This is just some random, quickly written fluff (more like drabble) to get me in the mood to work on other projects. That and, well, I couldn't resist writing drugged, annoying Neal.
When Elizabeth came home later after a particularly tiring day at work, she was expecting an easy night in - takeout (she'd wanted to try that new Italian place around the corner) and the evening spent snuggled up on the sofa with her husband, catching up on her reading while he watched a game.
What she came home to was her husband wrestling on the sofa with Neal.
Neal held Peter's phone in his hand, up in the air out of reach, grinning from ear to ear while Peter tried to hold Neal still so he could retrieve the mobile, ordering Neal to 'quit playing around and act his age'.
She cleared her throat, and both men froze and looked up. Neal beamed at her, but it was marred by the fact that his smile was lopsided, and his pupils were dilated until the stark blue of his eyes hid behind his pupils like the sun in an eclipse.
Peter, cheeks going red and posture like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar, sat up, awkwardly smoothing down his clothes. "He has my phone," he wined - yes wined - as though Elizabeth would be able to make things better. He wasn't good with drugged people, and Neal and drugs wasn't turning out to be a good combo.
"Hey 'lisbef. I like your hair. 's nice," Neal's voice was slurred and he looked particularly sorry for himself. "Peter's being mean."
"I'm being Mean?" Peter cut in, pointing to himself in disbelief. "Your the one who took my phone, how am I - never mind," he decided it wasn't worth the effort debating with him in his current state of mind.
Elizabeth looked between the two of them. What either of them would do without her she would never know. "Neal sweetie, can I have Peter's phone?"
"Sure 'lisbef, your nice t' me, unlike Mr. Burkey. There you go," Neal leaned over to give the phone to her, almost throwing himself completely from the sofa, but Elizabeth steadied him and retrieved the phone before he could hurt himself.
"Oh what, so you'll be nice for El but not me?" Peter stood up with a huff. It was clear from his tired expression and lack of patience that he'd been struggling to cope with Neal for a while.
"Uhm, honey? Can I see you in the kitchen?" El looked towards her husband, trying to keep a straight face despite the absurdity of the situation she'd come home to. Neal tried to stand up. "Not you sweetie," she put a hand on his shoulder to sit him back down.
Elizabeth retreated to the kitchen with Peter, out of earshot of the apparently incapacitated conman who was currently emptying the ornamental pebbles from a dish holding a decorated candle, and lining them up on the coffee table.
"Is he drunk?" El nodded her head back towards the living room.
"No, he managed to get himself dosed with truth serum."
"He's Drugged?"
"High as a kite."
"Am not! That's an unfair acu...ac..." came a muffled protest from the living room.
"Accusation?" Peter called back.
"That too!"
"I see what you mean." The overdone sincerity in Elizabeth's tone gave away the fact she found it all very amusing. "Is he going to be alright?"
"Yeah, we stopped off at the hospital, he's just 'gonna be pretty cheerful for a while. He'll have a hell of a headache in the morning though."
"'m not cheerful. Head feel's funny. Am here y' know. Jus' in case...you forgot."
They both looked back at Neal. He looked hurt that they would even suggest he was feeling cheerful.
Elizabeth shook her head. So much for an easy night in. But this was Neal, and though he drove her husband insane, life had certainly been made more interesting by his presence.
"I'll go make up the guest room. Keep him company," Elizabeth leaned over to give her husband an encouraging peck on the cheek, which Peter suspected was more of a 'good luck' than anything else. She tapped him on the shoulder, apparently because he needed all the luck he could get, before she headed upstairs.
"Me? Why? He likes you better," Peter called after her, casting a betrayed look at Neal. El was already too far away to hear him.
"Didn't mean it. 'Ur not mean." Peter turned back to see Neal watching him, looking genuinely sorry. It was almost comical.
"It's fine, it's not your fault," he sighed and sat down next to his consultant, cracking open a beer he'd brought in from the kitchen.
Receiving no answer, he looked over to find Neal's eyes closed. He was curled up against the back cushion of the sofa.
"Neal, your not sleeping down here."
As if to make a statement, Neal's head slid down until it was resting on Peter's shoulder.
"No, Neal. Neal wakeup. I swear if you don't wake up, I'll tell Elizabeth not to let you eat any more of her leftover event food. Neal?" He knew there was no point in trying, the con was already fast asleep. That was just the sort of unhelpful thing Neal would do, just to make an already hard task that much more difficult.
He awkwardly reached into his pocket, retrieving his phone and keeping it well out of reach of the con. Just in case. He debated whether to take a picture, as payback, but instead dialled his wife's number.
"Hon, I need your help..."
The next day, when Peter was in a board meeting, and his phone started singing the theme tune to SpongeBob Squarepants, he knew exactly who to blame. He regretted not taking that picture.