The file
"Who's that lil' cutie?" El stops on her way to the basement and leans over Peter's shoulder, washing basket tucked under her arm. "I know you like the smart ones, but over achieving Kindergarteners is reaching a bit, isn't it?"
The smile on her face is bright and playful, her breath warm on his cheek when she laughs. Staring down at the glossy print and several others just like it spilling over their dining room table, Peter sucks in a breath.
"It's Neal."
His tone is purposefully flat, wanting to gage El's reaction.
It takes her a second to register what he's said. Eyes wide, whites standing out prominently, she gasps an astonished "Nooo," and drops into the nearest chair, legs scaping over the floor, bumping the table in the process. "Neal's baby pictures? Where'd you get them?" Her words are a whisper that once released travel in the air, hitting Peter with the same awe and wonder he'd experienced upon first opening the magic file himself.
"Rebecca's research on Neal went a little deeper than it did on the rest of us."
She's cooing with excitement, skimming over the selection, delicate fingers instinctually drawn to those photos capturing the dazzling smile of a very happy, very cheeky little boy with bright blue eyes and dark wavy hair. "Oh Peter, he's adorable."
"Sure." Peter pushes out a faux heavy sigh, trying to pretend he didn't have the same thought. "Even as a toddler he has the smile of a delinquent."
Trying to joke was his tried and tested method of deflecting. Real problems at work he could handle, and recently there had been plenty, but real problems in his personal life were harder to compartmentalise. There would have been a time when the most complicated decision outside of work was what excuse to use to escape Trey and Shelia's annual bar-be-que. But since Neal that had all changed, his work and personal life had meshed in ways he couldn't have predicted three years ago, the very fact Neal Caffrey was even in his personal life was testament to that.
No, this was not how Peter ever saw his life going. Making light of things was his only hope for maintaining his sanity.
"Peter, it's not funny."
Or not.
"Sorry, hon." He agrees quickly and wipes the forced smile off his face. "Just, I'm not sure how to assimilate all this." He grabs up a glossy of Neal age eight - tooth gap and all - and waves it in her face.
"You're not supposed to assimilate," she snatches the school snap out of his hand, fingers pinching the edges, her deft touch showing it the delicacy El clearly thinks it deserves while giving him a disappointed glare, "you take it in, experience the emotion and apply it to the man you know, your friend."
Peter huffs, rolls his eyes to the right, thinking through his options. It doesn't take him long to realise he has none.
"You're right." He deflates, shoulders slumping, "I guess after knowing next to nothing about his childhood, having a full history dropped in my lap ten years later is…"
"A dream come true?"
"No," Peter looks over at her surprised, frown immediately creasing his forehead. "I thought it would be, but now I'm sitting here, reading this stuff. It really isn't."
"Wow." El smiles. "It's not just Neal who's growing up."
"Hey," Peter points his index finger at her as if checking line of sight, "he's got a hell of a lot more growing up to do than I do."
She's giggling. Honest to god tickled, struggling to breathe giggling. "Oh, honey I know." She calms. "Which is why it's okay for you dote on Neal a little bit. He's still very young."
Peter smiles shyly, gaze dropping to the laundry basket forgotten on the floor. "You got a minute? I could do with running something by you."
He feels his face heat waiting for her answer, which makes absolutely no sense since this is El and it's never been an issue to share with her.
"Of course," she eyes him warily, her spousal spidey-senses on high alert. "Follow me down stairs? I can get this lot on and you can tell me what's upsetting you."
"Nothing's upsetting me." Peter immediately denies, forcing a smile to his face which only makes him sound nervous, therefore providing evidence to the contrary.
It's all pointless anyway because El is already up, laundry basket lifted from the floor and held securely as she backs through the basement door, throwing him a smug smile.
"So, Neal was three when he went into witness protection?" El confirms walking down the wooden stairs, Peter on her heels.
"Yeah," he follows her over to the machines, but then leans back on the counter, hands in his pockets while she sorts through the pile, separating lights from the darks. "He says he doesn't remember leaving. Just saying goodbye to his dad when he left for work that morning."
"Well hon Neal was only a baby." She clucks, the smiling little boy from the photos upstairs popping into her head. "What year was this anyway?"
"According to Rachel's creepily detailed file, 1983." Peter stares dead ahead, eyes staring but not seeing.
El throws another of Peters shirts to the side, forming a decent pile. "Huh, that means he was born 1980? He really is a baby then." There's a twinkle in her eye when Peter looks her way. "Compared to you."
Peter's lost stare is suddenly focused in a scowl. "Ha, ha," he throws a dark t-shirt which must not have made it into a load the last time at her, landing into her whites' pile. "I'm still too young to be his father."
"I don't know, there are plenty of teenage parents out there, how'd you know you weren't one?"
"Because I never had-"
Peter cuts himself off and looks away, forcing his lips into a tight line. El starts laughing.
"Are you telling me Peter Burke never?" She eyes him teasingly.
"College." He says firmly, muttering "High school was my awkward phase."
"Neal would say accountancy was your awkward phase."
"Well Neal's not here." He shoots back.
"Funny, because the way your avoiding talking about what's bothering you about that file you'd think he was."
They stare at each other a second. El with that knowing soft smile and Peter trying to retain his dignity without letting on how much he totally adores his wife when she kicks him in the ass. Figuratively speaking of course.
"Okay, I'm avoiding."
"I know, question is why?"
El stops sorting clothes, having enough to put her first wash on. While she does just that, Peter tells her a summary of Neal's life as he now knows it, from three to twenty-three. By the time he's done El wants to sit down and cry.
"Peter you realise how…"
"Awful, depressing, sad?"
"All of those. My god it's a miracle he's still as sweet hearted as he is. You can kind of see why-"
"He became a con-artist? El," he sighs, "however hard he had it, whatever choices he made to survive, they were his choices. Whether he did it to protect himself I don't know, but it doesn't excuse what he's done since. It can't."
"Because if it did it would mean he spent four years in jail for-" El stops what's she's doing and faces him. "That's it isn't it? You feel guilty for sending him to jail the first time?"
"Criminals don't get a free pass because of a crappy childhood," he repeats the script he's been reciting to himself all afternoon, "but I'll admit if I'd known Neal Caffrey was a runaway teen, who by the way is still technically missing as far as his mother is concerned, I might have encouraged a deal. As it was he got the maximum for the bonds at a high security facility where anything could have happened to him."
"It didn't, did it?"
"What?"
"Happen to him." She freezes, real fear showing on every inch of her face. "Nothing," she swallows, "bad, happened to him in jail?"
Raped she means, Peter can see it in her eyes. Was Neal raped in a prison he sent him to? If Neal had been hurt in a fight or something that story would have been told in some overzealous way to alight sympathy by now. A sexual assault on the other hand… "Not that I know."
Her eyes blow wide, "that you know?"
"There's nothing in his file and Neal's never said." He sighs. His own memories of prison are still fresh, the conflicts and the indignities not something he'll ever share willingly with his wife.
"So," she returns to sorting the rest of the clothes and the topic at the core of this bonding laundry session, "Neal moves from DC of all places, to St Louis, his mother is diagnosed clinically depressed and children's services are concerned enough to be involved. He gets labelled a naughty child because he struggles to sit still or follow the rules, even though he clearly loves being at school, which is unsurprising since home must have been a very lonely place. Eventually Ellen steps in, practically takes over raising him. With a stable figure in his life Neal's doing better, starts to focus on his future. Then he turns eighteen and Ellen tells him the truth. Neal doesn't take it well, disappears that night leaving no trace until he pops up in New York nearly three years later." She takes a breath. "And the rest I think I know pretty well already."
"Yeah." Peter eyes her nervously.
"Well there you have it." She stares at him, picking up the t-shirt he threw at her and flinging it into the darks pile. "You and Ellen." She says like it's obvious. "With only his mother around Neal was unfocused, misbehaving, falling behind in his classes…"
"Not art." Peter butts in.
"Accept Art" she smiles, pleased Peter is practically making her point for her. "But when Ellen took over raising him he started to do better, with that stable support, boundaries and guidance he was a different boy." Her smile widens, eyes boring into him. Ordering him to just get it already.
"Okay."
"Peter!" she stamps her foot. "Ellen. You. When he ran away from Ellen Neal turned back into that troubled child, acting impulsively, misbehaving to get attention… Then he found you. And look how much he's changed! You've given Neal back the security he needs. You're good for him Peter. You've nothing to feel bad about."
A smile starts small, builds slowly, spreading over his face like wild fire. El mirrors him and bends down to empty the dryer, pulling out the first few things, holding up an item she doesn't recognise straight away.
"Now I know I'm in no way old enough to be his mother, so why am I doing his laundry?" She presents a small fitted cotton tee-shirt which definitely would not fit Peter.
"You are an amazing woman, you know that right?" Peter confiscates the shirt, tossing it to one side and takes her into his arms.
"Hmm, I may have been told that on occasion."
They hear the doorbell as their lips touch, followed swiftly by a loud, yet shy "Peter?"
….
"Peter?"
Neal opens the front door and lets himself in using the spare key Peter really should have found a better hiding place for by now. He would normally wait but there's a storm rolling in over the river, the wind alone was ruining his hair.
"Peter, you home?" Receiving no answer Neal moves through the house, he's on his way into the kitchen to check for life when the mess on the dining table catches his eye.
Recognising his own face despite the difference in years Neal freezes in place, a tingling feeling in his stomach starting light and building rapidly as his gaze takes in the array of photographs and report cards strewn across the table he's had the pleasure of eating at more times than he can count.
A thumping sound behind him barely gets his attention, faint at first and building, the basement door bursts open and Peter steps through, catching sight of Neal, a particularly heart-breaking shot of him with his mother grasped tight in his hand.
Neal turns, face white as a sheet. "Peter? What is all this?" his voice a whisper to his own ears.
"Neal I-" Peter starts but is interrupted by the abrupt arrival of Elizabeth.
The three of them stand staring at each other in a weird triangle formation, no one, least of all Neal, knows what to say.
Peter being the practical guy he is senses the need to take control. "Hon," he turns to El, "can you give us a minute?" His smile is soft and sad.
She nods, reaches out and squeezes Peter's hand. Neal is watching them intently but is still taken by surprise when she stands on her toes and pecks him on the cheek before heading back down stairs.
Left alone, Peter guides a very complaint Neal into the living room and pushes him down onto the sofa. Photo still clutched in his hand. Peter isn't fooled that just because Neal's obviously in shock now, doesn't mean he won't be mad as hell once it sinks in.
"Where's all that from?" Neal looks at him, the anxiety clear in his words.
Peter shuffles up on the cushions to sit on the arm, back to the fire place, purposefully seating himself above Neal to maintain control, making it clear they're not on equal ground here.
"We found it when we were going through Rebecca's filing cabinet."
"Rachel." Neal corrects.
"Rachel," Peter repeats sadly, understanding Neal's coping mechanism far too well. "I didn't tell you because, well, I guess I didn't want you worrying. The files are part of an open investigation-"
"Everybody at White Collar has seen it?" Neal's panicked eyes plead him to say no.
"No," Peter reaches out, squeezing his shoulder. "I made sure only me, Diana and Jones have had access after the initial coping and filing."
He waits while that sinks in. Neal's still very… still. And quiet. Two things not Caffrey.
"What's in there?" He looks over at the table, the spaced-out expression not going anywhere anytime soon apparently.
"Ooh," Peter hums and settles on the truth. "Everything." He can't protect Neal from it so he might as well rip the band aid off nice and quick.
"Where'd she get it?"
"Probably several sources, but I'm guessing the marshals gave her plenty to work up a paper trail."
Neal's quiet for a moment longer, gaze clouded with thoughts Peter can only guess at before breaking the tension. "They really hate me don't they?"
"The marshal's?" Peter grins, glad to see him feeling playful. "You did make them look bad."
"Brought down their average." Neal's soft voice is heartening.
"You want to take a look?" Peter nods at the table.
Neal goes paler and Peter wonders if he's pushed too soon, but eventually he gets a nod and they walk over to the table together.
For Neal, going through the photos and records feels like a trip in time, memories came flooding back, some good others not so. A more recent memory of James infiltrates, from when he was masquerading as Sam and telling him a story about 'his dad' taking him to the police precinct one day. Its makes Neal feel nauseous.
"You okay?" Peter notices the change.
"Yeah," Neal automatically replies, then as he has done so many times before with Peter corrects to a more truthful answer. "I'll be okay. Bit surprised. I haven't really thought about… any of this in years."
Peter didn't need Neal to spell it out. He hadn't thought about Danny Brooks, the cute kid with the gap in his teeth and wavy hair that got in his eyes.
"You're not mad?" Peter has to asked when time passes and Neal had gone from shocked and sullen to seemingly resigned and sullen.
"You didn't collect this Peter," Neal waves his hand over the sheer array of information before them. "And honestly, if you could have dug it up you would have, can hardly expect you not to look when it's handed to you on a platter."
Plus, Peter supposes, in Neal's eyes he owes him. Neal has been feeling extremely guilty over the past 6 months events. El's home on the weekends, but it's just the two of them during the week and the fact he's given up Washington is something the stupid kid hasn't stopped expressing his gratitude for. For Peter it's a bittersweet victory, just drilling home how much it must have rocked Neal's world when they'd announced the move in the first place. They'd unintentionally pulled the rug out from under him. Another family he'd lost.
Some might say he shouldn't put his life on hold for a criminal, but Neal was more than just his C.I. Peter had made him more. Neal had put himself out there and Peter had encouraged him to trust. Trust in him. And trust Neal did. That alone was huge, not something Peter could ever return. So instead he offered him a family, people who would always be there, to sooth away his worries and pick him up when he falls. He understood where Jones was coming from. Peter shouldn't put his life on hold, but he should consider the impact to those in it. That's basically what he told Neal on the tarmac all those years ago. Only right that he should practice what he preaches. He couldn't break that promise he made when he let Neal into their lives, when he and El became the parents Neal had had so briefly and lost.
"I could have asked first."
Neal shrugs, like the point is moot, which it probably is.
The silence stretches and Peter can see the kid is overwhelmed, then it occurs to Peter he hadn't even asked why Neal had come over.
"I was bored." Neal says simply, eyes bright, looking up with the kind of immense trust Peter just doesn't know how to return.
Peter caves and swoops in, pulling Neal up, crushing him against his chest. Neal reaches around his waist equally quick and squeezes tight, releasing a little gasp of surprise when Peter refuses to let him go after a respectable amount of time. Relaxing into the hold Neal gives up the fight and instead melts into it, tucking his head into the gap between Peter's shoulder and neck.
El reappears, Peter catches her eye and resting his cheek against Neal's hair he gives her a smile which is returned with puckered lips, a kiss released into the air and he knows he doesn't deserve either of these wonderful people. He really is the luckiest man alive.