Chapter Text
“But man is not made for defeat. A man can be destroyed but not defeated.” - Ernest Hemmingway
“How much longer do you think he’ll be?” Neal Caffrey forced his eyes away from the window and shrugged. The man who had addressed him, Jack, let out an irritated sigh.
“Kurt said he’d be no later than ten after,” someone else pointed out and Neal looked down at his watch. It was half past.
“You don’t think he’d…” yet another voice piped up, but the speaker snapped their mouth shut as soon as Joe, the most senior member of their crew, leveled him with a dangerous glare.
“If Kurt said he’s gonna be here,” came the growled reply, “then he’ll be here.”
Benny, the only one who had been brave enough to voice what they’d all been thinking for the last 15 minutes, snapped his mouth shut and ducked his head in apology.
“Why don’t we just try calling him again?” Neal suggested, and suddenly those cold, untrusting eyes of Joe’s were turned on him.
“Why don’t you just go back to keeping watch, Miller.” Under normal circumstances, an order like that might’ve ruffled Neal’s tailfeathers a bit, and possibly drawn a sharp retort out of him, but today he held his tongue. Today was not the day to push Joe’s buttons, or make any kind of waves for that matter. For one, Joe had never particularly warmed to Neal’s current undercover persona, Elias Miller - a fact that still irked him. And second, he couldn’t afford to stoke his distrust right now. Not when there was so much riding on today.
Feigning indifference, Neal sniffed and went back to staring out his window. Someone had painted the storage facility’s name and logo across the glass in crudely painted white letters, but he still had a relatively good view of the street. He peered out between the store hours and let himself check one final time that the rusty old Ford Tempo Jones had picked out from the FBI impound was still idling there down the street. Or that the white panel vans holding a battalion of FBI agents and SWAT team members were still in their agreed upon positions up the block. They were, and Neal tried to release some of the tension from his neck and shoulders. Everything was going according to plan. His plan. Because this was his baby, his op, his shining moment, and his chance to prove to the FBI once and for all that he was an asset they could not afford to lose. All that was missing to round out this entire plan and bring it to a close, was Kurt Forsythe.
Neal tried not to frown as memories of how difficult it had been to infiltrate Kurt’s crew came back to him. Countless undercover agents had disappeared over the years trying to do what Neal had done, but it hadn’t been easy. It had taken almost every trick in his book to gain the man’s trust, and in the end, it wasn’t even Neal who had convinced Forsythe to give him a chance. It was Kurt’s younger brother Jimmy, who had taken an instant liking to Elias Miller. They’d become friends and it was only then that Kurt, art thief extraordinaire, had allowed Neal to join his crew. He’d gotten in, but as Joe’s reaction to him earlier proved, there were still guys on the team that didn’t trust him.
Not that it matters, Neal reminded himself. After today all of this would be over. Kurt Forsythe would be behind bars, and Neal and Peter would be popping open a bottle of bubbly together at Junes. Maybe they would even invite Mozzie who had posed as a fence for the op. He just hoped this win for the good guys would be enough...
Neal resisted the urge to check his watch yet again and instead glanced around at the men who had been his near constant companions for the past several months. He was struck - and not for the first time - by how ironic it was that the government was essentially allowing him to do all of the things they had thrown him in jail for in the first place. That he had been given his freedom, a second chance at life, and free reign to get up to as much trouble as he wanted to, so long as the FBI got all the credit, and that pretty little conviction rating stayed up there at 93%.
Ninety. Three. Percent. Neal took a moment to savor those words. It felt astronomical - people kept telling him as much - so why were his motives still constantly being questioned?
“You know why,” that tiny little voice inside his head reminded him, and Neal felt the wind leave his sails.
He thought back on this morning. How the team had been assembling in a parking garage not far from here to go over the last minute details of today’s mission. Peter had been late, which was unusual in itself, and his arrival didn’t improve matters much. The agent had stormed in, eyes dark and face drawn, and had pulled Jones aside without even a glance in Neal’s direction. They were out of earshot and Neal was too preoccupied with going over some plans with one of the guys from Organized Crime to eavesdrop. A moment later, however, he got his answer. Peter addressed the group and informed them all that he would not be accompanying them on the mission.
“You’re not coming with us?” Neal had asked, ambushing the agent as soon as he was done speaking.
“I can’t Neal. The DOJ sent a representative over to do a review of… some of our files, and I have to stay behind and help him.”
Neal regarded his handler. “A review of all my files, you mean,” he muttered, picking up instantly on what Peter wasn’t saying. “This is the second time in six months. Why are they back?”
“I don’t know, Neal.”
“Well, should I be worried?”
“Of course not. Jones will be running point and he knows the ins and outs of this op almost as well as you.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Let me worry about the DOJ, Neal. You just focus on making sure this joint op goes off without a hitch.”
The conversation had taken place hours ago, but the bad taste it had left in Neal’s mouth was still there. He’d tried to get more information out of Jones but the agent was just as clueless as he was. All they had to go on was the strong sense of levity Peter seemed to put on the situation. And now an op that was supposed to bolster his career had suddenly turned into what felt like a life or death situation, and Neal didn’t particularly care for that caged-animal feel. The last thing he needed was to be worried about whether or not the DOJ was here to shut down his work with White Collar, or worse yet, send him back to prison.
The only person who deserved to go to prison in this scenario, was Kurt Forsythe. He was the one who had been leaving a trail of death and destruction in his wake as he theived his way across the lower 48. Perhaps taking him down would finally get the DOJ off his back.
Assuming, of course, that Kurt even bothered to show up.
Neal went back to staring out his window again as Benny and the rest of the crew shifted in their seats. Kurt was late and the natives were getting restless; nervous and probably worrying about the same thing as Neal, that Kurt had taken the heist money and run. Forsythe didn’t strike him as the kind of man who would double cross his crew, but you never knew with people like him. But this entire op was hinging on Neal getting Kurt, the money and every member of the crew into the same building, and then the FBI could descend. Anticipation was like an animal clawing at his insides as he kept watch.
As they waited, Neal’s thoughts drifted over to Jimmy again, and the dread he was feeling over his impending betrayal. Joe and Kurt would just hate him, but Jimmy… He was only 19 years old and so much like Neal, he’d had to remind himself on several occasions during the job that he was not there to teach the kid the ropes. He was there to take down a criminal organization, though he’d tried his damndest to make sure Jimmy wasn’t a part of that organization.
Neal had tried everything, from talking him out of it outright to constantly reminding the kid about his dreams of going to college. At one point he’d even approached Kurt about forbidding Jimmy to go, but the man had just laughed at him and told him the kid needed to earn his stripes. So in the end Jimmy, who completely idolized his older brother, had chosen stupidity and blind family loyalty over common sense. And there wasn’t much Neal could do about stupidity. It was such a shame really. With one bad decision, the kid had thrown away his entire future, and Neal wasn’t sure how he’d take that look of betrayal that kid would inevitably give him once all this was over. Neal had even tried pulling on his Peter pants to reach Jimmy in the end. But it was no use. In less than an hour Elias Miller would be revealed as the traitorous FBI informant Joe probably already thought he was, and Jimmy would get thrown into the back of the same SWAT van as his brother. It really was such a shame.
When Kurt finally pulled up in front of the storage facility a few minutes later in the ancient Jeep Grand Cherokee he always drove, the relief amongst the waiting men was palpable. They all sprang from their seats and greeted their boss with relieved smiles as he breezed into the foyer. A blast of cold winter air followed him in and Neal had to resist the urge to cough. The bronchitis he was still getting over kept trying to make a reappearance. Jimmy followed along in his brother’s wake and shot Neal a shiteating grin as soon as they locked eyes. He proudly showed off the fact that Kurt had allowed him to carry in the duffle bags full of money, and Neal gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up back, despite the fact a little bit of his soul died as he did it.
Kurt Forsythe was an imposing man, topping the scales at an impressive 300 that was all muscle on his 6’7’ frame. The atmosphere in the storage facility’s foyer had completely changed as he took the duffle’s from Jimmy and set them on the counter. He towered over the men all elbowing their way in to get a better look - a criminal mastermind lording over his lowly minions. He unzipped the first bag with relish, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Neal couldn’t wait to wipe it right off his face.
And he didn’t have to wait long.
After confirming the money really was in the bags, Neal muttered the agreed upon codeword into the coms and then all hell broke loose. SWAT descended and at the first sounds of FBI FREEZE! the criminals scattered into the back of the storage facility like rats. Neal almost followed them, but made himself hang back. The original plan had been for him to get arrested right along with the rest of the crew, but the arrival of the DOJ representative back at White Collar this morning had thrown a wrench in those plans. Neal was still kind of salty about that. A lot of careful planning and backstopping had gone into Elias Miller, not to mention a lot of creativity on his part. The fact that he would have to retire him so quickly irritated him to no end.
So Neal stayed where he was and watched as countless FBI agents and heavily armed SWAT officers poured into the building. Some of them stopped to congratulate him. Others simply clapped him on the back as they passed, smiling their praises from behind their aviators. A plain clothed Jones was the last to arrive several minutes later, still brandishing his weapon.
“That’s it,” the agent announced, holstering the gun. “SWAT just secured the last of them. It’s over.” Neal smiled, having just received the same information over his own coms. And yet, the victory still felt hollow.
“Do you think it will be enough?”
Jones’ brow crinkled in confusion for a moment before realization finally dawned. “You’re not still worried about that DOJ guy are you? Caffrey, I told you, I’m sure this is nothing more than a routine visit.”
“Two months after the last one?” Neal replied skeptically.
Jones shrugged. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. And besides, the DOJ isn’t going to have anything to say once we get back and I tell them what a badass you were today.”
“Why Clinton Jones,” Neal said with a smile, “was that a compliment you just gave me?”
“Contrary to popular belief, I do give them out from time to time.”
“But not to me!”
“That’s only because you’ve never done anything to impress me, Caffrey.”
“Oh you wound me, Clinton,” Neal said, placing a hand over his heart. “After all these years of working together and closing cases, and this is the first time I’ve impressed you? How will I ever keep going?”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” Jones replied with a hint of mischief in his eyes. “But call me Clinton one more time and your chances will decrease exponentially.”
“Promise me you’ll come back to the office and sing my praises to that DOJ guy and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“Done,” Jones laughed, shaking the hand Neal held out to him. The small moment filled Neal with something unexpected, a contentment of sorts, and a feeling he was still trying to get used to. People like Peter and Jones, they were different from the criminals he’d grown up around. They stayed. He could rely on them. They had his back in times of crisis. If he had to go back to prison, how would he ever manage without them?
Probably the same way he always had, though the hole they left behind in his life would be hard to ignore.
This moment of contentment was short lived, however, as two FBI agents chose that exact moment to drag a loudly protesting Jimmy Forythe back into the foyer from the rear of the storage facility. The young man’s eyes immediately fell on Jones' and Neal’s clasped hands, and then up to the smiles they had been unable to wipe from their faces in time.
Neal let go of Jones’ hand and took a step back, but the damage had already been done.
“E-Elias?” the young man stammered, sounding all of his 19 years.
Neal watched sadly as the surprise and confusion on Jimmy’s face quickly morphed into anger and betrayal. It was as bad as he had expected.
“You’re working with them?” Jimmy spat, fighting against the hold the agents still had on him. “How could you? Kurt trusted you. I trusted you!
"How could you?"
The FBI agents wrangled the cursing Jimmy outside onto the street, but his words lingered in foyer long after the front door closed behind them. Neal felt all his earlier elation drain away.
“Maybe I should…” he started, but Jones seemed to already know what he was going to say. He procured a set of keys from somewhere on his person and held them out to Neal. “Wait for me in the car. As soon as we’re finished up here, I’ll drive you back to the office.” But before Neal could take the keys, the agent drew his hand back.
“There’s nothing you could have done for that kid, Caffrey,” he said seriously. “So there’s no sense in beating yourself up over it.”
Anger flared in Neal’s chest for the briefest of moments, but he let it die just as quickly as it had flamed. Jones was right. He didn’t owe Jimmy Forsythe anything, and he sure as hell wasn’t responsible for the kid’s decisions. He’d done everything he could to give Jimmy a way out, but the kid had turned him down time and time again. He’d made his bed, and now he had to lie in it.
Jones held out the keys to him again and this time, Neal took them. He pushed out into the cold, suppressed the urge to cough yet again, and made a beeline for Jones’ shitty Ford Tempo still parked up the seat. The car promised warmth, but Neal found himself bypassing the car entirely as he headed for a pedestrian footpath he spotted to his left that ran along the East River. The cars traveling over the FDR overpass thundered above his head, but he tuned them out and focused instead on the sounds of the river churning away beneath his feet. The city was in the middle of a cold snap and there were chunks of ice bobbing away in the water as Neal peered over the railing and down into the murky brown waters of the East River.
Winters were usually mild in the Big Apple. He liked that about New York City. But lately it had been nothing but grey skies and impossibly cold temperatures. The frigid air froze his breath and did little to help his still healing lungs, but Neal didn’t have the energy to be irritated by it today. Besides, it gave him something else to worry about, something that didn’t involve impromptu DOJ visits or the prospect of being sent back to prison.
Neal glanced over his shoulder and back at the storage facility across the street. South Street, which had been empty only an hour ago, was now choked with government vehicles, their dash lights flashing and coloring the bricks of the surrounding buildings, doing little to cheer up their forlorn facades. Winter had leached all charm from the landscape and everything felt dead and brown. Kurt Forsythe appeared on the sidewalk and Neal watched with some satisfaction as the SWAT team members forced him into the back of one of their vans. Vindication flooded his system, warming him a little from the inside. He was responsible for that, for getting a dangerous criminal off the street. Surely that would be enough for the DOJ.
Mood crushed yet again by thoughts of his impending doom, Neal turned back to the pitiful sight of a frozen Brooklyn skyline. Grimey boats sat marooned in dirty harbors, the brown water of the river doing nothing to improve the view. And yet, Neal could see it for it’s potential and imagined this would be a pretty picturesque spot in the summertime, if he could get over the sound of the thundering traffic on the overpass above his head. He suspected a lot of runners used this space. It had beautiful views and lots of planters that would be bursting with flowers come spring. He would have to come back here when it was warmer, bring his sketchbook and trace Brooklyn under better light. This area was still in his anklet’s recently expanded radius, or so he had discovered when he’d been allowed to go on this particular mission without the accompaniment of several unhappy US Marshals.
But thinking of angry US Marshals only managed to remind him of what was waiting for him back at White Collar.
Neal rested his hands on the frigid railing separating sidewalk from river and sighed into the wind. Two years he’d been working with the FBI and they still didn’t trust him. Granted, he had gotten into a few scrapes, and pulled some seriously dubious stunts right under Peter’s nose, but he’d always been careful. Always made sure not to leave any evidence behind and to convince Peter that he really hadn’t done anything wrong in the first place. But maybe that hadn’t worked as well as he thought. Something had brought the DOJ here today, and the not knowing was the worst part. Did he screw up? Had someone narked on him? It was impossible to tell. And then there was the fact that, looking under the right microscope, anyone could poke holes in the things he did. Question was, was it enough to put him away for good and throw away the key?
Neal shivered and finally gave in to the need to cough. It was a deep, chest rattling kind of sound that left him winded. That was how Jones found him several minutes later.
“Nice view,” the agent said, coming up to stand beside Neal. He passed him a tissue which Neal took with a grateful grimace.
“It’s got potential. I think I might come back here with my sketchbook in the summer.”
“The office could use some more of your work. If Hughes puts up one more motivational poster of kittens or eagles, I think I may vomit.”
“They are pretty terrible,” Neal replied with a laugh. It was an unusual conversation for the two of them to be having. Jones usually wasn’t this open and talkative with him. The agent seemed to realize the strangeness of it too and cleared his throat, turning serious.
“You ready to head back?”
“To my witch hunt you mean? Sure, why not.”
“It’s not a witch hunt, Caffrey. The DOJ is just weird about things like this.”
“You mean showing up unannounced for impromptu visits is something they do on a regular basis?”
Jones shrugged a shoulder, “You're a convicted felon.”
“Well don’t sugar coat it or anything!”
“I’m not saying it to be rude,” the agent explained. “It’s just the god’s honest truth. You’re a convicted felon working high profile cases with the FBI. They’re nervous. They want to protect their asses in case you go off the reservation or something.”
“But haven’t I proven to them already that they can trust me?”
“You’ve convinced Peter. That’s half the battle right there. And give the man some credit, Caffrey. Burke knows how to handle these things. This isn’t his first rodeo. He’s going to have your back.”
“He’s going to be so pissed off that he missed this.”
“Yeah he is,” Jones agreed with a chuckle. “I can’t wait to tell him all about it.”
Neal smiled back, hiding it with a hand when he started coughing again.
“You know, you really should get that looked at,” Jones said.
Neal wiped his dripping nose with the tissue Jones had given him earlier. “I already did. The doc said it’s bronchitis and gave me some antibiotics. I just gotta ride it out.”
“Well don’t sneeze all over the car on the way back to the office.”
“Oh, right, because it's in such pristine shape already,” Neal replied with a wink.
“It got the job done didn’t it?”
“That it did. Forsythe didn’t suspect a thing.”
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”
“Yeah, ok Mr. Trump. Whatever you say.”
Jones cracked a smile then quickly soberred. “You ready for this?”
Neal glanced back over his shoulder. The street that had once been teeming with government vehicles was now almost empty. Life was going back to normal and Neal figured it was about time his did as well. He pulled his gloves back on and turned to Jones.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”