Written for collarkink over on Livejournal, though this one is completely devoid of slash. Unless you squint. But honestly, I wrote it simply as their comfortable banter. So I say this story is slash-less.
--------
Neal was tired. Really tired. Kidnapped and held as collateral by a crazy art thief tired. And Peter was warm. And comfortable. And talking. Pillows shouldn't talk.
"Are you even listening to me?"
"Not really," Neal mumbled into Peter's shoulder.
"Damn it, this is important, Neal."
"Can't this wait until morning? The poor baby needs to sleep," Elizabeth spoke up from her position on the couch on Peter's other side.
"No, it has to be now. This is something I want him to remember."
Neal snorted. "Oh, yeah, good plan there. I can hardly even remember my own name at this point."
"I need you to listen to me for once. We have plans for a reason. You can't just go out on your own and take creative license. You're a liability to the department."
"A liability?" He was tired, and he wanted sleep, and now Peter was telling him he was a liability? He pushed himself off Peter's shoulder, now entirely awake. "How many times has my 'creative license' salvaged a mission? Resulted in a conviction? Exposed a bigger scam than the one you're hunting? For each time I've made a mistake there are at least a dozen times I've saved the department's bacon!"
"Damn it Neal, if you'd just listened to me –"
"Oh, yeah, if I'd have just listened to you none of this would have ever happened. So it's my fault I got kidnapped and beaten and held at gunpoint for two days while tied to a chair. In a freezing warehouse. Surrounded by bad wallpaper. Yeah. I suppose I finally got what I deserved then, didn't I?"
"That's not what I meant."
"Don't con the conman, Peter." If Neal had been feeling better, he would have walked out of the room then. But since he couldn't walk on his own at the moment, he had to content himself with turning away and doing his best to pretend Peter didn't exist.
Peter gave his wife a desperate look. El simply held up her hands and left the room. Her message was clear. I'm with him on this one. You screwed up, now you have to fix it yourself. Peter gave a frustrated sigh and turned back to Neal who was still steadfastly ignoring him.
"Okay, I meant it at the time, happy? But only because I was frustrated. I don't mean it now. No one deserves what you got, and I'm sorry." Neal looked at him, not nearly as appreciative of the apology as Peter thought he should be. "I'm going to have to talk about feelings now, aren't I?"
"Consider it atonement."
Peter gave a long-suffering sigh. "I like plans. You know that. I like being in control."
"And you can't control me, is that it?"
"Yes." Neal snorted. "No. Sort of. When I have a situation under control, it means I can plan for all the different outcomes. It means I can keep my people safe."
Neal nodded slowly. "And I don't like following plans…"
"Which means I have no control over you. And if I have no control over you in a situation like that, it means I can't protect you. I don't want you to get hurt."
Peter sat in silence for a few moments before quickly rising from the couch awkwardly trying to smooth the wrinkles from his pants. "Well, I want to get you out of those clothes and into bed now." Peter quickly continued. "I meant because those clothes are dirty, and you'll be sleeping." Neal raised his eyebrows. "Alone. By yourself." Peter took a deep breath, shaking his head. "You've corrupted my brain. Up we go."
He helped Neal off the couch and together they limped up the stairs to the guest room where Neal would be staying until he could move around on his own. When Neal asked Peter for help getting out of his shirt, Peter simply flashed him a mischievous smile.
"Shouldn't I at least buy you dinner first?" That startled a laugh out of Neal as he shot Peter a disbelieving look. Peter just shrugged. "We've been hanging out too much."
When Neal was fully dressed in his pajamas Peter helped him into bed. "If I promise to be a good boy from now on, will you stay with me for a while?" Neal asked, hiding his apprehension of what nightmares the following two days might have spawned behind a thousand watt grin. Peter shook his head in exasperation, but sat down beside him on the bed.
They talked about random subjects for the next hour as Neal got progressively sleepier. They had worked their way through the Yankees, art, Paris, and were partly through Peter's almost disturbing knowledge of designer handbags when Neal started to nod off again. Peter tried to shift him back onto the bed, but Neal seemed determined to keep his warm, breathing pillow. They sat like that, Peter on Neal's bed, Neal on Peter's shoulder, until Elizabeth silently crept into the room.
"Wow, honey. I think your lectures put him to sleep even better than a bedtime story," Elizabeth teased gently. She leaned over to give Peter a quick peck on the lips and Neal a maternal kiss on the forehead before walking back to their bedroom.
When Elizabeth was gone, Peter shifted his arm to gently smooth down Neal's hair. "Sweet dreams, kid."