AN: Because my brother and I spent a half-hour laughing uncontrollably at the idea, I decided to write it.


Title: Ding dong, Shaw is dead...

Word count: 539


There was a knock on the door. Normally to Neal Caffrey, that wouldn't have caused much anxiety. However, considering he currently had CIA Special Agent Daniel Shaw singing Need You Now in his shower, he was sweating bullets under his robe.

Shuffling his bare feet towards the door, he slowly unlatched the bolt and opened the door, as if heading towards an early death. He had a feeling he knew exactly who was calling at this time of night. When he saw who it was, his heart sank.

"Peter," he choked out. "What are you doing here? With beer?"

"I thought we could go over some theories on the Rook case," FBI Special Agent Peter Burke said, pushing past Neal into the apartment. He came up short when he saw the two wine glasses on the dining table, and glanced at his partner with a sly look. "Unless you have company."

Neal's eyes widened comically and flickered towards his room. The sound of the shower had abruptly stopped, and a distinctly male voice echoed in the small space.

"Hey Neal, where'd you put that lotion-" Shaw stepped into the living space, with only a towel around his waist, rubbing another one through his wet hair. When he caught sight of Peter, he froze for a moment before a bright grin made its way onto his face and he walked towards the two. "Why hello there! Adrian Kent, and you must be the Agent Burke I hear so much about."

Peter shook the offered hand, looking more than a little shell shocked. Neal felt his face actually heat up, but it was more out of anger than mortification. Although, he was sure that would come later.

"What? Ah, I mean, yes. Yes I am. Nice to, ah, meet you," Peter stumbled over his words, shooting a dazed glance at Neal. The con-man shot a heated look at Shaw, but Peter must have mistook it for something else because he started coughing.

"Are you okay Agent Burke?" Shaw asked, a hint of mischievousness in his voice.

Neal had to ball his hands into fists, digging his fingernails into his palms in an attempt to distract himself from running over to the man and just strangling him with his bare hands. In seconds, Neal had thought of twenty different ways he could kill a man with a towel, but using his hands felt more appealing. Oh, the man was going to pay. Just not in front of a potential witness, particularly when said witness was a federal agent.

"Fine! I'm just fine!" Peter said, gaining control of himself. Neal didn't even want to look at his partner.

"Okay, well it was nice to meet you! Neal, I'm going to go ask June about that lotion. This New York weather is really drying out my skin…." he muttered disgustedly, walking out of the room.

The silence was deafening. Peter wasn't even looking at him, and Neal was gazing up at the ceiling. He quietly shut the still open door and walked over to the dining room table, sitting down with a sigh.

"I think I have some bourbon around here somewhere."

"Yeah. Yeah, sounds good."