AN: Sometimes, three years later, while drinking my coffee I get the urge to write another little one-shot to go with this...
It was habit. He hadn't even realized what he was doing at the time. The man was an ass, and it was instinct, a knee jerk reaction.
A small sense of pride bubbled up from under the shame. He hadn't pick-pocketed in months, but here he was still flawless- the man had no clue what had happened. As far as he was concerned he had mouthed off to the teenager in a private school uniform and then miraculously lost his wallet. And his watch.
Neal looked back over his shoulder, across the crowds of people he could see the man ducking into a cab Neal was aware he was without money to pay for.
"Dammit, Peter," Neal's mumbled thought came out just as more shame overtook any pride he had at still being able to seamlessly pick-pocket the man.
Neal Caffrey felt bad for pick-pocketing. Frustrated, angry, and worried about disappointing Peter, Neal shoved the wallet and watch in his backpack, right next to his Art History textbook and hurried across the park. He would get on the subway, go home, help Elizabeth make dinner, and forget this ever happened.
"Neal?"
As soon as he walked in the house he heard the slight undertone of worry in Elizabeth's voice and his eyes glanced up at the ornate clock by the front door. He was late, very late. Over an hour and a half late.
"It's me, Elizabeth. I'm sorry I'm late I was finishing up a piece in the art room and I lost track of time…" Neal walked into the kitchen as he spoke and saw Elizabeth's inquisitive gaze over the delicious smelling pot on the stove. It was as if she was pondering if she believed him for a moment, but she relaxed and went back to stirring, sending wafts of smell across the kitchen. The sense of home enveloped Neal, and again he felt a sense of shame.
He had lied, to Elizabeth of all people. He hadn't lost track of time painting and he knew it. He had lost track of time in Central Park with Mozzie, someone he was expressly forbidden from seeing. And now he was going to have to continue lying, to both Elizabeth and Peter. Which meant he was going to get caught. He would lie, and no matter how good the lie was or how talented he was at lying, Peter would know. The man always knew.
"After you put up your coat and backpack, would you mind setting the table sweetheart?"
Neal swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. "Of course," he answered and quickly ducked out of the room. He was almost two hours late and Elizabeth said nothing, instantly forgiving him even though he knew he had made her worry. A few months ago he wouldn't have felt shame at making her worry, he wouldn't have cared at all.
"Hey, Satchamo," he leaned down to scratch the patiently waiting dog and felt the weight of his backpack shift, reminding him of the stolen watch and wallet sitting tucked between textbooks and papers.
And then the front door opened.
"Hey, kiddo," Peter's affectionate greeting caused Neal to divert his attention from Satchamo and his gaze rose to meet the man's eyes.
"Hey, Peter," Neal tried to casually slide past the man and make his way up the stairs to his room.
"Neal?"
No such luck. Taking a fortifying breath, Neal pivoted around to meet Peter's questioning gaze, hand still on the banister. The man was quiet as he shucked off his winter coat and hung it up, his eyes never leaving Neal's.
"Did you just get home?"
Neal caught his lip between his teeth, instantly knowing where this was going. Damn not getting his coat and backpack off when he first came in. That and the wet hair plastered to his forehead from the melted snow were a dead giveaway. Peter wasn't dumb, and with three days left on his grounding from the incident two weeks before, Neal knew he was supposed to be home hours ago.
"I might have lost track of time painting in Mr. Schellers's room after class."
Peter's raised eyebrow was the only answer he got, and Neal flashed him a smile in return.
Technically, he wasn't lying. He had stayed 15 minutes after the last bell to put finishing touches on his piece before absconding off to meet Mozzie.
"Hey, hun," Elizabeth walked out of the kitchen to greet Peter, drying her hands on a towel and smiling at him.
Neal took the opportunity presented, and with Satchamo at his heels, headed up the stairs until dinner.
"Neal, you're fifteen not five, eat your food and stop playing with it."
Neal's hand froze, midway through pushing a piece of potato across his plate. His pride bristled at Peter's comment and he popped the potato into his mouth and swallowed quickly, tasting nothing.
His stomach was in knots. He was upset over a damn wallet and watch. He had pickpocketed more people than he would ever admit to Peter before coming to live with the Burke's, and this one damn man was making him feel guilty. Neal hated him.
He didn't want to feel guilty. Even more, he didn't want Peter to find out.
Neal stabbed at another piece of potato, angry with himself. When had he gotten this way? One year of living with the Burke's and their storybook life and all the sudden he was soft, getting upset over a wallet that only contained seventy three dollars and a cheap knock off watch.
"Neal?"
"What?" Elizabeth jumped slightly and Neal immediately regretted the angry tone his answer had come out in.
He took a deep breath, an overwhelming desire for coffee or wine running through him. More things he wasn't allowed living with the Burke's that Mozzie had never cared about.
Schooling his features into a perfectly conceived contrite expression, he began to apologize to Elizabeth, ignoring the raised eyebrow of suspicion he could see on Peter's face the whole time.
The knock on his door didn't surprise him, neither did Peter opening the door and stepping inside before he could answer.
"Peter, isn't there a game on? I feel honored you're taking time away from it to see me." Neal felt the charm smile on his face, but even so he knew it wasn't fooling Peter.
"Cut the crap, Neal." Peter spun the desk chair around and sat facing Neal, surrounded by homework on his bed. "What's going on?" Peter's tone was softer, concerned.
Neal folded his hands behind his head to keep them from tracing the pattern on his bedspread, he knew it would be a tell.
"What do you mean, Peter?"
That damn raised eyebrow was all he got in return, and Peter just stared at him. Silently. Patiently. Waiting for him to answer.
Two could play at this game.
Neal picked up his textbook, eyes flittering across the page but not reading a word. He kept his eyes trained on the book, knowing not to look at his backpack, where the stolen contraband was. And knowing even more not to look at Peter, the only person who could break his defenses.
"Neal," his name was a warning now, and he brought his eyes from the book to meet Peter's.
"Peter," he answered back, tone cool and amused, ignoring the way the man sat forward, elbows on his knees, studying Neal.
"What's going on, kiddo?" Neal heard the question for what it was, an invitation for Neal to tell Peter, to trust him and let him in.
The two just stared at each other for a silent moment.
Neal took a deep breath, and moving his gaze past Peter spoke, his voice sounding painfully shy and vulnerable.
"I lied to you and Elizabeth."
Neal waited anxiously for Peter to respond, still staring at a speck on the wall, not wanting to meet his eyes.
The room stayed silent. His lip between his teeth, Neal chanced a glance at Peter to read his expression. Peter sat back in his chair, casually looking at Neal, silently waiting for him to continue.
Another deep breath, another response in that painfully vulnerable tone he hated his voice had when he knew Peter would be upset with him.
"I met Mozzie in Central Park today, that's why I was late," Neal's finger traced the lines in the comforter, not daring to look at Peter this time.
"What else?"
Damn, Peter. Neal thought to himself, the man always knew when he was only telling part of the truth.
Fingers still tracing the pattern his mind wrestled with what to do, he could leave it at that, he just met Mozzie and lost track of time, Peter had no proof anything else happened. Or he could tell Peter and-
His mental tirade was stopped by Peter's hand on his wrist, effectively stopping his hand's movements and putting his attention fully on the older man.
"What else, Neal?"
"Technically, if I return it without taking anything it's just borrowing, not stealing."
The words were out of Neal's mouth before he could stop them, and oh how he wished he had stopped them.
A humorless chuckle escaped Peter's mouth and he stretched his hand out to Neal in a silent, knowing request. Reaching across his bed to where his backpack was, Neal pulled it closer to him and fished out the wallet and watch, avoiding Peter's gaze all the while.
"I haven't taken anything out of it, I promise." Neal placed the items in Peter's hand, waiting for the response.
Peter flipped open the wallet and looked through it, disappointment etched on his face, the sight of it making Neal's stomach swim.
"I am sorry, the guy just made me angry and…" Neal trailed off as Peter closed the wallet and watch, sitting them on the desk behind him. He sat forward again, staring intently at Neal.
"First off, stealing is stealing and you know it. There is none of this borrowing crap."
Neal went back to staring at his comforter, shame washing through him again. Shame that only Peter, only disappointing Peter, gave him.
"Second of all, I'm proud of one decision you made today."
Neal's head snapped up in shock at the words, his expression a silent question to Peter.
"You didn't have to show me these, you didn't have to tell me what happened. You chose to trust me and be honest and I appreciate that, Neal."
A slow smile slid across Neal's face. "So I'm not in trouble?"
Laughter bubbled out of Peter. "Nice try Neal, get up and put on your shoes."
Peter stood and walked towards the bedroom door, picking up the wallet and watch as he went.
"Why?" Neal stared after Peter in confusion, which turned to worry when Peter turned around with a borderline giddy expression on his face.
"Because, you have provided me with the entertainment of getting to take you and torture you by making you return these and apologize to Mr…." Peter flipped open the wallet again. "Sanchez in person."
"Peter!" Neal sat up, realizing what Peter was saying. "You can't make me go do that!"
"Oh yes, yes I can." His expression was definitely giddy now as he walked out of Neal's room. "You have five minutes, Neal. Get up!" Peter threw the words over his shoulder as he headed down the stairs.
"Damn you, Peter." Neal grumbled to himself as he laced his shoes on his feet.