Fic: The Devil You Know (23/25)
Feb. 17th, 2014 12:51 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
citrinesunsetTitle: The Devil You Know
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal/Peter, Peter/Elizabeth/Neal, Neal/Elizabeth, Peter/Elizabeth, references to Neal/Kate
Rating: Explicit
Contains: Non-con, dub-con, institutionalized slavery, spanking, humiliation, dark!Peter, dark!Elizabeth, sex, rimming
Word count: 4600 this part. About 124k total (yes, this is a slight increase...).
Summary: After being convicted of bond forgery, Neal is sentenced to four years of slavery. But he isn't prepared to be purchased by Peter Burke. Or for what Peter has in store for him.
Notes: See Chapter 1 for details.
When he woke up, he couldn't remember where he was. He was lying on his side on a hard wooden floor, and when he tried to move his arms he found that they were tied behind his back. He tested his legs and discovered that his ankles were also bound.
His head was pounding. He lifted it up off the floor and looked around. It was only then that he recognized Valentine's loft. He was lying on the floor not far from the sofa. He remembered arriving, and discovering the Dali. What happened after was a blur.
He heard Valentine's muted voice in the next room.
"I'm telling you, he's a runaway. No one's going to suspect he was stolen." There was a pause. "No, I already thought of that. I don't see any signs of a manhunt yet. I think if you take him out of the state first, you won't have much trouble getting him out of the country."
Neal forced himself up into a seated position. He scooted up against the sofa to support his back. A minute later, he heard Valentine say goodbye to whoever he was talking to on the phone. Soon after, he came out of what appeared to be the bedroom.
"Oh," he said when he saw Neal, "you're awake. Good. You feeling okay? Nauseous?"
Neal glared at him.
"I didn't want to gag you, just in case you were going to throw up. Besides, doesn't matter if you make noise. We're on the top floor, and the place below us is empty. No one's going to hear you. Let me get you some water."
"Why are you doing this?"
"It's nothing personal," he said as he walked into the kitchen. He got a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water from the faucet. "Really. Your reputation is great."
He put a straw in the glass and brought it over to Neal. Valentine crouched down and held the straw to Neal's lips. When Neal didn't open his mouth, he said, "Relax. It's not drugged. I just don't want you to get dehydrated."
Neal was thirsty. Slowly, he opened his mouth and let Valentine slip the straw between his lips. The water was cool and refreshing.
"Look," Valentine said, "I could use a good sale. I had a buyer lined up for the Dali, but he's waffling now because the feds are too aggressive. But I have this old client who lives in Thailand. American guy. He can't buy a slave legally since he isn't a citizen. You know how it is—guys like that make big scores and create new lives for themselves overseas. They want American slaves that speak English and remind them of where they came from. There's a huge market. Here you're worth what, ten, fifteen thousand tops? My client will pay eighty for you."
Valentine took the glass of water away from Neal's mouth. He stood up and put the water on the table. Neal followed his movements and could just make some other items on the table. His belongings. His burner phone. His wallet.
"You don't have to do this," Neal said. "If you just want money, I can help you with that."
"Sorry, Neal, but I need a sure thing right now. I just talked to one of my client's friends here in the States. He'll be here in a couple hours to get you, and I'll get paid. Better than waiting for an escaped slave to make good on a promise."
"Is that all I am to you? An escaped slave you can make money off of? You could be in this position just as easily as I am."
Valentine shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm not. Look, I told you, it's nothing personal. You were a great forger, a great art thief. But right now, you're what my client wants. I've been waiting months to get my hands on a slave." He got himself a beer out of the refrigerator and uncapped it. "Besides, it's not like you were happy with what you had here, huh? Or you wouldn't have lost your collar." He took a long swig of the beer and set the bottle on the counter. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get ready for the appointment. Don't go anywhere."
He went back into the bedroom, leaving Neal alone. He must have been confident that Neal was secure, just like he was confident that Neal was just a piece of property, no different than the Chagall.
Obviously, as far as Valentine was concerned, taking a slave wasn't the same as kidnapping. Neal realized he'd been naïve, believing that escaping would give him back his old identity. But an escaped slave was still a slave.
He had to get out of there. Eventually, Mozzie would realize something was wrong. But Neal could be long gone by the time Mozzie figure out what happened. His best chance of escape was to get away before Valentine's contact arrived.
He had to cut the ropes securing his hands. He looked around for anything within reach that he could use.
There was a small metal statue of a tree sitting on the nearby coffee table. Some of the edges looked sharp enough to fray the rope, with enough time. The question was whether or not he had time before Valentine returned.
Neal scooted over and turned onto his knees. He got his balance, sat up, and reached behind him for the statue.
It was difficult work without seeing what he was doing. He managed to get one of the thin metal branches in between the ropes and started to saw back and forth. While he worked, he listened for the sound of Valentine returning.
Thankfully, Valentine had used thin nylon ropes that snagged easily on the rough surface of the statue. After what seemed like an eternity, the rope frayed enough that Neal could loosen the bindings and free his hands.
Without even taking a moment to rub his sore wrists, he sat down and tugged the ropes off his ankles. He was still unsteady when he got up. The aftermath of the drug he'd been given, most likely. Before leaving, he rushed over to the table to collect his belongings. Everything seemed to be there. As an afterthought, he risked a few seconds to collect the Chagall and put it back in its cardboard tube.
He then ran silently to the door, undid the chain, and slipped out.
He didn't stop to catch his breath until he found a cab. If Valentine had discovered him missing, it didn't matter anymore.
Neal looked at his watch. It was almost three. His ordeal had taken up most of the afternoon.
When he got back to the safe house, Mozzie wasn't there. Neal sat down on the sofa and rested his head in his hands. Now that he was safe, the reality of what almost happened sunk in. He'd heard of slaves being stolen and sold on the black market, but he'd never considered it a risk.
He knew he should try to forget about it, but he indulged himself in wondering what it would have been like. Would his new master have been cruel? Generous? Would it have been easier or harder to escape in a foreign country where he had no identity?
He was jarred out of this reverie by his phone vibrating on the coffee table. He picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Finally. I've tried to call you three times now. What happened with the sale?"
Neal rubbed his eyes. "The sale was a bust, Moz. The guy you sent me to figured out I was an escaped slave and tried to sell me to some rich fugitive in Thailand."
"What?! I can't believe it. You can't trust anyone these days. There's no respect for our enslaved brethren anymore. Did he take our Chagall, too?"
"No, I got that back."
"Well, at least there's that. We'll find another buyer."
"No. I'm done with buyers today." He paused, debating whether to admit to the next part. "I'm going to call Peter."
"Are you crazy? Do you know what you're saying?"
"I'm starting to think this whole thing has been a mistake. I need to know where I stand right now. And I need to know what happened with Kate."
"Neal, you're not thinking clearly. Listen, wait for me. I'm on my way back and we can talk about this."
"Don't worry; I won't let him arrest me. But if I'm not back by tonight, you can keep the Chagall. Consider it a thank you, for everything."
He hung up before Mozzie could respond, and turned his phone to silent to quell the inevitable ringing.
He hoped Mozzie knew how grateful he was. Mozzie was more loyal than most people would have been, and Neal appreciated that. Harboring a runaway slave was serious.
But running away was also serious. Neal was starting to think it was a play he'd made too soon.
Before leaving the safe house, he gathered his things, including his duffle bag full of clothes. He knew there was a possibility he wouldn't be coming back here, but he wasn't sure if he'd be going further underground, or accompanying Peter.
He walked several blocks before taking out his phone. If Peter managed to trace the call, Neal didn't want to lead the FBI to Mozzie's safe house. With trembling fingers, he called Peter's cell.
"This is Burke."
"Hello, Peter."
There was a pause on the other end. "Neal. Where are you?"
"C'mon, Peter, you know me better than that. You really think I'm going to tell you where I am? How many agents do you have looking for me?"
"Counting me? Just one."
Neal froze. He ducked out of the foot traffic and took refuge against the window of a shoe repair store.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I haven't reported your escape yet. El and I are the only ones who know."
Neal's chest was pounding. He didn't want to be naïve, but he didn't think Peter would deceive him about this. And it made sense. If Peter hadn't reported the escape, that would explain why there hadn't been anything on the news.
"You're still in the city, aren't you?" Peter said. "Meet with me."
"I'm not going to let you arrest me...."
"No tricks. We'll just talk. That's what you want, right? You wouldn't be calling if you didn't."
"I know you saw Kate. I want to know what happened."
"If you want to talk, it'll have to be in person."
Neal hesitated, but deep down he knew he wouldn't have made this call if he wasn't willing to see Peter. "There's a restaurant called Bernard's a few blocks from where Elizabeth works. I'll meet you there."
"Okay. I'm about a half hour away from there."
"I'll be there soon."
Neal had used Bernard's as a meeting place before. It was public, it had outdoor seating, and it was near a subway entrance. If Peter went back on his word, Neal was confident he could make a quick getaway.
* * *
It took him forty-five minutes to get there, and when he arrived, Peter was already sitting at a table on the patio.
Neal hung back for a few minutes. He found a spot across the street where he could observe without revealing himself.
He looked for signs of a sting—people loitering suspiciously outside buildings, municipal vans parked near the restaurant, any indication of Peter talking into his watch....
But there was nothing. Just Peter drinking a glass of water and waiting.
Neal emerged and crossed the street at the intersection. As he walked up to the table, Peter noticed him and sat up straighter.
"I was starting to wonder," Peter said.
"I agreed to meet."
Neal sat down across from Peter. He set his duffle bag on the ground but kept it ready to grab at a moment's notice.
"When the server comes around, go ahead and order something to eat. It's my treat."
Neal wasn't very hungry, but he made a show of looking at the menu.
"I know you asked Kate to meet with me," he said. He didn't lift his head, but he raised his eyes to gauge Peter's reaction.
"Did she tell you that?"
"No. Someone else did. I haven't been able to find Kate."
Peter sighed. It was difficult to interpret his expression. He looked stressed, and there were bags under his eyes, but he didn't look as angry as Neal had expected. He had a day's worth of stubble on his face.
"El and I thought it might help you move on if you could talk to Kate. So I met with her and asked if she'd be willing to do that."
"And?"
"And she said no. I don't think she meant to hurt you. I think Kate doesn't know what the future is going to bring, and she didn't want to make any promises she couldn't keep. She thought it was best. I disagreed, but I couldn't force her."
"Why didn't you tell me this?"
"Because I didn't want to upset you. Because I was worried you'd do something stupid, like this. But I should have told you the truth. I realize that now."
"Yeah, you should have." Neal paused and added, "But to be fair, I might have run anyway."
Peter lifted his chin. "What made you call me?"
Neal shrugged. "I had to know the truth about Kate. And running away was a big move. I'm starting to think I may have played my cards too soon."
"You want to come back?"
"I do. I wasn't unhappy with you and Elizabeth." He saw Peter's skepticism, and continued. "Of course I want to be free. But I don't want to spend the rest of my life running. And I know now that until I finish my sentence, people will always see me as a slave."
"You're right," Peter said. "I know it seems arbitrary and unfair. But that's how it is."
A waitress came over to the table, then, and Neal ordered a sandwich just to be polite. After she had gotten Neal a glass of water and left to put in their order, the conversation resumed.
"Your turn," Neal said. "Why haven't you reported my escape?"
"You don't deserve a life sentence over a stupid mistake. I wanted to find you on my own. Besides, I can't help but feel this is partly my fault."
Neal raised his eyebrows. He couldn't help a small smile from forming on his face. "Are you actually admitting that you're not perfect?"
"It's just...I wanted to do this whole 'master' thing right. And all those books say that if you're firm and consistent, most slaves adjust within six months. But you're not most slaves."
He sounded so...disappointed. Neal wondered if it was more because he hadn't succeeded, or because he'd tried to tame him in the first place.
"Peter," Neal said softly, "I don't think any slave fits the model in your books. Well, not many, at least."
Peter chuckled dryly. "Yeah, maybe you're right. And you know, I never wanted to break you. I hope you realize that. You wouldn't be Neal Caffrey if you weren't a pain in my ass."
They were silent for a minute when their food arrived. When Neal picked up his chicken sandwich, Peter looked at his wrists.
"Your wrists are bruised," he said. "What happened?"
Neal looked. His wrists were marked from the ropes. "Long story," he said.
"Neal...."
"I'm fine. Honest. I'll tell you all about it later." Neal bit into his chicken sandwich, but it tasted bland and he had a hard time swallowing. He didn't think it was the food's fault.
Peter looked like he wanted to press the issue, but he didn't. As he watched Neal eat, Peter said, "El and I have been wracking our brains all weekend trying to figure out why you ran."
"You know why I ran. Kate's leaving. I had to try to find her."
Peter shook his head. "No, there has to be more to it than that. I know you said you aren't unhappy, but you must've been. Have I hurt you?"
Realizing what Peter meant, Neal quickly said, "No. It isn't that. The sex isn't bad."
"Neal," Peter said, his voice heavy with disappointment, "don't lie to me."
Neal couldn't help himself. "I thought you wanted enthusiasm."
Peter was silent for a moment. "Right. Fair enough."
"Look, if you want honesty, then how's this? No, I wouldn't have chosen to be your slave. But it's not that bad. It's not why I ran. I'm willing to let you do what you want with me if I get something in return for it."
Peter frowned. "We've been over this. You can't expect a reward for doing what you're supposed to."
"And you can't expect a slave to serve without incentive. It only works that way in those books of yours. Which we've established are not accurate resources."
Peter held up a hand. "Okay. We can talk about this when we get home."
"Oh, I haven't agreed to go back with you yet."
Neal took a bite of his sandwich and forced it down. Peter's BLT remained untouched on his plate.
Peter raised his eyebrows. "I thought you wanted to finish your sentence with me and El."
"I do," Neal said. "But I'm not going back unless I know I won't regret it. Just because you haven't hurt me doesn't mean I'm fine with how things are."
Peter clenched his jaw. "You're not exactly in a position to make demands."
"I think I am." He picked up a potato chip off his plate and tossed it in his mouth. "You need me back just as much as I need to return. I don't think you want to have to report me missing."
It was an exaggeration, perhaps, but not much of one. He knew it was a kindness that Peter and Elizabeth had chosen not to report his escape. But at this point, he knew they were thinking of themselves, as well. What would it look like if they reported the escape a few days late? The data would show that Neal's collar was taken off late Friday night. The delay would make them look bad, maybe even cast suspicion on them. Neal wasn't above using that leverage.
"Also," Neal said, "I know where the Dali is."
Peter's eyes widened. "The one taken from the Met? You know who has it?"
"I do. And I'll tell you once I'm assured that I'm not going to be arrested, and that you'll agree to my terms."
Peter nodded slowly, indicating that he understood what Neal was getting at. "All right. So what are you proposing?"
"First of all, I need more free time. I like going to work with you and Elizabeth, but doing that and all my chores is too much. I need more time off."
"That sounds doable. How much time were you thinking?"
"At least two full days off a week."
Peter's eyes narrowed skeptically. "And what would you have off from, exactly?"
"Everything. No work, no sex, no cleaning or cooking."
"Okay," Peter said, raising his hand, "a couple days to relax sounds fair. I guess we weren't expecting to take you to work so much, so we didn't think it through. But what you're suggesting isn't very reasonable. El and I have days off, but we still have to take care of things around the house. We can't just sit around and do whatever we like. Even with you around, we still take Satchmo out and cook dinner sometimes. And if you were hired help, you'd just go home to your own house and still have to cook and clean for yourself. So how about this: you get a couple days off from your regular duties, and El and I take care of most of the housework and cooking. But you still have to be a productive member of the household. No ignoring the doorbell or letting Satchmo go unfed just because it's your day off. Got it?"
Neal thought about that for a moment. He supposed that was fair enough.
"Okay. Deal. Next, when I help you and Elizabeth at work, I think I should be paid for it."
Peter's mouth fell open. "What? You're a slave!"
"I'm your slave. I wasn't purchased for the FBI, or for Burke Premiere Events. I enjoy the work, but it's not really fair that you guys get to profit off me and I don't get anything. I'm not asking for living wage—just some extra spending money."
"All right, fine," Peter said, waving a hand, "we'll work something out. I'm sure we can give you a few dollars a day."
That would have to do. It was really the principle.
"Finally, I meant what I said about you using me for sex. I'll let you do anything you want, but you have to make it worth my while. For starters, I want to see more art exhibits. I want to go out to eat at restaurants I like. I could use more shirts that aren't hand-me-downs. And I think I should have more say in when and how we do it."
Peter shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He tried and failed to speak a couple times before saying, "Neal...look, you know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, right?"
Neal thought for a moment and said, "Yes, I know."
He cautiously trusted Peter when it came to sex. He didn't believe Peter would force him if he showed pain or distress. Even so, Neal was content not to test that belief.
"But I'm the master," Peter said. "It's my job to decide these things. I mean, of course I want you to tell me what you like and what you don't. And it's my responsibility to know what you can handle and to treat you okay. But it's still about what I like, and if you get to decide everything, you won't do your job."
"No," Neal said. "If you take me back, and you make the changes I've requested, I'll give you what you want. I promise. If I don't live up to my end of the deal, you won't have to live up to yours. But just because I'm your property doesn't mean I don't get any say. Your gun isn't even alive, but you keep it clean and take care of it, right?"
"Right...."
"Well, I'm saying I'll perform better if I have more motivation. Proper maintenance, if you will."
Peter nodded. "Maybe El is right. Maybe it's not unreasonable for you to want something in return."
Peter finally picked up his sandwich and took a bite. It reminded Neal of his own food, and made him realize that he was starting to get hungry. For a few minutes, they ate in silence.
"Listen," Peter said after a minute, "I don't know if I can meet your requests exactly, but El and I will try to make you happy. I've been hard on you because I wanted you to learn some discipline and adjust to your new life. But we always meant to give you some more luxuries as time went on." He paused and smiled. "In fact...we were thinking of giving you a license soon."
"I could go places by myself?"
Peter nodded. "There'd be a lot of rules and limitations, but we thought it might be a nice birthday present."
His birthday...that was only a few weeks away. Tentatively, he asked, "So, does that mean I'm not in trouble? You're not mad at me for running?"
Peter's smile disappeared. "Oh, you're in trouble. And you should plan on not having very much fun for the next week or so. I get why you ran—I always knew you'd be tempted. But you could've ruined your life, Neal. I don't want to give you the impression that you can get away with this."
Neal had figured as much. His negotiation with Peter was going better than he'd expected, but hoping to avoid punishment was perhaps too optimistic.
"But," Peter continued, "I don't want to make your life miserable. If giving you some more freedom will prevent this from happening again, if it'll make it easier for you to serve out your sentence, then I'm willing to do that. When your punishment is over, it'll be over. We'll give you another chance."
Neal could live with that. It was uncertainty that he couldn't handle, like the possibility of being kept under house arrest for the next several months. He trusted Peter to stay true to his word. At the very least, he trusted him more than an unknown master in Thailand.
They finished their lunch. Neal only had enough appetite for half his sandwich, but it felt good to have some food in his stomach.
After paying the check, Peter said, "Ready to go home?"
Neal hesitated. "I guess so. I just wish I could have found Kate."
He consoled himself with the thought that he would have a better chance looking for her in the future if he stayed where he was. As a fugitive in Cape Verde, or as a black market slave in Thailand, there was no guarantee that he would be free to search for her.
Peter nodded sympathetically. They got up and headed for Peter's car.
Neal spent the drive lost in thought. He believed he was making the best choice, but the reality of it was starting to hit him. He was committing himself to three and a half more years of slavery, and had promised his cooperation. He wouldn't be able to give Peter a hard time over sex anymore. But then, Peter wouldn't be able to deny him what he wanted, either. If Neal came to regret his decision, there would be another way to escape. He could always find one.
It took him several minutes to realize that they weren't headed for Brooklyn. He lifted his head off the headrest and looked around.
"Why are we going this way?"
"You'll see," Peter said.
Neal sat back, but was uneasy. Where were they going? What if Peter had decided to be rid of him, after all?
A few minutes later, Peter found a parking spot on the street. Neal followed Peter out of the car, still confused about what they were doing. They walked a couple blocks before stopping in front of a pale brick building. It was a hotel, and the front looked vaguely familiar, though Neal was sure he'd never been here before.
"What are we doing here?"
"You wanted to see Kate. She's been staying here since she let the lease on your apartment end."
Now Neal realized why the building looked familiar. It was in the background of the picture in Peter's file.
"You're letting me visit her?"
"You've got a half hour, assuming she'll see you."
Neal turned to go inside, but Peter grabbed his arm.
"But Neal—after this, it's over, okay? No more running. We'll go home, and we'll both stand by our word, deal?"
"Deal."
"Good."
Peter led the way inside. They took the elevator to fourth floor. When they stepped out, Peter said, "She's staying in room 415. I'll wait in the hall. Remember—a half hour."
They found the door. Before Neal knocked, Peter said, "If she's up for it, you should ask her to write to you."
Neal was surprised at that, but didn't say anything. Taking one last look back at Peter, he knocked on the door.
Chapter 24
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal/Peter, Peter/Elizabeth/Neal, Neal/Elizabeth, Peter/Elizabeth, references to Neal/Kate
Rating: Explicit
Contains: Non-con, dub-con, institutionalized slavery, spanking, humiliation, dark!Peter, dark!Elizabeth, sex, rimming
Word count: 4600 this part. About 124k total (yes, this is a slight increase...).
Summary: After being convicted of bond forgery, Neal is sentenced to four years of slavery. But he isn't prepared to be purchased by Peter Burke. Or for what Peter has in store for him.
Notes: See Chapter 1 for details.
When he woke up, he couldn't remember where he was. He was lying on his side on a hard wooden floor, and when he tried to move his arms he found that they were tied behind his back. He tested his legs and discovered that his ankles were also bound.
His head was pounding. He lifted it up off the floor and looked around. It was only then that he recognized Valentine's loft. He was lying on the floor not far from the sofa. He remembered arriving, and discovering the Dali. What happened after was a blur.
He heard Valentine's muted voice in the next room.
"I'm telling you, he's a runaway. No one's going to suspect he was stolen." There was a pause. "No, I already thought of that. I don't see any signs of a manhunt yet. I think if you take him out of the state first, you won't have much trouble getting him out of the country."
Neal forced himself up into a seated position. He scooted up against the sofa to support his back. A minute later, he heard Valentine say goodbye to whoever he was talking to on the phone. Soon after, he came out of what appeared to be the bedroom.
"Oh," he said when he saw Neal, "you're awake. Good. You feeling okay? Nauseous?"
Neal glared at him.
"I didn't want to gag you, just in case you were going to throw up. Besides, doesn't matter if you make noise. We're on the top floor, and the place below us is empty. No one's going to hear you. Let me get you some water."
"Why are you doing this?"
"It's nothing personal," he said as he walked into the kitchen. He got a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water from the faucet. "Really. Your reputation is great."
He put a straw in the glass and brought it over to Neal. Valentine crouched down and held the straw to Neal's lips. When Neal didn't open his mouth, he said, "Relax. It's not drugged. I just don't want you to get dehydrated."
Neal was thirsty. Slowly, he opened his mouth and let Valentine slip the straw between his lips. The water was cool and refreshing.
"Look," Valentine said, "I could use a good sale. I had a buyer lined up for the Dali, but he's waffling now because the feds are too aggressive. But I have this old client who lives in Thailand. American guy. He can't buy a slave legally since he isn't a citizen. You know how it is—guys like that make big scores and create new lives for themselves overseas. They want American slaves that speak English and remind them of where they came from. There's a huge market. Here you're worth what, ten, fifteen thousand tops? My client will pay eighty for you."
Valentine took the glass of water away from Neal's mouth. He stood up and put the water on the table. Neal followed his movements and could just make some other items on the table. His belongings. His burner phone. His wallet.
"You don't have to do this," Neal said. "If you just want money, I can help you with that."
"Sorry, Neal, but I need a sure thing right now. I just talked to one of my client's friends here in the States. He'll be here in a couple hours to get you, and I'll get paid. Better than waiting for an escaped slave to make good on a promise."
"Is that all I am to you? An escaped slave you can make money off of? You could be in this position just as easily as I am."
Valentine shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm not. Look, I told you, it's nothing personal. You were a great forger, a great art thief. But right now, you're what my client wants. I've been waiting months to get my hands on a slave." He got himself a beer out of the refrigerator and uncapped it. "Besides, it's not like you were happy with what you had here, huh? Or you wouldn't have lost your collar." He took a long swig of the beer and set the bottle on the counter. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get ready for the appointment. Don't go anywhere."
He went back into the bedroom, leaving Neal alone. He must have been confident that Neal was secure, just like he was confident that Neal was just a piece of property, no different than the Chagall.
Obviously, as far as Valentine was concerned, taking a slave wasn't the same as kidnapping. Neal realized he'd been naïve, believing that escaping would give him back his old identity. But an escaped slave was still a slave.
He had to get out of there. Eventually, Mozzie would realize something was wrong. But Neal could be long gone by the time Mozzie figure out what happened. His best chance of escape was to get away before Valentine's contact arrived.
He had to cut the ropes securing his hands. He looked around for anything within reach that he could use.
There was a small metal statue of a tree sitting on the nearby coffee table. Some of the edges looked sharp enough to fray the rope, with enough time. The question was whether or not he had time before Valentine returned.
Neal scooted over and turned onto his knees. He got his balance, sat up, and reached behind him for the statue.
It was difficult work without seeing what he was doing. He managed to get one of the thin metal branches in between the ropes and started to saw back and forth. While he worked, he listened for the sound of Valentine returning.
Thankfully, Valentine had used thin nylon ropes that snagged easily on the rough surface of the statue. After what seemed like an eternity, the rope frayed enough that Neal could loosen the bindings and free his hands.
Without even taking a moment to rub his sore wrists, he sat down and tugged the ropes off his ankles. He was still unsteady when he got up. The aftermath of the drug he'd been given, most likely. Before leaving, he rushed over to the table to collect his belongings. Everything seemed to be there. As an afterthought, he risked a few seconds to collect the Chagall and put it back in its cardboard tube.
He then ran silently to the door, undid the chain, and slipped out.
He didn't stop to catch his breath until he found a cab. If Valentine had discovered him missing, it didn't matter anymore.
Neal looked at his watch. It was almost three. His ordeal had taken up most of the afternoon.
When he got back to the safe house, Mozzie wasn't there. Neal sat down on the sofa and rested his head in his hands. Now that he was safe, the reality of what almost happened sunk in. He'd heard of slaves being stolen and sold on the black market, but he'd never considered it a risk.
He knew he should try to forget about it, but he indulged himself in wondering what it would have been like. Would his new master have been cruel? Generous? Would it have been easier or harder to escape in a foreign country where he had no identity?
He was jarred out of this reverie by his phone vibrating on the coffee table. He picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Finally. I've tried to call you three times now. What happened with the sale?"
Neal rubbed his eyes. "The sale was a bust, Moz. The guy you sent me to figured out I was an escaped slave and tried to sell me to some rich fugitive in Thailand."
"What?! I can't believe it. You can't trust anyone these days. There's no respect for our enslaved brethren anymore. Did he take our Chagall, too?"
"No, I got that back."
"Well, at least there's that. We'll find another buyer."
"No. I'm done with buyers today." He paused, debating whether to admit to the next part. "I'm going to call Peter."
"Are you crazy? Do you know what you're saying?"
"I'm starting to think this whole thing has been a mistake. I need to know where I stand right now. And I need to know what happened with Kate."
"Neal, you're not thinking clearly. Listen, wait for me. I'm on my way back and we can talk about this."
"Don't worry; I won't let him arrest me. But if I'm not back by tonight, you can keep the Chagall. Consider it a thank you, for everything."
He hung up before Mozzie could respond, and turned his phone to silent to quell the inevitable ringing.
He hoped Mozzie knew how grateful he was. Mozzie was more loyal than most people would have been, and Neal appreciated that. Harboring a runaway slave was serious.
But running away was also serious. Neal was starting to think it was a play he'd made too soon.
Before leaving the safe house, he gathered his things, including his duffle bag full of clothes. He knew there was a possibility he wouldn't be coming back here, but he wasn't sure if he'd be going further underground, or accompanying Peter.
He walked several blocks before taking out his phone. If Peter managed to trace the call, Neal didn't want to lead the FBI to Mozzie's safe house. With trembling fingers, he called Peter's cell.
"This is Burke."
"Hello, Peter."
There was a pause on the other end. "Neal. Where are you?"
"C'mon, Peter, you know me better than that. You really think I'm going to tell you where I am? How many agents do you have looking for me?"
"Counting me? Just one."
Neal froze. He ducked out of the foot traffic and took refuge against the window of a shoe repair store.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I haven't reported your escape yet. El and I are the only ones who know."
Neal's chest was pounding. He didn't want to be naïve, but he didn't think Peter would deceive him about this. And it made sense. If Peter hadn't reported the escape, that would explain why there hadn't been anything on the news.
"You're still in the city, aren't you?" Peter said. "Meet with me."
"I'm not going to let you arrest me...."
"No tricks. We'll just talk. That's what you want, right? You wouldn't be calling if you didn't."
"I know you saw Kate. I want to know what happened."
"If you want to talk, it'll have to be in person."
Neal hesitated, but deep down he knew he wouldn't have made this call if he wasn't willing to see Peter. "There's a restaurant called Bernard's a few blocks from where Elizabeth works. I'll meet you there."
"Okay. I'm about a half hour away from there."
"I'll be there soon."
Neal had used Bernard's as a meeting place before. It was public, it had outdoor seating, and it was near a subway entrance. If Peter went back on his word, Neal was confident he could make a quick getaway.
It took him forty-five minutes to get there, and when he arrived, Peter was already sitting at a table on the patio.
Neal hung back for a few minutes. He found a spot across the street where he could observe without revealing himself.
He looked for signs of a sting—people loitering suspiciously outside buildings, municipal vans parked near the restaurant, any indication of Peter talking into his watch....
But there was nothing. Just Peter drinking a glass of water and waiting.
Neal emerged and crossed the street at the intersection. As he walked up to the table, Peter noticed him and sat up straighter.
"I was starting to wonder," Peter said.
"I agreed to meet."
Neal sat down across from Peter. He set his duffle bag on the ground but kept it ready to grab at a moment's notice.
"When the server comes around, go ahead and order something to eat. It's my treat."
Neal wasn't very hungry, but he made a show of looking at the menu.
"I know you asked Kate to meet with me," he said. He didn't lift his head, but he raised his eyes to gauge Peter's reaction.
"Did she tell you that?"
"No. Someone else did. I haven't been able to find Kate."
Peter sighed. It was difficult to interpret his expression. He looked stressed, and there were bags under his eyes, but he didn't look as angry as Neal had expected. He had a day's worth of stubble on his face.
"El and I thought it might help you move on if you could talk to Kate. So I met with her and asked if she'd be willing to do that."
"And?"
"And she said no. I don't think she meant to hurt you. I think Kate doesn't know what the future is going to bring, and she didn't want to make any promises she couldn't keep. She thought it was best. I disagreed, but I couldn't force her."
"Why didn't you tell me this?"
"Because I didn't want to upset you. Because I was worried you'd do something stupid, like this. But I should have told you the truth. I realize that now."
"Yeah, you should have." Neal paused and added, "But to be fair, I might have run anyway."
Peter lifted his chin. "What made you call me?"
Neal shrugged. "I had to know the truth about Kate. And running away was a big move. I'm starting to think I may have played my cards too soon."
"You want to come back?"
"I do. I wasn't unhappy with you and Elizabeth." He saw Peter's skepticism, and continued. "Of course I want to be free. But I don't want to spend the rest of my life running. And I know now that until I finish my sentence, people will always see me as a slave."
"You're right," Peter said. "I know it seems arbitrary and unfair. But that's how it is."
A waitress came over to the table, then, and Neal ordered a sandwich just to be polite. After she had gotten Neal a glass of water and left to put in their order, the conversation resumed.
"Your turn," Neal said. "Why haven't you reported my escape?"
"You don't deserve a life sentence over a stupid mistake. I wanted to find you on my own. Besides, I can't help but feel this is partly my fault."
Neal raised his eyebrows. He couldn't help a small smile from forming on his face. "Are you actually admitting that you're not perfect?"
"It's just...I wanted to do this whole 'master' thing right. And all those books say that if you're firm and consistent, most slaves adjust within six months. But you're not most slaves."
He sounded so...disappointed. Neal wondered if it was more because he hadn't succeeded, or because he'd tried to tame him in the first place.
"Peter," Neal said softly, "I don't think any slave fits the model in your books. Well, not many, at least."
Peter chuckled dryly. "Yeah, maybe you're right. And you know, I never wanted to break you. I hope you realize that. You wouldn't be Neal Caffrey if you weren't a pain in my ass."
They were silent for a minute when their food arrived. When Neal picked up his chicken sandwich, Peter looked at his wrists.
"Your wrists are bruised," he said. "What happened?"
Neal looked. His wrists were marked from the ropes. "Long story," he said.
"Neal...."
"I'm fine. Honest. I'll tell you all about it later." Neal bit into his chicken sandwich, but it tasted bland and he had a hard time swallowing. He didn't think it was the food's fault.
Peter looked like he wanted to press the issue, but he didn't. As he watched Neal eat, Peter said, "El and I have been wracking our brains all weekend trying to figure out why you ran."
"You know why I ran. Kate's leaving. I had to try to find her."
Peter shook his head. "No, there has to be more to it than that. I know you said you aren't unhappy, but you must've been. Have I hurt you?"
Realizing what Peter meant, Neal quickly said, "No. It isn't that. The sex isn't bad."
"Neal," Peter said, his voice heavy with disappointment, "don't lie to me."
Neal couldn't help himself. "I thought you wanted enthusiasm."
Peter was silent for a moment. "Right. Fair enough."
"Look, if you want honesty, then how's this? No, I wouldn't have chosen to be your slave. But it's not that bad. It's not why I ran. I'm willing to let you do what you want with me if I get something in return for it."
Peter frowned. "We've been over this. You can't expect a reward for doing what you're supposed to."
"And you can't expect a slave to serve without incentive. It only works that way in those books of yours. Which we've established are not accurate resources."
Peter held up a hand. "Okay. We can talk about this when we get home."
"Oh, I haven't agreed to go back with you yet."
Neal took a bite of his sandwich and forced it down. Peter's BLT remained untouched on his plate.
Peter raised his eyebrows. "I thought you wanted to finish your sentence with me and El."
"I do," Neal said. "But I'm not going back unless I know I won't regret it. Just because you haven't hurt me doesn't mean I'm fine with how things are."
Peter clenched his jaw. "You're not exactly in a position to make demands."
"I think I am." He picked up a potato chip off his plate and tossed it in his mouth. "You need me back just as much as I need to return. I don't think you want to have to report me missing."
It was an exaggeration, perhaps, but not much of one. He knew it was a kindness that Peter and Elizabeth had chosen not to report his escape. But at this point, he knew they were thinking of themselves, as well. What would it look like if they reported the escape a few days late? The data would show that Neal's collar was taken off late Friday night. The delay would make them look bad, maybe even cast suspicion on them. Neal wasn't above using that leverage.
"Also," Neal said, "I know where the Dali is."
Peter's eyes widened. "The one taken from the Met? You know who has it?"
"I do. And I'll tell you once I'm assured that I'm not going to be arrested, and that you'll agree to my terms."
Peter nodded slowly, indicating that he understood what Neal was getting at. "All right. So what are you proposing?"
"First of all, I need more free time. I like going to work with you and Elizabeth, but doing that and all my chores is too much. I need more time off."
"That sounds doable. How much time were you thinking?"
"At least two full days off a week."
Peter's eyes narrowed skeptically. "And what would you have off from, exactly?"
"Everything. No work, no sex, no cleaning or cooking."
"Okay," Peter said, raising his hand, "a couple days to relax sounds fair. I guess we weren't expecting to take you to work so much, so we didn't think it through. But what you're suggesting isn't very reasonable. El and I have days off, but we still have to take care of things around the house. We can't just sit around and do whatever we like. Even with you around, we still take Satchmo out and cook dinner sometimes. And if you were hired help, you'd just go home to your own house and still have to cook and clean for yourself. So how about this: you get a couple days off from your regular duties, and El and I take care of most of the housework and cooking. But you still have to be a productive member of the household. No ignoring the doorbell or letting Satchmo go unfed just because it's your day off. Got it?"
Neal thought about that for a moment. He supposed that was fair enough.
"Okay. Deal. Next, when I help you and Elizabeth at work, I think I should be paid for it."
Peter's mouth fell open. "What? You're a slave!"
"I'm your slave. I wasn't purchased for the FBI, or for Burke Premiere Events. I enjoy the work, but it's not really fair that you guys get to profit off me and I don't get anything. I'm not asking for living wage—just some extra spending money."
"All right, fine," Peter said, waving a hand, "we'll work something out. I'm sure we can give you a few dollars a day."
That would have to do. It was really the principle.
"Finally, I meant what I said about you using me for sex. I'll let you do anything you want, but you have to make it worth my while. For starters, I want to see more art exhibits. I want to go out to eat at restaurants I like. I could use more shirts that aren't hand-me-downs. And I think I should have more say in when and how we do it."
Peter shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He tried and failed to speak a couple times before saying, "Neal...look, you know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, right?"
Neal thought for a moment and said, "Yes, I know."
He cautiously trusted Peter when it came to sex. He didn't believe Peter would force him if he showed pain or distress. Even so, Neal was content not to test that belief.
"But I'm the master," Peter said. "It's my job to decide these things. I mean, of course I want you to tell me what you like and what you don't. And it's my responsibility to know what you can handle and to treat you okay. But it's still about what I like, and if you get to decide everything, you won't do your job."
"No," Neal said. "If you take me back, and you make the changes I've requested, I'll give you what you want. I promise. If I don't live up to my end of the deal, you won't have to live up to yours. But just because I'm your property doesn't mean I don't get any say. Your gun isn't even alive, but you keep it clean and take care of it, right?"
"Right...."
"Well, I'm saying I'll perform better if I have more motivation. Proper maintenance, if you will."
Peter nodded. "Maybe El is right. Maybe it's not unreasonable for you to want something in return."
Peter finally picked up his sandwich and took a bite. It reminded Neal of his own food, and made him realize that he was starting to get hungry. For a few minutes, they ate in silence.
"Listen," Peter said after a minute, "I don't know if I can meet your requests exactly, but El and I will try to make you happy. I've been hard on you because I wanted you to learn some discipline and adjust to your new life. But we always meant to give you some more luxuries as time went on." He paused and smiled. "In fact...we were thinking of giving you a license soon."
"I could go places by myself?"
Peter nodded. "There'd be a lot of rules and limitations, but we thought it might be a nice birthday present."
His birthday...that was only a few weeks away. Tentatively, he asked, "So, does that mean I'm not in trouble? You're not mad at me for running?"
Peter's smile disappeared. "Oh, you're in trouble. And you should plan on not having very much fun for the next week or so. I get why you ran—I always knew you'd be tempted. But you could've ruined your life, Neal. I don't want to give you the impression that you can get away with this."
Neal had figured as much. His negotiation with Peter was going better than he'd expected, but hoping to avoid punishment was perhaps too optimistic.
"But," Peter continued, "I don't want to make your life miserable. If giving you some more freedom will prevent this from happening again, if it'll make it easier for you to serve out your sentence, then I'm willing to do that. When your punishment is over, it'll be over. We'll give you another chance."
Neal could live with that. It was uncertainty that he couldn't handle, like the possibility of being kept under house arrest for the next several months. He trusted Peter to stay true to his word. At the very least, he trusted him more than an unknown master in Thailand.
They finished their lunch. Neal only had enough appetite for half his sandwich, but it felt good to have some food in his stomach.
After paying the check, Peter said, "Ready to go home?"
Neal hesitated. "I guess so. I just wish I could have found Kate."
He consoled himself with the thought that he would have a better chance looking for her in the future if he stayed where he was. As a fugitive in Cape Verde, or as a black market slave in Thailand, there was no guarantee that he would be free to search for her.
Peter nodded sympathetically. They got up and headed for Peter's car.
Neal spent the drive lost in thought. He believed he was making the best choice, but the reality of it was starting to hit him. He was committing himself to three and a half more years of slavery, and had promised his cooperation. He wouldn't be able to give Peter a hard time over sex anymore. But then, Peter wouldn't be able to deny him what he wanted, either. If Neal came to regret his decision, there would be another way to escape. He could always find one.
It took him several minutes to realize that they weren't headed for Brooklyn. He lifted his head off the headrest and looked around.
"Why are we going this way?"
"You'll see," Peter said.
Neal sat back, but was uneasy. Where were they going? What if Peter had decided to be rid of him, after all?
A few minutes later, Peter found a parking spot on the street. Neal followed Peter out of the car, still confused about what they were doing. They walked a couple blocks before stopping in front of a pale brick building. It was a hotel, and the front looked vaguely familiar, though Neal was sure he'd never been here before.
"What are we doing here?"
"You wanted to see Kate. She's been staying here since she let the lease on your apartment end."
Now Neal realized why the building looked familiar. It was in the background of the picture in Peter's file.
"You're letting me visit her?"
"You've got a half hour, assuming she'll see you."
Neal turned to go inside, but Peter grabbed his arm.
"But Neal—after this, it's over, okay? No more running. We'll go home, and we'll both stand by our word, deal?"
"Deal."
"Good."
Peter led the way inside. They took the elevator to fourth floor. When they stepped out, Peter said, "She's staying in room 415. I'll wait in the hall. Remember—a half hour."
They found the door. Before Neal knocked, Peter said, "If she's up for it, you should ask her to write to you."
Neal was surprised at that, but didn't say anything. Taking one last look back at Peter, he knocked on the door.
Chapter 24
