Chapter 17

The illness Neal had come down with this week had left him exhausted, but it was the offer to work for the FBI that left him pale. Life comes down to a few moments, he realized, when you make an irrevocable choice. This is what it must have been like when his mother had to decide whether to enter Witness Protection. The pressure to make the right decision was enormous. And, as he'd just told Peter, scary.

"The reports I've read from Interpol, not to mention the scene with Villiers in the bar, paint a picture of someone fearless," Peter said.

"That's not the same thing as courage. Lack of fear is usually the result of living in the moment, not bothering to think about consequences." Neal shrugged. "At least, that's how it works for me."

"And I'm offering more than a short-term deal. This is a future you'd have to commit to, for the long-term. It's all about consequences."

"And not just for me. I have to think about how it affects others."

"I can't offer everyone you know the same deal."

Neal almost smiled at the thought of Mozzie's response to being offered a job at the FBI. But it bothered him that he couldn't wrap his head around Kate's response. This woman was the one. He should be able to count on her support. He shouldn't be doubting her. "Most of them wouldn't want it. But there are a handful of people I've depended on the most. They're my friends, Peter. Anyone else is fair game, but these people I have to protect. I won't give you any information that would lead to their arrest."

"Any other conditions?" Peter asked.

Neal pushed away from the railing and continued walking back to the hotel. Peter matched his pace in silence, as Neal considered Peter's question. The FBI would consider his request to protect his closest friends from prosecution a huge concession. They wouldn't be willing to offer much more. But it seemed to Neal that he was the one taking the biggest risk. He was the one facing jail time if things went wrong. How did he know he could trust the FBI? In the lobby of the hotel, as Peter pushed the button to call the elevator, Neal said, "There is one more thing I'd ask."

"What's that?"

"This deal only works if we trust each other," Neal said as they stepped into the elevator. "If I confess most of my secrets and crimes to you, then you're the one in the position of power. You have all of the leverage."

"I'm the boss. Of course I'm in the position of power."

"We're talking about a lot more power than you would have over anyone else who works for you. How do I trust you not to abuse that power?"

"I'm trying to get you a deal that keeps you out of prison, and you think you can't trust me? Listen, I'm going out of my way to help you out here, and there's no personal gain from my perspective. All I get is paperwork and worry. There's no one you can trust more than me."

They left the elevator and made their way back to the room. The beds were made and the towels replaced. "Don't get me wrong," Neal said. "I appreciate what you're trying to do for me."

"Really? Because it doesn't sound like it."

Neal slipped off his shoes, leaving them in the closet, and sat down on the bed. Elbows propped on his thighs, he rested his aching head in his hands. "Is the deal off then?"

"We don't exactly have a deal, yet." Peter placed his badge and gun on the desk, not looking at Neal. "And I wouldn't end it because you happen to piss me off. I already expect that to be a habit of yours."

"Yeah, I can see that." Neal gave in to his exhaustion and lay back on the bed. "I can find out on my own. I should have done it that way, instead of trying to ask you directly."

"You haven't asked anything. What do you want to know?"

"What's your vice, Peter? What vile, unspeakable thing do you crave?"

"Ah, damn. Are you running a fever again?"

Neal opened his eyes and pushed away Peter's hand from his forehead. "No. I'm tired and miserable and scared. You're trying to turn my life upside down, and whatever I decide there's probably no going back."

"You want a little control."

"Is that unreasonable?"

"No. No, it's not." Peter sat on his own bed, arranging the pillows against the headboard to lean back against them. He grabbed the remote control, turned on the television and surfed until he found a sports channel. Leaving the sound muted, he said, "The first thing that comes to mind is deviled ham. You should hear the complaints when I bring a deviled ham sandwich to a stakeout in the van. You'd think I'm the only person in the world who doesn't think it's vile. But you're looking for something that's more of a secret."

Suddenly Neal regretted asking. He wanted to believe that he'd found someone who was hero material, who was everything he'd once believed his dad was. He didn't want to hear that Peter was only pretending to be good. He couldn't take that misery on top of everything else right now. Neal started to tell Peter to forget it, but the words got lost in a painful bout of coughing. Next thing he knew, Peter was helping him sit up and offering a glass of water.

"Better?" Peter asked when the coughing subsided.

Neal nodded. "Thanks." His voice was a croak, and his throat was on fire.

"Sounds like you need another dose."

Neal nodded again and stood up. He pulled the sweatpants and Peter's shirt out of his duffle bag. It had to be Peter's shirt, because it wasn't anything Neal had packed. He frowned at it, unclear about why he had been wearing it earlier, but couldn't summon the energy to question it. Instead he walked into the bathroom to change into his sleepwear.

Minutes later, Peter measured out a single dose of the medicine for Neal. He then placed the bottle in the safe with a note that read, "Only Peter opens this bottle."

Neal slid into bed and allowed his mind to drift. He heard Peter walk back to his own bed, presumably watching TV again. "Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll take the deal."

"I'll push for the best one we can make."

"I know."

Peter sighed. "I don't like football. That's my deep, dark secret. I watch the Giants and follow the scores, because that's what everyone expects."

Neal opened his eyes and looked at the agent. "Why?"

"When I was in high school, a player for our school's team was substituted in at the last minute during an away game. He hadn't expected to play, didn't even have his uniform with him. He put on the uniform of a team member who was pulled at the last minute. Word didn't make it to the announcer, who called this player by another name throughout the game. The stats of the other player were called out. The opposing team also thought he was someone else, and they were making decisions based on that. Supposedly it was all an innocent mistake, but it still caused a scandal and the win was taken away from us. When it was over, I realized that the bulky uniforms, the helmets, all make it nearly impossible to tell who's really out there. It could be anyone, and the people watching the game would never know."

Neal had to clear his throat before saying, "Safety."

"Yeah, I know. There are good reasons for wearing the bulky uniforms. But from then on, baseball and basketball seemed more honest to me. You can see who you're dealing with." Peter shrugged. "But most people assume a guy like me will be a football fan, and it's easier to go along with that rather than explain why I don't care for the sport."

Neal closed his eyes again and nodded. It was a preference Neal understood. He liked seeing who he was dealing with. "Don't like jobs with masks," was the last thing he said before drifting off.