizabeth can tell she's leaning up against the door.
"Who is it?" says Elizabeth, reaching down to take Satchmo by the collar.
"Al--" She heaves a breath. "Alex Hunter. I know Neal."
Elizabeth can hear the woman sliding down the door and she quickly unlocks it.
"Careful now," she says, pulling the door open as Alex collapses onto the floor.
Satchmo whimpers, then rushes at Alex, dragging Elizabeth down with him.
The first thing Elizabeth sees is the blood. Satchmo is nuzzling Alex's face, and absurdly, Elizabeth notices that she's beautiful, in spite of the clammy pallor of her features.
"You've been shot," Elizabeth says. "You need an ambulance."
Alex shakes her head. The blood is creeping through her jacket, the collar of the white shirt below already stained crimson.
"I need... Neal first. He told me I could come here." She grinds her teeth together. "If I ever got in trouble."
"I don't think..." Elizabeth looks down, tugs up gingerly on Alex's jacket, looks beneath at her shoulder, where the fabric is sticking to skin. "You've been shot. Let me get my phone."
"Neal. Please."
Elizabeth meets her eyes, this woman bleeding on her kitchen floor, and nods. And suddenly her stunned hesitation is over. She's on her feet, moving efficiently, as if it's every day she and Satchmo are patching up gunshot wounds, calmly calling Peter at the office to let him know there may be a dying woman lying in front of the kitchen sink. She knows what to do, Peter's always made sure of that, but it's somehow unexpected to find herself doing it.
A slight tremor runs from her elbow to her wrist as she presses a towel to the hole in Alex's jacket, holds it against the wetness beneath.
"Just try to keep breathing," she says, waiting for Peter to pick up.
Alex nods slightly, one corner of her mouth curling as Satchmo licks her cheek. Elizabeth remembers how, just moments before, she'd been wishing for a girls' night in.
"Peter," says Elizabeth, relief spilling from her voice, soaking into the kitchen floor like Alex's slowly pooling blood.
~*~*~
Part Two
Title: Letting Go (1/2)
Pairings: Neal/Sara (a bit of Neal/Alex)
Rating: PG, I guess. Pretty much in line with what you see on the show.
Word Count: ~4900
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Eastin and USA. I own nothing. Making no money.
Spoilers: Through episode 2.16.
Summary (highlight to read): After the warehouse explosion, Neal gives Sara something she's been looking for, and it doesn't go as planned. Meanwhile, Neal and Peter try to figure out who is behind it all.
A/N: Special thanks to
ellensmithee for the beta! As always, thanks so much for reading and reviewing. ♥They leave the cafe together, the breeze feeling cooler now than it did when they entered, and they stop together on the sidewalk outside. Only days have passed since she watched him kiss Alex, after taking those tentative first steps. It came full circle so fast.
Following through with a con is harder than she expected; he's always made it look so easy.
"So, you got what you wanted," Neal says, tucking his hands in his pockets.
This is a good look for him, she thinks, heartbroken with hurt all over his face. It's genuine, or at least passably so.
She nods. "I got the Raphael."
His smile spreads slowly, but there's no humor in it. "This was a con from the beginning."
"In the beginning," she says.
"You want me to believe you really had feelings for me. Is that why you decided to let me down easy now that your client has the painting?"
"Have feelings for you, Neal. Present tense. And yes, I do."
"I'm finding that a little hard to believe after our last conversation."
Sara smiles, as if that will help her take the edge off her words. "There's no future for us, Neal. What would that be based on? I screwed you over and you don't trust me."
"You told me not to lie to you," he says.
"I did. You should have told me the same."
"Would you have stopped lying?"
"Maybe."
"No," Neal says, and he looks down, the brim of his hat hiding his eyes. "You wouldn't have. You needed the Raphael."
'Needed' seems like too strong a word now.
"Didn't you wonder why I let it go so easily?" she said.
Neal, just slightly, shakes his head. "I was too--"
"Self-absorbed?" she offers.
"A guy can't catch a break around you, can he?"
"You're a conman, Neal," she says. "My feelings are real, but I'm not unrealistic. I knew how it would play out."
"When did you decide to do it?" He's looking up now, has gathered himself.
"When the FAA package turned up at your place. When you told me it was about Kate."
"So you found my Achilles' heal and decided to exploit it?"
"Isn't that what a con does?"
Neal's smile is bitter, but she can see a little pride in it too. "That's exactly what a con does."
"Peter wasn't in on it. In case you're wondering."
"I guess that's good." He's still hurting from Peter's accusations, she can tell.
"I thought you might be concerned that he was lying to you."
"Like you were? It crossed my mind."
"You lie to everyone," she says. "Every day."
"Not Peter," says Neal.
"No, not Peter. Never Peter." And here a note of wistfulness slips into her voice.
"What do you mean by that?"
"You're so used to conning everyone, Neal. Don't con yourself."
"Sara..."
"It's been nice, Neal. I enjoyed your soup." She really looks at his face one more time, his perfectly beautiful face, and she wonders how something so lovely can hide so many flaws.
Then she walks away.
Alex has been squatting in a high end foreclosure in New Jersey for four days now. It's an old habit of hers, something she does when she needs to decompress. She knows how to live low to the ground, and she does. She lets herself breathe for a while, because lately, there hasn't been enough oxygen to go around. She needs to put some distance between herself and Neal.
When she wants Mozzie to find her, he does. This isn't like the Spanish silver, she's not accidentally sending out a distress flare because she's backed into a corner. She has time to bide, but she's done waiting. It's been long enough since the explosion. She's ready to find out what went down.
"I'll let him know you're ready to talk," says Mozzie.
"Thanks," she says.
Neal is standing in the park, alone, his mind still on Sara.
"Where is it?" says Alex, suddenly right there beside him.
"Hello, Alex," says Neal. "Nice to see you, too."
She smiles. "Sorry. When you spend four days thinking about one thing..."
"Believe me, I know." Neal pulls the card with the printed address from his pocket.
"How are you?"
"Lucky, I guess," he says.
"And why would that be?"
"Considering Peter thinks I just stole billions of dollars worth of art and gold, I could be back in prison right now."
"Well, you are sitting on it," says Alex.
"Do I have you to thank for that?"
She shakes her head. "If I'd had access, Neal, I wouldn't have framed you."
"You would have framed Adler?"
"Yes."
"Yeah, me too."
Neal turns the card over in his hands, flicking it between his fingers and she stalks around him in a circle. He recognizes her nervous pace, knows her that well, though her steps are long and easy.
"It's in storage," he says. "I think it's secure for now. I don't know who else knows about it, though."
"What are you going to do, Neal?" Her warm breath envelops his ear and he swallows hard.
"I don't know," he says, and there's a silence between them because he's spoken honestly, and it's unfamiliar.
He turns his head to look at her, and they're close now, lips just a breath apart.
"It's yours, Alex, by rights."
"No, it's not. Finding it, that was my birthright. And it's been found."
And then she's kissing him. Softly, slowly. For a moment, he forgets that they don't have all the time in the world right now. Sweet, wild, dangerous Alex. She can make the ground shift beneath his feet, or maybe that's the adrenaline. Sometimes it's hard to tell them apart.
She pulls away and licks her lips, holding his lapels.
"There's a lot of blood on that treasure," she says.
"I know."
"I don't have trouble sleeping at night, Neal. I never have. If I fenced this stuff..."
"We're talking billions, Alex."
"Do you think I don't know that? Jesus, Neal. We'd never have to pull another con again. We could buy an island somewhere and--"
"You've given this a lot of thought," he says, smiling.
"Haven't you? I think I know where every penny would go, but... It's dirty."
Neal nods. He knows all this, even if he's slow to admit to it. Blood money wouldn't have meant anything to Adler, but Neal is nothing like Adler, even though he needs occasional reminding.
He presses the card into the palm of her hand.
"I can't sit on this," he says. "Peter already thinks I'm responsible. And we don't know who's watching."
Alex presses against him for a moment, her lithe body cat-like and distracting as it slides against his. Then she moves back, straightens his tie.
"I'll take care of it," she says, and then she's gone.
It's a breezy warm day, and Alex and the papery leaves drift out of sight with equal grace.
Peter calms down eventually, just about the same time Neal starts to think that a full day at the office in the direct line of Peter's ire has to be better than sitting here at June's, waiting for the phone to ring.
But it's not a summons to work when the call finally comes. Elizabeth is making dinner. They want Neal to come. Sara's invited too, if she'd like.
When Neal shows up on the doorstep alone, Peter snorts.
"You gave her the Raphael," he says.
Neal shrugs. "I didn't have the Raphael. But it may have showed up at her office. Somehow." His smile is weak and plastic. " She told me you weren't in on it."
Peter raises an eyebrow, lets Neal inside. "She was conning you," he says, not a question. "No, Neal. I wouldn't have done that to you. But I had a feeling..." He trails off, regroups. "Ironic, isn't it? Coming clean is what ended it."
"That's one word for it. Tell me you let Elizabeth pick out the wine."
"Of course," says Peter. "Neal," here he takes Neal's arm, holds him back for the moment, "what happened with Sara, I don't want that to happen with us."
Neal's smile is suddenly genuine. "I didn't think I was your type, Peter."
Peter rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean, Neal. You're not just serving a purpose for me. There's more to this. I want you to know that."
Don't con yourself, Neal. It's Sara's voice in his head. Appropriate, he thinks, Sara lecturing him now. Neal nods and looks Peter in the eyes, until he starts to feel uncomfortable, then moves into the house.
There is a woman Neal doesn't know, old enough to be his grandmother, sitting at the table, and he pauses, hesitating a step as Elizabeth enters from the kitchen with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
"Hello, Neal!" Elizabeth's voice is as warm as ever. "This is Ana, she's... a neighbor."
"It's lovely to meet you," says Ana. She's small, gray-haired with elegantly aged hands folded on the table in front of her. She looks out of place here, and for a moment Neal wonders how many people skirt around the edges of Peter's life without his knowledge.
"A pleasure," says Neal. He pulls out his chair.
Elizabeth sets the glasses down in front of them. Wine has already been poured for the Burkes.
"Ana, I'm sure Neal won't mind if you finish your story," says Peter. "Neal's quite the history buff."
Neal, in the middle of sitting down, slows, looks up at Peter. Dammit. Peter flashes that obnoxious smirk, the one that says, I pulled one over on the con. Elizabeth pours the wine.
He wants to tell Peter this really isn't necessary, that he knows what Adler's legacy would have been, but Ana's story is important, he knows this too, and Neal listens. She is Jewish, was born in Serbia, only a few years old when the Nazi occupation began. Her family's belongings, art, furniture, hard-earned wealth, were all turned over to the state, filtered through the government and sold off somewhere. Neal wonders if any of them ended up on a U-boat rigged with dynamite. He knows that's exactly what Peter wants him to wonder. He turns his attention back to Ana. She and her mother survived the camps, but she lost a sister, several cousins, her father.
She intrigues him, and she tells a story well. In another setting, he would have listened without guilt contaminating his fascination.
Neal's wine is almost gone when Elizabeth puts dinner on the table, and she refills generously. It's late for Ana by the time they've finished eating, and she excuses herself politely, with Elizabeth offering to take her home. A look passes between Peter and Elizabeth then, and Neal wonders what kind of damage those two could have done on the other side of the law.
Elizabeth and Ana leave; now it's just Neal and Peter.
"You're subtle, Peter," Neal says, watching his hands spread over the table top.
"Funny," says Peter, "that's not how El described it."
Neal looks up from the table.
"She's not really your neighbor, is she?" he says.
Peter smiles. "'Neighbor' might have been an exaggeration. But I've known her most of my life."
Neal nods. "I didn't steal it, Peter."
"But you know who did?"
"No, I don't. I honestly don't."
"But you know where it is."
Neal's stomach winds in a knot. "Peter..."
"Neal, don't lie to me."
"I don't lie to you."
"Then tell me where it is."
"At the moment?" Neal shrugs. "I don't know."
"Who knows, Neal? Who has it? Is it Alex?"
Neal shakes his head. "I don't know where to find Alex."
"But you know how to find Alex."
Neal sighs. Peter is killing him here.
Peter snorts under his breath. "After all this time, Neal, I know which questions to ask."
"I should be impressed, Agent Burke." A hint of amusement passes over Neal's lips.
"Are you ready to do the right thing?" Peter asks.
"Do you ever give me a choice?"
"Oh, I think I give you more choices than you deserve."
"That's a matter of opinion." But Neal smiles anyway. "Would you be willing to let me promise to do the right thing, and leave it at that?"
"Neal."
"Yeah. Didn't think so."
"Neal, did Alex blow up the warehouse?"
"No."
Peter just watches him for a moment. "All right. And it wasn't Mozzie?"
"God, Peter, no."
"I had to ask. Do you know who it was, Neal?"
"No."
"But you know where the treasure is--you knew where it was, at one point."
Neal sighs. He doesn't intend to lie, but he has to force the truth out anyway. "Yes."
"Who told you where to find it?"
"I don't know."
Peter fixes him with one of those looks.
"Peter, really. All I had was an address."
"So someone set you up."
"I'm getting that impression."
"Someone who was able to get access to your paintings and plant them in the warehouse. Who knows where you store those things, Neal?"
"Just Mozz." And he's horrified by the accusatory look on Peter's face. "Peter, no. I told you, Mozz had nothing to do with this. He wouldn't."
"I think we should have him followed anyway," says Peter. "If Mozzie's the only one who knew, then someone else used him to figure it out."
"He'll lose his mind. You know what he's like. You put a tail on him and he'll never speak to me again."
"Not if he doesn't know there's a tail."
"Peter, this is Mozzie we're talking about."
"So it has to be someone he doesn't suspect. Someone he would never suspect."
Neal's eyes widen. He's serious. "Peter, no. No. I'm not even going to consider it. That's... wrong. No. Peter."
For two days, Neal tails Mozzie himself, and he's never felt worse about an assignment before. He thinks that Peter has finally come up with an appropriate punishment for all of Neal's omissions. It's not that he doesn't see Peter's point; Mozz could be in danger. But the idea of double crossing Mozzie, even if it means doing the right thing, doesn't settle.
"You've been awfully preoccupied for a guy sitting on a couple billion dollars worth of Nazi loot," Mozzie says, looking up from a coin he's been carefully examining. For a moment, he looks like a mad scientist, with the loupe still pinched to the bridge of a pair of goggles.
"I told you, I don't know where it is anymore."
"Ah, yes, you handed it over to Alex. You'll have to forgive me if I keep intentionally deleting that detail from my memory. I don't like the constant sense of impending disaster."
"You think she's going to fence it after all?"
"I'm just saying that Alex has been in tough situations before and reacted... impulsively. I don't know that it won't happen again. And neither do you."
"It's better that I don't know where to find it," says Neal.
"Ah, yes. To avoid questioning by the Suit. Otherwise you would have to lie."
Neal shifts from foot to foot and looks away. That his conscience gives a twitch at the idea of telling the truth doesn't bother him. What Peter would think about that does.
"I'd rather not go back to jail, Mozz."
"You would get more than four years for this," Mozzie says, turning his attention to the next coin.
Neal takes the opportunity to glance out the window, his eyes lighting on every spot that could possibly be used for surveillance.
"You know, Neal," Mozzie says, without looking up, "Time is the coin of your life. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you."
Neal turns back to the table.
"Carl Sandburg," says Mozzie, without waiting for a guess.
"I'm not sure that's even an applicable quote, Mozz."
"Ah, but quotation is a serviceable substitute for wit. Oscar Wilde." Mozzie smiles to himself, reaches for the next coin.
"Nothing," says Peter. They're sitting at Peter's table, Neal's uncomfortable assignment finally at an end.
Neal shakes his head. "Nothing. There's no one following Mozz, Peter. Not anymore."
They're both thoughtful for a moment, silent, and it hits them both at the exact same time.
"Alex."
Neal's phone is out first, but she's not picking up. He presses his fingertips to the bridge of his nose. Again? First Adler and now... whoever this is. He's let her wander right into a trap again.
He's still thinking about it, his mind racing over every scenario, imagining what Mozzie could find out and how fast, when he realizes that Peter's just answered his phone.
When Peter looks up, his face is solemn.
"That was Diana. Neal, they recovered part of the U-boat's contents. They found a partial print. Diana ran it. It's Alex's."
"Of course it's Alex's. She's the one who--" moved it. She wouldn't have parted with it. "Where was it found?"
"In a dumpster, behind a motel in Queens."
"That's got to rule out Alex. She'd never be that careless."
"Neal."
"She's being set up, Peter. Just like I am."
"What if this is the long con? What if it's Alex?" Peter rubs a hand over his face. "You need to consider that."
Neal doesn't trust people blindly. He hardly trusts Alex at all. He thinks about her proximity the last time they spoke. About her breath on his ear. He wouldn't be the first man she seduced in order to get what she wanted. But he knows when someone is trying to con him, doesn't he?
Did you know with Sara?
"I need to find her," says Neal.
"We need to find her."
"Right." Neal looks up at Peter, lost for the thousandth time. Peter, his moral compass. Tell me where to point, Peter, he wants to say. He doesn't know how to do that himself, how to find true North. But Peter always knows.
"I need to know that you're on board," says Peter. "Completely on board, Neal. You can't run your own game while we're doing this. Is that clear?"
Neal nods. "It's clear, Peter."
"Good," says Peter, then he smiles slightly. "Do you think Mozzie can find her?"
Neal returns the smile. "We'll have to find out, won't we?"
When Neal gets to the office, Peter and Jones are deep in conversation. It stops as soon as Peter sees him walk through the door. He doesn't even get the two-fingered wave, it's just a meaningful nod of Peter's head, and he knows something else has gone down.
"Is it Alex?" he says, before Peter can speak.
"No. Not yet. Neal, they found another stash. This one was upstate."
Neal shakes his head. "Either someone's trying to get caught, or the trail's going in the wrong direction, Peter."
"I figured as much."
"Either way, it doesn't sound like Alex."
"I'm not ruling her out, Neal." An uncomfortable pause, and then, "Mozzie hasn't found anything?"
"No." The word a little too sharp.
There's another pause, and Jones fidgets in the stony silence.
"You know," Jones says suddenly, "I think we're out of coffee. I should make some more coffee."
"Yeah." "You do that." Neal and Peter speak at once, but Jones is already gone.
"Last time," says Neal, now that Peter is the only one here, "I was so sure that she was all right."
"This time you're not."
"If that treasure is turning up all over the place..."
"Alex wouldn't do that," Peter finishes. "At least I know now that you don't have it."
Neal wants to be able to pretend that's funny, but he can't. He's worried. Real bad guys aren't caricatures like Adler. They don't zip tie your wrists then wait hours for you to drown. It's not as if Neal's never known anyone who got a gunshot to the head in his line of work. He's averse to guns for a reason, after all.
"Boss!"
They both jump as Diana enters the office. She hands Peter a file.
"We have a name. We've been cross-referencing every business deal Adler ever made with truck and moving van rentals in the days before and after the warehouse exploded. We couldn't find anything. But when we cross-referenced rental company records across the city, we red flagged one name." She points out the relevant line in the file. Neal leans over Peter's shoulder to see, his eyes trailing down the page, and a red flag flashes in the back of his mind.
"George Samson. The dates match up to the timing of both thefts. Both vehicles were returned at odd hours in the morning. When we ran Samson's name, we found what we were looking for. George Samson is a suspected alias of a man named Bertram Karls, a former business associate of Vincent Adler. Karls was implicated in a huge money laundering scheme five years ago, but there was never enough evidence to warrant an arrest."
Neal's mind races to fill in all the blanks, but he comes up just a few seconds too slow.
"There's more," Diana says. "The representative from Adler's company that signed the deal with Karls? Nick Halden."
Peter's head turns so quickly that Neal is sure he hears Peter's neck crack. Neal holds up both hands, steps back.
"I vaguely, vaguely remember the name," says Neal. "I think it was a one time acquisition. I'd have to look at the details to be sure. I wasn't working an angle on that one, I know that for sure. I never even met the man."
Peter just stares at Neal for a moment, as if he's deconstructing every possible excuse Neal might employ. Finally, he nods.
"All right," he says. "I'll buy it. For now. Diana, see if you can get a phone number for Samson from one of the rental companies and pull all records for that number. Tell Jones I want everything we have on Bertram Karls. Neal, have a seat. We're going to take a little walk down memory lane."
Neal clears his throat. "Peter..."
"Oh," Peter says, memory of their last long conversation on the topic of Neal's time with Adler clearly dawning on him. "Right. Let's do this at your place."
Neal nods. "Same deal as last time?"
Peter closes the file and shoots a pointed look as he heads for the door. "We'll negotiate that on the drive."
Another evening of confessions and near-confessions and artfully-avoided confessions leaves Neal in a fog that won't even peel away beneath the jolt of June's Italian roast. But walking into the office and seeing Sara Ellis standing there, just in front of the stairs, impeccably dressed and serious, does what the coffee can't.
Neal stops in the doorway, catches her gaze. The corners of her mouth turn up so slightly that the hint of a smile barely reaches her eyes.
Then Peter is approaching and she turns away and it's gone. Neal walks to his desk, trying not to stare. He sits down and stares instead at the stack of files in front of him.
"Neal? Sara needs our help."
Neal is still watching the unopened files, and he didn't hear Peter's approach.
"Neal."
"What? Oh. Sure." He nods, looks up at Peter. "Why?"
"We actually found a trail for one of the pieces from the U-boat. There was a dedication on the back of the painting and we were able to trace it from there. Sara's company represents the family's other interests." Peter pauses here, waiting for Neal's response.
"And they want us to find out if anything else on the U-boat belonged to them?"
"Yes."
"That'll be difficult considering there are no official paper trails and we only have a fraction of the original cargo."
Neal glances upstairs. Sara is watching him through the glass.
"I don't think she's expecting a miracle," says Peter, and Neal has to wonder if he's playing for double meaning there.
Neal rises to his feet.
"You think you can handle this?" says Peter.
"Peter."
"Just asking. I remember what happened after Kate."
"Sara's not Kate."
Peter pauses here, holds Neal's gaze, and smirks. "No. She's not."
"You ate every possible scrap off Peter's plate, Satch," says Elizabeth. He's sitting eagerly by her side as she rinses the dishes, tail thumping on the kitchen floor.
Please, please, please, please...
Elizabeth shakes her head and points to the dog dish.
"That is what you're supposed to be eating." She turns back to the single wine glass, sighs, runs it under the warm water. Satchmo is usually good company, but tonight she's feeling a little restless. She'd had a feeling Peter would be working late. It might have been nice to call a girlfriend over in lieu of dinner alone.
Outside, something hits the house, the wall by the back door, and the wine glass jostles in her hand. Satchmo is at the door in a second, barking out in alarm, but whoever it is, they're not leaving. Elizabeth sets the glass down, moves out of sight of the windows.
"Satchmo, shhh," she hisses, straining to hear something out there in the darkness.
And then she does. Peter's name, in a woman's voice, panting and strained.
"Peter, please! Are you there?" This time the voice is louder, and Elizabeth can tell she's leaning up against the door.
"Who is it?" says Elizabeth, reaching down to take Satchmo by the collar.
"Al--" She heaves a breath. "Alex Hunter. I know Neal."
Elizabeth can hear the woman sliding down the door and she quickly unlocks it.
"Careful now," she says, pulling the door open as Alex collapses onto the floor.
Satchmo whimpers, then rushes at Alex, dragging Elizabeth down with him.
The first thing Elizabeth sees is the blood. Satchmo is nuzzling Alex's face, and absurdly, Elizabeth notices that she's beautiful, in spite of the clammy pallor of her features.
"You've been shot," Elizabeth says. "You need an ambulance."
Alex shakes her head. The blood is creeping through her jacket, the collar of the white shirt below already stained crimson.
"I need... Neal first. He told me I could come here." She grinds her teeth together. "If I ever got in trouble."
"I don't think..." Elizabeth looks down, tugs up gingerly on Alex's jacket, looks beneath at her shoulder, where the fabric is sticking to skin. "You've been shot. Let me get my phone."
"Neal. Please."
Elizabeth meets her eyes, this woman bleeding on her kitchen floor, and nods. And suddenly her stunned hesitation is over. She's on her feet, moving efficiently, as if it's every day she and Satchmo are patching up gunshot wounds, calmly calling Peter at the office to let him know there may be a dying woman lying in front of the kitchen sink. She knows what to do, Peter's always made sure of that, but it's somehow unexpected to find herself doing it.
A slight tremor runs from her elbow to her wrist as she presses a towel to the hole in Alex's jacket, holds it against the wetness beneath.
"Just try to keep breathing," she says, waiting for Peter to pick up.
Alex nods slightly, one corner of her mouth curling as Satchmo licks her cheek. Elizabeth remembers how, just moments before, she'd been wishing for a girls' night in.
"Peter," says Elizabeth, relief spilling from her voice, soaking into the kitchen floor like Alex's slowly pooling blood.
Part Two
