See Chapter 1 for Warnings and Summary
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Chapter 2: From the Frying Pan
Neal sighed as he stared out across the street, wishing that the ice cream shop wasn't fifteen feet out of his radius. It was pretty hot, for New York anyway, and he could use some frozen yogurt. Ice cream made a much better comfort food than tuna fish.
He idly took a bite of his sandwich, despite the fact that he wasn't particularly hungry, especially not for tuna. His stomach was churning, his nerves on the edge after their little meeting today.
Neal couldn't believe how badly he'd lost it in front of Peter. Shouting things about not wanting to wear panties and flash his junk? His cheeks were red just from the memory. That was *not* how Neal Caffrey behaved. He was classic yet casual, smooth and always cool. Not red faced and panicked as his stupid brain helpfully provided image after image of the scene in those photos, only the boy was Neal Caffrey and the man… Well, the man was *not* Joseph Melbane.
This was just absurd. Peter wanted him to go undercover—that's all it was. Neal was one-hundred percent sure that Peter had no clue that the mere idea set the easy bond between him and Neal back about two years. Back to that day when all he really knew was that this man who had chased him for so very long and who knew everything about him to a disturbing degree was coming to take him away and there was nothing he could do about it because it was exactly what he had asked for.
Neal wasn't the most trusting man in the world, but he had no reason to be. No one in his life had *ever* given him a reason to be. Not even Kate and Mozzie. There was a reason he hadn't told either of them where he kept his stash. It wasn't really *their* fault—Neal had lost the ability to trust long before he met either of them—but in the end it had protected him.
Peter, though… Peter he was comfortable with. He probably trusted Peter more than he'd ever trusted anyone. He trusted that Peter would do what he said he was going to do, even up to putting Neal back in jail if he stepped out of line. But the point wasn't that the thing you trusted a person about was a good thing—simply being able to trust that they would do what they said was what counted, even if that thing was sticking him back in the pen.
Maybe that was why Peter's casual willingness to stick Neal on a street corner had been such a shock. He'd trusted Peter to be above that, and everything related to that. It had resurrected a fear he had buried after only a couple months of working with Peter. He'd written it off as foolishness, his initial worry that Peter might want more from Neal than just his professional help. Now, all of a sudden, said foolishness was starting to look a lot like reality.
There he was, being absurd again. Neal *wasn't* in that position—it was an undercover op, not a blow job in the bathroom. It wasn't like Peter had walked up to him with a hearty, 'Hey buddy, I'm going to be pimping you out tonight. See you at seven.' They needed to get into Melbane's house if they wanted to stop the fires. But Neal really didn't want Peter to think about him like that. Because if he started thinking of him like that, then he might not stop and Neal might find himself playing the part of the go-to get-off-man—the guy you went to when you just wanted to get off, when you wanted stuff your wife wouldn't give you. The one you could do anything with and they'd never complain.
If Peter was going to think of him sexually, Neal wanted it to be in a good way. That's how he imagined it at night, anyway. He imagined Peter's big hands pushing him down onto the bed, firm but gentle, and spreading Neal's legs apart. He imagined that Peter would take the time to make sure it didn't hurt, or not too bad anyway. Never, ever more than Neal could stand. Never because he wanted to see Neal cry. He imagined that Peter would kiss him and run a hand through his hair and tell him that he was beautiful, not in a demeaning way, but because he really thought Neal was beautiful. And then Peter would make love to him and Neal… Neal would enjoy the feel of Peter inside of him, would enjoy the way Peter's hands caressed him like he was something special. And then Peter would come, and his whole face would be filled with pleasure and he would tell Neal how it was only him that made him feel this way which would make Neal feel so wanted. And then… Well, Neal had a hard time imagining what would come then. He'd never really enjoyed being with a man in a physical sense. When he came it was always from some sort of rough physical stimulation that he couldn't control, something that he didn't want. But even if he didn't get off, Neal wouldn't care. He would just be happy to know that Peter had enjoyed being with him, with Neal Caffrey, not with some nameless body. Then Peter would wrap his big arms around Neal and Neal would feel safe and satisfied.
Hey, a man could dream, right?
Neal knew his little fascination with Peter was insane. The man didn't even look at him like that. He was happily married to what had to be the most amazing wife in the world—Kate had never been half that supportive or caring—and he was most definitely straight. But maybe the fact that Peter didn't look at him like that was part of it. Plenty of men had looked at Neal like that, but he'd never wanted them to touch him.
If Peter had told him to, Neal would have slept with him the second Peter had handed him his get out of jail free card. He'd gotten what he'd wanted, time to pay up, right? Neal would have done it, but he wouldn't have enjoyed it.
Neal was used to people taking advantage of him and, while he couldn't always stop it, he didn't have to enjoy it. But that didn't happen. Instead Peter had treated him like a cross between a misbehaving teenager and a good friend. And Neal… Neal had kind of liked that, though he would *never* admit it. The fatherly aspect made him feel safe—it was clear that Peter wanted to protect him from everything, especially himself—and the friend part… Well, Peter Burke was a great friend to have. But just about the time Neal had come to the conclusion that he had nothing to fear from Peter sexually, realizing that the man didn't even see him that way, Neal had actually started to wish that there *was* something between them in a sexual sense. No, not in a sexual sense. In a *romantic* sense.
Neal remembered precisely the first time he'd thought of Peter in a way other than a friend. They'd been sitting on the couch at Peter's house. El was in the kitchen cooking something that smelled delicious while Peter sipped a beer, his eyes on the TV, watching cars go around and around and around in a concrete ring as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. Neal had been watching *him*, trying to figure why, exactly, anyone could find this tedious so-called 'sport' entertaining, when Peter had leaned back and tossed an arm around Neal like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It had taken Neal everything he had in him not to physically flinch—large men throwing their arms around him in confining ways was not one of his favorite things. But Peter hadn't even seemed to notice he'd done it. They'd just sat there, Peter's big fingers idly tracing patterns on Neal's shoulder as he continued to watch the race, occasionally letting out a whoop when someone crashed into a wall.
Neal had slowly relaxed, a warm feeling growing in his chest at the realization that he was so much a part of Peter's life that the man would just throw an arm around him like… like he was family.
It was then that he'd looked up, eyes widening as he saw El standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching them. Neal had instantly panicked as a rush of memories flooded him. Everything about the situation, from the beer to loosen inhibitions to the big hand possessive on his shoulder to the woman standing in the doorway, eyes wide, was like a toned down version of the day he'd lost his home forever.
Neal shuddered slightly as he remembered that day, his mom's figure backlit in the doorway. Her face had been hidden from him by the man on top of him, thrusting, but he'd known she was there. He remembered the way her screams had sounded. Then his step-father had turned and Neal could see the horror on her face. There had been an instant, just one little instant, where he'd thought that maybe she would help him. Then his step-father had started spewing lies about how Neal had seduced him and how it wasn't his fault, the boy was just a whore. Next thing he knew his bag was packed and he was out the door at the young age of fourteen.
Elizabeth had just smiled at him, however, her sweet face lighting up as she called out that dinner was ready and that if Peter wanted a single bite then he'd better get his booty off that couch and come sit at the table like a grown up. She was so sweet.
Neal tapped his fingers lightly on the table, taking a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He needed to relax. Peter wasn't doing anything to him. It was just an op and Neal was the best man they had for the job. He needed to grin and bear it. He would *have* to grin and bear it. After all, he'd flat out told Peter that he wasn't going to do it and the man had refused to listen.
…Somehow Neal had really convinced himself that Peter was the kind of man who would listen when you were afraid.
The bitterness was hard to choke down, though. The safe little world he'd built for himself over the past two years had come crashing down on him in a few minutes. He would have to go out there and flaunt himself in front of half the agents at the Bureau. He had no choice. Neal wondered if they'd ever respect him again. Probably not. But he had no right to be bitter, did he? Peter had given him what he'd asked for—this was just a part of the deal. Sex was now part of the deal. What was it Peter always said? To cowboy up? Ha.
Once again he'd be all alone in the night waiting for someone's fat hands to touch him, and it would be all his fault.
Neal let out a choked laugh at the thought. It sounded kind of twisted. Maybe he should see a therapist. It *was* true, though. It was his fault and it really wasn't fair to Peter for him to be thinking this way, trying to push the blame over to the other man. He'd offered to help Peter on his cases and this was a case he needed helping on. He had every right to make him do it. Neal was a victim to no one other than his own damn crimes.
"Can I sit down?"
Neal started, blinking up in surprise at the sight of Peter's hulking form. He'd been so buried in his thoughts that he hadn't even noticed the man approaching.
"It's a free country," Neal replied lightly, though his stomach was churning again. Just that morning he had been so comfortable talking to Peter. It had been a breeze, their back and forth bantering amusing and somewhat exciting. Now… Now he felt like he was back in his orange scrubs, looking at this dangerous agent's broad shoulders and muscular arms, wondering if he wouldn't be better off in prison, even as he practically begged the man to stick a leash on him and tie him in his backyard.
"You went pretty far for lunch," Peter said as he sat down on the little metal chair across from Neal, his voice a little too casual.
"I'm still in my radius," Neal said stiffly, though he knew that he was only a few feet from the no-no zone. He had spent several days carefully scouting exactly where he could travel without enticing the Feds.
"Didn't say you weren't," Peter replied with a shrug, picking up the menu Neal had abandoned. "Anything good here?"
"Not really. Their salad comes from a bag and their sandwiches look like someone stepped on them. The coffee's actually not horrendous, though."
"Hm." Peter waved their waitress over. "I'll have the deviled ham."
"Of course," Neal murmured.
"And lemonade. Thank you."
Peter turned his attention back to Neal, face unreadable. "Okay, Neal—"
"I want some rules," Neal burst in before Peter had a chance to talk. There was no need to hear him speak. Neal got it, he didn't have a choice. He understood. He didn't need Peter to tell him. No, he didn't *want* Peter to tell him, because he knew the words would be burned into his head forever. They always were.
"Please, I don't want to…"
"Did I ask what you fucking wanted? Nobody gave you a choice, slut."
A little wrinkle appeared between Peter's eyes as he studied Neal, eyes obviously searching for something, though Neal didn't know what he expected to find. "Rules, Neal?" The words were careful, like Peter was treading on ice.
Neal nodded, a little too quickly, then forced himself to reign his panic in. "That's right. I want some rules. Before I do this… con." It was hard to call it a con. It felt too real. But then any time you sold your ass to someone, it was sort of a con. You pretended to like it and they pretended they weren't paying you and everybody was happy. Not really, but close enough.
"Okay," Peter said slowly, looking a little confused. "Tell me what that means. What 'rules' do you want?"
Neal paused at that, unsure. The words had just sort of come out; he hadn't actually thought about what rules he wanted. He'd never been given a chance to make the rules before. That was always somebody else's job. Someone bigger, stronger, more powerful. "I…" He thought quickly. "I want a safe word. I want a word that, when I say it, you'll come in and get me whether the job is done or not." Peter was frowning and Neal licked his lips nervously. Maybe that was asking for a little much. They couldn't blow the op just because he was feeling queasy. "Okay, maybe not a word where you'll come get me no matter what. But a word where you'll try and come get me if it won't mess everything up. And when it's over, I want the tapes destroyed. I don't want myself on tape where people could listen to them for… reasons other than taking down Melbane." He swallowed hard. "And I don't care what he wants, we use a condom. If he won't use a condom, then it's over. We find another way." Neal had enough close calls in his past. He didn't need that worry. "Oh, and I want the next day off." So that he could break down in the privacy of his own place.
Neal sat back, jutting his chin in the air and practically daring Peter to argue.
The look on Peter's face, however, had gone from confused to furious—his step-father used to look like that—and before he even thought about it, Neal was taking it back.
"Or… or maybe I'll just do whatever you want. It doesn't matter anyway. I don't care. Why would anybody care?"
"Gee, I don't know, Neal, maybe because you're my friend?"
Neal's eyes widened. He hadn't meant to say that last part out loud.
"For God's sake, no wonder you didn't want to do this!" Peter's face was a shocking shade of red but, luckily, his anger was apparently not aimed at Neal. The menu was taking quite a beating, however. "You're not going to have to sleep with the man, Neal! That is *not* the plan. That was *never* the plan. You're going to get him to take you to his house, drop a few bugs wherever you can, and get the fuck out. If he even *touches* you I'll… I'll… Well, I don't know what I'll do but it won't be pretty."
Neal's brow furrowed. "I don't understand."
Peter sighed and took a long sip of the lemonade the waitress had just put in front of him, obviously trying to calm himself. He set the glass down a little too hard and Neal jumped. "I really can't believe you think I would force you to have sex with some *man*!" He paused, thinking over the words. "Or a woman, but especially a man! Neal, the plan is simple. You get him to take you home, you plant bugs, you leave."
"I… But… But he's taking me home for sex, Peter," Neal said quietly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Once you go with them, you can't decide to pick up and leave. You have to give them what they want." And if what they wanted was a little beyond what you were comfortable with, well, it was your fault for going with them in the first place.
Peter raised an eyebrow. "That's really what you think? I thought you were a romantic. You think that just because some whore goes home with a guy, they gotta put out or else?"
No. Well, yes, if it was *him*, but not if it was, say, some poor twelve year old girl. Either way, it didn't matter. "Peter, it doesn't matter what I think on the topic. It matters what Melbane thinks. If I go in there… I'm gonna have to let him do what he wants."
"Like hell you are," Peter replied, voice brisk. "You drop some bugs then fake a headache or something, get in a cab, and leave Melbane alone with his left hand. I would *never* let some bastard like Melbane hurt you. I care about you."
Neal had opened his mouth to protest, but closed it at the words, surprised by the warm feeling spreading through his chest. God, he was like a pitiful puppy. Give him a pat on the head and watch him lap up the attention. But still… it felt good. Peter was more of a slug them in the shoulder type than he was a talker. For him to say he cared… It stroked Neal's ego. Or maybe his heart, but saying ego made him feel like less of a loser.
Peter cared about him. This… it wasn't vindictive. It wasn't a way to bring Neal down. He just wanted his help, like the time Diana had gone in as an escort. Peter sure as hell hadn't expected her to sleep with anyone. Neal had just assumed he was different. He wasn't a woman, for one thing, and this wouldn't be an expensive room at a fancy hotel. Peter hadn't chosen him because "whore" and "Neal" were synonymous in his head. Peter had chosen him because he thought Neal would pull it off the best, totally naive to the reality that, if Neal went in, he would have to fuck the guy. Which he would—Neal had no doubt about that. He'd spent enough time on street corners to know that if they took you to *their* place, they were serious, and once you got there… Well, you would be leaving when they decided you could.
The real question being, would Neal risk being forced to do something he'd sworn he'd never do again just because Peter Burke asked him to? Sadly, the answer was probably yes.
"You know what, Neal?" Peter said, his face back to its normal color, thank God. "Maybe this isn't such a great idea anyway. I… I'm not sure I want you out there. You obviously think you're going to get hurt—"
"That's not what I said," Neal protested.
Peter reached over, casually placing a hand on Neal's forearm like it was nothing. "Look, you think about it and, whatever you decide, it's what we'll go with, okay? If you're not up to it, we'll figure out someone else tomorrow, okay? Just give it some thought. It's your choice." With those words he stood, giving Neal's arm one last squeeze. "I've got to get back to the Bureau. Why don't you take the rest of the day off?" He smirked and nodded toward the Ben & Jerry's across the street—just outside Neal's radius. "But don't let your love of frozen yogurt tempt you to do evil."
Neal gave him a small smile, feeling as if the weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "I'll do my best."
0 o 0 o 0
Peter wiped at the sweat on his brow as he avoided collision with yet another taxi. Thankfully the little dot blinking on the map he'd pulled up on his phone had finally stopped moving. Peter had really begun to worry that Neal was going to flout the rules and go outside of his radius, just as a nice little 'fuck you' to Peter.
Peter still wasn't sure what had upset the man so badly. He'd actually given in and called El for advice—she was so much better at this stuff than he was—but all she'd had to say was something along the lines of, "Well, hon, don't you think maybe Neal would have appreciated being asked before you told everyone that he was going to be playing a male prostitute?" Yeah, okay, he got that now. He could see that. It was kind of an awkward situation and Peter knew Neal got enough flack about his sexuality from some of the other agents just because he was artsy and dressed fancy. As if that had anything to do with his sexuality.
It was crystal clear that Neal Caffrey liked women. He attracted them like flies to sexy-man honey. Constant flirtation. He was always checking out the ladies, everywhere they went. Just because he was handsome and stylish didn't mean he was a homo. Just like finding your friend and partner maybe a little attractive didn't mean *you* were a homo. After all, who wouldn't find a guy like Neal attractive? And Peter *did* find Neal attractive.
El had been the one to call him on it, actually, and, if she hadn't, Peter probably wouldn't ever have admitted it to *himself*, much less to anyone else. The guy… he just *shined.* Being around him was… exciting. It really didn't have anything to do with how he *looked*. Peter had been attracted by him long before he'd ever (knowingly) seen him. Chasing Neal Caffrey had been a thrill. The man was absolutely brilliant, and Peter had been impressed. The truth was, if Neal hadn't been so desperate to get back with Kate, Peter wasn't sure he'd have ever caught him. A mind like that was challenging to work against and, more importantly, a hell of a lot of fun to work with.
It had been easy to ignore it when Neal was on the run. Okay, yeah, so he talked about the guy like they were friends and got excited when a new case came up with Neal's name on it. It didn't matter, because he was going to put him away. That was his job. The chase was exciting, the catch was even better, but after that… Their interaction was done with, over.
Peter's life had become a lot duller after he'd caught Neal, that was for sure. None of the cases crossing his desk were anywhere near the challenge that Neal was. Peter, well, he'd missed him. He missed their strange communication, he'd missed the adrenaline rush of thwarted arrests, he'd missed working backward to unravel the mystery that was Neal's mind. He'd assumed that he'd just have to move on—Neal was in prison and that part of his life was over. It was time to find a new bad guy to chase.
Little did he know.
Now here he was, almost a decade from the day he first heard the name James Bonds, working side by side with Neal. He got to see that quick, calculating mind in action, but he also got to see a new part of Neal, one that he hadn't known as well before: His charm. Because Neal Caffrey was, if nothing else, a charmer. He had charmed Peter anyway, despite the fact that the man drove him crazy sometimes.
Peter wasn't sure when it started—he'd always spent a lot of time watching Neal, so staring at him during work hours wasn't so out of place. He knew when he'd first recognized it, however. They'd been standing at the coffee maker together and Peter had reached out and touched Neal's wrist. No reason, he just felt like doing it. Neal had looked at him kind of oddly, Peter had moved his hand, and the day had gone on. The next day, he'd put a hand on Neal's back while they walked and, the next, he'd squeezed his arm as he passed by. It had freaked Peter out, enough that he started giving Neal the cold shoulder. He was not a touchy guy. He didn't *touch* people for no reason—and there sure as hell was no reason for him to be touching Neal so familiarly, like he would his goddamn wife.
It had gone on for about two weeks, Neal becoming increasingly stressed as Peter kept every sentence as brief as possible and avoided the man whenever he could. Finally he'd come home to find El waiting for him on the couch, looking upset. She'd patted the cushion next to her and he'd sat down, wondering why he was in the doghouse.
Apparently Neal had shown up, a little drunk, and poured out his soul to Elizabeth, asking her over and over what he did wrong that Peter hated him now.
"Hon," she'd said, "you're tearing the boy apart. What's going on?"
And so Peter had tried to explain, as well as he could, swearing that whatever had gotten him and Neal to this point was irrelevant because he was going to make it go away. She was the one he loved.
He'd half expected her to demand a divorce, even if touching someone's wrist wasn't exactly adultery. It was weird, definitely abnormal, and anything but professional. He should have known El was too amazing for that. She'd just pursed her lips, scolded him for treating Neal badly, and told him that she had always known he had a soft sport for the con artist, from the day Peter took over his case.
"You and Neal have something, you guys just don't know it," she'd informed him calmly, an amused sparkle to her eyes. "If you think I'm threatened by that walking piece of art, then you've lost it. Neal is smart and handsome just like you are smart and handsome, but he's different enough to keep the mystery—and the mystery is what makes it so fun. Maybe someday both of you will own up and realize that you've got something." Peter had started to protest and she'd held up a hand to silence him. "Maybe you won't. But you are *my* husband and you always will be. You're something to Neal, but you're not his husband and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't really want to be your wife. Outside of that… How about we just take it as it comes, okay, hon?"
The conversation had been… more than enlightening. It was like Peter had been blind for years and could suddenly see. He was attracted to Neal. Smart, sassy, clever Neal. He wanted to protect him, to care for him, to be with him. But El was right about one thing—he didn't want to marry him. Peter had felt like a bird let out of its cage. Suddenly the subtle touches and special smiles were a game. It was especially fun because Peter knew for a fact that Neal had *no* idea. The truth was, Peter was afraid that, if Neal did find out, their relationship would be ruined for good. El seemed to think that Neal had the same kind of feelings for Peter that Peter had for Neal, but womanly instincts weren't always correct, especially when they were concerning two men.
Neal was both a romantic and a playboy. He was a womanzier, bur in a gentlemanly way. Besides his fancy hats and extensive moisturizing routine, Peter had never seen Neal do anything to make him think that the other man might be attracted to men. But it was okay. Peter just enjoyed being with Neal, and he especially enjoyed knowing that he could become as close a companion to the man as possible without destroying the love he had with Elizabeth. If subtle touches were all he ever got, well, he still got to see Neal's big smile and make comments on his cartoonish clothing and work with his brilliant mind. It wasn't such a bad deal.
There were times, of course, when Peter kind of wished that his thing with Neal was a little simpler, today being a fine example. Why the hell had Neal taken off? Yeah, so El was right, he should have talked to Neal in private before declaring him their undercover hooker. But the son of a bitch had taken off like a freaking rabbit, straight to the edge of his radius. The wingtips and suit Peter was wearing were not made for hiking across New York City in the middle of the summer.
He glanced down at his phone again, the little dot blinking right in the center. Neal was somewhere in the near vicinity.
Peter scanned the block. There was a Ben & Jerry's down the street and Neal had a thing for frozen yogurt. Peter glanced down at his phone. Nope, it was out of his radius. Too bad, Peter wouldn't mind some Cookies N Cream right now. He scanned the area again.
There. Neal was seated in front of a small cafe, his head propped up on one hand as he stared across the street at the ice cream parlor. Peter's lips twitched in amusement at the longing look on the man's face. He had a sudden urge to pop up behind him and say, "Three more months and you could have been eating a banana split over there right now, buddy," but he was already in enough trouble for God knows what. No need to feed the flame.
Peter moved toward the cafe, coming to a stop in front of Neal's table. The man's eyes were kind of glazed and he looked lost in thought, which was sort of worrying. Neal wasn't usually the kind of man you could easily sneak up on.
"Can I sit down?" Peter questioned, a little amused when Neal jerked, almost knocking over his water glass.
The man recovered quickly, once again graceful and ever-smooth. "It's a free country," his voice was light but it was obvious that he was less than happy with Peter. God, he'd chased him halfway across the city. Hadn't he been punished enough?
"You went pretty far for lunch," Peter said as he sat down across from Neal, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm still in my radius," Neal replied shortly.
"Didn't say you weren't," Peter said. He picked up the menu. God, he was starving. "Anything good here?"
Neal's lip curled up slightly, as it tended to do when you mentioned things like wine in a box or day old donuts. "Not really. Their salad comes from a bag and their sandwiches look like someone stepped on them. The coffee's actually not horrendous, though."
Oh, no, their salad came from a bag? Someone call the kitchen police! "Hm." Peter caught a waitress' eye, dropping the menu back on the table as he smiled up at her. "I'll have the deviled ham," he said, more to irritate Neal than anything else.
It worked. Neal shot him a slightly disgusted look. "Of course."
Peter flashed him a smile. "And lemonade. Thank you."
The waitress nodded and Peter took a deep breath as he turned his attention back to Neal, ready to deal with the powder keg. Unfortunately he didn't even get a full sentence in before it went off. "Okay, Neal—"
"I want some rules." The words came out like vomit, if you wanted to describe them really gross terms. They just sort of spewed out, in a very un-Neal-like way. Peter frowned, not sure where this was going, but sure he didn't like it. Neal looked… well, kind of freaked out.
"Rules, Neal?" Peter made it question and Neal began to nod, too quickly, then sort of straightened up, obviously forcing himself to relax. What was going on? Neal wasn't like this.
"That's right. I want some rules. Before I do this… con."
He wanted rules for the op? They had plenty of rules—they were called the law. Wisely Peter chose not to say that—El would be impressed with his tact—and just nodded, feeling confused. "Okay, tell me what that means. What 'rules' do you want?"
Neal just sat there for a moment, a kind of puzzled look coming over his face, like he hadn't expected that to be Peter's answer. "I… I want a safe word. I want a word that, when I say it, you'll come in and get me whether the job is done or not."
What the fuck? He had a safe word on every damn case. It was called 'help me.'
"Okay, maybe not a word where you'll come get me no matter what. But a word where you'll try and come get me if it won't mess everything up. And when it's over, I want the tapes destroyed. I don't want myself on tape where people could listen to them for… reasons other than taking down Melbane."
Other reasons than taking down Melbane? What other reasons would they use surveillance recordings for? Peter was definitely not following.
Neal's adam's apple bobbed noticeably. God, the man was nervous. Peter hadn't seen him this nervous since the sentencing day of his trial. "And I don't care what he wants, we use a condom. If he won't use a condom, then it's over. We find another way."
Peter didn't hear what Neal said after that, he was too busy reeling from the punch in the gut Neal had just sent his way. Was the man out of his mind? Had he really thought that he, Peter Burke, would send him out to have sex with their suspect just to get some fucking wires in the house? Peter felt his face growing hot. Neal really believed he would do that to him? That was disgusting! Neal was his CI, was under *his* custody. Neal was his to *protect*! And if any son of a bitch ever came *close* to touching Neal in a way he didn't like, Peter would beat their faces in. Or put them in jail. No, screw jail. He'd totally just beat their faces in.
Neal's face had gone pale, his eyes a little too wide, and Peter took a deep breath, realizing he probably looked like he was about to explode. And he felt like he was about to explode. It made him furious, both the idea of Neal being sent in like cannon fodder to fill Melbane's twisted desires-not to mention the fact that Neal apparently believed that Peter would do something like that to him. Talk about a knife in the heart.
"Or… or maybe I'll just do whatever you want." Neal held up his hands defensively. "It doesn't matter anyway. I don't care." A pause and then, quieter, "Why *would* anybody care?"
Peter's heart pounded and he forced himself to speak calmly, albeit through gritted teeth. "Gee, I don't know, Neal, maybe because you're my friend?" Peter palmed his face, trying to choke down the anger and hurt he felt. It wasn't Neal's fault. He had no idea how Peter felt about him. It's not like Peter had ever walked up and told him, 'Hey, you're actually my best friend—oh, and you're really attractive too, just FYI.' But he'd kind of hoped Neal understood. Apparently not, though, if he thought Peter would basically pimp him out to close a case.
"For God's sake, no wonder you didn't want to do this!" Peter leaned forward, staring intensely into Neal's eyes. "You're not going to have to sleep with the man, Neal! That is *not* the plan. That was *never* the plan. You're going to get him to take you to his house, drop a few bugs wherever you can, and get the fuck out. If he even *touches* you I'll… I'll… Well, I don't know what I'll do but it won't be pretty." He did know what he'd do, actually, since he was seeing it vividly in his mind at that very moment, but describing it would just make him sound like a serial killer, so better to keep his mouth shut.
Neal looked confused. "I don't understand."
Peter let out a sigh and practically grabbed the lemonade the waitress had just set down, chugging it back like a beer. What was there to understand? Peter was not going to sell him to strangers. Ever. It couldn't get more straight forward than that, could it? "I really can't believe you think I would force you to have sex with some *man*!" He paused. That sounded kind of homophobic. "Or a woman, but especially a man!" Not that the idea of Neal with another man made him feel threatened or anything… "Neal, the plan is simple. You get him to take you home, you plant bugs, you leave."
"I… But… But he's taking me home for sex, Peter." Neal kind of squirmed, eyes dancing around the table, refusing to meet Peter's. "Once you go with them, you can't decide to pick up and leave. You have to give them what they want."
Peter stared. What the hell? He couldn't imagine Neal Caffrey taking home some whore and informing her that she had better do what he wanted or else. It would be easier to imagine Billy Graham dancing a tango wearing sparkly heels and a dress. But that was pretty much what he was saying, wasn't it? "That's really what you think?" It couldn't be what he thought. There was something here that he wasn't understanding. "I thought you were a romantic. You think that just because some whore goes home with a guy, they gotta put out or else?"
Neal let out a sigh. "Peter, it doesn't matter what I think on the topic. It matters what Melbane thinks. If I go in there… I'm gonna have to let him do what he wants."
Dear God, there was fear in Neal's eyes. Neal was not scared of much, but this was obviously a sore spot.
"Like hell you are," Peter replied, trying to ignore the urge to basically stand up and pound his chest. "You drop some bugs then fake a headache or something, get in a cab, and leave Melbane alone with his left hand." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "I would *never* let some bastard like Melbane hurt you. I *care* about you."
Neal just sat there, staring at him with an unreadable look on his face—the kind of face he wore when something was *really* bothering him. Peter let out a sigh.
"You know what, Neal?" Peter said, trying to sound comforting. "Maybe this isn't such a great idea anyway." Peter could find someone else to do this, then Neal wouldn't feel bad and Peter wouldn't have to worry about him being out there with the sickos. It kind of worked out for everyone, even if Peter couldn't think of another person he trusted as much as Neal who could do this job. Not off the top of his head, anyway. "I… I'm not sure I want you out there. You obviously think you're going to get hurt—"
"That's not what I said," Neal protested, voice still sounding a little unsure.
Peter took a deep breath and slowly moved his hand to rest on Neal's arm, trying to look as casual as possible, even as parts of his anatomy that weren't particularly polite to talk about announced their interest. "Look, you think about it and, whatever you decide, it's what we'll go with, okay? If you're not up to it, we'll figure out someone else tomorrow, okay? Just give it some thought. It's your choice." He stood, squeezing his arm. "I've got to get back to the Bureau. Why don't you take the rest of the day off?" He smirked and nodded toward the ice cream shop Neal had been studying. "But don't let your love of frozen yogurt tempt you to do evil."
Neal smiled, his real smile, the one that always made Peter want to smile even bigger. "I'll do my best."