Summary: Most people spend their whole lives wondering how they will die. Neal is pretty sure he's already figured it out. Too bad Peter thinks he's joking.
Rated: T
"Peter, if I die during field work, do I get some sort of medal?"
Peter looked up from the stack of case files to look across his dining table at Neal. The younger man was stroking the stubble on his chin absentmindedly and watching Peter.
"Where did that come from?" He asked, closing a file.
"Just wondering. Given my criminal past, I know I won't get exceptional merits or treatment, but...would I get some sort of recognition for dying in the line of duty?"
"I suppose...Not that it really matters. You won't die during field work." Peter went back to his files, trying to choose one that wasn't boring and repetitive.
"But I will."
Peter's head jerked up and he examined his friend carefully. Neal looked completely at ease, the cases in front of him forgotten, and genuine curiosity in his blue eyes.
"You're funny," Peter laughed and shook his head, taking a swig of beer and pulling a file out from the stack, pushing it across to Neal.
Neal smiled softly. He knew Peter didn't like to talk about death, but it was the only certainty in life and Neal wasn't afraid of it. Okay, he used to be afraid of death, but that was only because he didn't know how or when he would die. It was the uncertainty of it, the unknown that scared him. But now, even though he only knew half of it, he felt a sort of calm acceptance. It felt right, somehow.
After all, Neal had only been with the Bureau for a few years, and he couldn't even count how many times he had been seconds away from death, how many times someone pointed a gun at his head or his heart and smiled a cruel, evil smile as they began to pull the trigger.
The book, the Burmese gems, Keller, hostage situations, blown covers, Vincent Adler, thieves, murderers. He had even been seconds away from death by crossbow at one point. And this was the short list, the summary.
Neal loved the FBI. He had grown up wanting to help people, to work for law enforcement and make a difference. Learning the truth about his father had torn that dream to shreds, but apparently it lay dormant within him, slowly repairing itself, until the day Peter took him out of prison and brought him into the life he had thought was long gone. He realized now that, even though he had taken a wrong turn somewhere in his life, he had still ended up where he needed to be.
The Bureau was the start of a new life for Neal. And it would be the end on one, as well.
After all, one of these days Peter or Diana would be just a second too late. His survive thus far had been nothing short of a miracle.
Neal didn't know when it would happen, or by whose hand, or with what weapon, but he knew that he would one day die in action and he accepted it.
"This is all hypothetical, right?" Peter asked. Neal's apparent calm made Peter uneasy. It was as if he genuinely believed he would die undercover.
Neal gave his patented bright smile and held up the new case file. "Of course, Peter."
The older man relaxed and went on talking about one of the cases, the one that sounded most interesting. Neal was only half-listening to him, his mind still caught on Peter's reaction.
He would ask Jones tomorrow about the smaller details or his death. For now, he knew Peter didn't want to think about it. Neal only hoped that he would comes to terms with it someday, like he had.
So I tried to make this as non-depressing as possible, because I didn't want it to be a "boo-woo, he's gonna die!" fic. I wanted to show how accepting of death some people are, at least when it's their own, and I hope I pulled that off. Really, the idea came out of nowhere and I wrote this in thirty minutes, so if it sucks I apologize. Review, pretty please!
