A/N This is just a little one shot I wrote for my friends at White Collar Corrections as a small Xmas gift. I was watching an episode and wondered if Neal would ever refuse to put the tracking anklet back on after a case and came up with this...
WARNING: This fic contains spanking. If that is not to your liking, please DO NOT PROCEED ANY FURTHER!
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THE ANKLET
"What now?" Agent Clinton Jones inquired as he trailed his boss into the conference room and dropped into one of the high back swivel chairs, the other two members of Burke's team following his lead.
"Now," Peter shot his young CI a first-class glare but the kid had already swivelled in his chair and was pouting in the direction of the window. "Now, we start from scratch. Dianna, you're in charge of looking into Falkner's last know aliases, Jones, check out that factory down on eighteenth. Neal…"
"What?" The young man stubbornly refused to turn to face the older man.
"Neal!" Peter tried again more firmly this time.
"What?" This time he did turn back, matching his handler in the irritated expression department, "You want me to scurry back to Rick and say, sorry about this Bud but would you mind terribly turning yourself in to the FBI, it would make my life a hell of lot easier?"
Peter put his hands on his hips and contemplated his young charge for a minute before declaring, "You know what would make my life a hell of a lot easier, you being off the case, Neal. If I'd done it earlier, we wouldn't have botched this case as spectacularly as we just did now."
"You need us to step out for a minute?" Jones made a move to exit the room with Dianna, neither agent comfortable with the tension in the room. Of course it wasn't something they hadn't seen before. The young CI had a spectacular talent for riling up their boss but this time, Neal was taking the events of the past couple of hours personally and was equally charged and agitated.
"No need," Peter took a deep breath and forced himself to take a seat. "Jones, you have his anklet?"
The young agent nodded and retrieved the small black device from inside his jacket pocket.
"Put it on then Neal can go finish off that mound of reports I'm about to send down to his desk."
Clinton gave his young work colleague a sympathetic grimace as he approached with the anklet and gestured for him to lift his leg onto the adjacent chair. But Neal made no move to comply. Clinton cleared this throat, "Uh…leg, Neal."
Neal continued to remain steadfast in his spot. Peter looked up from the file he'd just opened. "Neal. Give Jones your leg."
Neal glared back but did nothing.
"Neal," Peter warned. "The anklet isn't an option. Stop the crap and put it on so we can get back to undoing the stuff-up you caused us this morning."
"No." The kid looked like a sullen teenager in his stripped hoodie and faded jeans – the none-standard attire had been part of his cover for the bungled operation.
"No what?"
"No, Jones is not putting that back on me."
Jones looked to Dianna but she had no idea what the next move should be, so they both looked to Peter.
"Oh for crying out loud, Neal!" Peter pushed out of his chair and walked around the table, snatching the anklet out of Jones' hand. "You have to make everything difficult don't you! Give me your leg."
"No." Neal continued to cross his arms, staring at a blank space across the room.
"Neal, this is your last chance," Peter swivelled the seat so the kid was facing him. "You either put this back on, or I'm marching you down to the lock-up."
"Do whatever you have to do, Peter, but I'm not putting that back on."
"Fine!" Peter reached down and hauled the kid out of his seat, then grabbed a fistful of hoodie and began dragging him out the door and down the stairs. This unusual sight caught the attention of every staffer working in the bullpen, all stopping to see what could have easily been mistaken as an irate father dragging his delinquent son home for a stern lecture.
Peter punched the elevator buttons with a little more force than necessary, then turned back to glare at the agents who were continuing to follow the scene intently, including Clinton and Dianna who were standing outside the conference room in disbelief over what had just taken place.
The elevator arrived and Peter shoved in his detainee before thumbing button 4, the level that housed the FBI holding cells. Neal couldn't help notice the two agents who'd been waiting at the elevators prior, choosing to remain behind to wait patiently for the next ride. He could hardly blame them - Peter was practically firing poisonous darts from the corners of his eyes.
The elevator pinged its arrival on level 4 and Peter hauled the kid out and across to the receiving window.
The officer behind the counter studied the two curiously before inquiring, "What can I do you for, Agent Burke?"
"I have a guest here to be admitted, thanks Charlie."
Charlie considered for a minute then slid a clipboard and pen across the counter, "Ooookaay. And, uh, how long will Mr Caffrey be our guest for, sir?" There weren't too many people working in the building who didn't know Neal on sight. He'd never been the type to blend in with the crowd.
"Not sure yet," Peter scribbled down some details on the official form, scratched his signature on the bottom and slid the folder back. "That's up to 'Mr Caffrey.'"
"Okay then." Charlie left the folder on the desk, grabbed some keys out of a locked cabinet and punched in a code into the security panel on the wall before stepping outside into the hall and heading off towards the cells. "This way, Sir."
Peter took Neal's upper arm and pulled him along till they reached locked cell, 2A. Charlie opened it up and led the two men inside. "Here you are. I'll need-"
"It's okay, Charlie. I got this. Would you mind giving us a minute?"
Charlie looked across at Neal then back to Peter, "No problem, sir. Just sing out when you're ready." The officer pulled the door half shut on his way out.
Peter waited a moment then turned on his young charge, "Neal, what the hell is going on?" He thought for sure the kid would relent and put a stop to this preposterous exercise but it seems he was hell bent on seeing it through.
Neal didn't respond, instead he crossed his arms once more and dropped his gaze to the floor.
"Neal," Peter lifted the kid's chin and forced him to look. "What the hell has gotten into you?"
"Don't you have a case to get back to, Peter?"
"Fine!" Peter pursed his lips and looked around the room. He grabbed the empty basket off the small cot, "Shoes, belt, watch, phone."
Neal collected the items off his person without question and placed them carefully into the basket.
Peter put the basket back on the cot before ordering, "Hands out, legs out."
Neal complied immediately and stood stoically as Peter gave him a thorough pat down.
"Okay, Neal, anytime you're ready to end this, you know where I'll be." Peter snatched the basket back off the cot and departed the room without so much as a backwards glance.
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"What did Neal do now?" Elizabeth Burke reached across the table and took hold of Peter's hand. Throughout dinner she'd tried in vain to engage her husband in small talk, but the most she could get out of her unresponsive company was a non-committal shrug or grunt. "Hon…?"
"Huh…what's that hon? I…I didn't hear what you said."
"Peter, you haven't heard a word I've said since you walked through that door over an hour ago."
Peter gave his wife an apologetic smile, "I'm sorry hon. I've just had something on my mind."
"Really?" El couldn't help herself. "I hadn't noticed."
Peter rubbed his wife's hand, "Sorry, hon. I'll stop thinking about it and-"
"No you won't, Peter. I know you, and I know that look. You won't stop thinking about it and the look will still be there when you get up in the morning."
"Am I that bad," Peter smiled.
"When it comes to Neal, yes."
"I never said it was Neal."
"You didn't need to. Now tell me what he did so we can all move on and start enjoying the night."
Peter took a long, deep breath and released it slowly while rubbing the side of his head. "We had an operation go bad today because Neal discovered the guy we were trying to pin was an old friend of his from St Louis. Neal gave away our cover and the guy got away scott free. Not a thing we could do about it. Three months of prep down the drain. So I go to pull Neal up for it and he has the cheek to turn the tables and blame me for not telling him in the first place that it was his pal we'd been tracking. He stewed all the way back to the Bureau, and by then I've had enough of his childish tantrum so I pulled him off the case. Something I should have done the moment we connected that Neal and our suspect had a past."
"I'm guessing he didn't take the news graciously?"
"Nope. Went on like stubborn toddler and refused to have the anklet put back on."
El raised her eyebrows, "Is that right?"
"Yep. Flatly refused."
El rubbed her own head, "I'm not sure I want to know what happened next."
"Gave him an ultimatum."
"And we all know what happens in emotionally charged situations when you corner someone with an ultimatum."
Peter shrugged, "It's not like he left me with any choice El."
El really didn't want to ask, "Peter…what did you do?"
"He wouldn't put his anklet back on so I told him he'd have to sit in the FBI holding cells till such time that he did."
"Peter, are you tell me that right now, Neal is sitting in a jail cell?"
Peter shrugged, "Well, what else-"
"Anything else. You think it was hard trying to force your dinner down with that hanging over your head, wait till you try and sleep on it."
"But hon…"
"But nothing, Peter." El pointed a stern finger at her husband. "You know what you need to do."
"I can't believe I'm even contemplating this," Peter shook his head and looked up to the ceiling before looking back down hopefully at his wife, "Will you come with?"
"As the mediator?"
Peter smiled, "That too, but I was thinking more along the lines of the orchestrator of any and all conversation that will take place during the ride home. Neal wasn't much in the mood for talking when I left him and I doubt that's changed during the past couple of hours."
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Neal sat silently on the couch, cradling his hot coco that Elizabeth had insisted he hold, even if he didn't feel like any.
Peter sat silently on his trusty old armchair, half facing the kid, half not.
El sat on the other end of the couch flickering her eyes back and forth between her husband and his CI slash best friend slash wayward son, wondering how long they were prepared to maintain their silent standoff. At least the issue of the tracking anklet had been sorted relatively quickly and painlessly. El had followed her husband down to Neal's holding cell after Charlie had buzzed them both through without too much of a puzzling frown and while Peter hadn't received so much as a 'how you do,' when he walked into the cell, Elizabeth had received an embarrassed apology that she'd been dragged into this 'disagreeable issue' between himself and her husband. El had accepted the apology, given the kid a loving hug, told him in no uncertain terms that if he didn't have the monitoring device back on his anklet within the next ten seconds, she'd be putting it on him herself, and on her way back past with Peter and Neal mentioned to Officer Hash that she'd send in some of her home baked choc-chip cookies for the next time he was on the evening shift.
El shifted in her seat in order to catch Peter's attention. When he glanced her way, she nodded towards the young man to indicate, 'Say something.'
Peter pursed his lips but figured they'd be sitting there all night if he didn't say something soon. "Neal…" The kid watched the coco swirling around in his mug rather than look up. "Neal…Look at me please. We need to talk."
Neal gave an obvious sigh, put his mug down on the coffee table and slouched back in his seat. "There's nothing to say, Peter."
"Well, yes there is Neal, because you were more than happy to rot away in the holding cells rather than put your anklet back on, so I do believe there is something to say."
"It's back on," Neal lifted his jeans to reveal the anklet, "so can I go now, or are you going to make me sit through one of your excruciating lectures?"
Peter looked over at El to see if he had the green light to begin ripping the kid a new one but she gave a slight shake of her head. They'd discussed this on the way into the Bureau. Peter needed to find out why Neal had been so intent on not putting the anklet back on or this issue could brew under the surface indefinitely. Peter turned his attention back to his young charge, "No, you may not go and yes, you will have to sit through one of my lectures but first, I want you to tell me why you wouldn't put your anklet back on this afternoon. It's not now, nor has it ever been, an optional accessory Neal. Why this afternoon?"
"You tell me, Peter!" Neal shot angrily across to his handler.
"I don't know, Neal. That's why I'm asking you."
"Sweetie, if you don't tell us, whatever has upset you will continue to do so."
"Peter doesn't get it Elizabeth."
"What doesn't he get, sweetie?"
"He doesn't get that when it suits him, he takes my anklet off, and when it suits him, it goes back on. I'm like his pawn…ah, yes," Neal began to mimic Peter's authoritive tone, "Jones, dust off Caffrey, we're going to need him for this next manoeuvre, oh, hold up a minute, put him back in his case, we don't need him after all."
Peter and El sat speechless, staring at the young man, neither quite believing what they were hearing. After a long stretch of silence, Peter cleared his throat and asked in a soft voice, "Neal…is that what you think? Is that how you feel, that I treat you like an object at my disposal?"
The kid dropped his gaze to the floor and shrugged.
"Neal…I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't know you felt like that. I…I don't know what to say."
El watched her husband, then turned her gaze back to the young man, the young man who'd become so much more than a work colleague of Peter's. She sat pretty much blown away by the revelation and tried to piece it all together. But then she started shaking her head, and shaking it some more. She shook it so much that Peter asked, "Hon…are you okay?"
"No Peter, I'm not. Neal…" she said the name like a cross mother whose son has just been caught out in a lie, "I don't buy it. Not for a second."
"Excuse me?" Neal shifted back slightly in his seat.
"Hon?" Peter leaned forward in his.
"Neal, did you honestly feel that way this afternoon when Peter pulled you off the case…and don't you dare lie to me."
"It's ah…" Neal glanced over at his handler, perhaps for a little assistance but none was forthcoming, "…it's complicated Elizabeth."
"No it's not Neal, either you think Peter uses you and treats you like an 'object' or you don't. Which is it?"
"Look," Neal glanced over at the door wondering how far he'd get, "There may have been a miscommunication here. It may have sounded like Peter treats me that way-"
"That's exactly what it sounded like," Peter cut in, "Because that's exactly what you said."
"Well look, I'm sorry, I was off my game with the holding cell and all," Neal went on the defensive, "but it really has been just a big misunderstanding."
Peter shook his head, "I don't…I'm missing something here?"
"Tell him Neal," El demanded firmly.
"Elizabeth…" the young man whined.
"Tell me what?" Peter's head was spinning and there was no sign of it stopping anytime soon.
"Neal…" El warned.
"Fine!" Neal caved. "I was mad with you Peter!"
"You know, I actually knew that already." Peter felt none-the-wiser.
"Yeah…I was…uh…I was angry that you kept it from me that we were taking down Ricky Falkner. I was angry that you all knew except for me."
"If we'd told you Neal, would you have gone along with the sting?"
The younger man shrugged.
"Neal…"
"No, but I wouldn't have been put in that position I was today, either."
"Neal," Peter held out both hands, "I weighed up both options. Sometimes I have to do that with you, but I can honestly say, I always have your best interests at heart. Your release agreement states that you will work with the Bureau as a criminal informant and I know at times that isn't easy for you so I try and choose the method that will cause the least pain for both of us. This morning it failed, but the way I see it, it would have failed either way."
"Maybe," Neal grunted.
"But Neal, I never have and never will think of you as an object at my disposal."
"I know that, Peter," Neal admitted softly.
"And so, what you just said before…"
"A redirection," El cut in. "A way to refocus attention away from the fact that the way Neal went on back at the Bureau this afternoon really was what it looked like at face value…"
"A tantrum." Peter shook his head.
"Hey!" Neal pouted. "I was upset. Rick and I used to be best pals for a while. It was very embarrassing, him seeing me like that."
"Like what? Like a law abiding citizen assisting the right side of the law for a change?"
"A man has to look after his reputation, Peter," Neal grinned.
"There was nothing manly about the childish foot stomping you did this afternoon, kiddo."
"I agree with Peter, Neal-"
Neal couldn't help but roll his eyes, "That's a shock."
"Although I totally disagree with the way he handled the consequences of your behaviour."
"You do?" Peter raised brows.
"Yes, and if you'd been thinking straight, you would have decided that for yourself in the first place, hon."
"Let's assume I'm still not thinking straight…What would I have decided?"
"That tossing Neal into the lock-up wouldn't solve anything. Peter, the boy-"
"Hey!"
"The boy," El continued, "deliberately derailed your operation today, he had his reasons but they didn't come close to justifying his actions-"
"I thought they did in an obscured zen type way," Neal mumbled under his breath.
El went on, "He refused to comply with his parole agreement - to wear the tracking anklet at all times unless specifically required to be off for his own safety during a case-"
"I was angry."
"You were having a childish fit," Peter clarified.
"And…" El waited till she had both men's attention, "when we brought him home, he lied to us in order to make you feel bad Peter and to take attention away from his unacceptable behaviour."
"Look, I'm sorry about that, as I said-"
"Now Peter," El ignored the young man, "do you really think tossing Neal in the lock-up would discourage this type of behaviour in the future?"
"Highly unlikely."
"It might," Neal piped in hopefully.
"You're going to add more lies to your ever growing list, Neal?"
Neal dropped his gaze, "No ma'am."
"Then tell Peter. Did it bother you being in the lock-up?"
"Well, I did miss the final episode of-"
"Neal!"
"Sorry…uh, I…er, I didn't mind being in the lock-up. I mean, I don't care for it, but, it didn't bother me."
Peter sighed and leaned back in his seat, "Neal…what am I going to do with you?"
"What would your father have done to you, Peter, if you'd gone on like Neal did today?"
"Given me a good kick in the butt," Peter said without hesitation.
Elizabeth looked intently at both men, waiting for it to sink in.
Finally Peter's mouth dropped open, "Hon…?"
Then Neal's, "Elizabeth! Peter's not my dad."
"In what way is he not your father, Neal?"
"In the same way that I'm not his son?" Neal didn't like where this was going.
"Neal, doesn't he spend half his day keeping you safe and out of trouble? Doesn't he pull you up when you step out of line and work his butt off trying to keep you on the straight and narrow? Doesn't he send you home early when he sees you coming down with something then heads over soon after to check your temperature and make you drink fluids? Doesn't he make you eat lunch when he sees your shirts getting too loose around the chest? Doesn't he-"
"Yes, I get it. He does all that…and more, but Elizabeth…"
"But what?"
"But…nothing." Neal looked up at the older man, "I'm sorry, Peter, I'm sorry for my behaviour today and for my lies tonight."
"Thank you, Neal. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you about your friend. It was not my intention to upset you like it did."
"I know…and…" Neal couldn't believe he was going to say this, "and…Elizabeth's right. I did behave badly today and, if you were my dad, and for the record it feels like a lot of the time you are," in an obscured zen type way… "if you were, I'd expect you to dole out some kind of punishment for my actions." Neal smiled hopefully, "I'm rooting for maybe a week's worth of extra chores around the house but," he suddenly dropped his smile, "…but if you think I've earned whatever your dad would have done to you…I'm okay with that too…I think."
Peter sat speechless once more. This night was undoubtedly pushing his grey hairs to the surface at an unforgiving speed. He wasn't sure what to say, or do for that matter. He sat in silence for so long that El had to speak up and entice a response…
"Hon? Neal's waiting."
"Uh, yeah. Um…" Peter took a deep breath, "Neal, if I'd had gone on like you did today, my dad would have paddled my behind, so…" he looked to El for confirmation, which she gave immediately with a quick nod, "I think that's what you've just earned yourself, young man."
Neal pressed his lips together before acknowledging softly, "Yes sir."
"Okay then," Peter pushed himself onto shaking legs and moved towards the kitchen. "El," he called over his shoulder, "we're going to need a paddle."
Neal cringed and put his hands up to his face. What the hell had he been thinking!
Elizabeth ignored the theatrics and followed her husband into the kitchen where he was looking around, obviously at a loss. "Here," she reached above the stove and pulled a small cutting board off its hook. The board was about fifteen inches long, about one and half thick, and had a nice sturdy handle.
Peter took the board out of her hands and turned it over in his. "It looks like a paddle."
"It is now," El nudged her husband back towards the living area.
Peter stepped out hesitantly and stopped at the dining table, tapping its surface with the edge of the paddle.
Neal swallowed hard while mentally searching his brain for a clue as to why he'd ever agreed to this in the first place and trying to decide if it wasn't too late to race out the door and never look back. But one look at Peter's now determined expression and El's supportive stance answered his question.
The older man tapped the table once more and so, without an obvious alternative on hand, Neal pushed himself to his feet and walked reluctantly across to the table. El, who was standing slightly behind Peter, gave the young man a sympathetic smile. Neal tried not to frown back while thinking this had all been her idea in the first place!
"Bend over, Neal." Peter indicated the table as he took up position on the left side.
Neal looked at the table's hard shining surface. Better to look there than at the dreadfully painful looking kitchen accessory Peter was wielding in his hand. "Uh…how many do I get?"
Peter considered. "I think twenty should do it."
Neal spun his head, "Twenty? I was thinking six, maybe five…if not four, even three?"
Peter wasn't swayed. "Over," he indicated the table with a nod of his head.
Neal shot one last uncertain glance in Elizabeth's direction, took a deep breath then leaned forward and placed his forearms on the table. He cradled his head in the palms of his hands, shut his eyes and waited. He didn't have to wait long. Whoosh! Thwack!
Neal sucked in his breath and began to brace himself for the next blow but it came before he was ready and he let out a pitiful yelp. It was most undignified and he spent the next half dozen or so swats ensuring it didn't happen again. But by about the eighth stroke, his poor backside had reached the limit of its pain tolerance and he no longer cared what came out of his mouth. He only cared to salvage what was left of his tenderized rear so between trying to shift unsuccessfully out of the way, he started pleading for the paddling to end, "Wait! Stop! Ow! Peeeeteer! No more!" He even reached back his hand but somehow, between the whacking, Peter managed to secure his wrist high up on his back making it impossible to move. As the swats rained down, his rear began throbbing and stinging like he never thought possible. At some point he lost count so he kept hoping like hell that every one was the last one…and eventually it was.
Peter placed the paddle down on the table and pulled the kid up by his shoulders, wrapping a caring hand around his back. Neal immediately leaned into Peter's chest while he endeavoured to get his emotions in check. All he really wanted to do, apart from giving his butt a thorough rub was to burst into tears. But he was too dignified for outright sobbing so he wiped the corners of his eyes on Peter's shirt and settled for the rubbing of his butt. He couldn't help that one. "That hurt, Peter," Neal grumbled into the older man's chest.
"I should hope so kiddo," Peter patted the kid's back gently.
"You hope so?" Neal squealed in a high-pitched voice.
"Yes, I do. I want you to remember it for a little while to come so you think twice next time you feel the urge to go off doing whatever it is that gets you into all this trouble to begin with."
"Oh, I'm going to remember this all right!" Neal continued to rub his butt. "When can I expect it stop feeling like I just sat down on a fully ablaze open grill?"
"Mmm," Peter looked to his wife, who'd managed to squeeze in for her own hug from the opposite side, "What do you think hon?"
"Well," El pondered, "It's been a while."
"What? You're dad spanked you too?" Neal looked mortified.
"Yes sweetie, both Mom and Dad dished out their fair share of spankings when I played up," El turned the young man's chin so she could look him in the eye, "but unlike Peter, I usually got pulled over their knee for a bare bottom spanking."
Neal's eyes went wide like saucers as all the puzzle pieces of El's insinuation fell into place. He swallowed hard, "Uh, you know, I'm really going to try hard from now on."
"We know, sweetie." El kissed the side of his cheek. "We know you always try hard. Now lets get you settled in the guest room before-"
"Ah, I was," Neal pointed to the door, "going to…just head home."
"Nonsense," El took the kid's hand and led him to the stairs. "You're staying. We insist, don't we Peter?"
Peter had to pause for a moment, but after a classic glare from his wife he groaned out, "Yes, we do, Neal. Of course we want you to stay."
"But-"
"No buts," El reached back and slapped the kid's rear, none-too-gently.
Neal yelped and sprang up about three steps, "Eliiizabeth…!"
"Yes?"
Neal pouted, then turned and continued walking, "I was…er just going to say, 'but… I don't have a toothbrush.'"
"Neal…" Peter warned, "What did El tell you about lying?"
The young man picked up his speed and made haste down the hall to the guest room before answering, "Don't do it…sir?"
Peter nodded with immense satisfaction. "There's a spare toothbrush in the drawer and fresh towels under the basin. We'll be back to check on you in about twenty minutes."
Neal released a great dramatic sigh before moving into his room. "Great, I've just been spanked by Dad and now I'm being sent to bed early without dessert," he grumbled to himself.
Somehow El heard and called over her shoulder as she followed her husband into the main bedroom, "It's not our fault you didn't drink your coco!"
Peter pulled El into the room and shut the door before dropping his head onto her shoulder. "Thank you," he whispered.
"You're welcome, hon." El dropped onto the bed and pulled off her shoes. "You want to hear what you agreed to at dinner when you weren't paying me any attention or would you rather wait till the morning?"
Peter moaned, "Morning…please," then flopped forward face down onto the bed. "On second thoughts," he groaned out while his face was still buried into the covers, "tell me now or I'll be thinking I've agreed to that couples art class you've been pestering me about."
There was silence. Peter groaned some more and rolled over. "Ellllllll!"
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A/N We are still in the process of getting the White Collar Corrections Site up and running, thanks to the ever so wonderfully kind, Little Spanko! but there is already a collection of stories there and we hope to add many more. At the moment, there is no function enabling a reader to leave feedback and the forum is still being nutted out, but hopefully in the new year it will be all systems go! :)
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