The usual disclaimers: I own nothing and Jeff Eastin has not called my advice for season four. But I do want to thank him for the loan of his wonderful characters.
There is probably not too much point to this story except I just wanted a gentle friendship story.
The alarm came on again and Peter Burke rolled over, certain the damn thing had malfunctioned and he'd only got two minutes from the snooze, not five. He blinked when he realized he must have hit snooze at least twice before, and he was in real danger of being late to work if he didn't get up now.
The other side of the bed was cold and empty. He allowed himself a brief moment of regret before reluctantly getting out of bed. Elizabeth was at her mother's, with Satchmo. Her mother had fallen ten days ago, injuring her hip. Nothing was broken, thank God, but Elizabeth had gone home to stay with her Mom, as her sister had numerous pressing duties with her children and could not leave. Her father was away, doing God knew what. Weird guy. El, thinking it would relieve the burden for her husband, took the dog with her, also explaining that Satch would be some company for her as her mother took had her own routines that Elizabeth knew from experience she did not like altered.
But it left a cold, empty house for Peter Burke.
Racing through shaving and showering, Peter went downstairs to see that he wasn't going to have time to eat anything – again. He sighed; he used to manage time better than this. But he'd been at the office last night until nearly midnight and then stayed up even later to talk to his wife like two teenagers until El's mom told them to get off the phone. They laughed and reluctantly hung up.
And to think, he had another week of this to go.
In weaker moments, Peter wondered uncharitably if his brother in law, Robert, had anything to do with his wife being unable to help. God knew, Robert could be wily enough when it came to getting out of taking day to day care of his children. Peter felt aggrieved that El's sister couldn't have at least taken one week of this duty. But he kept his mouth shut. It was only when he was tired like this that the thought reared its ugly head. In his mind, he could hear El admonishing him for even thinking it. But, dammit, Robert had gotten out of that Thanksgiving debacle last year with obnoxious Uncle Jim and Aunt Grace. Peter still felt the injustice of that one. Robert had a hunting trip planned that could not be canceled. So Peter was stuck in a house full of in laws and one of the most annoying men alive in Uncle Jim, who was an old hippie who would argue anything. The fact that one of his nieces had married a Fed caused Jim no end of grief and angst, it seemed. A smile crossed Peter's face; at least after the holiday El had felt so guilty they'd had a damn good time coming home the long way and staying an extra night in a swank ski lodge.
Giving his tie a final adjustment, Peter grabbed the car keys and headed for the door. This week had been brutal for the White Collar division of the FBI; nonstop cases, surveillance and research. His entire team was drooping, he knew. But they'd closed on three cases with arrests and Peter hoped to nail that hedge fund manager today. What was with hedge fund managers anyway? Maybe he could actually get home before ten pm tonight, have a beer and get a pizza delivered. He would miss El terribly but at least he could put his feet up on the table and leave the beer cans around until the morning.
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By the time he'd reached the office, Peter's irritation factor had gone up another notch. Two nitwits had a car accident in the middle of a major intersection and then stood around to argue about it. It had taken an NYPD patrolman plus Peter's FBI badge to break it up.
Arriving at the office, late, he was further annoyed to see Neal Caffrey, the picture of GQ elegance, sitting at his desk, tossing the rubber band ball around. He didn't even look tired. "Hey, Peter! Wow, you look awful!" Neal remarked.
Great; Neal in a chipper mood. Just what I needed. He wondered vaguely if he should be worried about something. "Morning, Neal," Peter mumbled, walking by at a fast pace.
Naturally Neal got up and followed. "When's Elizabeth returning?"
Peter pretended not to hear. Diana jumped up from her desk. "Morning, boss. Oh, you look so tired!"
"Morning," Peter ground out. Naturally, Diana looked fine too. Just one more remark.
"Morning, Peter," Jones said brightly.
Peter stared; Jones was never a morning person. Yet here he was, looking rested and fresh. The younger agent waved a case file in front of him. "Looks like we'll get the arrest warrant later this morning. We can probably take this guy down before noon."
Reese Hughes came out to the balcony in front of his office. "Agent Burke! Can you come in here and explain some of these expenses on your budget for last month?"
Peter scowled and shot Neal a baleful look. Neal smiled back; that bright, fatuous look that always meant I-have-no-idea-what-this-is-about. "You have to stop promising Haversham everything," Peter hissed.
"He's not cheap," Neal protested.
Peter reluctantly went to meet an obviously agitated Hughes.
Neal joined Diana and Jones at Jones' desk. "Whew," the young con man said, "I think Peter needs to knock off early and go home today."
"He's in a mood all right and Hughes isn't going to help that, I can tell," Jones observed, watching Hughes wave around a paper in front of Burke.
Diana shook her head. "He's exhausted. When his wife is gone, he doesn't know when to turn it off and go home."
Jones and Neal gave her a look. "You're suggesting that he's better when Elizabeth is home?" Neal asked cautiously.
Diana smiled. "Minutely."
"Maybe we can get this guy right away," Jones said, tapping the file in his hand. "Diana and I can do the paperwork and Caffrey will get him to go home."
"Well, maybe," Neal said dubiously.
Both Jones and Diana turned to him. "Are you saying the great Neal Caffrey can't even pull this off?" Diana asked in a shocked voice. She shook her head. "My goodness, he's certainly lost his edge," she told Jones, who smiled and shook his head sadly.
Neal looked a bit testy. "I can handle it. I can tell him that I've caught a rare tropical illness that only quiet and bed rest can help me heal and-"
Jones sighed. "And after that, we'll end up with a homicide; yours!"
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Naturally the son of a bitch would run. Peter Burke thought angrily as he gave chase to the hedge fund manager, who was running toward the parking garage elevator. He had told Neal to stay put and Neal nodded yes. Peter had hardly rounded the corner when he heard Neal take off in pursuit, looking to head the guy off if he headed for the service elevator. Naturally Neal isn't going to listen. Not in this lifetime. "Jones, Diana, he's headed for the parking garage," Peter barked into the radio.
"We're on it, boss," Diana acknowledged.
Pounding down the carpeted hallway, Peter slowed down when he spotted the blind corner; perfect place for an ambush. He didn't really believe the hedge fund manager was armed but a lot of law enforcement people found out the hard way making assumptions like that. He stopped and cautiously peeked around the corner.
No one. Another blind corner. Great.
The elevator door dinged, heralding an arrival. Peter surged forward; he hated chasing after suspects and he was damned if he would waste all afternoon with this guy. He charged ahead and turned the corner.
The blow that struck him across the neck and shoulders was brutal and hard. Suddenly his hand was numb and the Glock fell to the floor. He partially collapsed against the wall, gasping for air and wondering what the hell hit him.
A very tall man built like an Army tank stood grinning in front of him, holding a golf club. He was about three inches taller than Peter and several pounds heavier, by the look of him, with muscles like a weightlifter.
The hedge fund manager, natty in his designer clothes, stood in the doorway of the elevator car, ignoring the dinging of the bell and holding the door open. "Come on, Max! We've got to go now! Move!"
Max smiled and kicked the gun away from Peter. He also tossed the golf club, in an act of bravado. "You go; I'm going to enjoy this," he snarled. "I hate cops," he helpfully informed Peter as he moved closer and cocked his fist.
Peter blocked the first hit but the blow hit his left arm and now it was stinging as much as his right. Max swung at his head with his right, but, with speed unusual for such a muscle bound man, followed up with his left and delivered a couple of pile driver punches to Peter's midsection that had the agent's eyes watering and feeling like he was suffocating. He literally could not breathe. Dimly aware of the fact that the hedge fund manager had retrieved the golf club and left in the elevator, Peter could only stand against the wall and absorb the blows raining down on him, one of which caught the side of his head and had him seeing stars.
Max was holding him up with one meaty fist when the elevator came back and the hedge fund manager returned, out of breath and wild eyed. "Max! Those other two agents are at the car! We can't get out!"
Max, still holding Peter in place, faced the manager. "Why my sister ever married you is still a mystery to me," he spat out. Turning back to Peter, he cocked his fist back in preparation to deliver the mother of all punches.
Peter, red faced and still not getting any air to speak of, knew he couldn't stand there waiting. He was hurting bad enough as it was. He lashed out with his foot, catching Max on the knee. Not a direct hit and not what he was aiming for, but enough to make Max yowl a bit. "Why, you son of a-"
Peter struck again; hitting what looked to be Max's flat washboard abs under his shirt in front of him. It was like hitting a stone and pain shot up his hand. It was also discouraging, so he aimed for the sneering face. The agent managed to nail the big man with a couple of hits that were nowhere near his usual strength but one struck hit Max's nose and he yelled with pain and outrage.
Letting go of Peter, Max danced around, saying ow, ow, ow and holding his nose. Peter willed himself to go for his gun but his legs suddenly wouldn't hold him; his head was ringing and his vision was beginning to go gray around the edges. He still couldn't catch his breath.
Unfortunately, the hedge fund manager remembered the gun and started to run toward it.
He clutched the golf club in front of him like Excalibur.
Out of nowhere, Neal Caffrey appeared, scooped up the Glock and pointed it at the fund manager and Max. "FBI! You're all under arrest! Nobody move!"
Neal held up his ID like a badge in one hand and Peter's gun in the other. The hedge fund manager sheepishly held up his hands, tossing the gun away. Hissing at the big man, he snapped, "You moron! The big weightlifter, the big man! We could have been out of here!"
Max was still too concerned with his nose. "I think he brwoke it," he said behind his hands.
Peter could hear Diana demanding explanations over the radio and Jones saying he was on his way. But he couldn't respond; he was still trying to breathe, and he was hurting. Neal made the nefarious duo move to the other side of the hallway and stood next to Peter. His flush of triumph wavered a bit when he saw the condition Peter was in. Borrowing the agent's radio, he said, "We've got them. But get up here fast. Peter's hurt."
Clinton Jones arrived first, literally at a run. He smiled a bit when he saw the situation; Neal Caffrey, mimicking approved FBI gun holding stance, pointing Peter's gun at the two miscreants. "Good work, Agent Caffrey," Jones said approvingly. His smile faltered a bit when he saw Peter on the floor, leaning on the wall, gasping for air. Cuffing Max, he motioned Neal forward, "Carefully, come over here and hand me Peter's handcuffs."
Neal leaned down and reached in to retrieve Peter's handcuffs. His blue eyes were large with concern at the agent's condition. Neal stayed out of range of the hedge fund manager, handing the cuffs over to Jones, who secured their second suspect. In the meantime, the elevator returned with Diana Berrigan inside.
"Damned old women wouldn't get off the elevator," she hissed angrily. Seeing Jones in control, she hurried to Peter and knelt down. "Boss," the young woman said, touching Peter's shoulder. Unfortunately, it was the shoulder that absorbed most of the golf club blow and Peter winced. "Do you need an ambulance?" Diana asked quietly.
Peter was finally beginning to get a bit of air in his lungs. He shook his head no. Both Diana and Neal looked openly dubious but Jones understood. "He got the wind knocked out of him. I had that once, in the Navy; felt like I was going to die. Give him a minute."
Diana and Jones made arrangements to take Max and his fund manager brother in law in to booking. Neal stayed next to Peter. "Just don't pass out, Peter. I don't want to carry you downstairs," Neal remarked but the look in his eyes was anything but flippant.
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"Agent Burke was very lucky," the doctor informed them, holding up some x –rays. "Nothing broken. But he has some very deep bruising along the right arm and shoulder, plus his ribs and chest as well. Good thing it was a glancing blow to the head, otherwise we'd being looking a CT scan here."
The youngish doctor droned on about pain pills and rest. Peter's attention wandered as he fumbled with buttoning his shirt. Just great. Very lucky, all right. Truth be told, he didn't really feel all that lucky; everything was hurting and his head pounded along with the throbbing in his arm, shoulder and aching ribs. It wasn't until the doctor mentioned 'observation' that Peter actually tuned in the conversation again.
"What?"
"You sustained several serious blows and someone should really be with you tonight. That blow to the head, plus these pain pills I'm giving you, are fairly potent. It's just a safety precaution."
"Look, Doctor, they'll just make me sleepy, right? I don't need anyone to watch me sleep." Unless their name is Elizabeth.
Neal and Diana exchanged glances; Jones had gone off to book their suspects. "This is not going to be easy," Diana whispered, while Peter argued with the doctors.
"I've got a plan but I'll need some cover," Neal replied confidently.
Diana looked dubious but no other option seemed available at the time, so she listened.
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Just cowboy up. Just get it done.
Peter Burke pinched the bridge of his nose. The lines on the reports had started to blur and his chest and ribs felt like they had a constricting iron band around them. One that had started to shrink. The aching had turned into sharp shooting pain every time he tried to breathe deeply. But he was determined to finish the paperwork on that louse of a hedge fund manager and his Neanderthal brother in law. It wasn't as though he was trying to be the FBI poster boy of paperwork. Peter simply did not want to face it on Monday. It would mean trying to dredge up the details after a weekend of pain and stiffness and frankly, he wasn't sure how much he would remember clearly. Or would want to. Just get it done and go home in good conscience.
His bottle of pain pills sat in front of him like a magic talisman. But Peter refused to give in; he still had the drive home and, if these things worked half as good as the doctor claimed, that could be problematic.
Peter tried shaking his head to clear it but the resulting wave of agony that shot up his neck nearly had him groaning aloud. He vaguely felt he wasn't being too reasonable about this but thinking hurt even more than thoughtful analysis.
Just get finished. Die at home.
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Neal Caffrey came back to the White Collar office in record time, he thought. Checking the office, he was relieved to see Peter still there. Neal wasn't so thrilled with the way Peter was acting; slumped over his desk, head braced on one hand and laboriously (or so it looked from here) trying to write reports.
Diana got up from her desk and came over to Neal. "Well?"
Neal nodded. "All set."
Clinton Jones came in from the elevator to join them. "I've got our bad boys taken care of. Because Max baby assaulted an FBI agent, I'm guessing neither of them will make bail when they come up. They're now enjoying some jail time hospitality." He looked up to the office. "Wow, Peter's still here?
"Not for long," Neal replied. Quickly, he filled Jones in with what the doctor had said. "Elizabeth isn't home this weekend and, if left to his own devices, we know Peter won't take that good of care of himself. So, I borrowed Diana's car, went out to Peter's house and got some clothes for him. He's coming home with me this weekend. June will be home and she likes Peter." Neal looked thoughtful before continuing. "Also, she'll be able to boss him around more than I could." He gave Diana a glance. "I think it would be better if we left the case files here this weekend."
"I can take care of that," Diana replied. "You just get him on his way. Make him rest; he needed it before this."
Neal gave them a confident smile. "I'm on it." As Neal mounted the stairs, he wondered what he might be letting himself in for.
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Neal stepped into the office and began his campaign. "Peter, you do realize you have to take one of those pills for them to work, you know?"
Peter tried to look up but even that act sent a spasm of pain across his face. "Neal, go away so I can finish this. Trust me; I'm ready to go home."
"What, suddenly you don't trust Diana? What do you think that's going to do to her self-esteem?" Neal was ruthless when on attack. Besides, it was always better to have Peter off balance when trying to con him.
Peter was confused. "What are you talking about?"
"She's done all those reports for you, forged your signature and made you look good for quite a while. And now you repay her by cutting her out of these reports? Neal asked in mock outrage. This was fun, he thought happily.
Sputtering, Peter said, "Of course I trust her! But I thought she might want to start her weekend on time for a change, rather than being stuck here doing my work!"
Right on cue, Diana came around the corner holding a glass of water and a granola bar. "I don't mind in the least, boss. Besides, right now, I can do them faster than you can. Here's your water," she said abruptly, setting the glass down. "Better eat this too. You missed lunch."
"Water?" Peter began to think everyone was speaking a foreign language except him.
"To take the pill," Neal exclaimed impatiently. "Come on, Peter!" He reached over and starting gathering up report papers. "You're coming home with me, Peter. The doctor didn't want you to be alone and, against my better judgment, I find myself volunteering for this. Just don't do anything I don't like and we'll be fine."
Peter gave him an irritated look. "I'm already not liking the sound of this," he muttered.
Diana had opened the bottle and held out a pill with the water. "Here, boss. Take this before it gets worse."
Peter eyed it a moment; he was being railroaded and he wasn't overly fond of it. But he had been getting sore and very stiff sitting here. Maybe he would take the pill, hang out at Neal's for a while and then go on home. Yeah, that was the plan.
Seeing his expression, Neal and Diana shared a happy, triumphant glance.
Peter had the pill in hand and stopped. "Wait a minute, I'm not supposed to drive when taking this," he pointed out.
Neal gave him a bright smile. "No problem. I'll drive." He held up the Taurus keys.
Peter gave a start, winced and slammed the pill back with water. He ignored the granola bar. El forced enough of those on him when she was home. "I need to bring some case files home," he said in a grumpy voice. "I'll get them," Diana reassured him. Peter gave her a look. "I will, boss. I'll take care of them."
Neal made a show of looking at his watch. "Can we go now?"
Peter sighed. "All right. But I'm not staying tonight."
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"Peter, dear, how wonderful you will be here with us this weekend," June said happily as she met Peter at the front door. "Oh, you do look completely exhausted though, you poor thing."
June took one arm, chattering away. Peter however, was already beginning to look distinctly glassy eyed and more than a little out of it. He dimly registered Neal getting a bag out of the trunk for him. "How did you-"
Neal smiled. "Magic."
They went on inside and headed for the stairs that led to Neal's loft. Once there, however, Peter stopped. The stairs suddenly looked like the Himalayas to him. The agent was hurting badly now and the pill had made already exhausted synapses fire even more slowly.
June gave his arm a squeeze. "Come on, Peter. You'll only have to make this climb once."
Neal took the other arm. "Ready, partner?"
"Oh, I can't wait," Peter muttered.
With June and Neal supporting him, Peter did make the climb, although he felt very light headed by the time he made it to the top. Once inside Neal's apartment, June let go and said, "Why don't you boys just relax? I need to speak with the cook about dinner and we'll all eat up here tonight, if that's all right, Neal?"
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Neal pulled out a blue t shirt and sweat pants for his partner and, in the agent's opinion, made a general pest of himself until Peter went in to change clothes. Neal changed too, in what passed for casual for Caffrey; tight khaki pants with a green long sleeved shirt.
There was a soft knock on the door and June peeked in. "All right to come in?"
"Yes," Neal replied. "He's changing in the bathroom, although if he doesn't come out soon, I'd better check on him. That pill is really putting him out of it." Neal felt some disquiet. What if something terrible should happen to Peter on his watch? Deadly drug reactions, unknown hidden injuries? Elizabeth would kill him. No, wait; Diana would be happy to perform the dirty deed, Elizabeth would cheer her on.
June seemed to read his thoughts as she set down a plate with a couple of sandwiches. "Don't worry. I wondered if you boys had eaten lunch?"
Neal picked up a half of sandwich. "Not really. Had some morning donuts some probie brought in but that was it. Afterwards, everything happened at once." Neal suddenly found himself remembering turning that corner and finding Peter's gun on the floor in front of him. Then, looking down the hall to see that stupid, trendy fund manager running toward the gun and what looked to be a professional wrestler jumping around holding his nose. It would have been funny if Peter hadn't been collapsed on the floor.
June noticed the look on his face and came closer, touching his arm. "I take it from your call earlier that the case did not go exactly as planned." She touched his cheek. "But the doctor did say Peter will be all right?"
Neal gathered his thoughts. "Yeah, he'll be all right. He was, as they say, very lucky." He smiled at June. "Thank you for taking him in this weekend. Elizabeth is out of town and the doctor said he shouldn't be alone."
June smiled and patted Neal's cheek. "Oh, I don't mind at all; I do like Peter. And he so appreciates the coffee here!"
They shared a laugh. "Peter always afraid he might spoil himself. I've never seen anyone run away from the finer things in life so fast," Neal said reflectively.
"Some people are like that," June observed. "They're afraid to indulge themselves. They feel if they give in inch, they might not be able to stop. They don't want life to be too easy."
Neal snorted. "That's Peter, all right."
"At any rate, the cook is delighted there will be another man to cook for tonight. You've been gone most of the week; Mozzie has been doing, well, something," June shrugged, "and Emma gets bored cooking only for me. This will be nice. Oh, has anyone called Elizabeth yet?"
Neal swallowed. "No, I don't think so." How could he forget that?
Peter came out of the bathroom wearing the blue shirt and sweat pants, carrying his suit on a hanger with his tie and shirt draped over it. "Hi June," he murmured rather indistinctly.
June shared a smile with Neal. "How about a sandwich, Peter? Neal tells me you missed lunch. You should have had some food in you before taking that pill."
Neal rescued the suit and hung it on the back of a door. "Dig in, partner. Ham salad and its very good."
Peter did show some interest in that as he sat down at the table. Picking up a half sandwich, he took a bite. "This is good. But then there's never anything bad here," he added, with a smile for June's benefit. A thought occurred to him. "Any beer?" He asked Neal.
"All out," Neal replied quickly, hoping Peter wouldn't get up and look for himself. A full six pack was left in there after Peter's last visit. Neal wasn't about to wrestle Peter tonight, although this time he might possibly fare better than most.
June caught Neal's look of alarm. "I'm just going to take this suit down with me and have it taken care of." She took the hanger off the door.
Peter, who was very lethargic, immediately protested, "You don't need to do that, June. It's enough that I have to … impose on you tonight," he added in a strained voice and a glare at Neal.
The Peter Burke glare didn't have anything like its full intensity though and Neal just smiled. "I'll get us some water to drink," he said brightly. Opening the refrigerator, he timed it to hand June the beer while Peter was looking out the terrace. June quickly hid the cans under the suit and Neal hurried over to open the door. The landlady made her escape and Neal breathed a sigh of relief.
Peter was sitting, still staring out the windows at the terrace. He leaned back in the chair but evidently that wasn't comfortable; he winced and curled an arm around his ribs.
Neal hesitated a moment, then stepped closer. "You okay?"
"Yeah, sure, fine." Peter's eyes were distant and more than a little heavy. "I should call El," he added.
"She'll probably call you later," Neal replied. "Why not just lay down for a while and rest? You're not going to be very reassuring to her mumbling and spacey."
Peter refocused on his partner. "I am not spacey!"
Neal smiled. "Yeah, I know. You're fading in and out like an AM radio station. Go on, Peter. If the sky should fall, I'll be sure and let you know."
Peter dug out his cell phone. "I don't care about the sky. I just don't want to miss El's call."
Neal held up his hand. "You won't; I promise." For some reason, it became very important to Neal that Peter trust him in this. Let go of the control, Peter. Just this once.
Peter gave him a narrow look, and then stood up. "All this coddling isn't necessary," he mumbled and headed for the couch.
"Not this time. You can have the bed," Neal instructed.
"Are you feverish? Injured in any way?" Peter asked incredulously.
"Ha, ha. Go on, before I come to my senses and change my mind," Neal retorted.
Peter sank down on Neal's ultra-deep, ultra comfortable bed. He was asleep in five minutes.
Neal sighed, ate the rest of the sandwiches – he was hungry – and picked up the dish and rinsed it off. He then went over to the armoire, got a light blanket out and threw it over Peter. There was a cool breeze coming in from the terrace and Neal didn't want the wind blowing directly on his partner. He also took Peter's cell phone out of his hand. It was a sign how deeply asleep the agent was, as he never moved. Neal went over and placed it on the coffee table. With a sigh, he settled on the too short couch and closed his eyes. Only for a moment. I've got to keep watch, so I'll only rest for a moment. Exhaustion overtook him immediately and Neal was asleep.
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It seemed only five minutes later when an urgent voice spoke into his ear. "Neal! Why is the Suit in your bed?"
Opening his eyes and stretching, Neal looked into the large, worried eyes of Mozzie. "Because he's tired."
Moz frowned. "He doesn't have a home of his own to go to?"
Yawning, Neal swung his legs over and sat up, rubbing his eyes. The sun was streaking orange in the west and it would soon be dark. He'd slept much longer than he intended. "Elizabeth is out of town. I'm surprised you didn't know that?" Neal remarked pointedly. Peter's wife had become one of his Mozzie's closest friends. For a guy who had next to none, it was quite an achievement.
"I didn't know. I hope everything's okay?" Moz asked in a loud stage whisper. He looked affronted that he wasn't informed.
Rubbing his eyes, Neal said, "Her mother fell a couple of days ago. Luckily she didn't break anything but the doctor said someone should stay with her for a while. Elizabeth's sister was busy, so El went upstate to be with her Mom."
"And the Suit couldn't cope for a couple of weeks on his own?" Moz asked skeptically. "I am disappointed; I thought him stronger than that."
"You can speak up, Moz, just not too loud. I doubt that he'll hear us. We ran into a problem with a suspect today. Long story short, Peter got walloped a few times; took a blow to the head and several shots to the ribs. He's on pain pills and he's not supposed to be driving."
Moz looked at him like he was insane. "Neal, nobody beats up the Suit. Not even that creep, may he rot in jail forever, Larssen."
.
"Well, this guy looked like Arnold from his Conan days. I think Peter was outnumbered by his muscles."
"Oh." Mozzie brightened. "So this is why June is having a lavish feast prepared, because Peter will be here tonight?"
Neal sighed. Endless questions. "More than tonight, Moz. All weekend. He was run down before this and he really did get hit hard today. I want him to stay here; keep an eye on him." For some mysterious reason, Neal really did want Peter here this weekend. He wondered if all of Moz's Stockholm syndrome remarks did have some truth in them. Disturbing thought.
Mozzie looked dubious. "I would remind you of a couple of other times you and the Suit had sleepovers; it didn't really work out all that well."
"I've got the upper hand this time. He's at my mercy." Neal looked pleased and reassured with that scenario.
June opened the door and peeked in. She immediately looked at Peter. "Is he asleep? Should we wake him up to eat?"
Neal and Mozzie both stood up. "I don't know about Peter, but I'm famished." Neal glanced at his watch. "It's almost time for another pill anyway. Let's do it."
Mozzie beamed. June smiled. "I take it you're free to join us?" She asked, touching the little man on the shoulder.
"Fortunately, my dance card is clear tonight," Mozzie replied in a happy voice.
"I thought it might be," Neal added dryly, as he went over to shake Peter awake.
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Getting Peter awake turned out to be much more difficult than usual. After the third time of shaking him on the good shoulder and nearly shouting in his ear, Neal was beginning to feel a bit alarmed.
Seeing the issue, Mozzie came over and barked, "Suit; wake up!"
Peter opened his eyes. "What?"
Neal was irritated. "Man, I thought you were in a coma or something. Don't do that again."
"What?" Peter repeated. "Ignore you or listen to Mozzie?"
Mozzie looked insufferably pleased with himself. "If you'd only listen to me all the time, Suit, you'd go far. You have the talent."
Peter grunted. "Yeah, but I'm sure I wouldn't like where I end up." He extended a hand and Neal took it and helped him sit up. Swinging his legs down to the floor, Peter stopped there for a moment, looking bleary eyed and in pain.
Neal hovered. "Are you all right?" He began to feel a nagging worry; he expected Peter to be sore but this was weird. Maybe he should have pressed that doctor more, instead of accepting the 'it could have been much worse' speech.
Peter waved him off, "Yeah. I'm not so sure those pills are a blessing or a curse, though."
Mozzie moved closer to the agent, on the opposite side of Neal. He whistled. "Wow, Suit. That's some bruise you have on your arm!"
Peter glanced down. Extending beyond the short sleeve of his t shirt was a long, livid, angry bruise. "It's not too bad," he said vaguely.
Neal came over for a closer look. "Not too bad! Peter, how did that happen?" Suddenly he remembered. "The golf club."
"Guy was aiming at my head," Peter replied, standing up. He swayed a bit and Mozzie steadied him. "Max wanted to beat somebody up, but he made sure he evened the odds first."
"A good general takes no chances in battle," Mozzie intoned solemnly.
Peter looked irritated. "I'll remember that," he said darkly. Seeing his face, Mozzie suddenly found the wine rack to be of profound interest.
June came in, carrying dishes, followed by her cook, who also carried dishes. Neal and Mozzie sprang to help them. "Well, it looks like we are ready to eat. Emma has done a superb job with pork chops; I hope you like them."
The food was delicious. Neal ate with a voracious appetite, somewhat unusual for him. Mozzie dug in as well. Peter ate well but not as much as Neal would have expected given the fine quality of the food.
While Mozzie and June chatted, Neal kept a covert eye on his partner. Peter was trying, really trying; he had to give him that. But it was obvious to all that keeping up polite conversation was really taxing the agent's limited resources tonight. He even let Mozzie get away with a couple of snide remarks about the Bureau.
When there was an awkward lull in the conversation, Peter said, "I really am sorry, June. I'm very poor company tonight. It's been a delicious dinner and I can't thank you enough for your hospitality."
June stopped stacking dishes and moved to stand in front of him. "Peter, I did not expect you to come over and entertain me. As Neal tells me, you're to rest this weekend. I will not have your wife upset with us because you felt you had to be good, witty company!"
Peter blinked; Neal and Mozzie shared smiles; their friend had not seen this side of June. Peter started to help with the dishes but June reached up and touched his shoulder. "Now, go sit down over there and relax. I've got this."
Looking a bit stunned, Peter shuffled off to the couch, Mozzie trailing behind, chattering about the latest government conspiracy rumor he'd heard involving the FBI, J. Edgar Hoover and area 51.
Neal went to help June stack dishes. "Thank you," he whispered to her. "I couldn't have gotten him to do that."
June smiled. "I know how to handle you boys. Something you should keep in mind too, Mister."
Neal chuckled. "I'll remember." Going over to the couch, he held out a pill and a glass of water. "Pill time," he announced.
"Thanks," Peter snapped. "For a moment there, I thought I could take care of myself!"
The words hung in the air for a moment, stark with an angry edge. Mozzie was round eyed and June stopped what she was doing.
Peter heaved a weary sigh and rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm sorry," he said to all of them. "You didn't deserve that."
Neal, who was also very tired, had been sorely tempted to snap back. But he softened a bit when he saw how truly repentant Peter was. "Just take the damn pill," he said softly.
Peter held up a hand with his cell phone in it. "Right after I call El," he promised. His disappointment was soon evident though. "Voicemail."
"Perhaps they went visiting?" Moz suggested.
"Maybe." Peter was looking a bit worried but as he stood up his face twisted in pain.
Mozzie stood up as well and took the water and pill from Neal. "Here!"
Giving Moz a look that clearly said don't do this again, Peter took a swallow of water and the pill.
"At last," Neal declared. "Badass Federal agent finally surrenders!"
"Talk about stubborn," Mozzie muttered.
Peter looked incredulous. "Like you should talk!"
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They all sat around talking for a while until Peter's eyes grew heavy. Neal got him to move over to the bed and the agent fell asleep again in short order. June was making preparations to leave when Peter's cell rang.
Neal rushed over to answer it before Peter could awaken. Glancing at the caller ID, Neal said quietly, "Hello, Elizabeth."
"Um, hi, Neal. I wasn't expecting you." Elizabeth paused, clearly off balance. "Is Peter all right?" she asked with an edge of worry in her voice.
"He's sleeping. It's been a rough week but basically, he's okay."
"Basically?" El's voice went up a notch.
Neal gave himself a mental shake. He must be more exhausted than he thought. Trying to school his voice into the calm, assured tones of Neal Caffrey, he said, "Peter got into a fight with a suspect today. He actually got knocked around a little, if you can believe that."
"Tell her about the weight lifter," Mozzie urged, way too loud.
"Weight lifter? Neal, what's going on? How badly is Peter hurt?" Elizabeth was getting impatient, never a good sign.
"Don't forget getting clocked on the head too. Oh, and the golf club; that sounded wicked." Mozzie helpfully reminded, well into his fifth glass of wine. Neal waved his arm furiously in a shut up gesture which Mozzie, happy in his own world, ignored.
"Oh my God," Elizabeth gasped. Her voice turned away from the phone. "Mom, I've got to get back-"
"Give me that!"
June snatched the phone out of Neal's hand and gave Moz a look that caused him to shut his mouth. "Elizabeth, dear, it's June. Peter is right here and he's safe. From what Neal has told me, he did get into a fight today with a suspect and he did get hit several times. He also received a blow to the head and the Doctor suggested that he not stay alone for tonight. Primarily though, he is sore and bruised. He has just taken a pain pill that really puts him out for several hours. Neal thought, and I agree, that Peter should stay here this weekend. I understand you have a situation with your mother to deal with. Peter is not seriously injured and I'm staying home to look after the boys. As you may have heard, Mozzie is here as well." June gave the little man a glare but Mozzie, in his wine fortified state, did not really appreciate the significance of. "I promise you, I will personally see to it that Peter eats well and gets some rest. Now, we can wake him up if you would like to speak to him but I warn you, if he reacts as he did to the pill this afternoon, you might not get much conversation out of him."
There was a pause on the other end of the phone. "June, are you sure I shouldn't come back?" Elizabeth asked, doubt coloring her voice.
"Let's see how he does tonight, dear," June suggested. "You can talk to him yourself in the morning and see what you think."
"I guess it is too late to do anything now," El muttered, clearly unhappy. "Look, can you leave him a note for me? Tell him whenever he wakes up to call me, even if it's three am. I don't care; I just want to hear him."
"Of course." June held out the phone. "Do you want to say anything more, Neal?"
Truth be told, Neal was a bit shell shocked that the women had taken him out of the loop, just shook his head. "Er, no. I'm good. Just tell Elizabeth everything will be fine here."
"I miss Mrs. Suit!" Moz burst out. Neal darted a quick glance over at the bed. Peter stirred but didn't waken. Caffrey had to work to squash an inclination to let Moz have it.
June shook her head but she smiled when she heard El laughing over the phone. "It sounds like Mozzie's having a good time," she giggled.
"Too good of a time," June said sternly but her heart wasn't in it.
"June, I thank you for looking out for Peter," El said, turning serious. "I'll call tomorrow morning if I don't hear from him first."
"We'll let him know. He was worried about you tonight, so I know he will be calling you as soon as he wakes up."
"There's no need to worry here," Elizabeth replied. "We just stayed out longer than we had intended at the movies. Mom saw a few of her friends and then we had coffee."
They said their goodbyes and hung up. Neal smiled and came forward, giving June a quick hug. "Thank you. That wasn't going at all well until you stepped in."
Mozzie was flipping channels. "No kung fu movies? Wait; this is cool. Secret agendas of your government. This will be good." Moz settled back for a long term stay, much to Neal's discontent and refilled his glass again.
June headed for the door. "I think I'll have a glass of wine. Would you like to join me?" she asked Neal.
"I guess so; secret government agendas are not my thing. Moz? Hey, Moz?"
Already involved in his program, Moz mumbled, "What?"
"How about keeping an eye on Peter for me? I'm just going downstairs with June for a moment."
Eyes never leaving the screen, Mozzie replied absently, "Yeah, sure. Oh hell; commercial already? As if the US consumers are not brainwashed enough? Well, you can't force me to watch, you greedy corporate shills!"
Watching Moz maniacally work the remote and Peter sleep, Neal acceded gratefully to June's request and headed downstairs.
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By the time Neal returned, he found Peter still asleep and, to his irritation, Mozzie coma like on the couch. Neal had several times in their past association tried to wake Moz after a night's libations but it was never easy. He sighed. Neal had really not planned on having Moz around tonight and he wondered if he would regret having Peter over as well, given the fact that he was in Neal's bed. But Peter was used to sleeping with another person and was on one side of the bed. Since Moz was doing such a great job of watching Peter –thanks Moz- Neal felt compelled to stay. He climbed in on the empty side and to his own surprise, fell asleep instantly.
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Peter at first thought there was nothing strange about waking up. He felt refreshed and satisfied with the world, feelings he'd hadn't enjoyed for several days now. He was in a soft luxurious bed with a brunette sleeping beside him. Situation normal, until he really opened his eyes and studied the ceiling and the person next to him.
Not his ceiling. Not his house. And definitely not Elizabeth.
Peter gave a start, which sent a breath taking stab of pain through his midsection. Unable to stifle a groan, he grabbed his ribs.
"Your virtue is safe with me, Peter," was the mumbled response from the other side of the bed.
"At least something is!" Peter shot back.
Neal sniffed, never turning over. "Whatever."
Peter frowned; this wasn't going well. His brain felt sluggish and that was never good when dealing with Neal Caffrey.
Suddenly they heard a very loud snore. Both turned to look at Mozzie, sprawled out in bliss on the couch.
"I slept through that?" Peter asked in astonishment.
"Amazing what you can get used to," Neal observed.
They exchanged smiles and started to get up. Swinging his legs over, Peter groaned again and Neal was at his side in an instant.
"You okay?"
Peter held up a hand. "I'm all right. I'm fine until I move," he added with a weak grin.
"How's your head?" Neal asked.
Peter considered. "Actually, it's good. I don't even have that little headache I've carried around all week."
Neal smiled and moved over to the sink to get some water. "You want the bathroom first?" he asked.
Peter's cell rang. Glancing at the phone's caller ID, he smiled. "No, it's all yours." Pressing talk, he said, "Hi, Hon."
"Hi, Hon yourself," El said warmly. "So, how are you doing today?"
The cobwebs began to clear. "Did you call last night?" Peter asked suspiciously. He then spotted the note in Neal's handwriting; Call Elizabeth.
"I did, but they told me you were asleep. June told me some of what happened. So, how are you?" Elizabeth repeated firmly.
"I'm all right," Peter replied, a little too quickly.
"Peter." El said in a warning voice.
Peter sighed; he hated worrying his wife. "Look, I did get into a scuffle with a suspect and he got in a couple of lucky punches," he explained, his look daring Neal to contradict him. Neal said nothing but did not look very cowed.
"What about the golf club?" El persisted.
"Golf club?" Peter looked blank for a moment. Then, he shot a dark glare at Neal, who remained impassive. His stock in trade expression. Mozzie had awoken to hear the last line though, and scurried over by Neal. Enlightened, Peter gave Mozzie a glare, and returned to his wife. "I have a long bruise and it's sore. But that's it, hon, honestly."
"Look, I think Mom's all right to leave by herself; maybe I should come home today," El fretted.
"Sweetheart, I'd love for you to come home, but if it's just to come baby sit me, you really don't have to. I feel well enough to go home myself today."
Neal got that mulish expression that Peter disliked intensely and Mozzie smiled like a man with a secret. Peter knew there was trouble ahead.
"Oh no, you're not, Peter Burke," Elizabeth said sternly. "If you go home, you'll just work on stuff around the house and read case files and eat junk with your beer. If I stay here, you're going to have to stay with Neal. Deal?"
Peter wasn't sure what irritated him more; Neal or Mozzie's look of triumph. They were both equally smug. He wondered vaguely if Neal had a tap on his phone, otherwise how did he know what El would say? Never mind. He wished his mind would clear. Damn pills. "All right, all right. I'll stay." He darted an annoyed glare at his two unlikely friends. "Would you two mind if I had a private conversation?"
"Not at all," Neal assured him.
"Our pleasure," Mozzie agreed. They headed for the terrace, Mozzie pausing only long enough to shout, "Good morning, Mrs. Suit!"
Neal and Moz shuffled outside on the terrace. With El's laughter in his ear, Peter could only smile himself, albeit under a strain. "Sometimes I wonder how that guy has lived this long," he muttered.
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June knocked on the door and cautiously peeked in. "Are you boys all awake?"
Peter jumped up, or tried to, and opened the door the rest of the way. "Yeah, we're all awake. Neal's in the shower. It takes him longer to get ready than a teen aged girl," he grumbled with a smile.
"Doesn't take me that long," Mozzie chimed in from the couch, where he was back to flipping channels.
Peter eyed the top of his head. "For obvious reasons," he said dryly.
June laughed and wheeled in a small cart piled with mouthwatering food, newspaper and the delicious aroma of Italian roast. "Well, this is our time then."
Peter surveyed the food; enough to feed the entire White Collar division, he guessed. "June, you are the best."
"I'll bet you say that often, Peter," June teased.
Peter however, turned serious. "Probably not as often as I should." He smiled down at her. "Thank you, June. For everything."
June patted his shoulder; the one without the bruise. "Don't thank me. This is Neal's idea. It's good to see you feeling so much better today, Peter. How are you doing, really?"
"I am fine; really."
"But Mrs. Suit still wants him to stay here," Mozzie interjected. When Peter gave him an evil look, he visibly drew into himself, muttering, "Or so I'm told."
"Well, of course; that was settled last night," June said with a tone of finality. "Shall we eat out on the terrace? It doesn't seem too cold this morning."
Peter, who could never get enough of the view from Neal's loft, readily agreed. After giving Moz an unsubtle hint, the little man pushed the tray outside. Peter pulled out a chair for June, wincing as he did so.
June smiled but refrained from comment and the three started eating, Mozzie in particular, wolfing down the food. Neal came out to join them momentarily, wearing black jeans and a dark blue shirt, every hair perfectly in place. "Hey, leave some for me, Moz," he chided.
"It was getting cold," Mozzie mumbled between bites. Peter and June smiled.
Neal rolled his eyes. "Bathroom's all yours, partner."
Peter eyed his partner's immaculate look. "This is casual, right?"
Neal shrugged. "There's casual and then there's casual."
"Uh, right," Peter said, finishing the last of his food. "I'll be right back for some more coffee," he assured June.
"It will be here. Or perhaps a fresh pot," she added, as Neal filled his cup and Mozzie took the opportunity for another.
Peter went on inside and Neal, Mozzie and June continued eating. It wasn't until Neal glanced over and observed June doing the crossword that he blanched.
"Neal, dear, what is it?" June asked, having caught the look. Even Moz stopped eating to glance up in alarm.
"Oh, nothing," Neal replied, throwing down his napkin and standing up. "I just forgot that with Peter here-"
June smiled. From the cart, she drew out another newspaper. "My dear, every time I know Peter is going to be around, I always get another paper. We cannot be without our crosswords, you know."
Neal nearly collapsed in relief. "Oh, thank you, June." He felt shaken; how could he forget the crossword king like that? Maybe the work week took a larger toll on him that he thought.
Peter came out a short while later, looking much better than Neal ever thought he would after yesterday. He wore jeans and a deep green t shirt and looked relaxed for a change. His eyes lit up when June sat the paper down before him and Neal poured a cup of coffee. "I could get used to this," Peter grinned.
"If only that were the truth," Neal groused.
"Well, you can pour me coffee any day, Neal. Especially this," Peter replied smugly.
"I think you have people for that," Neal said haughtily. He raised his part of the paper in front of him, Arts and Leisure. Peter attacked his crossword, while June returned to hers.
Mozzie fidgeted. "Um, need any help, Suit?"
Peter gave him an astonished look – briefly. "Nope."
Moz looked hopefully at June, who didn't put down her pen or look up. "No, thanks."
"Anything of interest?" he asked Neal.
Neal opened his mouth but caught Peter listening intently. "No, nothing," he said hastily.
"Oh," Mozzie belatedly caught on. "Well, I guess I should move on." He waited in anticipation; surely someone would protest and say, no, please stay.
Neal put down the paper. "I'll walk you out." He was up, out of the chair and drawing Moz up by the elbow before the little man could say anything. They went out but Peter and June could hear Moz complaining all the way out.
Peter grinned and June smiled and then they returned to their puzzles. Neal rejoined them in a short time. "Moz had to go," he announced.
Peter suppressed a smile. "So I observed."
Neal glanced down. "Hey, you haven't taken your pill yet?"
Smile gone, Peter looked uncomfortable. "Uh, no. I'm good today; don't need it."
June put her paper down. "Peter, you could hardly move yesterday. Somehow I doubt that all the pain is gone overnight."
Neal just stared, intently.
"All right," Peter admitted. "It's not gone. But I just hate how those things make me feel. It's like I'm hearing everybody underwater and it's an absolute effort to even move. I've got some things I'd like to do today and… by the way, Neal, where are those case files?"
"Diana must have forgotten them," Neal said blandly.
"Diana doesn't forget anything," Peter replied tartly.
"And neither do I. You're misdirecting; how about the pill?"
Holding on to his fraying patience, Peter said evenly, "I think I just answered that."
Seeing the storm clouds gathering on the guys' faces, June stepped into the breach. "How about trying half a pill, Peter? I'd hate for you to start hurting again if these pills can help."
Arguing with Neal was one thing (fun usually) but Peter was never one for arguing with women if he didn't have to. Besides, he thought June might be Elizabeth like in an argument. He sighed. "I guess I could try that."
June smiled like he'd just complimented her on her dress. "Good."
Neal sighed. "At least you listen to reason once in a while."
"Depends on whose definition of reason you're talking about," Peter retorted. With all eyes on him, he finally took a half a pill and went back to his crossword, with the grand intent of shutting the rest of the world out.
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"Peter, do you play chess?"
"No, not really."
Oh good, a chance to interrogate Peter for a change. "Come one, you either play or you don't," Neal insisted.
Peter sat on the couch beside Neal. June had taken the breakfast dishes away with the maid's help and returned downstairs. Peter flipped channels on the television but his heart wasn't really in it, Neal could tell. "I don't like the game. It takes too long," he complained.
"So, you do know how to play though," Neal pressed.
Peter shrugged but moving his shoulder caused him to wince. "My Dad tried to teach me."
Neal was delighted. "So, how about a game?"
"No. I'm thinking of calling Diana; have her bring over those case files she mysteriously forgot," Peter said tartly.
"Diana and Christy are gone for the weekend," Neal informed him.
Peter was instantly suspicious. "What? I never heard anything about that earlier."
"Maybe they don't feel the need to share weekend plans with you, Peter," Neal said airily.
Peter gave him a black look. "You know what I mean."
"Well, are you going to interrupt Diana's weekend just so she can run paperwork over here to you?" Neal said relentlessly.
"You're right; I'll go get it myself," Peter shot back.
Neal shrugged. "Why do I care? Break your word to Elizabeth, disappoint June and all because you're stubborn!"
Peter opened his mouth, and then closed it. Giving Neal a look, he said ruefully, "You are a pain in the butt, aren't you?"
Neal continued on the high road. "I'm just saying."
Peter subsided. He really didn't feel like driving anywhere, but he wasn't going to admit that to Neal. "All right. I'll stay here and do…. nothing." The last word came out almost strangled.
Neal deigned to look at him, secretly savoring his victory. "Let's play chess."
Peter scowled. "No, thanks."
Neal smiled widely. "You're afraid you'll lose!"
Peter gave him an incredulous look. "You think that will work on me? Seriously?"
"Then why don't you want to play? Give me a reason."
"I gave you one already. I don't like the game; it takes forever to play."
Neal abandoned his current tactic for his usual winning strategy. "Come on, Peter. Just one game. I'd just like to see how you play," he wheedled.
"I'd rather watch the baseball game," Peter insisted, suddenly intent on the television.
"The score is eight to one and neither team is one you care about," Neal retorted. "Let's try chess."
"Absolutely not," Peter insisted.
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"You can be white," Neal offered magnanimously.
Peter scowled. "I should hope so."
At first, Neal thought he would win easily. Peter was obviously rusty and made a lot of mistakes. How a guy could sit in a surveillance van all night with bad food and worse coffee and still not have any patience for a game that required deliberation was beyond imagination. The young con man was torn between gloating and disappointment; he thought the agent would be a better adversary than this. But then Peter mounted a furious defense and the sure thing outcome wasn't so sure anymore. Neal had to scramble and re-adapt his own strategy. He wondered vaguely how many times he'd had to do that in the years Peter Burke had chased him. He'd lost count quite some time ago
Finally, Peter surrendered to the inevitable. He dipped his king in defeat. "Happy now?"
He asked sourly.
The devil made inside made Neal say, "Game for a rematch?" He was careful to put the right amount of smug challenge in his voice.
As he expected, Peter caught the tone. "All right. But just one."
This time Peter did not make the same mistakes born of impatience and a long time away from the game. Frowning, Neal studied the board, with his king in danger. "You play a different style of game than Moz does," he remarked.
Peter leaned back and looked at Neal. "I'd be stunned if you told me I played like the little guy."
Nettled, Neal shot back, "Your style reminds me a bit of Keller; straightforward and damn the torpedoes."
"Gee, thanks. I'd always wanted to be compared to a murderer and thief," Peter frowned.
God, Neal was taking forever. How a guy who practiced zero impulse control his entire life could dither around over a chess board for this long was beyond belief.
Neal glanced up, looking at the clock with a guilty start. They'd been playing for quite some time and only now could he see that Peter was getting that pinched look again and sitting quite stiffly. "All right; I concede. You win."
Despite the discomfort, Peter grinned. "I'll bet that just killed you to say it."
"Well, I could sit here for another hour and probably figure my way out of your trap but, since I talked you into this, I'll let you win this time."
"Don't do me any favors," Peter retorted. Then he added, "But don't take another hour to make a move either."
Neal smiled, just a little. "Is it time for that other half of the pill?"
Peter sighed. "Yes."
Neal was a bit chagrined that Peter offered no argument this time; that meant he was indeed hurting. They abandoned the chess game and Peter took the pill. Moving to the couch, he leaned back and turned on the television. This time the Mets were playing the Dodgers, so the agent settled down to enjoy the game. Neal went downstairs and came back with some of June's lemonade. He sat down next to Peter and flipped through an art book. Peter watched avidly; this promised to be a good game. Despite his interest though, he soon gave in to exhaustion and potent pain pills and drifted off.
Neal smiled; watching Peter wage the battle to stay awake had been amusing. He carefully rose from the couch and went back to study the chess board.
Moz was right; the Suit could be devious.
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When Peter awoke, the game was still on but the sound was down. Bleary eyed, he looked around until he spotted Neal sitting outside on the terrace. Getting up, Peter stiffly moved over to the door.
Neal was sketching. Peter watched as Neal rapidly sketched the view from the terrace, complete with birds on June's terrace in the foreground. Peter watched fascinated; all the time he'd known Neal, he'd never seen him sketch very often before in person, for obvious reasons of course.. It was like seeing through a window at the true Neal; someone who wasn't putting forth a front or an image. Just Neal; a vastly talented young man with the world at his fingertips, if he'd only see it.
Neal must have sensed him standing there because after a moment, he turned around. "Peter! Are you all right?"
Peter came forward, enjoying the late afternoon sun. "I'm fine. Just woke up and wondered where you were." He nodded at the sketch. "Nice."
Neal smiled happily. "Well, this one is all mine, at least."
Peter grinned as he sat down next to the younger man. "That's a good start. You'd ought to try doing something of your own, instead of copying other people."
Neal's eyes were shadowed. "Please don't start."
"I'm not starting," Peter said hastily. "I'm just saying, it's always an option. You know El's got her gallery connections around."
"I couldn't just jump into a gallery showing, Peter," Neal said impatiently. "That's not how it works."
Peter sighed. Neal was always so damn touchy about some things. Well, anything that crossed that Do Not Get Too Close line. "Oddly enough, I do know that but thanks for the information .You have to start somewhere, usually at the bottom, no matter what you decide to do with your life. There's always a first step."
"You're not going to start giving me that being a con or a man speech again, are you?" Neal asked suspiciously.
"No. That was a onetime thing. You either heard it or you didn't," Peter said simply.
Neal looked a bit disquieted but said nothing. They both sat in silence for a while, watching the sun disappear from the sky. "I do hear you, Peter," Neal said suddenly. He volunteered nothing more and Peter didn't ask. Neal returned to sketching and Peter relaxed. Now that his head had cleared, he could not help but wonder why Neal had insisted on him being here this weekend. It should have set off red alert warnings but this time, strangely enough, it didn't. Besides, the little guy hadn't run off into hiding. Must be legit, but why?
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Later, Mozzie happened to reappear in time for dinner, bearing some outlandish book (in Neal's opinion) entitled World's Hardest Crosswords, which Peter and June took an immediate interest in, only reluctantly putting it aside when dinner was ready.
They ate in the dining room that night and June was her usual vivacious self. Later they had dessert in the drawing room and just talked over random things, something they rarely indulged in, given Peter's profession and their backgrounds. Then the group started watching television, Moz also bringing over the latest badly dubbed kung fu flick he'd gotten. Peter and Neal exchanged a grin; Mozzie bringing over two presents truly showed how desperate he was to get back in. Peter flipped through the crossword book, watching only when June and Mozzie could not contain themselves. Peter's expression was priceless watching them, but Neal noticed he did keep an eye on the screen when there was a complicated, realistic kung fu move.
Tonight, it was Neal who was exhausted as he sat there in a vague, happy contentment. It had been a tiring week for him as well. It scared him to admit it but coming around that corner finding Peter at the mercy of those cretins had shaken him more than he usually allowed himself to dwell on. Until now that is. Before, outside of Moz, Kate and Alex, you just didn't get personally involved. Neal supposed yesterday wasn't as bad as breaking into Mr. Kent's penthouse office and finding Peter unconscious on the floor; that moment when the EMT had announced Peter's heart had stopped was seared into his memory for all time. But it had rattled Neal enough that he slept poorly last night, waking up quite often to check on the agent. Now, his guard was relaxed and Neal savored something he really had not had very often in life; shelter in a safe house with good friends who really cared. He was secure; the door was locked and guarded by others tonight. In short order, he fell asleep.
The next thing he knew, Peter was gently shaking his shoulder. "Neal. Wake up."
Bleary eyed, Neal looked around. June and Mozzie were gone and the television was off. "Are you all right?" he asked, a bit dazed as he rubbed his eyes.
Peter suppressed a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."
Neal struggled to sit up straighter in the easy chair. "Where is everybody?"
"Mozzie went home – wherever that is tonight – and June has gone to bed. I think. Everybody's tired tonight, it seems."
"Well, in that case," Neal got up and headed upstairs.
Peter held up a hand. "June's got a bedroom for me tonight. You get some rest. I'll be fine."
Neal studied his partner. "Are you sure?"
"Yes." Going up the stairs with Neal, Peter added one more thing. "June tells me Samantha's got a soccer game tomorrow. You want to go?"
Neal shrugged. "I usually do. But only if you feel like it."
At the top of the stairs, Peter paused and reached out for his partner. "I am fine. Really. I should probably go home tomorrow anyway; I've got some stuff I need to get done before El returns."
Neal frowned. "You don't like it here?" His blue eyes were clouded with sleep and, for once, without guile.
Peter stood there, a bit taken aback. Neal with defenses down, without an agenda, without a scheme. Just honesty. This was too precious a moment to be marred with the usual sarcastic answer he would normally come up with. "I do like it here. I could get used to this," he smiled, looking at the splendor of the old house.
"Then you'll stay?" Neal asked hopefully. The openness of his expression was a stark change to the usually guarded Neal.
Peter sighed. "Yes, I'll stay." As he watched Neal walk off happily to his apartment, Peter wondered again about the mystery that was Neal Caffrey. Even after all those years at exotic places surrounded by beautiful women and other people's money, Neal was lonely.
Peter shook his head as he went into his own room. Go figure.
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They rose the next morning and all three attended Samantha's soccer game. Neal felt well rested and Peter was moving almost normally again. The game was a success with Samantha's team winning three to one. June was taking the triumphant players for an after game treat. Neal and Peter declined and instead went walking through the park.
Peter had to admit, it was a refreshing change just to walk around with no hurry and no purpose. He couldn't remember off hand how long it had been. Probably last summer on a Sunday where he and El had left their phones at home, loaded up Satchmo and headed outside the city.
Strolling with Neal was a different experience though. The trees were just starting to change into fall colors and his partner was entranced. Neal was animated, describing in detail the colors and the light and how a good artist could capture the moment with both. He also exclaimed over how the light was hitting a young girl, clearly in her Sunday best, giving her a halo like effect. The young man was entranced with the whole visual experience.
Peter could not help but marvel at another rare glimpse of what he privately termed the true Neal Caffrey. For once, there were no defenses, no wariness, no fear of letting something unintended slip and no charades. Just a man in love with the moment. Most of the art technique talk Peter let wash over him except for a couple of tips that could be useful later in tripping up future forgers, one of which he devoutly hoped wouldn't be Neal Caffrey.
The sounds of a loud argument broke into Neal's monologue. "You want $100 for this? I can't even tell that's my daughter!"
By instinct, Peter started to walk over to the altercation. Neal caught his arm. "Hey, you're not on duty!"
"I know." Peter grinned. "But aren't you a bit curious?"
Giving the agent an exasperated look (yes, Neal was curious), the younger man followed.
A small knot of people had gathered around two men, a small girl and an easel. A nearby sign advertised:
PORTRAITS BY SERGEI FOR $100'.
A thirty something young man stood holding a brown haired girl's hand and a piece of paper. "You're nothing more than a thief. A fraud. You claim to be an artist but this," he held up a pencil scrawled drawing of the girl's face and hair, "is junk!"
A forty something man with long greasy hair in a headband with rather ragged clothes stood by, idly fiddling with his pencils. "Hey, this is my life's blood, dude. I have my own style that I pioneered myself. I pour my soul into this and you call it junk!"
"Well, does this look like my daughter?" the father yelled holding up the paper for all to see.
Neal winced and Peter scowled. "Must be that abstract stuff again," he muttered. "Looks like a Martian crossed with a bug."
Looking dubious, Neal remarked, "Definitely has his own style all right."
The crowd murmured their disapproval. The enraged father said, "I want my money back!"
Sergei pointed to a new sign, he'd set up nearby. No Refunds. "Read'em and weep," he advised. Seeing the crowd's disapproval, he tried a new tack. "Look, my style is avant garde, people. New, bold and challenging. If you want cartoon caricatures, go to Disneyland."
In the meantime, the little girl caught sight of her picture. "Daddy, do I really look like that? My eyes are crossed! I'm ugly! And I'm fat!"
"I don't care about your sign. I want my money back. Your sample pieces aren't in this avant garde style!" The father insisted.
Stepping forward to take a closer look, Neal spoke up. "It wouldn't take too much to fix this," he asserted, speaking over the wailing girl. "Just move the left cheek in a little and redo the left eye; her eyes are wider apart than you have them." Neal studied some more. "On the other hand, maybe you should just junk it."
Sergei gave Neal a cold look. "Oh, are you an artist too? Every upwardly mobile young snot that comes along seems to be one of them."
"He could do better than this with one hand," Peter put in casually.
Sergei gave Peter a dirty look and sneered at Neal. "I suppose you did one of those 'Can You Draw This Picture?' ads out of a magazine, right?"
Neal smiled brightly. "No, I was busy working on," he suddenly became acutely conscious of Peter listening close by, "the classics," the younger man finished vaguely.
The father stepped forward. "Hey, buddy, if you can do a decent job of drawing my daughter, I'll pay you a hundred dollars, no problem. I don't even care about the money. I just want this smug jackass shown how it should be done." Moving closer to Neal, he lowered his voice. "I'm divorced. I made a huge mistake and I'm going to make it up to my wife if it kills me. A portrait of our daughter would really help me in my wife's eyes, you know? What do you say?"
Onlookers had already urged Neal to accept. Neal glanced at Peter. "I don't have any supplies here with me."
Peter stepped forward and stood next to Sergei like they were old friends. "I'm sure ol', what's your name again? Sergei? Sergei wouldn't mind at all, would you, Sergei? Just to see how your new, bold and challenged-"
"Challenging," Sergei corrected icily.
"What? Oh right." Peter hardly stopped for breath. "Challenging style stacks up again my friend's old fashioned, obsolete classic approach?"
"I certainly would mind," Sergei began indignantly but stopped when Peter flipped open his wallet lightning fast. Neal wasn't sure what Sergei had seen; he knew for a fact that Peter's badge was on his coffee table but somehow the artist got the message. Neal felt a surge of almost paternal pride; Peter conning someone and he wasn't even on duty! "Well, okay," Sergei allowed, as Peter was standing there next to him looking intimidating. "But don't go crazy," he added as a face saving maneuver. "Art supplies aren't cheap, man."
Neal took the easel, pencils and paper and set up. He glanced at Peter, who shrugged. "Go do it."
Heaving a sigh – that answer was so Peter Burke – Neal began to sketch. He stifled a grin however, when his subject moved off to sit beside Peter who had moved to a nearby park bench. The agent looked more resigned than his usual wariness with kids. For some reason, Peter seemed to attract them, much to his chagrin and Neal's amusement.
"I'll bring her over here," the father offered.
Neal smiled. "There's no need. I've already memorized her face. Plus my friend needs the company." He smiled when Peter gave him a dirty look.
WC WC WC
As Neal sketched, Peter glanced at the young girl beside him. About eight years old, brown haired and a bit chunky, she was nevertheless a little charmer. Undaunted that she was talking to a stranger, she chattered happily about her adventures with her dog and her doll, certain that he was hanging onto to every word. Thankfully her continuous stream of conversation required no replies other than an occasional 'oh really?', so he was free to watch Neal do the thing he loved.
The onlookers had crowded around his friend. Neal, his face aglow, was happily showing off his technique, to the pleasure of the crowd. The deposed Sergei however, was stalking around muttering and trying to disrupt the proceedings by distracting Neal. Peter noticed an NYPD officer approaching, wondering what the fuss was over probably.
Excusing himself from the girl and ignoring her obvious disappointment, he got up and motioned the officer over. "Burke, FBI, but I'm afraid I don't have my Bureau badge with me at this moment."
The officer, whose name badge read Hartman, asked, "Are you here undercover?"
"No. Just a day off. But I was wondering about this Sergei guy."
Hartman scoffed. "He's a pain in the ass. Every weekend more dissatisfied customers."
"Checked his permits and vendor license lately?" Peter asked.
A slow smile crossed Hartman's face. "I'll find out. I know I personally haven't looked for at least six months."
Peter returned to his bench. The girl asked, "What's a permit?"
"A piece of paper that says he can draw pictures in the park and charge people money," Peter replied.
"Why does he need that?"
"So he pays taxes on the money and practices honest business policy."
"What are taxes? And what's business policy?"
Peter sighed. "I think your Dad is calling you." At least he'd better be, and soon, he thought.
WC WC WC
Neal produced a masterwork, judging by the crowd's reaction, while the disgruntled Sergei stammered out explanations about an expired vendor's permit. Neal was besieged by requests; he glanced at Peter, who shrugged. With a happy smile, Neal started a new sketch; a dog that sat beside its owner who was already happily digging out money. Peter raised an eyebrow at that; Neal assured him it was just for Sergei's art supplies.
The girl's father was suddenly in front of the agent, waving Neal's stunningly beautiful pencil sketch of his daughter. "Your friend is brilliant! He should be a professional artist!" Lowering his voice, the man continued conspiratorially. "That young man tells me you're an FBI agent. I don't know if I'm supposed to say that aloud but I just wanted to thank you for stopping that crook over there. Or should I say that aloud?" He wondered.
"That's the CIA," Peter said with amusement. "We're good here."
"Oh, thank you." The little girl started in again but thankfully her father had to take her home. Neal was busily sketching away, with a wide smile and genuine happiness on his face. His partner was a funny guy, Peter thought as he spotted a cool drinks vendor nearby. Just mentioning Neal should do his own art brought defensiveness and hostility. But allow him a chance to show off and make others happy, Neal was in his element.
Peter went over and bought two drinks. Coming back and moving through the crowd, he sat one down by Neal, who smiled his thanks and kept sketching. Peter returned to his bench, thinking this could be a while. Normally he'd chafe at the delay but on this golden afternoon with the sun on his back, he felt a pleasant lassitude he hadn't felt for some time.
At long last, with Sergei's complaints still annoying everyone, Neal finished the last sketch. He gave the money to Sergei, under the watchful eye of the NYPD officer who then impounded it for evidence. They left and Neal came over to sit by Peter. "You okay?" Neal asked.
"Fine." In truth, Peter had been so relaxed it was hard to keep his eyes open. "You ready to go?"
"I am," Neal said simply.
"You did good today," Peter said quietly.
Neal looked at him, at first suspicious but then he smiled when he realized his friend meant it. "There really wasn't anything to it," he said with such false modesty that Peter couldn't help but laugh.
"Oh, that sounded so modest."
"Just a realistic assessment of my abilities," Neal replied rather smugly.
Peter stopped. "Before I regret what I'm about to say, I do want to thank you for this weekend, Neal. I needed it."
Neal stopped as well, his expressive blue eyes mirroring surprise – and happiness. "You're welcome. But I kind of offered this for Jones and Diana too. You're no fun to be around like you were this week, Peter. Got to work on stress management," he concluded on jaunty note.
"You should know; you're responsible for most of my stress in the first place!" Peter shot back.
"I didn't do anything – this week," Neal amended hastily.
As they walked back to June's, both Peter and Neal reflected silently that it had been a good weekend after all. But they didn't say it to each other, naturally. No point in giving the other strange ideas about how much they enjoyed each other's company.
Thank you for reading.
Also, a big thank you for those of you who are still putting my first story on your favorite story lists and your reviews. I appreciate them both.
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