Sheenianni's journal

Title: Out of the Dungeons (Part IV)
Author: sheenianni
Fandom: White Collar
Notes: See Prologue



PART IV

After several hours of uneven sleep, Peter was woken by an unfamiliar grating sound of something outside his cell. Curious, he pulled himself up, wincing at the pins and needles in his arm. He really needed to find a more comfortable way of lying on the floor…

Suddenly, Peter became fully alert when he realized the source of the noise. Someone was opening the latches on his door.

Since he had been imprisoned, this was only the third time that someone was entering his cell, and the other times had always been in early morning before the first meal. Did his pardon come through? Peter felt a surge of hope, only to have it immediately replaced by dread. Or did they for some reason push his execution forward?

He was supposed to still have some time…

Pulling back a little, he stood up, his stomach clenching at the uncertainty of the situation. Freedom or death? Or was it some part of the dungeon’s routine? Could someone from his family had been allowed a visit, or maybe it was his lawyer coming to talk to him?

And then the door opened and in walked the absolutely last person that Peter would have expected to find there.

He almost didn’t hear Neal’s gasp. “Peter…”

”Neal?!”

He was dressed wrong, with none of the beautiful fabrics that he usually loved, but it was undoubtedly Neal.

Mesmerized, Peter watched as Neal shut the door to his cell, put his lantern on the floor and then closed the distance between them and took his hands in his.

“You look terrible,” said Neal when he found his voice. “I’d give you a hug, but…”

“Dirt, smell and old blood,” Peter grimaced understandingly. “Trust me, at this moment I’m not too high on my appearance myself.”

Neal shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. How are you?”

“I have been better,” Peter said distractedly. “Neal, what are you doing here? And – wait, have you put on weight?” It shouldn’t be possible, but Neal actually looked heavy – not that it mattered. Was this a visit, like he had thought before? But then, where were the guards?

“I’m here to get you out,” said Neal.

“Are you saying that the pardon went through? Or – have you cleared my name?” Peter didn’t even bother to conceal his hope – he was going to be free; he would be able to return to his home, to his people and to serving his country–

“Neither of that, I’m afraid.”

“Then how…” Peter paused.

“Something that is not quite so official.” Revealing a hidden pocket in his sleeve, Neal pulled out a set of lockpicks. “I need to see your shackles.”

Peter pulled away. “What’s going on?”

Neal gave him a serious look. “The King will never sign your pardon or give you a new, fair trial.”

Peter frowned. “You can’t know that–”

“Your loyalty to the Queen is too well-known,” Neal interrupted him. “Lord Hughes believes that they will use this chance to weaken her position. I think he spoke to Elizabeth–”

“Wait a moment, Reese knows about this?” asked Peter in surprise.

Neal met his eyes. “I won’t let them kill you, so I’m breaking you out of here.”

“That’s not–”

“Peter. Please. You have to trust me about this.”

Peter shook his head. “I can’t. You’re asking me to betray my Queen.”

“The Queen won’t lift a finger to help you! She will stand there, watch them cut off your head and then go back to her petty political games.”

“Enough!” Peter snapped, angered by Caffrey’s tone. “The way you’re speaking is close to treason–”

“And what I’m doing here isn’t?” Neal laughed shortly. “What do you think will happen if anyone finds me here? So I believe that ship has already sailed, Peter.”

“Even so, the Queen deserves your respect and loyalty,” Peter retorted, but already his anger was wavering as he recognized the truth in Neal’s words.

If Elizabeth tried to intervene on his behalf, it would ruin everything she had tried to accomplish. She may be the Queen, but she had her duty to the people of her kingdom. She couldn’t jeopardize all that for a single life, not even for that of – dare he say – a friend.

The Queen could not help him.

Which meant that Neal was right; they were on their own.

Sensing the change in Peter’s mood, Neal cleared his throat. “Hey, I can’t see the lock properly. Could you hold the lantern while I try to pick it?”

“Your hands are shaking,” Peter noted with wonder.

“The lock is dirty. My hands are fine,” Neal retorted sharply as he tried to twist the lockpicks the right way.

Peter watched his fumbling with a frown. “Allow me–”

“Got it,” said Neal when the lock made a subtle noise and opened with a click.

With Neal’s help, Peter took the shackles off his wrists.

“Okay, that’s one part. Now for your legs…”

“I’ll do it,” said Peter and took the lockpicks from Neal’s hand.

“They really went all out,” Neal snorted with disdain. “I have some clothes for you when you’re finished.”

“Thank you,” Peter replied honestly.

He glanced at the lockpicks. He had long ago discovered that the chains around his ankles were only connected to each other and not to the rings in the wall. They would still severely limit him during their escape, however Neal planned to do that. The chains had to go.

Speaking of Neal…

For a moment, Peter stilled. Neal wasn’t supposed to be here; his presence alone would be enough to alert the guards. If someone heard them…

But the guards didn’t come to this level often and their schedules were predicable; Peter had learned them soon after his imprisonment. He wasn’t sure how much time they had – an hour maybe – but he knew they had some. Lucky coincidence?

Not likely.

Peter looked at Neal. “I thought you said you’d do anything rather than come back here.”

“Clearly my priorities have changed,” Neal replied tensely.

“So how did you get in?” asked Peter curiously.

“I got myself arrested.”

“You what?”

“Relax, Peter. I had it covered–”

“What did you do, Neal?” asked Peter, torn between anger and fear. Suddenly he felt ill; one horrible scenario after the other rushing through his mind. People who ended up in the country’s worst prison were either traitors or murderers. What had Neal done for him, because of him?

“I staged my arrest. Hey, are you done with those locks, or do you need me to pick them?”

“You’re deflecting,” Peter rebuked him, not letting Neal distract him from the matter. “Tell me what happened.”

Neal grimaced. “All right. I had some help–”

“Who?”

“Some people on the outside. Look, we’ve got bigger problems–”

“Who else? Come on, Neal, I know you. You wouldn’t have come here without a damn good plan–”

“You need to get these chains off so we can move–”

“Fine, you do it,” said Peter, giving Neal his lockpicks back. He could have done it, given enough time and focus, but Neal was better at this sort of thing. Besides, as long as Neal was occupied with the shackles, he couldn’t concentrate properly on making up stories and would be more likely to tell Peter the truth.

He sat on the ground to give Neal better access to the lock, and waited until Neal crouched to his level before starting his questions again. “I bet you had floor plans of this place – maybe even guards’ schedules. Tell me, who’s your inside person?”

Neal stilled. “It’s always like that with you, isn’t it? You always think I have an angle. Can’t you for once imagine that this isn’t a scheme, that I’d come here just because I care about you?”

“I know you do,” said Peter honestly, even as a sliver of guilt gnawed at him. Because he hadn’t always believed that – there had been times when he genuinely worried that Caffrey was just waiting for the right moment to stab him in the back. Later, he used to think that Neal was only using him to ensure his own future, and it had probably started that way, because there had been a time when Peter’s word and good favor were the only thing keeping Neal from a very bleak fate. But at some point things had changed, and trust and friendship grew where had once been only suspicion, doubts and threats.

Suddenly, Peter hoped that one day, they would have the time to talk about it and sort it all out.

But now there were other concerns. “I wasn’t making an accusation. I was merely wondering who might have helped you set this up; what’s the fallout going to be.”

“Would you believe me if I said I pulled it off on my own?” asked Neal.

Peter lifted his eyebrows. “Did you?”

“I wish.” Neal sighed resignedly. “It’s Hagen.”

… Wait a second… Hagen? As in Curtis Hagen?

“What?! How–”

“We found common ground,” said Neal before opening Peter’s leg irons and standing up. “All finished.” Peter watched as Neal pulled the bag off his shoulders. “I’ve got the clothes for you here – unless you want to stay in these rags…?”

“Nice try. Tell me about Hagen.” He started to get dressed.

“Promise me you’ll listen to the whole story before you pass judgment.”

“Something tells me I’m not going to like this,” said Peter dryly even as his stomach coiled with unease. “Out with it. What’s the deal?”

“Hagen has been planning to free Rachel Turner, but he couldn’t do it by himself. Same as I couldn’t free you. So–”

“You can’t be serious.”

Rachel Turner.

The baroness had long been suspected of a string of murders. Hughes’ people had worked hard to see her caught until about a year ago, when Peter and Neal had finally managed to get enough proof to see her convicted. Lady Turner had then narrowly escaped death when she had claimed to be pregnant, thus delaying her execution until the baby could be born. She had finally borne a daughter just a few weeks before Peter’s arrest, after which the King had commuted her sentence to imprisonment, following the centuries’ old customs that sometimes led to showing clemency in this sort of a case.

Which meant that by now, Rachel Turner was probably back on her feet, locked up in the same prison as Peter for all her murders. And Neal was talking about breaking her out. Rachel Turner, a dangerous killer with no morals.

He would let her go to set Peter free.

“Have you completely lost your mind?!” Peter roared when he found his voice at last.

“Shhh,” Neal hissed in panic and covered Peter’s mouth with his hand. “You’ll attract attention–”

“I’m not doing this,” said Peter resolutely. “I’m not walking out of here if it means Turner is a part of this. Thank you for trying, Neal, but I’ll rather take my chances with waiting for the King’s pardon.”

Silence.

Almost immediately, Peter felt a surge of doubt. Was he really willing to die rather than help Turner escape?

He didn’t want to die.

But it wasn’t just about his life, it was about his honor, too. One of Turner’s suspected victims had been Lady Ellen, whom Peter had known since childhood and who had occasionally been his mentor after the death of his mother. If he now exchanged his freedom for Turner’s, it would be spitting on the memory of a kind woman and a dear family friend. And he really didn’t know how he’d be able to live with that.

Besides, even on the run, Rachel Turner was too dangerous to be released back into the world.

But was he willing to die for his convictions?

Peter was brought out of his thoughts when Neal shook his head in frustration. “You’re not listening to me. I told you to wait until I explained everything.”

Peter frowned. “Then by all means, tell me. What is this plan of yours?”

“I told Hagen that we would break out Rachel with us. I never said we were actually going to do it.”

“Explain.”

* * *

“So Hagen gave you the schedules, some stuff and the map. But why would he trust you to free the baroness?”

A while ago, they had cost Hagen his position in a nobleman’s household, and from the way he’d beaten up Peter shortly after Peter’s arrival in the dungeons, it was clear that he still held a grudge. The fact that he would help them now…

“How can you be sure it’s not a trap?”

“We can’t. But it’s the best chance we’ve got.”

Damn. “Somehow that’s not very reassuring,” said Peter flatly.

“He needs me to get her out. As far as Hagen knows, my plan is to free you and Turner, and then the three of us will escape over the south wall. Since it would take at least three people to subdue the guards at the walls, he knows we can’t leave her behind.”

It took Peter a moment before he recalled the general layout of the fortress. The southern wall, while occupied by guards, was also the easiest to scale and about eight hundred yards away from the nearby forest. With a rope ladder, it was possible, provided that you were willing to kill a few people in the process – people who were just doing their job.

As far as Hagen knows? “And our real plan?” he asked curiously. Because Peter knew that Neal abhorred violence – he had become proficient with a sword, but he still preferred to use his charm and wits – and he didn’t think that any scheme concocted by Neal would involve intentional bloodshed. (He hoped.)

Something about Neal’s smile immediately raised an alarm in Peter’s head. “From what I recall, you’re a great swimmer.”

Passable was more like it, but Peter shrugged. “I can manage. What’s this about?”

“The west wall of the fortress is facing the sea and is much less occupied by guards,” said Neal before making a pause.

The west wall… “That’s your plan? Is that supposed to be a joke?” asked Peter incredulously.

“We can make it–”

“That cliff is a hundred-and-thirty-feet tall. If we fall, we die; if we try to climb down, there’s no way someone won’t spot us and then they’ll cut our rope or ladder or whatever we’re using.” That was the reasonable assumption, anyway. “The two convicts who tried that route both killed themselves with the fall.”

“There have only ever been three successful escapes from this place, including mine,” Neal opposed. “You know this isn’t an ordinary jail. I only had a few weeks to make a plan, and I was outside of the fortress.”

“You walked out through the front door–” Peter started hopefully.

But Neal was already shaking his head. “There’s two of us and you’re too recognizable. It’s not an option. Besides, it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“It’s suicide,” Peter stressed out. “There has to be another option–”

“The other option is giving Hagen what he wants. To free Lady Rachel and fight our way out, with all the obvious consequences. If that’s what you’d prefer–”

“Never mind,” said Peter, the mere thought of murdering a guard or three making him vaguely ill. “The west wall it is.”

Neal smirked mirthlessly. “I knew you’d say that.”

And Peter remembered that, while unorthodox, Neal’s solutions were often very effective.

“A fall from that height would still kill us. I assume you have a solution?” A distraction? A mysterious hidden pathway that Peter didn’t know about?

Neal smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.” Reaching into his bag, he finally pulled out two knives, handing one to Peter despite his alarmed expression. Then he took off his coat to reveal – a bundle of fabric? With strings?

“Here is what we’re going to do…”


Part V