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On the fourteenth of February, Peter came to work with a smile. He was humming some song he didn’t remember the name of by some singer El had liked in high school, and he had special plans for that evening.
On the far side of the office, Agents Berrigan and Jones were clearly gossiping by the coffee machine, and judging by the pleased expression on Diana’s face, she was thinking of the same thing as Peter.
Well, not exactly the same. At least, he hoped his agent wasn’t thinking about his wife like that.
“Good morning, Berrigan. Jones,” he said, certain at least some of his smugness was bleeding through into his voice.
“Morning, boss,” Diana replied, “You seem particularly jovial today?”
“Yes, Agent Berrigan, I’m sure I do.” He grinned.
“Any particular reason, boss?”
“Oh, you know, this and that, plans for this evening. Yourselves?”
“Plans, boss. For this evening.”
“Same here, Peter,” Jones said, though he was single, and apparently asexual–or aromantic? Peter never was sure on the distinction–so Peter was slightly confused. “Although my plans involve significantly fewer women than you guys’ do–” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper– “I have a whole season of ‘The Crown’ waiting in my bed.”
Peter had watched some of that, he thought, but not recently. Either way, he’d much prefer a night with El than some TV show.
Diana made an appreciative noise, though. Maybe it was a generational thing? Not that you’d hear him voicing that thought in a million years.
Diana, copying Jones’ tone, divulged her plans like they were state secrets: “I’m making dinner for Christie and I, with candles and rose petals and the whole nine yards. I had to beg the recipe from her grandma.”
Peter raised an appreciative eyebrow as focus shifted to him. He mimed rolling up his sleeves, and leaned in closer.
“I have a reservation at the same table we ate at on our first anniversary.”
Jones whistled.
“I think you’ve won this year, boss,” Diana said.
“And that’s not even the best part,” he said. Then he paused, for dramatic effect. Criminal informants weren’t the only ones with stage presence, he’d have you know. “ El has plans for the rest of the night, if you know what I mean.”
“That definitely does it.” Diana was nodding, looking a little… jealous, if you asked Peter. Jones just looked a little sick.
Over Jones’ shoulder, Peter caught sight of his CI finally deining to make an appearance in the office. He waved him over to join them.
“I did not need to think about my boss doing what I think you just insinuated you’ll be doing! That is not an image I needed in my head.” Jones looked like he would much rather spend his evening watching TV than doing what Peter was going to be doing.
Each to their own, he supposed.
Neal, as he made his way to the group, looked different than usual. Slouchier, maybe. His walk was less of his usual cocky stride and more of a shuffle. The smile on his face was more ‘opening a christmas present you really didn’t want’ than the signature blinding Caffrey grin.
Worse than all of that, though, his tie was slightly crooked, his shirt half untucked, and he wasn’t wearing a hat at all.
“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed, eh, Caffrey?”
The conman in question responded with the same sort of hum he might respond with if disturbed from reading a particularly good book by a question that he didn’t hear the first time and didn’t really care for you to repeat. It was… less forlorn seeming, at least.
Diana and Jones startled, as if they hadn’t been aware of the CI’s approach. Not unheard of, really; Neal did have a tendency to walk quietly–probably a holdover from his alleged museum-heisting days.
“Or maybe the right side of someone else’s bed? You do know that Valentine’s day is today, right?” Diana gave the conman a playful nudge, and he stumbled.
“Got plans for a repeat performance?” Peter asked.
Neal didn’t answer, still swaying slightly after losing his balance. Jones moved towards him, propping him up a little, glaring at the other two agents. Diana backed off, apology written across her face along with understanding.
Peter, however, did not understand. He raised an eyebrow and gestured in a ‘what did I do’ way.
Jones opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Hughes’ call across the office, saving Peter–for now–from whatever touchy-feely explanation he was sure to receive as soon as they were done with work for the day.
“” “” “” “” “” “”
The longer time went on, the more sure he was that something hinky was going on with Neal. Did people still say hinky?
Regardless, Neal wasn’t being Neal.
It was as if he’d never regained his balance from earlier when Diana had nudged him. Gently. And Mr Conman Extraordinaire had lost his footing. Which, to be perfectly honest, was confusing enough on its own, and would usually have Peter all on Neal’s case about whatever likely illegal thing he’d done to leave him so out of sorts.
But today? Aside from the casework keeping them busy, Peter would have pulled his CI aside for a minute or two but he just… couldn’t quite make himself.
Sure, Neal looked off-balance, but he looked almost depressed compared to his usual self. Obviously he wasn’t depressed, Neal Caffrey was not like that, and could never be, but… Well…
Maybe he could?
His gaze hadn’t focussed solidly on anything the whole day when he usually watched everything so vigilantly. He’d been quiet and mumbling, stumbling over words when usually he spoke so confidently.
Even now in the conference room wrapping up the last details of the case (it had been an easy one), Neal turned his eyes away. His knee had bounced incessantly under the table from the moment he sat down, and if his CI did one single thing more out of character, Peter was going to handcuff him to a table until he was sure the man hadn’t been replaced by an alien.
He caught Diana and Jones’ eyes and Neal’s elbow as they left the conference room.
“So, Caffrey,” he said, with as much suspenseful excitement in his voice as possible, “We got interrupted earlier. You were going to tell us your Valentine’s plans..?”
And Caffrey refused to look at him. Slouched, hands in pockets, expensive shoe scuffing dejectedly on cheap carpet.
He turned on Diana and Jones for support, but the look in their eyes was almost… almost judgemental. Definitely not supportive. Not even close to enthusiastic.
“You can’t tell us you’re alone, Neal! Someone like you?”
Jones’ gaze turned sharp and heavy. Caffrey went still.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Jones’ voice was cold.
“Well, it’s different for you to be alone, isn’t it. Caffrey’s not like you.”
“Right.” Jones’ tone sounded dangerously close to total disagreement.
In Peter’s periphery, Caffrey shook himself all of a sudden, body language open again, smiling like normal.
“I’ve got plans, Peter, don’t doubt that!”
He narrowed his eyes. Plans on Valentine’s day did sound like Neal Caffrey, but the way he said it… the change from earlier… It sounded more like he was planning to steal a painting than someone’s heart.
“Nothing untoward, Peter! You know me better than that,” Caffrey said. “My plans just aren’t romantic anymore.”
And, oh. Well. Of course it would be difficult even for Neal Caffrey to get a date with a tracking anklet and only two miles to choose from. Diana leaned towards him a little at the subtle sadness in his tone. Clearly she was going to handle this, which would stop Peter from putting his foot in his mouth again.
Still, he thought she was a little over-cautious with her bearing when she asked: “Anymore?”
And again, Caffrey startled. Like he hadn’t noticed her there. Usually when he seemed unlike himself, Neal was sharper, more observant. Certainly not someone you could accidentally sneak up on. But today…
There was a wild look in his eyes, half panic, or maybe fear, half… something else. Something like grief, maybe.
Maybe Peter had misjudged this more than he thought. If Neal was grieving , all the comments he’d made throughout the day about Caffrey having a date soured, became cruel mockeries, not friendly banter.
All of a sudden, those workplace bullying presentations with their ‘banter escalation scenarios’ didn’t seem so funny.
“Neal?” That was Diana’s gentle voice. The one she used with children. And victims. Not Caffrey .
“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry.”
“No problem. Take your time.”
He nodded, eyes still wide with fear. Swallowed harshly.
“I, uh. I had plans. They sort of don’t matter anymore. Not to anyone but me. Anymore.”
Over Diana and Neal’s head, Jones made eye contact with Peter. Angry eye contact. Which, hey, how could he have known that Neal was sad, not hungover. But, also, yeah. He kind of deserved that.
“We care, if you want to talk about it?”
Neal’s fear softened into something more like pity. He smiled, but it wasn’t his smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.
“What’s the point?” He let out a breath, in what might have been a chuckle and might have been a sigh.
“Whoever it was you had plans with, Neal, they clearly mattered. Clearly still matter, to you. That’s the point. Whoever they are, it isn’t your fault they left you.”
Neal froze, smile still in place, panic creeping back in. The agents exchanged worried glances.
Maybe it was time for Peter to try his hand: “You were right, Neal. We do know you better than that. We should have noticed earlier that something was wrong.” He didn’t miss the pointed looks from his agents. “But that means that we know you treat people right. You wouldn’t have hurt her. If she left you, she didn’t deserve you in the first place.”
The conman in question didn’t respond. Didn’t react at all. Peter laid a hand on his shoulder like he was touching a bomb. A sad bomb. Who had been dumped the day before Valentine’s day.
The bomb flinched. So did Peter, ready to draw his hand back, but he didn’t have to bother.
Caffrey was already gone.
“” “” “” “” “” “”
He showed up again, later. No one saw him walk in, he was just gone one second, there the next, sat at his desk behind a pile of finished paperwork. Peter was pretty sure half of it should have been his.
They’d worried, of course. But his tracking data had stayed in the building, and security hadn’t seen him leave.
His eyes were bloodshot, but his skin seemed as smooth as ever. How did he do that? Not that it mattered. He was back, and based on the nervous tapping of his pen against that file and the frequent glances in Peter’s direction, anticipating some kind of confrontation.
Peter gathered himself together and sat on the edge of the conman’s desk.
“Are you alright, Neal?” He tried to keep his voice gentle, he really did, but Neal flinched back from it anyway. Maybe his assumption had done more harm than he thought.
The smile Caffrey pasted on his face, to his credit and Peter’s immense annoyance, was so close to believable he almost let it slide.
“Of course, Peter. And you?”
“You know that’s not what this is.”
Caffrey feigned confusion for a moment, opening his mouth before closing again. Sighing. Clearly the conman had finally decided to take something seriously.
“Why don’t you tell me what this is then.”
“I just want to make sure you’re okay aft-”
“I’m fine, Peter. I overreacted, I shouldn’t have, you don’t have to worry about it.” Peter had never heard his CI sound like this before. This… this cold, detached. Like he was dictating the words to a document, not talking to his boss.
His eyes didn’t once leave his paperwork.
“Neal,” he said, apology in his tone if not his words. Gentle, again.
Neal flinched. Again.
“Peter.”
“Neal, I-”
“I said don’t worry about it.”
“You can’t expect me to just-”
“Oh for-” Neal pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you aren’t going to leave this alone, then I at least want Diana and Jones and some privacy3.”
“So you can tell them about her too?”
Peter couldn’t quite dissect the look Neal gave him then. Disbelief, maybe. Or pity. Which didn’t make any sense. Why would Neal feel bad for him?
“Sure, Peter. So I can tell them too,” he said.
The group took over the abandoned conference room, files cleared off the table, chairs abandoned haphazardly. Peter sat at the head of the table, Jones around the corner from him. Diana took one of the scattered chairs, leaving it where it was.
Neal leaned against a wall, foot tapping on the floor, and none of them looked at each other.
“Neal?”
Diana’s tone was no gentler than Peter’s had been, but he didn’t flinch. Peter felt some kind of way about that. He’d talk to El about it later, she’d help him figure it out. Until then…
“Peter wouldn’t leave it alone, so,” he said, sighing again. But in a tired way, not a Caffrey way. “It really isn’t that big of a deal? I was just tired this morning, and not expecting you guys to expect me to be-” he gestured vaguely- “You know?”
He shook his head, and tilted his head back to knock against the wall once, twice. Not hard. Not gentle, either.
“I was engaged,” he said, and Peter didn’t hear any of the rest of the sentence. He must have kept talking, because Diana was looking at him now with a careful lack of feeling in her eyes, nodding, but…
Well.
“To Kate?”
He must have cut Neal off.
“Peter-”
“Not Kate. Sara?”
“Peter.”
“What?”
“Let me explain?”
That would probably help. He nodded.
“Okay,” Neal said, “Okay. We met when we were kids. Our parents knew each other? So we ended up hanging out through that, and then we were friends, and then we were maybe also dating, and then…
“And then we were definitely dating, and then we were going to get married, and then he died.”
“Oh, God, Caffrey!” Diana gasped.
“We should have shut up earlier, man,” Jones said. “Sorry for your loss.”
“He died?”
Peter wasn’t sure which part of the question to emphasise. They’d only recently established that Neal wasn't necessarily only into women, but in his head, that was still how he conceptualised the man. Normal. No, that was the wrong word. Straight.
But he wasn’t. He had been engaged to a man. Who was dead now. Neal was grieving.
That should be Peter’s priority.
“Yeah.” His CI’s voice was quietened by sadness, but it wasn’t sharp. This was an old wound.
“How long has it been?”
If Neal was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it.
“A few years now. I’m not- It doesn’t-” He breathed out slowly, closing his eyes. “I miss him all the time, you know? I’m never not… thinking about him. How he’d react to whatever shit’s going on, what he’d say. What I’d say to him.
“But I’m okay. I don’t feel guilty about being okay anymore. It’s not usually this… sharp? But looking at the date this morning… I don’t know. We used to do the same thing every year. It was so hard to get our schedules clear, and it would take so much work, but then today would roll around and everything would be worth it.
“Everything would make sense again.”
Diana had a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and glossy with unshed tears. Jones’ face was grey and blotchy, and Peter himself was probably also crying, but he couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter either. This couldn’t be about Peter. He couldn’t make it about himself.
Neal sniffed, and quickly wiped his face.
“Ugh.” He forced a laugh. “I really am okay, though. I don’t want you to worry. Or feel bad. Or anything. Just-”
“Neal-”
The conman held up a hand to quiet him.
“Just enjoy your evenings, okay? I’ll see you guys in the morning.”
And just like earlier, he was gone. Home, according to the tracking data. Back to June’s. Peter didn’t know if Neal thought of the place as home. If he could think of it as home. Especially now, knowing that it wasn’t only lacking Neal’s things, but also his… his person.
So the team went home. Did their best to enjoy their evenings.
And the next morning Caffrey’s tie was straight.