Author's Notes: I started this fic last Christmas, but I didn't end up finishing it until long after the holidays were over. I think I might have it right this time around!
This story is set at the beginning of the series.
There were things that Neal liked about the FBI building he was currently working at, specifically the White Collar Unit, and there was things that he hated about it. He appreciated the open floor plan, especially after his previous, less-than-spacious accommodations, but he truly hated the brown sludge that they called coffee.
He liked solving complex cases with Peter and his team, but he hated the filing system - especially since no one seemed to want to explain it to him, apparently finding his confusion over the whole thing funny. But that was fine, since they were baffled by the inner workings of white collar criminals - except for Peter, who seemed to have them figured out for the most part - and that was why they kept him around.
Another thing that Neal enjoyed was the plethora of Christmas decorations the staff put everywhere the moment Thanksgiving ended in preparation for the festive season and, of course, the yearly office party.
Garland with ribbons and lights wrapped themselves around every railing and pole there was, wreaths hung upon every door, a motion-activated dancing Santa sat upon Jones' desk, poinsettia adored every other desk and someone - who quickly caught onto the general idea and wanted to add their own touch of holiday decorating - was even bold enough to hang a mistletoe above the main entrance. The whole unit was decorated festively, making the place much more cheerful and bright.
Those twinkling lights seemed especially bright right after Neal got pistol-whipped in the side of his head. As he fell to his knees and clutched his now bleeding head, Neal supposed he should have listened to the man that was holding the White Collar Unit hostage and just sat down on the floor with everyone else that had attended the office party.
WCWCWCWC
Peter had already half-risen before he even realized what he was doing, but before he could attack an armed man that had many other equally armed men to back him up - a fight he'd surely lose - Diana silently pulled him by his arm back into a sitting position on the floor of the bullpen. Fortunately, no one seemed to have noticed Peter's movement besides the other hostages.
One glance at Diana's face told Peter that she was just as equally worried as Peter was for Neal, but knew there was no point for Peter to get shot trying to help Neal, who was the center of attention right now.
"I tell you to sit down, you sit!" the man that had pistol-whipped Neal said as he shoved Neal over with his booted foot, then gave him a few rough kicks in the ribs for good measure. Neal, still clutching his head, curled into himself and groaned.
Neal's bloody hands were then quickly and efficiently pulled in front of him and, repeating what he'd done to the other hostages, the man then tied them together with a thick zip-tie, making sure to tighten them nice and snug to ensure there'd be no escapes.
It was unclear to Peter as to why half a dozen men in masks suddenly broke into the building and rounded up everyone that was attending the office Christmas party. The men took everyone's phones and weapons, tied them up, told them to shut up, and made them sit on the floor in the break area of the bullpen, all with practiced efficiency.
Peter had tried to talk to the men originally, ask them what they wanted so maybe this could be resolved without the use of the guns they had brought, but when he was told to sit down 'or else', he chose to take the less violent path - unlike Neal, who kept making excuses until one of the hostage takers became impatient with Neal's feet dragging.
Peter forced himself to wait until the man wandered off slightly before he scooted over to Neal to check on him, the agent's balance a bit hindered from the zip-tie holding his hands in front of him. "Neal? Are you alright?" he whispered, sure to keep his voice low.
"Not quite sure...if it was worth it," Neal muttered as he carefully stretched back out, wincing as he was met with various sore muscles. Peter helped him sit up against the counter, then leveled the younger man with a stern expression.
"Neal, what the hell did you do that for?" Peter asked angrily, his quiet voice belying not only his anger, but his concern.
Neal glanced around at the men guarding them to make sure they wouldn't be overheard, Peter doing the same. One man had wasted no time getting comfortable in front of one of the agent's computers across the bullpen, busily typing away, most likely searching for something, or possibly uploading a computer virus, for all Peter knew. Unlike some TV show villains, these men felt no need to reveal their grand scheme.
The masked man that appeared to be the guy in charge paced back and forth behind the man on the computer, absentmindedly tapping his gun on his thigh as his eyes stayed glued on the screen. Although no longer within eyesight, two more thugs were most likely watching the exits, assuring that they wouldn't be interrupted. The last two, who were the closest but still couldn't hear them, watched the group of hostages.
For once Peter was thankful that Elizabeth had to oversee an important event she worked so hard putting together so close to Christmas. She was far away from this mess, which couldn't be said for the two dozen or so employees that had showed up to the party.
File clerks, probies and full-fledged agents were amongst the hostages. They even made Hughes, who was the eldest of the group, sit on the floor, though there wasn't a single complaint from him. Maybe Neal could learn a thing or two from the senior agent.
Jones would have been there as well, but he had a longstanding tradition with his family to pick out a Christmas tree on one of those tree farms outside of the city. He had left hours ago and was probably back in the city by now, decorating the hand-picked tree and singing Christmas carols with his extended family. Lucky bastard.
Assured that they wouldn't be overheard, Neal turned back to Peter. "The floor is a dirty place, Peter, and sitting like this will cause my suit to wrinkle," Neal said in what sounded like an honestly upset tone as he attempted to straighten his dress shirt out.
"I think a little bit of dirt and winkles are the least of your worries," Peter said as he gently but forcefully grabbed Neal's chin to inspect the blood running down the left side of his face. The gash made from the butt of the gun, hidden somewhere in his thick, dark hair, had bled quite a bit, but it was starting to slow down now. The blood was staining the collar of Neal's shirt, but Peter wasn't going to tell the younger man that.
Neal was conscious and alert, though his pupils did seem a bit dilated, but he didn't seem to be having trouble breathing from the kicks to his ribs, either. It didn't seem like he was in any real danger from his current injuries, at any rate. "Seriously, why did you do that?"
"They took my phone, so I took it back," Neal whispered with a proud smirk as he discreetly showed Peter the phone he had tucked up the sleeve of his white dress shirt. "Would you like to call the police first? Or Elizabeth to tell her that the party is going to be a little longer than expected?"
"Well, it certainly isn't my fault - I really didn't expect this much excitement from the office Christmas party," Peter said dryly, although his smirk ruined the effect.
Neal winced, and Peter was pretty sure it wasn't because of his injuries. "Yeah, guns and hostages tend to liven things up."
Before Peter could respond, one of the men - not the same one that had hit Neal - shouted a "Hey!" and started walking toward them. Both Neal and Peter pulled away from each other, but it was too late. "No talking!"
Apparently Neal had a play, because he pushed at Peter's shoulder and glared with sudden anger. "He was accusing me of being in on this because I'm a con! Well, maybe I do want to be part of this. It might be better than working for Feds that won't trust me! They only see me as a resource, but I never felt that when I was working with other cons."
Neal's acting sounded so sincere that Peter had to remind himself that he was just running a con, something that Neal was scary good at. "You make a deal with them and ours is off!" Peter said angrily, hoping that he was at least convincing enough to fool the men with guns. If Hughes and the rest of the agents believed Neal's con as well, then Peter was just going to have to convince them otherwise later.
"Easiest decision I've ever made," Neal answered flippantly.
Neal stood up, a little unsteadily - whether because of the restraints or the probable concussion, Peter didn't know - then smiled charmingly at the man in charge, who had looked over at the commotion. Neal shot Peter one more glare, then boldly walked over to the boss and started in on his spiel.
Peter couldn't hear the whole conversation, only snippets, but the just of it was that Neal could help them with whatever it was they were doing and then help them escape capture - if they cut him in on the take, of course.
Peter was working so hard on eavesdropping that it took him a minute to realize Neal's plan - Neal was just the distraction. Peter searched his pockets until he found the phone Neal had put in there without him even knowing, most likely when the younger man had shoved him.
Peter sent a short, but clear, message to Jones, turned the phone on silent, then stuck it under a desk, knowing that he couldn't have a conversation with the police with the hostage takers so close. Shooting a subtle nod to Hughes, Peter hoped that Jones was watching for texts and backup would arrive soon.
WCWCWCWC
Another thing Neal hated was ski masks - they hid a person's face so Neal couldn't read their emotions nearly as easily. Neal wasn't sure if this bear of a man liked the idea of joining forces, or wanted to shoot him where he stood. It was a coin toss, one that Neal was not interested in losing.
"I think we could both benefit greatly from a partnership, don't you?" Neal asked at the end of his spiel.
"I think you talk too much," the man grumbled, then pushed Neal away with one meaty hand on the conman's chest. Neal stumbled as his vision wavered and pain spiked in his head, but he managed to stay standing with the help of a nearby desk.
Neal was starting to think that he was slightly more concussed than he originally thought, but before he could consider the possible importance of that discovery, the boss spoke up again. "Crawl back to your master, and if you ask nicely enough, he might just give you your job back as the FBI's personal bitch."
A round of laughter made Neal's ears burn with both humiliation and anger. Why did no one think that he had the FBI right where he wanted them? Why was it always the other way around? He got the guy that put him in prison - twice - to let him back out - that was a pretty damn good con, if he did say so himself.
Neal was about to find his own way back to his spot on the floor when he felt someone else grab the collar of his shirt and throw him towards the ground with a force that couldn't be stopped - even if his hands were free - just braced for.
Another thing to hate about this place was cheap government-issued carpeting. It was hard and unforgiving and Neal was sure he was going to have rug burns by the end of this whole thing. Though, he supposed, that was probably the least of his worries.
Neal had automatically put his hands up to break his fall, no matter how little he could with his wrists tied together. His right arm ended up taking the brunt of the damage, along with his right shoulder, jarring his entire body and the pains that had already developed there.
He lay there for a minute, just breathing through the pain, before he could start to assess the damage. Nothing really felt broken, though definitely bruised, but probably still functional.
Painfully and slowly, Neal dragged himself upright and scooted a little closer to the group of hostages, though not too close since he wasn't interested in 'crawling back to his master'. He made sure to keep his expression of anger as he glanced at Peter, who he was supposed to be at odds with.
Neal took a few deep breaths, then tried his best to relax against the counter behind him while not moving his right arm at all in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain. It didn't really help, but moving it definitely made things much, much worse.
"Did you call for reinforcements?" Neal asked Peter quietly while barely moving his lips.
"Jones should be storming the gates soon," Peter answered, just as discreetly, though Neal could see concern on the agent's face as he scanned him head-to-toe, almost as if he could preform an x-ray to check for broken bones with just his sharp gaze.
"The sooner, the better. These guys seem like their about to be finished with whatever they're doing, and that'll make us expendable," Neal responded.
Neal hadn't even been planning on coming to this stupid office party, but he got half guilted, half tricked into coming by those that call themselves 'the good guys'.
"Are you going to the Christmas office party next week?" Jones asked as he packed his laptop away. It was the end of the work day and everyone was more than ready to go home for the evening.
Before Neal could answer for himself, a new probie named Johnston, who'd always acted like the FBI was his own personal fraternity, wrapped an arm around Neal's shoulders and spoke for him. "Of course Caffrey's coming! The man lives and breathes parties, just like me. Just don't spike the punch too much, okay? People that carry guns will be drinking it!"
Neal wondered for a moment why that was the very first thing Johnston warned him about, but before he could worry about any horrible details about that, Peter, who had been quietly reviewing reports at the other end of the conference table, intervened.
"It's mandatory for all available employees to attend," Peter stated, his tone leaving no room for argument, though that was exactly what Neal did.
"Jones isn't attending," Neal pointed out with a tilt of his head toward the retreating agent. Jones just answered with a satisfied smile and mock-salute, then continued on his way out the door and towards his home.
"Jones will be busy with his family, which makes him unavailable," Peter responded fairly as he gathered his papers and approached Neal.
"Which day did you say it was on? I think I'm busy that day as well..." Neal started, but Peter was having none of it.
Peter patted Neal on the shoulder, in a completely different way than Johnston had, and smiled. "Cmon, Neal, it'll be fun!"
Oh, how Peter was surely regretting those words now.
Several minutes went by without any excitement, but like all good things, that came to an end when Agent Johnston scooted closer. "What the hell was that, Caffrey? Are you switching sides on us? You want to be part of their team now?" Agent Johnston, who never knew when to shut up, said to Neal.
Neal briefly glanced at Johnston and the other agents. There were a few angry and untrusting faces, but most knew that what just happened was a con. Neal knew Peter would vouch for him, at least.
When Neal didn't engage, Johnston got annoyed by the lack of responsiveness. "I'm talking to you, Caffrey. Are you planning on turning on us?"
"Shut him up," the boss said from across the bullpen as he waved at Johnston, then immediately went back to watching the monitor.
The thug that had tied Neal up walked over and grabbed Johnston by the arm to pull him to a kneeling position. "You idiots just won't shut up," the man muttered as he pulled back the hammer of his handgun and pressed it against the terrified agent's skull.
"No - don't!" Neal was the first to speak up, even though many were clearly about to try to do something, no matter how annoying Johnston could be. He was one of their own, which was more than Neal was to them.
The thug lowered the gun slightly, probably more curious about what Neal had to say than truly interested, but Neal took the opportunity to rise to his knees, although painfully. "It wasn't his fault, it was mine. I was provoking him."
"You seem to be more trouble than you're worth," the man said as he took a step away from Johnston.
'Not the first time I've heard that,' Neal wryly thought to himself. The man's gun was now trained on Neal and the ex-con had to fight the urge to tell the man he was mistaken and sit back down instead of facing the very real gun with the very deadly bullets in it.
"Now, wait a minute-" Peter started to say, completely contradicting his previous position of disliking Neal by speaking up. Peter was quickly quieted with a kick to the stomach by the man approaching Neal, making Neal's sore gut clench in sympathy.
The other gunman stepping in and raising his weapon in warning stopped any other protests before they even started. Whatever the man stalking toward Neal wanted to do, he was free to do it.
In an attempt to save everyone, Neal had become too much of an annoyance and now he was going to pay in whatever way this man saw fit.
Even though he was itching to open his mouth and spin a tale, Neal knew there was no conning his way out of this one. This man had a look in his eyes, an intent to kill, that Neal had only seen a few times in prison and once on the face of Mathew Keller, a few moments too late. There were no cons to play, no lies for this man to believe.
Wordlessly, the man placed the cold barrel of his weapon on Neal's forehead. Neal let his eyes fall closed and willed his body to relax as the safety was released. He slowed his breathing in an attempt to temper his wildly beating heart, but couldn't con his own body into believing the situation wasn't so dire.
This was it. This was how Neal Caffrey, master thief, brilliant forger, conman extraordinaire, was going to die - saving a room full of FBI agents. How tragically ironic.
Neal flinched violently as the man pulled the trigger and Neal thought the following click - so loud to his ears - that sounded was going to be the last thing he ever heard. But it wasn't. It was the laughter of his tormentor that met his ears next.
A tear, unbidden, fell from his eye as he realized the damn gun wasn't even loaded. It was all a sick game.
More booming laughter filled the bullpen as the hostage takers laughed at Neal's cowardice. Neal knew that, if the roles were reversed, any of these hardened criminals wouldn't be so tough in the face of death. But that didn't matter to them. They were just bullies that didn't have a playground to rule over anymore.
The man shoved Neal back down and left him to shamefully wipe the wet tear track off of his face. Neal could feel everyone's eyes on him, but he refused to look up once, just stared at the ugly, dull blue-grey carpet beneath him. No one dared to speak another word, not even Peter, who was surely staring at him with pity and concern that Neal did not want to acknowledge.
WCWCWCWC
Jones must have assembled the troops immediately after he got the text, because help in the form of a full-fledge SWAT team stormed the White Collar Unit under thirty minutes of the text being sent.
There was a few tense moments where it wasn't clear if the hostage takers would surrender or not, but they were outnumbered and outgunned and it was clear that they knew they were beat.
The arrests were slightly anticlimactic after the suspenseful standoff and everything that had occurred beforehand, but Neal was just relieved for this whole fiasco to be over.
Once the gunmen were secured, Jones and several other agents swooped in to cut everyone's binds off. When Jones got to Neal's, he hesitated, since they seemed to have had cut into his wrists, Neal realized as he looked down at his bound hands. "Looks like you didn't just sit quietly," he quipped, though there was a strain in his voice.
"You have no idea," Peter muttered, but his expression was again of concern as he also stared at Neal's wrists as Jones freed them as carefully as he could.
It was disconcerting to Neal to not even know when Peter had arrived next to him. One second he was with the other hostages, then he was right there next to Neal, a supportive hand on the younger man's shoulder. Neal allowed himself to lean into the strong touch.
Peter suddenly made some sort of pained sound, much to Neal's concern. Upon looking at Peter's face, though, it seemed that it was not his own self that he was speaking of. Neal followed Peter's gaze and was surprised to see that, now that Jones had pulled the sleeve up and out of the way, Neal's right forearm was dark and swollen.
"Looks broken," Jones said as he inspected the appendage.
"Didn't feel broken," Neal said a little numbly, though now that all attention was drawn to it, the pain in his arm was escalating. Neal wanted to pull his arm away from Jones' prodding fingers, but he knew that the agent wasn't intentionally trying to hurt him.
"EMT's are on their way," an agent said from somewhere behind Jones.
Medical attention sounded good right about now, since they had painkillers, and Neal honestly needed some of those about five minutes ago. The more he thought about his various injuries, the more they hurt. Now that the excitement was over, the adrenaline that had been keeping Neal going was leaving him, revealing every ache and pain he'd experienced in the last hours.
The EMT's arrived soon after and Neal was quickly taken away. Neal let himself drift, knowing that everything was being taken care of. Peter and the rest of the team had it handled.
WCWCWCWC
Several hours and tests later, Neal found himself on a bed in the emergency room, waiting for a nurse or doctor to tell him that he could go home.
With the lack of excitement of the previous hours, Neal was just starting to drift when Peter appeared out of nowhere, pulling back the curtain surrounding the bed Neal was in.
Neal forced himself to sit up a bit in an attempt to become more presentable and alert. It didn't really work on either account.
"Hey, how's the patient?" Peter said, perhaps with too much cheer.
"Sore...tired. Ready to go home," Neal responded a little slowly. He was given pain medication, but it seemed to dull more than the pain.
"Well, sounds like they'll let you go once the tests come back," Peter continued.
"Good," Neal said with a slow nod. The cut on his head had been stitched, but his arm had yet to be wrapped in a cast. He guessed, once the X-ray results came back, they'd get to that.
A compatible silence followed until Peter seemed to remember something. "Hey, a couple of us are coming over to my place tomorrow for some drinks and stuff. You know, since we didn't get to do much of that today. You're invited if you promise to take it easy."
"Are you sure another party is a good idea after what happened at the last one?" Neal asked doubtfully.
"That was a one-in-a-million kind of thing, and besides, it's more of a get-together than a party," Peter reasoned, waving off Neal's concerns.
"What's the difference?" Neal asked with a raised brow.
Peter smiled wryly as he took in Neal's wounded and generally disheveled state. "Less excitement."
WCWCWCWC
There wasn't one thing that Neal could think of that he didn't like about the Burkes' house. It was a place that he would have loved to grow up in, with a family that he would have loved to grow up around. They would have loved him, and he them.
There wouldn't have been stilted conversations, few and far between, while Neal's mother refused to meet his eyes, eyes that looked exactly like his father's blue snake eyes that conned those closest to him into believing that he was a decent person.
Back before everything, when he was still just Danny, Neal had thought it was grief that made his mother loathe their resemblance, but it was hatred for what he did to them. It wasn't fair to hate a child for looking like their parent, but Neal understood that he had reminded her, everyday, of the man she once loved, the man that betrayed her and, in her mind, ruined her life. Lost deep within her depression, she could never get past that.
At the Burkes beautiful, perfect house, there were no whiskey stains on the couch, no smell of cigarettes in the air. In another life, Neal would know what it was like to have food in the cabinets and on the dinner table every night. He'd go to bed with a full stomach, in a warm home and knowing that he was loved unconditionally.
And Christmas would have been the most special, with amazing decorations, not to mention the horribly overdecorated tree, and way too many cookies because he was spoiled and charmed his parents - perhaps Elizabeth and Peter, or parents just like them - into giving him just one more. There would be non-stop Christmas music playing all day long - the classics, of course, because they never went out of style.
Neal would wake them up early on Christmas Day, every year and no matter how old he got. They'd spend the day opening presents and watching Christmas classics on TV. There would be a big dinner that Neal had helped prepare for - and of course there'd be desserts they'd bring into the living room to enjoy. And they would fall asleep in front of the tv, with Neal held safely between them.
No, this make-believe world, it would be nothing like his childhood.
But the past was the past, there was no point in dwelling about memories that were never made, others he'd rather forget, and Christmases that were barely celebrated. He moved out and moved on with his life.
WCWCWCWC
Neal wasn't sure if he wanted to go to Peter's so-called get-together. Given what had happened the last time he was at a party, it just seemed like a bad idea.
But, if he was being honest with himself, he was really more concerned with how well received he would be with some of the people that would be there after what happened. Not everyone would see what he did as just a con to distract the hostage takers, and Neal didn't want to become the social pariah of the party.
But it was a party at the Burkes house - he couldn't say no to that. He was just being ridiculous anyway. It wasn't like it could be worse than the last party he was at.
WCWCWCWC
Neal hadn't realized that he hadn't been to the Burke's house in a while until he noticed all of the Christmas decorations that hadn't been there the last time. As the cab pulled up, he admired the fancy icicle lights that hung in a neat row along the gutter. The couple must have put them up in the last couple of weeks.
After paying his fare, Neal walked up the steps to the door and took in the multi-colored lights that were wrapped around the railing, and the large wreath hanging on the door, with its pinecones, berries and ribbons adorning it. He could smell fresh-cut boughs, earthy pinecones, hollyberry, and balsam as he knocked.
Moments later, Elizabeth answered the door, a bright smile on her beautiful face. "Hi, Neal! Come on in."
Neal was not surprised to see more Christmas decorations once he entered the house. A brightly lit Christmas tree was tucked into a corner, lights and other decorations were strewn about and Christmas music was playing softly in the background, all adding to the festive ambiance.
With the practiced ease of a long-time host, Elizabeth graciously helped Neal out of his coat, making sure to be extra careful with his broken wrist. As she hung the coat up with the rest, Neal took the time to scan the room. He could see several familiar, if not necessarily friendly, faces. The party didn't seem to be in full swing yet, but many guests had beverages and food in their hands as they socialized with one another.
"Don't be afraid to try some of the more interesting looking dishes," Elizabeth said as she steered Neal toward a table that was filled with unique and artfully crafted finger foods and snacks.
Neal was just about to comment on the vast assortment of foods when a timer buzzed from somewhere in the kitchen. "Oh, that'll be my grilled zucchini rollups. They're stuffed with lemon-basil ricotta and slow roasted tomatoes. You're going to love them!"
Neal was a little taken aback by her enthusiasm, but had to admit that they sounded appetizing. He didn't usually share the recipes he made with anyone but himself - and occasionally Mozzie, who criticized them to no end - so he wasn't really sure what excitement she might get out of sharing something she made.
"She's been experimenting and we're her guinea pigs," Peter said conspiratorially from one table over, which was obviously the 'normal food' table.
"I heard that, Peter Burke," both men heard Elizabeth yell from the kitchen. Peter winced with a muttered curse, grabbed a handful of pigs in a blanket and took off before Elizabeth could come back.
Chuckling softly to himself, Neal got himself a plate and started a collection of interesting finger foods. Soon his plate was full and he was ready to mingle.
Neal wasn't yet ready to face any of the colder agents, so he skillfully avoided them as he made his way across the room to where Peter had gone, saying a word to Diana and Jones as he passed them.
Neal quickly learned that the cast on his arm made eating considerably more difficult, so he settled on placing his plate down whenever he wanted something from it. For now, he found a table by the front door near where Peter stood.
"Elizabeth really went all out for this, didn't she?" Neal said as he tried a miniature lemon-filled tart. It was a delicious combination of sweet and tangy, and he made a mental note to remember to praise Elizabeth for it.
Peter didn't seem all that amused by Elizabeth's enthusiasm. "She gets like this when something like yesterday happens," he explained with a tint of guilt in his voice. "It's some sort of overbearing, mother-hen thing. I've learned to not get in her way and just let her get it out of her system."
"But nothing happened," Neal said, only to be given a very pointed look at his cast. "You know what I mean. Nothing happened to you."
Peter shook his head like Neal was being intentionally dense. His expression then changed pensive as he seemed to decide whether or not to include Neal in on what, exactly, was going on. "Okay, look. I'm going to spell this out for you now so it doesn't cause trouble later. Elizabeth cares about you, and when she cares for someone, she doesn't like to see them in harms way."
"Oh," Neal said, though he wasn't sure if he fully understood everything. Elizabeth caring made sense - she was a kind person - but to the point of worrying and nervous cooking? That was a little confusing to Neal.
Peter gave Neal a pat on the back. "Just try not to get yourself into situations where she has to worry, okay?"
"But I didn't even want to go to that stupid party," Neal argued, sounding more petulant than he intended.
"No, but you find yourself plenty of trouble any other day," Peter pointed out as he popped a bread-wrapped pig into his mouth.
Neal chose not to comment on that. Instead he tried something else on his plate. The thing he chose appeared to be a small meatball attached to a toothpick. It had looked tasty, but turned out to be a mess of flavors that did not mesh for anything.
Neal discreetly spit it back out into a napkin, but of course Peter noticed. A hearty laugh both irritated him and almost had him laughing as well, if not for his years of practice at controlling his outward responses.
After his laughter died down, Peter spotted someone from across the room and smirked in an oddly secretive way. "Come on, someone wanted to see you," he said vaguely.
Neal followed warily, not sure who he was about to see. A concerning thought suddenly struck Neal. If Peter was honestly trying to set Neal up on a date...
It wasn't some woman he'd have to let down easy. The person wasn't even a woman - it was Agent Johnston.
Johnston appeared to be quite chastened, which was uncharacteristic of the outgoing agent. "Hey, Caffrey. I wanted to thank you for, you know, saving me. I shouldn't have doubted you," he said, by all appearances being completely sincere, much to Neal's surprise.
Neal reassured the agent that all was forgiven, and the two of them even shared a few laughs about the whole unlikely situation. It turned out that the hostage takers were hacking into the FBI's database to find the location of evidence that linked their crew to several bank heists across the United States. Fortunately, the FBI's impressive firewalls and Jones' impeccable timing stopped them from their mission. One more point for the good guys.
After that, the tension that Neal had been carrying seemed to lift off of him and he was able to truly enjoy himself. The warm, inviting atmosphere relaxed him and, for the first time in a while, he let his worries go and just enjoyed the evening.
This Christmas party - or get-together, as Peter wanted to call it, no matter what it really was - this was one he didn't want to forget. Tasteful food was consumed, merry banter and pleasantries were passed around, and a couple of people danced to a few songs, including Elizabeth and Peter, who were still so clearly in love, even after over ten years of marriage.
After most of the food had been eaten and the party was beginning to wind down, Peter approached Neal with his hands behind his back and a secretive smile on his face.
"Hey, I got something for you," Peter announced as he revealed a festively wrapped package from behind his back.
"Peter, you shouldn't have! I don't have anything to give you," Neal said as he eyed the package with a curious glint in his eyes.
The gesture seemed odd in of itself. Peter had never given Neal anything - well, besides limited freedom and his own personal monitoring anklet to go with it.
"Don't worry about it. Think of it as more of a get-well present," Peter said with a slightly mischievous smirk on his face as he handed the present to Neal.
With excitement and curiosity propelling him, Neal ripped at the paper with more vigor than he usually would have. Both emotions quickly died when Neal realized what was given to him. Inside the festive paper was a rather large book titled 'The Elements of Police Hostage and Crisis Negotiations: Critical Incidents and How to Respond to Them'.
"Wow, you really shouldn't have," Neal deadpanned, all enthusiasm lost.
"You should read this - it has many ways of defusing a hostage situation without anyone getting hurt. So maybe next time when they tell you to sit down, you'll sit," Peter said, smiling widely at the gag gift.
"Hey, if I remember correctly, it was my improvising that saved us," Neal argued.
Peter's expression turned serious suddenly. "Yes, but your way got someone hurt," he said solemnly as he placed his hand on Neal's shoulder for a moment. Although a gag gift, Neal understood the sentiment behind it - don't take that risk next time, it wasn't worth it. To know that Peter cared that much warmed Neal's heart.
"What makes you think there will even be a next time?" Neal asked after a minute.
"Because you find trouble wherever you go, even at an FBI office Christmas party," Peter answered with a scowl.
"They weren't even there for me!" Neal continued to argue.
"Yes, but you caused even more trouble. Read the book and you'll know what to do next time," Peter said as he pointed at the gift.
"Again with the 'next time'. I think you should be giving me a little more credit."
Right then, Jones and Diana walked over, both laughing at Peter's idea of a funny gift. Both agents had their own things to say about Neal's unusual methods, both good and bad, but everyone seemed to agree that, at the end of the day, the bad guys were locked away and all seemed to end well, with the exception of Neal's injuries.
Once Hughes joined in on the conversation, Neal knew that he was beat. Although, strangely enough, Hughes did pat Neal on the shoulder with a "You did good, kid," that came right out of the left field.
Elizabeth took a break from being hostess to come over and join in on the banter. She defended Neal more than the others, but still bemoaned over his injuries. She then worried over him as she heard more about what had happened.
The mother-henning, the praises, and the friendliness - all things that he just wasn't used to - was a little much for Neal, but he chose to let some of his masks fall and just enjoy the moment. He knew now that he was in the presence of friends and didn't need to pretend or keep his facade of perfection up.
Neal didn't grow up in a perfect house, with a perfect family that loved him unconditionally, but, looking at Peter, Elizabeth, and everyone else around him, he realized that he may have found something just as good.
Thanks for reading!