Rating: R, for Sexual Innuendo
Fandom: White Collar
Warnings/Triggers: Legal stuff, Taxes
Word Count: ~1800
Spoilers: Minor 101 and 113 references
Summary: Neal discovers certain unpleasant facts of life.
Peter shifted up, moving his lips against the vulnerable nape of Neal’s neck “Why are you still awake?”
“How do you know I’m still awake?” Neal replied, playing possum and not opening his eyes.
“I’m an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, I get paid the big bucks to figure these things out. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s the matter.”
“Liar.”
“Boys - I’ve just been fucked to exhaustion.” Elizabeth grumbled and rolled out from under Neal’s arm. “If you want to whisper sweet nothings to each other, go downstairs and let me sleep.”
“Come on. We’ll talk downstairs.” Peter got up and pulled Neal out of bed, handed him his sleep pants and pulled on a pair of ancient sweats. Peter followed Neal out of their bedroom and down the stairs.
“Peter, why do you always walk behind me?”
“Because I like looking at your ass?”
“Hasn’t anyone told you that it’s rude and childish to answer a question with a question?”
“It’s three a.m., and all of a sudden you’ve become Miss Manners?”
“Peter…”
“Yes, Neal.”
“Shut up.”
They went into the living room, and as Peter pulled Neal down on to the couch, Neal fell crossways onto Peter’s lap. They sat there for a few moments, until Neal shifted his leg and felt Peter’s burgeoning erection.
“What are you, a sex maniac?”
Peter deadpanned, “And that’s a problem for you?”
Neal shifted around and sat up, putting a little distance between them. He looked at Peter, then looked down and then back at Peter, who just stared at him. “So, it’s three a.m., we’ve been kicked out of bed because you wanted to talk. Now you’re just leering at me, it’s kind of creepy.”
“Professional interrogation techniques. Much more effective than ‘good cop, bad cop’.”
“Awww, now you’re destroying all my fantasies – I was hoping to get to play the bad cop for once.”
“Neal, stop watching so much Law & Order, please.” Peter sighed, “What’s bothering you?”
Neal looked up at Peter, swallowing a few times, as if his mouth was dry from nervousness, then he blinked and the patented con-man Caffrey grin appeared. “You know Peter, I think we’ve really progressed in our relationship. You didn’t ask me what I did, you really didn’t. Thank you.”
“Stop deflecting. What’s the matter?”
Neal sighed, “You know that $700 a month stipend that’s supposed to cover my housing?”
“Yeah – don’t tell me, June is raising your rent?”
“No, far from it. It’s that, well – she hasn’t been paid in three months. When we started this, and you put me in that fleabag hotel – it was temporary – no guarantees unless you caught the Dutchman. I moved to June’s – and there was no official paperwork yet – so I just assumed that the money would be automatically paid to her instead, as long as I was on parole and living there.”
“Yeah, I took care of that. And now she’s not getting paid?”
“It was really embarrassing. It’s not like June needs the money – she gives all of it to Maria to cover the extra work. And I guess she’s been paying Maria the extra wages out of her own pocket the last three months. ”
“That’s not right...I’ll look into it on Monday. This is what’s been keeping you awake?”
“No, that’s not all of it. Peter...I haven’t been paid either. And frankly, it’s getting a little tight. I’ve been taking a bit of money out of the bakery, but the business doesn’t make too much extra yet. I’m down to my last twenty bucks.”
Peter just stared at Neal, a look of delighted astonishment on his face. “Neal Caffrey – you’ve gone completely legit!”
“Yeah, don’t read anything into it.”
“How long since you got your last check?”
“About three months.”
“And you havn't said anything to me? To anyone in the office? Why?”
“Well, I was kind of embarrassed, and I’ve been trying to fix this myself. I called the payroll department – but they told me I’m not an employee, so I don’t get paid through them. When I said I was a consultant, they put me through to Contracting, a guy named Barry, who was EXTREMELY unhelpful. All he kept asking for was my contract number, and when I told him I don’t think I have a contract number, he said that there was no way I would be a consultant without a contract and a contract number. I told him I was a parolled felon assigned to work with White Collar and he hung up on me.”
Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, as if the thought of dealing with this was giving him a headache. “Okay – we can handle this on Monday, too. I’m sure that your paperwork just got misfiled.”
“Wait, Peter, it gets worse.” Neal looked like he was about to confess to stealing a Matisse. “I called back, got someone else, and she said I couldn’t even think of getting paid unless I filed DD255s in wackoff...”
“DD-250. WAWF – wide area work flow” Peter corrected absently.
“So this is a real thing – I’ve got to file paperwork to get paid? And why haven’t I had to do that before?”
“I’m not sure – if you were a regular contractor, you would. But I’m not sure what your status is – you’re not the typical consultant, that’s for sure. What are we paying you anyway?”
“You don’t know?”
“Nope – these things are considered confidential. I went to Hughes, he had to work it into his budget, get it approved. Come on – how much?”
Neal couldn’t meet Peter’s eyes. “$15 an hour. No overtime pay”
Peter didn’t know whether he should be outraged or not. On one hand, Neal was essentially on a type of work-release program – so $15 an hour was at the high end of that payscale, but on the other hand, $600 a week was barely enough for subway fare and lunch in Manhattan. “How have you been managing on that?”
“It hasn’t been easy – Jones or Cruz will usually take pity on me for lunch if I’m not out with you, and June does feed me when I’m not here. There usually isn’t much left at the end of the month.”
“You were getting paid monthly? And were able to manage? I’m sure your tailoring bills come to more than $600 a week.”
“Well, until recently I had access to other sources of income.”
Peter’s eyes narrowed “Other sources?”
Neal held his hand up in a defensive gesture “Sources I no longer access. Honestly.”
Peter accepted this – they had long moved past the point where he was suspicious of personal information Neal chose to supply. “Okay – like I said, we’ll deal with this on Monday. I’ll talk to Hughes about your rate.”
“Peter, there’s more.”
“Now I’m getting sorry that I just didn't let you lie awake. What is it.”
“Stu...”
“Stu? you call Stuart Gless ‘Stu’? What alternate universe have we slipped into where you get chummy with the guy you tried to rip off a couple of million bucks from?”
“We have lunch every month or so. Sometimes, his daughter joins us. But anyway, Stu – Stuart – has Ron or David call me once a week. Just to check up. I mentioned the thing about June not getting paid, and I may have said something to Ron about not getting a paycheck too. Next thing I know, he’s put me on hold and then I’m telling everything to another lawyer – the guy starts asking me all sorts of questions about what I do and who I am working for. I told him the truth – that I consult for the FBI. Then he starts muttering something about permatemps and Microsoft, and you could hear the italics in his voice, and more questions. What I make, how many hours I work every week, who I report to, who provides my equipment, how closely I’m supervised. What happens when I travel, do I drive. Am I at liberty to pursue my own interests when in transit? That’s a good one – am I at liberty!?!
“Do you know what any of this means, Peter? Because I feel like I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole. The guy also wanted to know if there were – how did he put it – any other “similarly situated people” – as if there are other felons on work release in the FBI. Are there?”
“Abegnale, in Houston – but that was twenty years go. I think you are unique, Neal.”
“Thanks, Peter – I always thought of myself as one-of-a-kind.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Oh.” Neal seemed deflated a bit. It could have been the hour, or it could have been the discussion. It wasn’t Peter’s rebuke – they had been at this for too long.
“Then he asked about health care – am I insured? Because I probably wouldn’t be covered by the government employee healthcare program, not being a government employee – just a contractor. He also said that if I got hurt on the job, I wouldn’t get workers’ comp or anything like that. Peter...I think this guy wants me to sue you.”
“Sue ME?”
“Well, not YOU – the FBI, the U.S. Government.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know – all I want is to get paid, get June paid. This is just craziness. Scary crazy – not good crazy. It’s like Moz says – it’s all one big conspiracy. But it’s not the government – it’s the attorneys – they are all working together. I see that now.”
Peter scrubbed at his face, his dry, tired eyes. Then something occured to him. “Neal, have they been taking taxes out of your paycheck?”
“Taxes?”
“That shouldn’t be an alien concept – federal and state withholding, FICA, Medicare. Or did you get a 1099 statement?”
Neal stared at Peter in horror “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Peter laughed. “You mean to tell me, in your entire life – before now, you’ve never held a legitimate job. You’ve never paid taxes?”
“No, never. Don’t they put people in prison for not paying their taxes? Because it would be kind of a real come-down to get thrown back in jail for being a low-life tax cheat.”
They sat side by side, companionable in the silence of the pre-dawn hours.
“Peter.”
“Yes, Neal.”
“Can I have the name of your accountant?”
“Sure. Anything else you’d like to get off your chest, or can we go back to bed?”
“This – this normal life thing. It’s not going to be easy, is it?” The question in Neal’s voice betrayed a wealth of worry.
“No, but it has its benefits. Like what’s waiting for us, upstairs.”
Neal thought not only of Elizabeth, but of the warm, comfortable bed, sheets smelling of laundry soap, of man, woman and sometimes of dog, and everything that bed represented. He couldn’t help but smile and agree. “Yes, it does have its benefits.”
_________________________________
Additional A/N:
Vizcaino v. Microsoft
Permatemps
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