WARNING: This fic contains CORPORAL PUNISHMENT. If you don't like, please hit the backspace now.
PLAYING BY THE RULES
"We're going to play a game, Neal."
"That sounds great, Peter. You know how I enjoy games."
"Yes I do." Peter paused. "Let me know at the end of this one if you like it and we can play it again."
"OK." Neal stood where Peter had deposited him in the middle of the Burke's living room a few minutes earlier.
"Let me tell you how this game is played." Peter began to circle Neal as he spoke." Each round will have a question and you are only allowed to answer Yes, or No." Peter rolled up his sleeves as he continued to explain the rules. "Any other answers will not be accepted. If you say any other word or words, you still have to continue the round but you get a bonus strike against you. Got it so far?"
"Yeah. I played a game like this once where you couldn't use Yes or No so you had to think of all other ways to answer the questions like maybe, sometimes, quite often...I was really good at that game." Neal appeared very proud of himself. "No one could ever beat me."
"What a surprise, but moving right along." Peter continued to speak from behind Neal's back. Where's Peter going with this? "In this game, if you win the round by answering 'no', nothing happens and you get to continue to the following round."
OK. So far so good. "And if I lose the round by answering, 'yes'?" Neal was catching on fast.
"If you lose the round, you get to hold out your left hand," Peter appeared in front of Neal again, "and I get to strike it with my little wooden ruler." Peter revealed the ruler to Neal who took an involuntary step back. Peter pointed to the spot where he'd originally told Neal to stand and his young partner reluctantly moved back into place.
There was nothing little about this ruler. It was large, heavy, solid and very likely painful. No, little was not an appropriate adjective. Maybe I should tell Peter? "Where the hell did that come from?" Neal squealed instead.
"You never know what I might have hiding around here Neal." Of course Neal immediately pictured something kinky between Peter and Elizabeth but dared not bring it up with his partner's current mood being what it was…that might just push Peter over the edge of whatever it was he was teetering close to.
"You ready to play?"
"No. I don't like those rules. They're not fair. If I lose the round, something bad happens to me but if I win the round, nothing good happens. That's not very sporting of you."
"Perhaps you are right. Far be it for me not to be fair. What do you think is fair, Neal?"
"OK. How about this….If I win the round, you give me the ruler and I hit YOU with it?"
Peter glared at Neal.
"OK. Probably not what you had in mind when you invented this fantastic game of yours." Neal aimed for something more realistic. "How about if I win a round, I get a point and if I get five points, you take me to the MET tomorrow instead of the office?"
"Mmmm...interesting offer." Peter turned his back on Neal and tapped the ruler against the side of his leg. It was a long ruler ….almost touching the floor … or was that Neal's irrational imagination working over time. Either way, it was a long ruler. Peter began to reveal his hand, "OK, I'll give you points for answering 'yes'," Neal smiled, "but the prize will be that you can stay here for dinner and a movie and spend the night." Neal looked disappointed so Peter continued, "And you only have to get one point to win the prize."
"Just one point?" Neal considered.
"Yes, just one point and the prize is all yours."
"OK. I'll accept your counteroffer."
"Now one final rule."
Neal rolled his eyes. Come on Peter, the world is moving on and leaving us behind!
"There will be a small twist in the final round. Yes will become no and no will become yes." Neal looked either very bewildered or incredibly bored so Peter moved it along. "But I'll revise that rule again when we reach the final round. OK?"
"Let's start the game….Please."
"Round one." Peter stood in front of Neal, his face no longer looking playful, he was in serious game mode. "During our raid this afternoon at the Kensington Street Warehouse, did I tell you to stay in the van until the area was secure?"
Neal eyed the ceiling, a heavy sigh escaping his lips, realization dawning on him how this wasn't going to be a very fun game after all. "Yes," he all but whispered.
"What's that Neal? I need to be able to hear your answers. I'd hate for you to miss out on a point that is rightfully yours."
"Yes!" Neal stated with annoyance.
"Bzzzzz. You lose the first round." Peter waited patiently in front of Neal. Eventually, Neal lifted his left arm and turned over his hand until his palm was poised in the firing line. Peter gave a satisfied nod, lifted his ruler and brought it down across Neal's soft, white palm with a resounding crack.
"Far out Peter!" Neal screamed and pulled his hand against his chest while cradling the wounded extremity with his right.
"Round two Neal." Peter took a few steps around the room before returning to stand before Neal. "Getting back to the warehouse…Even though you knew there was very strong Intel leading us to believe our suspects would be armed, you got out of the van and proceeded to the back entrance. Correct?"
"Yes." A very defeated yes this time spoken to the floor. He held out his hand while his eyes remained fixed on his shoes. Peter waited till Neal lifted his eyes for a peak before bringing the ruler down hard for a second time. Once again Neal grabbed his hand back and cradled it against his chest.
"Round three."
"Really Peter. Can't you be a little more creative? This game is boring the hell out of me. I'd have more fun playing pick-up-sticks!"
"Well we can play something else later if you like. Right now we're in the middle my game. Only poor sports walk out on a game halfway through because they're losing." Man he was so infuriating.
"Round three," Peter began again. "Even though you knew there may be armed men inside, you entered the warehouse where you were subsequently taken hostage by a seven foot mega-man wielding a knife. Is this correct?"
"Well I wouldn't say seven foot more like six-ten…."
"Bzzzzz…That's a bonus strike against you but you still need to answer the question… Neal…Answer the question please."
"Yes." Neal looked around to the front door.
"No. El won't be home for a while yet. And remember, there will be two this time so don't pull your hand away." Neal extended his hand with great reluctance till it was positioned half-way between the two men. He found himself following the track of the ruler as Peter lifted the end up high above his head and brought it down hitting the target with perfect precision. He sucked in a sharp intake of breath to hold in the word that was dying to escape his lips.
Not wanting to give Peter the satisfaction of bringing another foolish rule into play, Neal held his hand in place and awaited another hit. "Owwwww!" This time Neal shot his throbbing hand up to under his right arm-pit hoping to force out some of the pain.
"Round four. Now I wasn't in the room for this, so correct me if I'm wrong ok?" Neal nodded. "Dianna came to your rescue, cocked her pistol against mega-man's back, he released you, dropped his knife and Dianna told you to step away. So," Peter held the ruler against his chin like he was deep in thought as he circled Neal, "instead of following your team member's directions, you turned to mega-man, flashed your 'FBI badge' and said in a very smug voice, 'You're under arrest, Stretch!'"
Neal chuckled, couldn't help it, tried to rescue himself but it happened anyway. Peter had been behind Neal and his little private joke earned him a solid smack across his backside with the ruler. Neal flinched with the sharp sting. Shit. He didn't expect it was in the rules but he wasn't going to pull Peter up on it either. He didn't have a death wish!
Peter continued, "Mega-man blew his top and bopped you on the top of your head with his fist, knocking you to the ground." Peter tapped Neal lightly on the top of his head with the ruler in the approximate position of the earlier blow. "Correct?"
"Look Peter if you just let me I can explain…"
"Bzzzzzz. Another bonus strike against you. You do realize Neal that the bonus strikes are NOT what you should be aiming for? Bonus strikes are bad."
"Piss off Peter. You're really irritating you know that?"
"We'll that depends, but answer my question and then I'll answer yours."
"Yessssss!" Neal brought his hand back into play. Peter gave the now rather rosie red palm a solid wallop with the ruler and quickly brought it down for a second helping before Neal had a chance to react. "For crying out loud, Peter!" Neal screamed out, while at the same time bending over to squeeze his hands between his knees.
"Yeah. I guess I can be quite irritating. But then again, can't we all? Round five." Peter returned to circling Neal. He was swinging the ruler around like it was some brolly and he was out for a stroll in the park. "I entered the room at this time, to find you crumpled in a mess on the floor, a knife lying on the ground beside you, and a man slash giant wrestling with several agents. Dianna was very unsuccessfully attempting to handcuff the suspect while at the same time, trying to prevent you from being trampled to death! Peter's voice had begun to rise so he stepped over to the table and took a swig of his ice water. Peter regained his composure and turned back to Neal. "Ok so the question is, and I have no one to back this up, but I don't think I'm wrong….," pausing for a moment to be sure he still held Neal's attention. "When we got the suspect into custody, first he told us that we'd stolen his wallet," Peter shook his head at Neal and said with his eyes, can you believe that? "Then when he found it, he actually accused us of taking one of his Benjamins." Neal looked at his shoes again. They really could do with a polish … I wonder if Peter would let me. "Neal," the young con reluctantly looked up, "you took the hundred, didn't you?" Not wanting to have to answer, Neal stuck his hands in his pocket and pulled out the hundred dollar note. He passed it to Peter who slipped it into his shirt pocket. "Ok, Neal. So yes, you stole it or no, you didn't?"
Dammit! "Yes. Yes. Yes!"
"OK. I'll only count that as one, Neal, after all I guess that wasn't clearly set out in the rules at the beginning of the game. It would be un-sportsman like of me to introduce new rules half-way through a game."
"Oh how very thoughtful of you, Peter." But in a more mellow tone he asked, "Can I have it on the other hand? My left hand is really killing me. See." He tilted his palm towards Peter while still sheltering it close to his body for safety.
"No, you'll need your right hand at work tomorrow and I don't want to hear any whining that your hand is too sore to complete the mortgage fraud paper work that I'm guessing will take up most of your day." Neal cringed and Peter continued. "But this needs to be fair so I guess if your left hand is too sore to continue, I suppose I'll allow you to drop your pants and bend over the chair. It's really not going to matter too much to me."
Neal gave Peter a death stare but held out his hand eventually, the left one and once again Peter slammed the nasty wooden stick against his stinging palm.
"Peter! Neal hollered out the word. As good as any curse word. "Enough of this awful game! I hate it. I can't stand it anymore. It's not fun for me at all! …..And it hurts a lot." Neal finished this last statement with a look in his eyes that almost broke Peter's heart.
Peter stepped over and placed the ruler on the arm chair before turning and placing both hands on Neal's shoulders. "You don't like playing this game, Neal?" Neal looked into his eyes and shook his head. "I don't like playing your games either, Buddy."
Neal's angry eyes darted around the room for an escape but there wasn't much in the way of possibilities particularly since his partners heavy hands felt like vice grips clamping down on his smaller frame.
Peter continued "You hate it? ... I hate it when one of my team doesn't think he needs to play by the rules. You can't stand it anymore? … Our team can't stand it that we have a loose cannon who puts our operations into jeopardy because he can't follow the rules of the game. It's no fun? … Not much fun for me Neal, when I walk in a room and see you lying on the ground with a weapon beside you and a suspect looming over your still body." Peter finally began to see remorse seep into Neal's eyes. Not an easy accomplishment with this kid.
"And it hurts a lot? ... Well, I don't even want to go there, but let me just say, you can't even begin to imagine how much it would hurt me, if anything ever happened to you."
Peter pulled Neal into a hug when he saw a lone tear trace it's way down his young friend's face. After a short intermission, Peter pulled away and Neal drew an arm across his face.
"Round Six." Peter announced, although his voice had a softer tone to it than before. He stepped over to pick up the ruler and returned to stand facing Neal. "Final round Neal. Now remember earlier I said there'd be a slight change to the final round?" Neal nodded. "This time, if you answer no you lose and if you answer yes then you win the round. Easy?"
Neal just nodded to acknowledge his understanding.
"OK. Round Six. Do you think you could ever get it through that bonehead of yours that you are part of our team and our team has rules that keep us all safe? My team is like my family Neal, and as captain of the team I'll protect it above all else. Do you think you could make an effort to accept your position on the team even though we play by different rules to what you've played with all your life?" Neal opened his mouth to answer but Peter continued. "So yes… you do think it could happen, or no …don't hold your breath, not in my lifetime, it couldn't possibly happen."
Neal looked up at Peter. He looked around at the house, the special place he would love to call home. Almost did. He looked at the pictures on the wall, above the fireplace, his eyes falling on the one that had been taken at the staff Christmas party of Peter, Neal, Dianna and Clinton. "Yes."
"What was that Neal? I couldn't hear you."
"Yes Peter. I do get it and I'll try harder to be a team player. And, I'm sorry."
"Ding Ding. Neal you won the final round. I won't count those extra words, that's just a beginner's mistake. That's one point. You win the prize. Congratulations."
Peter gave Neal another hug. This time Neal cuddled into his shoulder. "Can I have a beer, Peter?"
An odd request, Neal was not much of a beer person. "Sure Buddy, but I have a fine bottle of red if you'd prefer."
"No, the beer please." Neal took the beer gratefully from Peter and pressed it into his left palm, an instant reprieve from the pain throbbing through his hand. Peter grinned.
"If you like, you can decide what we'll have for dinner. We'll be making it ourselves. El's working late."
The two men were now sitting across from each other in the lounge. "Mmmm….In that case, I choose a Barbeque. Sizzling steak, barbeque sauce, fresh onions, tomato and lettuce."
"Awesome suggestion. I'll go check the ingredients." Peter headed for the kitchen.
"I'll get the fire up and running." Neal began to make tracks for the back patio when he found himself snagged by his upper arm.
"Hold on mister. I know your game. You are NOT burning that ruler."
"Peter, I'm offended you'd think I was capable of such malicious behavior." Neal gave a mock pout.
"We both know your more than capable, Neal. Besides, we need that ruler if we're going to play the game again."
"We won't EVER be playing that game again, Peter. Forget it, not on your life, no chance in hell."
"We'll see. In any case, you check the ingredients, I'll start the fire." Peter gave Neal a gentle shove towards the kitchen. As he watched his friend from behind he thought to himself, 'No, he'll be ready for a rematch sometime soon. In fact, sooner than I'd like,' he expected. 'Better continue to practice my swing!'