In case you missed the story tag, this is hurt/comfort. That's what I like to read and what I like to write. My Neal is more open; my Peter is kinder. So if that's not your thing, then my stories may not be for you.

I own nothing but the mistakes for which I accept all responsibility.

Chapter One

"I swear to God I will shoot you, Caffrey." Agent Rice had taken her eyes off the road briefly to send daggers in his direction. It wasn't the first time; he'd actually lost count. "Leave the radio alone."

When Agent Hughes told him he'd been requested to consult on a case and would be going to Albany for a few days, Neal had been ecstatic. A two-mile radius didn't give much opportunity to travel; learning he'd be making the drive instead of flying (there was a thing with his ankle monitor) made it all the better.

Until the part came when he learned who he'd be riding up with. Not Peter, Clinton or Diana. Not even a random agent he'd never met.

Agent Kimberly Rice.

"But sir," Neal had burst out. "The last time I-"

"I'm well aware of what happened the last time," Agent Hughes interrupted. "Agent Rice admitted she'd mishandled things and was reprimanded for her actions." The agent's eyes drilled into his. "You're not suggesting we hold a lapse of judgment against her indefinitely, are you?"

Neal knew a trap when he saw one. If that was what he was suggesting then, by implication, he had no right to expect anything different. And he had to admit, he was prone to what could be considered lapses in judgment and he certainly didn't want them held against him indefinitely.

"Of course not, sir," he adjusted, sending a look of petition in Peter's direction. Surely he would intervene, offer to come along or better yet, make the drive to Albany himself. Two hours in the car with Peter wasn't a picnic but two hours with Agent Rice?

Last meal came to mind.

"It's just that she doesn't like me, sir." Neal realized he sounded like a middle schooler complaining about a teacher. "And," he continued, toughening up his tone, "considering she almost got me killed the feeling is mutual."

"You're both professionals, Caffrey," Hughes snapped irritably. Neal felt himself puff up at the compliment. "You don't have to like each other," the agent continued. "This is work, not a vacation." There was like a zero percent chance Neal would ever be confused on that account. "Once you get to Albany you'll be turned over to Agent Bevins, the agent in charge."

Turned over to? A moment ago he'd been called a professional; now he was simply property changing hands. Hughes giveth and Hughes taketh away; Neal felt himself deflate.

"That's the end of it, Caffrey," Hughes said firmly, quelling any further protest. His patience with Neal, as usual, was wearing thin. "Pack a bag and bring it with you tomorrow," he instructed. "Agent Rice will be here at four to pick you up."

That was it, then. Dismissed, Neal cast a hostile look at Peter who'd made no effort to help and left the office. He returned to the case files he'd been working on when he'd been summoned from the catwalk with the double finger point. He'd known then it couldn't be good, but being personally requested to work on a case, coupled with the idea of new scenery, had momentarily distracted him from the inevitable disappointment that was to come.

No amount of pleading that day or the following one had changed his fate; he was destined to ride to Albany with someone who viewed him as less than a person. Peter couldn't drive him up; he was in court for the next few days and Neal had been unable to beg, or even bribe Clinton or Diana into driving him up.

Of course, just as he always did when faced with less than ideal circumstances, Neal searched for a silver lining.

The trip to Albany via the Thruway was a little over two and a half hours; according to the map app on his phone, taking the Taconic State Parkway would take just under three. He pitched his idea to Peter the next day when he returned to the office while the hearing had been adjourned until two.

"There is no way in hell Rice is going to take the scenic route to Albany," Peter told him. "She's not going to want to be in the car with you one minute longer than she has to be."

"Ah," Neal replied. "But you know what they say, Peter, time flies when you're having fun."

"But it screeches to a halt when you're miserable."

"Exactly," Neal grinned, a plan having formed in his head. "And that's the point I plan to make to Agent Rice."

"Neal," he knew by Peter's tone a warning was imminent, "This is an opportunity to make a good impression on the higher-ups; don't jeopardize it with some childish plan to get back at Agent Rice."

Neal wanted to remind Peter that his plans were never childish; they were intricate, complex and well thought out. It was his motivation that sometimes lacked maturity.

"I'd never jeopardize a chance to look good to the higher-ups," he assured him. "I just think the trip would be nicer if we took the parkway, that's all."

"Well, good luck with that," Peter replied, checking his watch. "Just do your job and stay out of trouble, Neal. How you behave reflects on the rest of us."

First, he'd been made to feel like government property being transferred and now he felt like a child being sent to camp with a stern warning to not act a fool.

Given a choice, he guessed he liked the latter better than the former.

So now, a day after he'd been informed of his trip and the unfortunate travel arrangements it required, he was sitting in the passenger seat of Agent Rice's silver Toyota. As anticipated, in spite of his list of well-researched virtues, she'd shot down his idea of taking the parkway instead of the Thruway. Now, he'd moved to part B of the plan.

In spite of her threat, Neal hit the seek button on the radio for what was somewhere between the tenth and fifteenth time since she'd refused to alter her route to Albany.

"I'm just bored," Neal replied, pausing a moment as if determining whether or not the station suited him. Of course what was on the radio was irrelevant; after fifteen seconds he hit seek again.

"Are you seriously going to do that the whole way?" Agent Rice was already beginning to crack.

"Probably so," he admitted with a sigh of feinted long-suffering. "Maybe if the scenery was more stimulating..." he let his sentence taper off and moved to the next station. He mentally counted off fifteen seconds then, waiting to catch the voice mid-sentence, hit the button again.

The interval between station changes needed to be long enough for a listener to engage in the content-be it a conversation, advertisement or song-but not long enough for them to find any satisfaction in it. It was kind of like Chinese water torture; a person could only take so much of it.

"Dammit Caffrey," she burst out after another forty-five seconds of drip-drip-drip, or rather seek-seek-seek. It was an effective strategy. "You are such a child!"

He'd been called so much worse. "If you mean I have an inquisitive mind," he replied with a grin. "I couldn't agree more."

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen...

"Today, in a stunning move," the sports announcer began, "Houston and Cleveland swung a deal for-"

Click.

"Okay," She surrendered in frustration. Apparently not knowing what deal was swung between Houston and Cleveland was the final straw. "You win." He loved, loved, loved to win. "Taconic State Parkway it is but if you touch that radio again I swear I will kill you."

He almost believed she meant it but since killing a borrowed CI would probably end her career, he didn't think she'd actually do it. As far as he could tell, her career was the only thing she cared about.

"Actually we both win," he replied. "It will be great; trust me, you'll thank me later."

"Two things I will never do, Caffrey," she growled. "Trust you or thank you."

"You know what they say, Kimberly," the thrill of victory was only compounded by the look of fury on her face. "Never say never."