lowriseflare and dennis. Both of you are made of win.
He doesn't think about it the first time Neal touches her, or the second. But the third time that Neal touches Elizabeth-hand to the small of her back as the three of them are leaving the townhouse-he's shocked.
Peter isn't jealous or upset or territorial; in fact, he's stunned by the lack of all of these emotions in him, at seeing another man touch his wife so intimately. Had this been another man, any other person, someone other than Neal, he knows instinctively how he would react. How he's reacted before.
He would be on the other man in a second, drawing the touch away, informing him in no uncertain terms that his actions were inappropriate.
He wonders, just why he isn't offended. It's an assumption on Neal's part to believe that such a gesture wouldn't draw ire from him. It's more of an assumption to believe that Ellie would accept such a touch from anyone but her husband. She is fiercely loyal, unfailingly devoted and such behavior isn't like her. One constant that always keeps him in awe is his fierce love and constant desire for his wife; he's never considered another woman, never. Elizabeth reciprocates his feelings in kind and that amazes him equally. Their partnership is strong and determined and all-inclusive.
They're committed in every sense of the word.
So why isn't such a possessive gesture on the part of someone else towards his wife causing him to become even the slightest bit unsettled?
It's a quandary that keeps him up for the next few nights, thinking about how he should have reacted, why he hadn't rectified the situation.
He's unsettled at how distinctly not-unsettled he was. His eyes trained on the ceiling as he pondered wave after wave of issues.
Mostly, Peter wonders where the line is, at what gesture the tipping point would be reached. He wonders what Neal would have to do to get him to react with anger. If his hand had slid lower, skimmed her ass, what would he have done then? It's all terribly, terribly confusing.
And why hadn't Elizabeth reacted differently to his touch? Any other man would at least have entertained the notion that his wife and this other man were engaged in some sort of adulterous behavior. But Peter hadn't even given that the briefest thought when she'd failed to pull away.
And why?
Surely, he and Neal had become fairly close over the course of the past several months. They spent entire days together, had fallen into a working relationship that was fluid. At times, they were in tandem. More recently, Neal had begun appearing at their home on weeknights and inevitably, Elizabeth would ask him to stay for dinner. Not once during any of those occasions had Neal even dared to look at her inappropriately.
He knows the man like a well-perused textbook; he's spent the better part of the past three years cataloging Caffery's idiosyncrasies, his motives, his personality. If the man wanted to stake a claim, the biggest question he has is "Why now?" There's sure to be some complex psychology behind it but he's not a profiler and, truth be told, he doesn't want to analyze something that he's unsure of the answer to.
This is a matter that deserves the benefit of a good sit-and-think. It's the sort of matter that really requires a delving into one's own psyche, require an admittance of a certain type of feeling that he wasn't sure he was altogether ready to begin to deal with. It was a want, a distinct and deep sort of want, an intricate, cloying type of thing and was just... just tricky.
There are things though, on the surface, that he can figure out, that he can deem to deal with.
Peter processes it, he thinks about it, he realizes that he's absolutely fine with Neal touching Elizabeth. But yet still, he doesn't know why.
He continually thinks about it, about what Ellie could have been feeling upon finding that it wasn't her husband's hand on her. Knowing that her husband was watching. Neal knowing that Peter was watching. It's a little screwed up, thinking about it at all, he supposes. Isn't it?
It happens again, three evenings later as he's walking behind her to the kitchen. His left hand casually drifts in and settles and Peter swears, he swears he hears his wife sigh. It's half-contentedness and half-longing and it's so strange. It makes him think, "Maybe I should touch her too?" But he doesn't do it because, they can't both be touching her at the same time. That would be-
Something else entirely.
Peter watches on as they disappear into the kitchen.
One of the things that confuses the hell out of him is the synchronicity between the three of them; they're seamless together. The interaction is so fluid, there's no vying for dominance of the conversation or for the attention of the other. They're eating dinner and the conversation flows easily and it's hours before they're finished with the meal as they keep pausing to speak and laugh.
And gaze at one another.
On more than one occasion, Peter catches himself staring in the other man's direction. And on more than one occasion, Neal catches him. Peter doesn't know what surprises him more, that he isn't embarrassed at being caught or that Neal had no problem reciprocating. He blames it on the wine because it's the easy thing to do and what else is there? Really, what's he supposed to admit, that there's something here?
There's more than something here? That there's layers and layers of it waiting to be peeled back and dissected and illuminated?
Because there is; there's something here, running right beneath the surface, a bright hot current that can't be ignored. It's distracting, now that he's acknowledged it. An all-encompassing need to know that itches at the base of his skull just begging to be scratched.
They finish up their meal, lingering over dessert and it's a welcoming warmth when El's hand falls on his knee; it helps to numb the need Peter is being enveloped by. And it's not unwelcome when he realizes that El's hand is also on Neal's knee as well. The men's eyes meet across the table and something shifts. It's indescribable and honest and Peter swallows against the warm rush in his veins.
"Well, dinner was absolutely delicious, as usual," Neal mentions to Elizabeth and she smiles up at him, warm with wine, cheeks rosy. "But I should be off."
Neal slides into the living room in that way that he moves and grabs his coat from the rack. As he is about to leave, Peter shows him to the door, moves his hand in to rest against the small of his back. As the door opens and Neal slips through, he turns back and asks, "Do you get it?"
It's the beginning of an understanding that he still cannot seem, for the life of him, to understand.