A/N: Unique idea? Probably not. But one I couldn't get out of my brain until I wrote it. I'm new to the fandom (haven't finished watching the series yet and haven't even scratched the surface of the awesome WC fanfic world) so any similarities are purely coincidental without malicious intent. I'm just having fun, y'all. That said, if this is too close to something you or someone else wrote, please let me know and I will take my story down. Thank you! ~ ann
The number that appeared on Peter's caller ID was unfamiliar. With a sigh, he turned away from the file he was studying and picked up the phone. "This is Peter Burke."
"Burke, this is Deputy John Freeman with the Marshals' Office."
Instinctively, Peter's gaze went to Neal. He was at his desk, files spread out in front of him as well. Exactly where he was supposed to be. "What can I do for you, Deputy Freeman?"
"I'm calling about Neal Caffrey. Are you with him?"
"He's currently in my direct line of sight, yes. Is there a problem?"
"Possibly. We're getting an alert from his anklet."
Peter frowned. "He's not outside his radius. We're at the office."
"No, it's not the location alert. It's a temperature sensor."
"Temperature sensor?"
The deputy cleared his throat. "It compares the air temperature on the outside of the band to the temperature on the interior of the band. This alerts us if the anklet is placed on an inanimate object."
If Neal had somehow found a way to attach his anklet to the leg of his desk, Peter was going to make him do van surveillance for the next three months with a cooler full of deviled ham. "I'll go check it out."
He put the deputy on hold and strolled down to Caffrey's desk.
Neal glanced up. "Hey, Peter."
"Let me see your anklet."
This time, Neal's gaze fixed on him longer. "Something wrong?"
"Maybe. Let me see it."
With a sigh, he lifted his foot onto the desk.
Peter pushed his pant leg up. The anklet was there. It was flashing green, like normal. It didn't appear to be cut or loosened or tampered with in any way.
"Just checking," Peter said.
The CI shrugged and went back to his file.
Peter was almost back to his desk when he realized how strange the interaction was. Neal hadn't made a half-hearted suggestion about how Peter should take the anklet off to make sure it was working okay. He hadn't joked about using it as an excuse to feel him up. He hadn't complained or asked questions. He'd been quiet. Too quiet.
Peter hit the button for line one and put the phone back up to his ear. "Freeman?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Caffrey's anklet appears to be fine. It's firmly attached to his leg and blinking appropriately."
"Strange. We'll put it on a back up and reboot the current system. Hopefully that will take care of it."
"Great. Keep me posted, okay?"
"Will do."
What was Neal up to?
###
When Peter arrived at the office the next morning, Neal's chair was empty.
"Where's Caffrey?" he asked Diana.
"Good morning to you too, boss."
He sighed. "Good morning, Diana. Where's Neal?"
"Haven't seen him. Thought he'd be with you."
"Damn." Peter's blood ran cold as he frantically pulled out his cell phone to dial Neal's number while sprinting to his office to check his tracking data on the computer.
Neal picked up on the second ring and started talking immediately. "I know I'm late. Sorry. Overslept. I'll be there in two minutes. Promise."
The tracking data backed up the statement, showing Neal just a few blocks away and headed in this direction.
"Good," Peter said, breathing a sight of relief. "Good. Make it quick."
As soon as he ended the call, his desk phone started ringing. He recognized the number from the Marshals' Office the day before.
"Peter Burke," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Thursday was not getting off to a good start.
"Burke, this is Freeman again. The reboot didn't work. Caffrey's anklet is still throwing an alert. I'm sending someone out to replace it. Will you both be at your office around 10:00?"
"We'll be here. Make sure the next one works, okay?"
He hung up and had just opened his e-mail when Neal walked into the office. He said good morning to a few people, and then gave an apologetic wave in Peter's direction. E-mail could wait.
"Sorry," he said as soon as Peter walked up. "Won't happen again."
Peter took in Neal's disheveled appearance. Had he really overslept, or was he off doing something he wouldn't want Peter to know about? He made a mental note to look over Neal's tracking data when he got back to his desk. "See that it doesn't. Someone from the Marshals' Office is coming this morning. They're going to replace your anklet."
Neal attempted to straighten the knot in his tie, but was only marginally successful before giving up. "Okay. Is there a problem?"
"It's malfunctioning in a way I'm not going to tell you about lest you use it to your advantage someday."
He shrugged and booted up his computer. "Okay."
Alarms blared in Peter's mind. Too accepting. Too quiet. He turned to head back to his office, but motioned for Diana to follow him.
"Yeah, boss?" she asked, closing the door behind her.
"Caffrey's up to something."
"Ah, it's a day that ends in 'y.'"
Peter scowled at her.
"Sorry, sorry," she said. "What's he up to today?"
"Not sure. But I think he's messing with his anklet." He explained about the temperature sensors and the alert. "Just keep an eye on him for me, okay? Especially until the Marshals get here. Let me know if you see anything suspicious."
Diana looked out toward Caffrey. "He does look a little guilty. Or maybe worried. He's flushed. Rumpled around the edges. I'll keep an eye out."
###
Peter watched over the deputy's shoulder while they waited for Neal's new anklet to boot up. They'd already traded out Peter's key and the anklet itself.
"It's coming online," said the kid who looked barely old enough to be a Marshal. The screen of his tablet displayed a variety of statuses and progress charts before finally showing Neal's name, most recent mug shot, and a large green check mark with the word "CLEAR."
"Does that mean it's fixed?" Peter asked.
"It does. Must be the sensor on the old one's going bad. We'll send it in for repair."
Before Peter could say another word, the green check mark turned to a red X with a warning beneath it. "Please tell me that isn't what I think it is."
"Damn. Same error."
"Are you sure you replaced the old one with a new one?"
The kid glared at Peter. "Yes. I'm sure. Look, I don't know what's going on, okay? I'll take the old one back to my boss. See if we can figure anything out. In the meantime…"
In the meantime, Peter was going to have a conversation with Neal. He marched out to Caffrey's desk. "Conference room. Now." Without waiting for a response, he made a beeline for the room and kept pacing once he got there.
Neal flopped into one of the conference room chairs. "Whatever you're mad about, I can assure you I didn't do it."
"What are you up to?"
"Nothing! I swear."
"You're tampering with your anklet."
Neal's eyebrows shot up. "Seriously? Peter, you watched them take the old one off and put the new one on. You were there the whole time. Even if I knew how to mess with it, which I don't, you would have seen me."
Peter ran a hand through his hair. "But they got the same error message with the old one and the new one. The common denominator is you."
"Would you stop pacing? You're making me dizzy. Also, did you stop to think that the common denominator could be the Marshals' software?"
He wanted to say more. About Neal's sudden quietness, oversleeping, and uncharacteristically "off" appearance. But he knew better than to play all of his cards. Not yet. He sighed. "Sorry. I didn't think about that. I'll tell them to keep looking into it."
"Good. Now if it's okay with you, I'm going back to my desk." He shivered a little as he stood. "It's freezing in here."
Maybe it was just his anger or frustration, but Peter didn't think it was cold at all.
###
Diana knocked twice on Peter's door before stepping inside. "Hey, boss."
He looked up from his phone where he'd been texting back and forth with El. "Yeah?"
"You said to watch Caffrey for anything suspicious?"
"Right."
She nodded over her shoulder. "Suspicious."
Peter's stomach clenched as he stood and walked out of his office. Thankfully, Neal was at his desk, but his head was down, cheek resting on an open file on his desk, pen still in his hand, sound asleep.
"He's drooling and everything. Either he was up all night getting into trouble, or…"
The puzzle pieces clicked into place in Peter's mind. The temperature error. The oversleeping. The disheveled, flushed appearance. The chills.
"Or he's sick," Peter said.
He walked over to Caffrey's desk and waved away Jones and a couple of other agents who were discussing throwing pieces of popcorn into Neal's open mouth. Peter gently used his palm to push Neal's hair back from his forehead. He swore, but Neal didn't even flinch. He was burning up.
"Check the first aid kit for a thermometer," Peter said. He used the phone on Neal's desk to dial the Marshals' Office and ask for Freeman.
"Here, boss," Diana said, handing over a thermometer, already covered with a plastic sleeve.
"Thanks, Diana."
Peter squeezed Neal's shoulder and gave him a little shake. He opened his eyes. It seemed to take a second for his surroundings to set in, but once they did, he sat up immediately.
"Peter, I'm sorry. I –"
"Under your tongue." Peter turned on the thermometer and handed it over.
Neal frowned, but did as he was told.
On the phone, the hold music disappeared. "This is Freeman."
"Freeman. Peter Burke. Hey, that temperature sensor. Would it be affected if the person has a fever?"
"I don't think so. It's not that sensitive. It would have to be a pretty high fever to throw the ratio enough to cause an alert."
The thermometer beeped, and Peter took it from Neal to read the small screen. "What about 104.3? Would that do it?"
"That's high. Uh, yeah. I'd have to run the math, but I imagine that could do it. Is Caffrey okay?"
Peter put what he hoped was a comforting hand on Neal's shoulder. "He will be."
###
Peter sat on the edge of his coffee table and folded the cool, damp washcloth into thirds. Neal was lying on the Burkes' couch, his head on Elizabeth's left leg, covered in a thin blanket.
"Okay," Peter said. "Let's practice. 'Peter, I think I have a raging ear infection. I need a sick day and a doctor before my fever reaches brain-melting levels.'" He placed the cloth on Neal's forehead.
The younger man sighed and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I really thought it would go away on its own."
"No, I'm sorry I didn't notice sooner. And I'm sorry I thought you were up to no good."
Neal smiled a little with his eyes still shut. "In your defense, I usually am up to no good."
Peter laughed. "True."
Elizabeth cupped one hand around Neal's too-warm cheek. "I can't believe you were at work with a fever over 104."
He shrugged against her leg and opened his eyes. "I've always run hot. One time, I told my teacher I didn't feel good. When she took my temperature, it was 105. She thought I'd held the thermometer up to a lamp to get out of a test."
"Imagine that," Peter said.
"Then I had a seizure and they had to call an ambulance. I don't think she ever made me take that test."
Peter smiled. "She probably felt about as guilty as I do. You need anything else?"
Neal shook his head, but then frowned. "Wait, so the anklet can sense temperature? Why do the Marshals care if I have a fever?"
"They don't. The temperature sensor usually flags if it's too low, like if someone took it off his own leg and put it on the leg of a chair. It shouldn't flag for too high, but of course you had to go and be the exception to the rule."
"Huh." Neal's gaze drifted over to the ceiling. "So if I ever figure out how to take it off, I'll need to put it on something warm…"
Peter rolled his eyes at his wife. "Would you look at that, hon? I think he's delirious."
El flipped the cloth over to the cool side, and Neal closed his eyes again.
"Stop plotting your escape and get some rest," she said.
He grunted. "No need to escape. I'm happy right here."
Peter smiled. He patted El's knee with one hand and Neal's arm with the other. "Me too."
"Me three," El said, and Satchmo woofed in agreement.