If you haven't heard about the first annual Caffrey-Burke Day, you need to google that up (because ff.n doesn't allow me to link) and click on the first item on whitecollarfixation! Help spread the word: October 23rd! :)
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Out in the Open
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1. It's our game of protect me not.
The phone calls come at random, but always late at night.
It is an international number from a burner cell, he first suspects, and it is still an international number made from another burner cell, he later confirms.
They start from before he has a proper name to a face, an initials-less signature to the forged bonds. Peter only knows the chase and the smooth velvet voice that wakes him when he has only begin to forget who this James Bonds really is.
He greets him like an old friend without a name, not a real one at any rate, and Peter really should feel more irritated at trotting downstairs and away from Elizabeth's warmth to take the call.
Except, it comes like a reminder, a sly forget-me-not (as if he even could if he tried.)
"What's the problem, Agent Burke? Did I interrupt your beauty sleep?"
"Damn well you did."
His laugh is mangled with static from some far off land but infectious nonetheless. And while Peter doesn't allow himself to laugh along with the criminal he is chasing, his lips twist in a small half smile that is as good as they come.
Peter hears water in the background, seagulls, and pretends James Bonds is standing on a foreign shoreline with a burner phone ready to be tossed out at sea like a love letter sealed tight inside a bottle.
"You're the problem."
"I'm also the solution, Agent Burke, but you know I won't give it to you that easy."
"No, you wouldn't."
Peter huffs out a quiet breath and shakes his head, knowing full well that the other can't see.
"It wouldn't be fun and you know that too."
Peter imagines he can hear a smile on those lips, he imagines a face, sharp eyes and pianist hands. Peter imagines him to be many things, Neal believes he can be all that and more.
"Good night, Peter."
Neal Caffrey ends the call and stops the background noise playing on a loop in his New York apartment.
He leaves for the music box tomorrow.
2. You could have had anyone else, you chose me instead.
Peter watches him carefully: bright orange jumpsuit, brown hair, and blue eyes that have widened if only by a fraction. He nods at the man he has put behind bars four years ago and Neal takes the bottle from the table as though he is afraid it will break and looks at the Bordeaux like Peter has exchanged it for a fake.
It takes a long second before he finally glances up. "So…?"
"I make the rules and you follow those terms, there'll be no negotiations." He splays a hand across the cold concrete table and continues as he lay down the ground rules. "You say no, you stay for another four years. You say yes, you can leave with me."
Neal smiles something too pretty and it isn't even the way his lips twist, it is the way his eyes light up with a fire burning in place of where his heart should be. "I offered you the deal first, Peter. Don't make it like it was all your idea."
Peter doesn't let himself smile, but oh does he want to though, just retrieves something from his coat pocket and lay it out between them.
(It is an offer, a choice, and also a second chance all forced into one.)
"What's that?"
"Tracking anklet."
"Oh." The smile doesn't fade, the fire burns a little brighter. Peter doesn't let him force his hand, he looks up to catch Neal's eyes. "You run, you come back for life."
"Got it. I'll be good, Peter."
The brief nod, the solemn flicker in the blue tells Peter everything he imagines he would want to know. Neal picks up the anklet and holds it up between them, smiling like he already has a plan forming in that brain of his.
"So who gets the honour of clipping my wings?"
3. Frankly, it's all in the wrist. (No, it's not.)
"No key, no paperclip, not even a handy tool around."
Peter doesn't look away, eyes stern with conviction and well-contained anger as he watches Neal smile like it's nothing but a lousy party trick. He repeats himself, because in any other circumstance, he would be impressed, not keeping himself in check for the fear that he will violently lash out at the perpetrator who had Neal kidnapped.
"How'd you do it, Neal?"
And he leans in, lips stained a brown red from the split lip his kidnaper has thrown at him. It is no secret but it feels just as revealing.
"You don't need to pick it when you can slip it."
"Slipping the cuffs?"
Neal wiggles his thumbs at Peter's look of mangled disbelief as it tips into a hard realization. There is fear and horror and pain when he finally manages to ask, pass the lump in his throat. And still, it doesn't make this any easier to swallow.
"You dislocated your thumbs, Neal?"
There are no tears in his eyes and he doesn't look as though he will cry. Instead, he lets out a shuddering breath and manages a weak shrug.
"Sure looks like it doesn't it, Peter?"
Neal doesn't let him see him wince, and in return, Peter pretends he can forgive himself.
4. Liar, liar.
"You're lying."
"So are you, Peter. You think I can't spot a con from a mile away?"
Peter looks up at his CI, not in alarm because he has never expected any less, smile wane with exasperation.
"I was trying to protect you."
"And you don't think I am?" Neal leans back in his chair with ease but Peter catches his tell for revealing the truth, his soft and silent swallow before he continues. "There are some things you don't need to know."
"Like Steve Tabernacle?"
"More like my time in Supermax."
Neal looks away smiling, like this is all a fault of his own and no blame can be put on anyone else, and Peter has to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, if only to push the dread back down to the secret place even El isn't aware of existing.
Peter doesn't defend his actions the same way Neal doesn't thank him for saving him, he shouldn't have to and that is as far as they go.
The lies don't stop.
5. You want me to hold on when I'm barely hanging on.
He catches his wrist in his hand, pulling him back from wandering off. Peter doesn't lower his voice but they both know they can't be heard over the uproar of a party being dispersed.
"What did he want?"
Neal shrugs, looking over Peter's shoulder to watch the man being led out in cuffs. "No idea."
"You were bluffing?"
"Does it matter, Peter? We got the guy on tape."
Peter shakes his head, fingers just a little tight around Neal's wrist, like he still can't believe Neal is willing to take such a risk for the bureau, that he hasn't run, that he is still here to stay at all. Something warm settles in his chest before a remark slips at the sight of their suspect-turned-criminal.
"If only you were that easy."
"You mean I haven't been making it easy enough for you?" He purposely doesn't look at him, not even when he bumps his shoulder and slips his hold, skin warm and smooth. But instead of stepping back, Neal laces their fingers together for a brief moment before letting go completely.
Peter turns to look at him with a tilt of his head. He doesn't try to understand what it means, what it can mean because neither of them are stupid.
"Are we talking about the same thing?"
"Only if you want us to, Peter."
Neal walks away smiling, trilby tilting just so on top of his perfect hair and Peter lets him go, lips twisting in a reluctant smile if only because it is a Caffrey-induced one.
They don't talk about it but it has always been out in the open.
XXX Kuro
Confession: this is my first time using line breaks... they make me nervous.