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“God-damnit, Neal, where is it?” Peter almost shouts, and Neal senses the activity in the bullpen halt completely. He steps back, trying to hide the tremble in his hands, wishing he hadn’t left his hat on Peter’s desk, wanting something to hide the emotion on his face—
He pushes the door closed on the two of them numbly, exhales shakily, and lets a part of him go up in smoke when he flattens the look in his eyes and meets Peter’s. “I didn’t steal it, and I don’t know where it is,” he lies, straight to his handler’s face.//
After the U-boat fiasco and Adler’s death, Neal decides to confess the location of the treasure to Peter. It doesn’t go as planned.
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Bookmark Notes:
>>Neal is frozen by some bitter cocktail of shame, terror, and a thick sense of doom like a frog lodged in his throat.
———>> Vincent God-damn Adler. Even dead, he still possesses that rare, undeniable, terrifying ability to break Neal down into fragments of himself, into the fundamentals of his lies: Nick, Neal, Danny. Because it always circles back to Danny, doesn’t it? Danny, who Neal hoped was dead. Danny, whose mother didn’t give enough of a fuck about him to come home at the end of the day. Danny, who fled to New York with the truth dogging his heels and fate a deer in the blinding brilliance of his headlights. Danny, who is standing before Peter now with a stricken look on his face, and Neal, always the liar in his head, the disguise, warning: cover your face! Hide yourself!
———>> (And Neal remembers even years later how carefully he chose that word. Amend. Like his loneliness was a crime committed against him. In a way, it was. It began with his father’s corruption. It began with the murder of a police captain. It began with a new name and a new life and a new lie. It began with a drunken mother. It began with the men she took home from the bar, taking advantage of her. And it ended with a truth from a woman whose real name Neal would never know until after she was murdered, too.)
———>> Like I’m a rainy weather forecast in the middle of July.