Disclaimer: Clearly I don't own this....If I did, I would be rich, and you would have seen this scene on TV
Neal Caffrey has never been afraid of who he is. He knows that he looks good, hell he knows that he could have practically anyone he wanted with a wink a gesture; but that's not Neal.
Sure he flirts a lot; but never once has he taken one of the girls home. Peter accuses him of being a playboy, but that's not Neal.
Neal tips his glass back, and lets the last few drops of wine roll down the condensation-frosted side of the glass to his lips. It had been a hard few days, with a harder case strung out on top of them. A simple money laundering case involving a dry-cleaners, the local art museum, and four different shipping companies had spiraled out of control as first the money forgery had turned to laundering, then to blackmail, then to art theft, then forgery, and finally murder and drug running.
Peter Burke had been ordered to pull Neal off the case once the under-cover ex-con had discovered the blackmail, but by that point he was in too deep. Neal's old friend and former associate was running the ring, and decided to put his skills to good use.
Peter had spent the better part of two days trying to find a way to gracefully extract Neal from the mess, but since all of it hinged on Neal's friend not noticing that the former thief had suddenly developed a taste for flaking out on his friends, Neal had disagreed.
He had disagreed strongly enough that he'd cut his anklet, and gone back in to the group. Within two days Neal had brought the whole group crashing down, actually delivering the entire organization, and the head of the local mafia, right to the FBI's doorstep. Complete with ribbon and card.
Neal rather wished that he could have seen the agent's faces when they opened the armored vehicle he had sent them and found eighteen of the city's most wanted criminals bound, gagged, and very unhappy with all the photographic evidence needed to put them away for life.
A banging on the door to his apartment brought Neal's head up off the back of the deck chair with a jerk. He blinked owlishly at the full moon hanging over the city spires, and shook his head sharply as the world spun around him.
Maybe he was a bit drunker than he had thought.
"Come in." He yelled, if it was Peter he'd be there anyway, and June and Moz both knew what the week had brought.
The door creaked open as Neal reached out an unsteady hand to grasp the mostly-empty wine bottle by the neck. He poured the last of the wine carefully into his glass, staring intently at the deep burgundy flow so he didn't spill a precious drop.
Peter came out onto the balcony, surprised to find Neal there, just in time to see Neal put the bottle down carefully, a foot and a half to the left of the table. He sighed, obviously the discussion he needed to have with Caffrey would have to wait.
He crouched down next to the thief's chair, placing a hand on the arm for balance.
"Hey Peter," Neal said softly. The silky glide of the ex-con's voice sent chills racing down the FBI agent's spine. Neal's voice was deeper than normal, softer and somehow more intimate, though whether it was from the alcohol or something else Peter didn't know.
"Neal," he responded softly, watching Neal's throat work as he swallowed the last of the (most likely hideously expensive) wine. "Why did you come back?"
"Where else would I go Peter?" The sorrow in Neal's voice was heartbreaking.
"I don't know, anywhere. But you have to know that they're going to lock you up again after this stunt." Peter dragged himself to his feet, and then pulled the unsteady man up with him. "Let's get you in bed, we can discuss this in the morning."
"I wouldn't run Peter." Neal said, carefully placing his feet on the smooth slate with exaggerated care. Peter was amused to see that Neal was barefoot, though for the life of him he couldn't figure out why that was amusing.
"Why Neal." He asked, pausing the thief by his bed to strip him of his tie, jacket, hat and pants.
As Neal sank down onto the silk sheets, looking strangely young and vulnerable in only his boxers and an undershirt, he blinked at his keeper, backup, and friend. "Because you're here Peter." He said as though it were simple common sense.
"Neal," Peter said, trying to stop the other man before he said something he would regret.
"I could never leave you Peter, after all, I trust you." Neal murmured as his eyes slipped closed.
Peter pulled the blankets up over the other man, and paused to set two Tylenol and a glass of water on the bedside table before joining the other agents by the door.
"I believe, Agent Burke, that we can trust your judgment on the matter of Neal Caffrey from this point onward." The director of the field office said from behind one of the other men. Peter blinked; he hadn't even realized that the man had come with them.
"Thank you sir." Peter said softly, surprised once again by the unpredictable man.
"Let's go." The director said, ushering the rest of the agents out of the apartment.
In the other room, Neal smiled softly, and curled up under his blankets, murmuring to himself "Peter…" and dreaming of a hand smoothing itself through his hair.