A/N: Here we go with chapter three. This is a big one! I thought about splitting it into two parts, but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging. Also, it's my birthday this weekend. So, if you'd like to make me a little present, leave me a review.
Elizabeth got suspicious when Peter didn't open the door for her. They had just returned from another doctor's appointment. Usually, her loving husband would open the passenger door for her, help her out of the car and up the front steps to the house, and then hurry to unlock the door. Today, he was hanging back, and Elizabeth thought she knew what that meant.
She headed inside and tried to brace herself. Sure enough, her sister welcomed her with a huge grin and a loud, "Surprise!"
Her mother appeared right next to her. "Maddie, we talked about this! You don't jump into a pregnant woman's face and yell surprise!"
Madeline Mitchell didn't look overly concerned. "Sorry, sis. Surprise!" she repeated a little less loud.
Elizabeth looked past her and her eyes widened. Her mother and sister weren't the only surprise guests. Her father, everyone from Burke Premiere Events, Jones and Diana, June, several of her girlfriends, and even Sara Ellis were all waiting in her living room amidst colorful balloons and streamers.
"What did you do?" Elizabeth asked as she gave both her sister and her mother a dazed hug.
Peter had finally followed her inside, and when she glanced at him, he only shrugged his shoulders. "Don't look at me."
"Come on, Lizzie. You're a party planner. You love parties!" Maddie reminded her.
"Well…" Elizabeth said. Not necessarily in her own living room while she was the size of a horse.
"Your sister is right. You've been waiting for this baby for so long. We couldn't possibly not throw you a baby shower!" Tina Mitchell decided, and that was that.
Maddie clapped her hands. "Right, first, the rules!"
Peter frowned. "Rules? I didn't know baby showers had rules."
"The games we're going to play do. And the first one is that you can't say the word baby." Maddie handed them both a diaper pin. "Wear these on your shirts, and if you catch someone saying you-know-what, you can steal their pin. So, mum's the word!"
"Can I say it again after I've lost my pin? For example, if I ask Tina if she would like to see the new baby pictures?" Peter asked. He had never quite understood the Mitchell family's enthusiasm for playing games.
Maddie shot him a dark look, but she didn't get to say anything because Elizabeth's mom beat her to it. "Your doctor did another ultrasound? Oh, you kids are so lucky. In my time we only got two, at the most!" she said and eagerly reached for the black-and-white image Peter offered her. "Wow, he's gotten so big!"
"Oh yes, I can attest to that," Elizabeth laughed, resting a hand on her swollen abdomen.
"Sweetheart, you look wonderful!" her mom assured her.
"I tell her that every day," Peter said.
Tina handed the picture back to him. "Yes, but you have to say that because it's your fault she looks like this – since you're the one who knocked her up, you bad boy."
Peter made a face and Elizabeth chuckled. She knew how much her husband still hated that nickname, almost as much as the handknit sweaters. She could only imagine how relieved he had been that he couldn't wear one of them today (because it would have ruined the surprise).
Not wanting to be rude, Elizabeth made her way into the living room to greet all her unexpected guests. The last one she got around to was her father. Alan Mitchell seemed entirely unfazed by the fact that he looked completely out of place in the middle of all these baby shower decorations. He just sat there in an armchair, calm and observing, as usual. But when Elizabeth approached him, his face lit up with a huge smile – one that, according to Peter, was reserved for his two daughters only, and absolutely unattainable for his sons-in-law.
"Will you look at that! My little honeybee is not so little anymore!"
Elizabeth gave him a hug. "Yes, very funny, Dad."
"How is my grandson doing?"
"At the moment he's wondering if there's any food at this party," Elizabeth replied.
"Of course. You know your mother. She's been baking since yesterday. Cupcakes, I believe. The ones without all the frosting are meant for you and the b... little one, but you should sneak off with a blue one. Those actually taste good," her dad informed her.
Elizabeth laughed. "Thanks, Dad. But since when are you giving out advice on how to sneak around behind mom's back?"
"My colleagues have informed me that a grandfather's primary purpose is 'to spoil his grandkids rotten.' I thought I might as well get started on that," Alan explained. "I have already done my part in raising you and your sister to become the remarkable women that you are. Disciplining this little boy will be your job."
Elizabeth looked skeptical. "So, you're saying that he can do whatever he wants and you won't tell him no?"
"Well, not whatever he wants..." Alan hedged.
"Eat candy before dinner?" Elizabeth suggested.
Her father frowned. "One piece of chocolate has never harmed anyone, I suppose."
"Miss dinner because he stayed outside playing with his friends?" Elizabeth pressed.
"As long as they would have been playing outside... Fresh air is good for children," Alan replied, but his eyes were narrowing.
"Secretly watch TV when it's past his bedtime?" Elizabeth continued, and her father caved.
"Oh, for heaven's sake! What are you planning on teaching this child? I know times have changed, but it's important for children to learn that there are rules that need to be followed. Otherwise they have a much harder time becoming contributing members of society," he said, the psychiatrist in him resurfacing.
Elizabeth burst out laughing. "I knew you couldn't keep that up. Don't worry, Dad. Peter and I will be setting boundaries."
"Have you talked about which one of you will be the disciplinarian?"
"Um, no... why would it be only one of us? We made this ba... child together and we'll be raising him together. I don't see why either Peter or I should always have to be the bad guy."
"I heard my name and 'bad guy' in the same sentence. Should I be worried what you two are talking about?" Peter asked, having made the rounds and appearing at her side. "Hello, Alan," he added by way of greeting Elizabeth's father.
"Peter," Alan gave him a nod in return.
Elizabeth sighed. Even now that this baby would bind them by blood, her husband and her father still couldn't figure out if they should hug or not.
"We were just talking about what kind of parents we're going to be," Elizabeth explained to distract from their awkward greeting.
Peter immediately looked like he regretted coming over here. "I thought it's impossible to know that until you're actually doing it."
"That is certainly true," Alan nodded. "How does that make you feel, Peter?"
"Like I should say the word 'baby' really loud," Peter replied, and Elizabeth bit her lip so she wouldn't laugh.
It worked, though. Maddie had heard them, and she came to remove the diaper pin from Peter's shirt – and to save him from having to answer Alan's question. "Okay, Peter, this one counts! Your pin is mine now. And if you don't like this game, we can play another one."
She turned them around to face a wall with a whole bunch of baby pictures. "We've collected pictures from everyone here from when they were little, and now you have to figure out which picture belongs to whom. And I want you, Peter, to start by finding Lizzie's picture."
"That's easy. All I need to do is pick the one that's the most adorable," Peter said boldly, and he really did choose a photo of her without so much as a second of hesitation. He took it off the wall and held it up to Elizabeth's face. "Still every bit as beautiful."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes at him, but she couldn't resist his goofy grin and gave him a kiss – to a chorus of 'aww' from everyone in the room.
Only Maddie looked a little miffed. "Mom, I told you to bring one he doesn't know!"
"I did. I found that one in an old photo album up in the attic," Tina assured her.
"Gee, thanks, Mom," Elizabeth said.
"Not because it's not a beautiful picture but because we have so many of them," Tina quickly explained. "Peter can't possibly have seen them all!"
"Don't need to. I'm an FBI agent. This is what I do," Peter said.
Elizabeth patted his arm. "Okay, Mr. FBI, then you won't need me to win this game," she said. Her feet were starting to hurt. She needed to sit down. Jones made room for her on the couch so she could squeeze in next to Sara.
Jones looked a little lost anyway. So Peter waved him over to help him sort out the other photos – the ones from Elizabeth's friends and her team from Burke Premiere Events proving the most difficult. Diana joined them to help, and soon the three FBI agents were comparing facial features and bone structures while Maddie did her best to confuse them.
Elizabeth sighed and put her feet up.
"How are those ankles?" Sara asked with a sympathetic smile.
"Sore. I guess I won't be getting any of those cupcakes any time soon," Elizabeth joked.
"Oh, I can get you some," Sara offered, and before Elizabeth could stop her, she had already jumped to her feet and hurried off to the kitchen. She returned with a plate filled with cupcakes for the both of them.
Elizabeth decided to be responsible and took one of the cupcakes her mother had intended for her to eat. "Thank you, but I hope you didn't fly all the way over here just to watch my husband play 'Guess the baby' and bring me cupcakes."
Sara grinned and removed Elizabeth's diaper pin. She had forgotten they were still playing that game, too. "First of all, I guess that's mine now," Sara winked at her. "And secondly, these cupcakes are really good. I know you're having a boy, but you should teach him how to bake anyway. Your family is seriously talented." Of course, Sara was eating one of the blue cupcakes with lots of frosting. "But no, I'm here for a business meeting, so it all worked out perfectly."
"You seem to be having a lot of meetings in New York lately," Elizabeth observed.
"Yeah, London is great, but I miss living in New York – even if it's not quite the same anymore. No offense to you guys."
"None taken," Elizabeth assured her.
"I just didn't think it would be this hard to move on."
"From the city... or from Neal?" Elizabeth asked curiously.
"Both, I guess." Sara slowly finished her cupcake, thinking. "Turns out I was always kind of hoping that if he were to serve out his time with the FBI and lose the anklet the right way, we might have a chance to try again, to see if we could make it work like normal people – whatever normal would have looked like with Neal." Sara shook her head and reached for another cupcake. "Of course, I only realized that now that all of it is gone."
Elizabeth wished there was something she could say to make Sara feel better. But there wasn't. Not really. So she just watched while Sara finished the plate with the cupcakes.
The redheaded woman groaned. "Great, now I'm the one stress eating. You're the one who should be freaking out."
"Why would I be freaking out?" Elizabeth asked.
"Uh, because you're about to push an actual human being of about eight pounds out of a very, very tiny opening?" Sara said with an apologetic smile and a shrug.
Elizabeth's eyes widened slightly. "Well, if you put it that way..."
They both laughed. "Sorry, I'd be a terrible midwife. But seriously, aren't you scared?"
"Of the pain? A little. But it can't possibly hurt more than thinking we could never have a baby," Elizabeth admitted.
Sara nodded. "Yeah, I get that. And you have Peter."
Her husband, Jones, and Diana were just giving each other high fives. Apparently, they had solved the baby picture challenge. Elizabeth smiled to herself. "Yes, I do. And I'm really sorry you and Neal will never get that second chance."
Sara was quiet for so long, Elizabeth thought she wasn't going to respond at all. Then she said, "He proposed to me once."
"Neal?" Elizabeth asked, surprised that she had never heard of that before. "How? When?"
"Right before I left for London. On the top of the Empire State Building. I mean, it was just another con. They were trying to get to that evidence box..."
Ah, that explained why Elizabeth didn't know that story. That was the day Peter had been arrested and her entire world had collapsed when she had gotten that phone call.
"It wasn't real. But just for a moment, it felt like it was," Sara said wistfully.
"Would you have said yes if it had been?" Elizabeth asked softly.
"Honestly? I don't know," Sara confessed. "I want to say yes. Especially now that he's gone, I want nothing more than the chance to say yes. But I don't know how I could have ever trusted him enough not to be afraid that he might run off again."
Elizabeth squeezed the other woman's hand. "Neal was complicated, but he never hurt the people he loved, not without making it right again."
Sara looked like she wasn't sure if that made her feel better or a lot worse.
But there was no time to figure that out. Since the baby picture challenge was done, there were more games to play, and they were expected to participate. Everyone was supposed to guess Elizabeth's exact measurements by cutting a piece of string and wrapping it around her belly (Peter was banned from that one). Then there was guessing different baby foods and baby names and identifying baby items in a diaper bag, and so on.
Eventually, Elizabeth was so exhausted that she decided to steal one of those blue cupcakes from the kitchen after all. She felt so guilty about it that she almost jumped right out of her skin when there was a sudden knock on the back door. She relaxed when she recognized the familiar silhouette of a short, bald man with glasses.
"Hey, Mozzie. Is something wrong with our front door?"
"It poses too great a risk of being talked into staying," he explained.
Elizabeth smiled. "Not your kind of party?"
"That would be a definite no. However, I am aware that it is customary to present the mother-to-be with a gift, so I came by to give this to you."
He handed her a bag, in which she found a handmade mobile. The rotating characters were all tiny teddy bears but each looked different. One was playing a Saxophone, others were reading, cooking, or playing baseball, and one of them was wearing a fedora while the one right next to it wore a jacket that said FBI.
"Mozzie! Did you make this?" Elizabeth asked, amazed and almost reduced to tears, but she was trying to blink those away.
"Yes. It was Neal's idea. Teddy seemed to be enjoying his. So when you told us that you were expecting, Neal designed it, and I built it."
Elizabeth had a hard time finding the right words. So she hugged Mozzie instead. "Thank you! It's beautiful. I love it, and I know the baby will love it, too."
"Yes, well, perhaps one day you can tell him who thought of it," Mozzie said, and he looked so sad, it made Elizabeth want to hug him again.
"Or maybe you can tell him," she said. She knew she was repeating herself, but she wouldn't stop reminding him that he was welcome in their lives.
And Mozzie wouldn't stop clinging to his independence. "I try never to venture too far into the future. The only thing certain in my immediate future is that my bee hives need tending. So this is where I leave you."
Elizabeth was wise enough to let him go.
She looked at the beautiful mobile again, and then she forgot all about sneaking off with a cupcake and went upstairs instead. When she walked into the nursery, Elizabeth wasn't particularly surprised to find Peter already in there. He was sitting on the beanbag chair they had gotten for when Elizabeth would be breastfeeding.
The image made her laugh, and Peter looked up when he heard her. "Honey, we can't both be hiding up here. They will figure out that something is missing," she told him.
"Why would you want to hide?" Peter asked, frowning. "Your mother assured me that you would love this party."
"I do. I think it's lovely that they all wanted to come and celebrate with us. I just needed a moment."
Peter quickly stood to make room for her. "Come sit, honey."
"No, if I sit now, I will never make it back downstairs," Elizabeth said, rubbing her belly with her free hand, trying to get the baby to move his foot. He did, but only to poke her in the side with his elbow instead.
"Is it time again?" Peter asked eagerly and walked up to her to rest his hands on her stomach. Lately, the baby had been especially active around this time of day, and it thrilled Peter every time to feel his son push against his hands from the inside.
Elizabeth shared his excitement. She only wished her son wouldn't be head butting her in the bladder at the same time.
"Oh, he'll be an athlete all right. He already knows how to stretch," Peter grinned. "There you go, son! Don't forget the other leg."
"Honey! Don't encourage him. The room in there is getting very limited, you know," Elizabeth warned him.
Peter smiled up at her, but he continued to talk to the baby. He had read that fetuses could supposedly recognize their father's voice from 32 weeks onwards, and he used every opportunity to make that happen. It was cute, if a little exhausting at times. "And you should make sure to use every inch of it, son. We want you to be big and strong."
"Easy for you to say," Elizabeth muttered, thinking of what Sara had said about the tiny opening their son would use to come into this world.
"It'll be fine, El. You will both do great," Peter said. It would have sounded like an empty promise, except he absolutely believed it to be true. And Elizabeth chose to believe the same.
When Peter straightened up, he noticed the mobile in her other hand. "What's that?" he asked.
Elizabeth held it up for him to see better. "It's from Neal," she said softly.
Peter's eyes went from the mobile straight back to hers, open, confused, and vulnerable. "What?"
"Well, Mozzie made it, but it was Neal's idea. He designed it," Elizabeth explained. And it was still every bit as unfair that he had never gotten the chance to give it to them in person.
Peter reached out to touch the teddy bear wearing the fedora. "Of course, he did," he said with a heavy heart and a sad little smile.
"I know you probably want to test it first, make sure it's safe..." Elizabeth hedged.
"No, I'll... put it up first thing tomorrow," Peter replied and took the mobile from her to carry it over to the crib.
"Are you okay, hon?" Elizabeth asked when her husband stood next to the crib with his back turned to her.
She watched him take a deep breath and square his shoulders. "Yes," he said. "I found something, too." He turned back around and handed her a small, folded piece of clothing.
Elizabeth gasped when she recognized it. It was a baby onesie labeled 'World's Youngest FBI agent.' Peter had bought it several years ago when they had thought they might be pregnant. But it hadn't turned out that way, and that onesie had broken both of their hearts. Elizabeth had never thought about it again, unaware that Peter had kept it. Then again, throwing it out would have probably felt wrong, too.
"I don't know if you want to use it or not..." Peter said cautiously.
"Of course, I do. We've been waiting long enough, don't you think?" Elizabeth replied and laid the onesie on her belly. "Perfect fit."
Peter grinned. "More like this." He turned the onesie upside down so the opening for the head was pointing down. Because Dr. Chontos had told them today that the baby had already moved into that position. Which was a huge relief.
Elizabeth smiled. "As long as you're aware that he won't actually become an FBI agent."
"Why not?"
"Because my heart couldn't take it. One is more than enough," she said.
"Hey, I've done it all by the book lately. I'm now an ASAC that supervises from the safety of his office," Peter pointed out.
Elizabeth rested her hands on his chest. "And I do appreciate that, hon," she said and kissed him.
Peter cupped her face and started kissing her back when her sister called from downstairs:
"If you don't come back down here to open these gifts, I'm keeping them!"
Their little stolen moment was over.
Peter picked the onesie off her belly and put it in the dresser. The nursery was already filled with a whole lot of baby stuff. Still, they joined their family and friends to unpack some more.
Peter had heard his phone ring and he had identified the voice on the other end as belonging to Jones, but he couldn't understand a word Jones was saying because El was vacuuming all around him. If one could call it that. She was attacking the floor as if every little grain of dust was potentially life-threatening.
"Sorry, Jones. I didn't catch that. El's cleaning the house."
"Should she still be doing that?" Jones wondered.
The younger agent wasn't an expert on babies (and had previously complained about feeling like the odd man out when Peter and Diana really got into it). But it was sweet that he still cared. "I think she's nesting. Apparently, it's normal. So, you know, better not ask." Peter went into the kitchen so he could hear a little better. "What's up, Jones?"
"It's about the Pink Panthers. Alan Woodford was found dead in prison this morning."
Peter grabbed a hold of the kitchen island. He had been preoccupied with thoughts about the baby and waiting for the birth. This news caught him completely by surprise. "What the hell happened?"
"Not really sure yet. Preliminary reports say that he was stabbed and left bleeding to death in the shower. Prison officials don't know any more than that at this point. Technically, this is no longer a white-collar case, but we've been asked to share some insight if we have any – since we're the ones who brought Woodford in."
Peter nodded, his mind already spinning with possibilities what this could mean. He had not seen this coming, and it couldn't have come at a worse time either. "Jones, I have a nine-months pregnant wife who is two days past her due date and trying to induce labor. I cannot leave," he told him. They couldn't change anything about the gruesome fate the former leader of the Panthers had met anyway. And Peter wasn't going to shed a tear for him either.
"I know, but I figured you'd still want to know," Jones said.
"I do. But you've got this. Go to the prison and see what's going. Try to keep me updated. If I don't answer... I'm having a baby," Peter said with a dazed little grin that, of course, Jones couldn't see.
"Got it. And, um, good luck with that."
"Thanks, Jones. You, too."
When Peter got off the phone, El had finally finished vacuuming and joined him in the kitchen. "What was that all about?" she asked.
"Nothing," Peter said quickly.
"Doesn't look like nothing," El observed after taking a closer look at the worry lines on Peter's face.
"Okay, it's something," he admitted.
El huffed. "Well, what is it?"
"Don't take this the wrong way, honey, but I really don't want to tell you right now," Peter said.
"Because you're worried it might scare me into labor? If so, you absolutely have to tell me," El insisted.
Peter sighed. He understood that she was feeling uncomfortable and wanted this baby out. He did, too. And Dr. Chontos had confirmed that it was okay to gently try to help matters along. Still, Peter thought they should let their son decide when it was time.
But that was neither here nor there. His wife wanted an answer, and Peter did not want to upset her.
"Someone killed Alan Woodford in prison."
"What?" El leaned against the kitchen island for support. "Why? Who would that? He was already on his way to serving life!"
"I don't know. We don't know what happened yet. His death is still being investigated at the prison."
El thought about that for a moment. "Okay, then you need to go."
Peter shook his head. "No, I'm not leaving you, El. Jones can do this."
"I'm sure he can. But I know that look on your face, hon. This was the last case you worked on with Neal. You have to see this through. It's what you do. I know you want to."
"Not as much as I want to be with you," Peter said, resting his hands on her arms.
"That's sweet. But this baby isn't coming right now, despite my best efforts. And when it does, I want you to be able to focus on us, not work. So, go now and see if you can be more useful solving this case. No need for both of us to stay here and go crazy."
Peter looked at his wife and had no idea what to do. "Are you sure, hon?"
"Yes, I'm sure. Just be back tonight. There's something we haven't tried yet to induce labor," El said, planting a kiss on his lips as best as she could. Her large baby bump made it a little difficult to be close to one another. But apparently, that was not going to stop them from trying later.
Peter decided to do as he was told. As usual, El was right. Knowing that there was something going on with the Pink Panthers would drive him crazy. He didn't like loose ends – especially not now that their son was about to be born. Still, the thought of leaving El alone tied his stomach up in knots. It was the one thing he had promised her not to do. But now she was the one kicking him out.
"Call me when you need anything," he urged her.
"I will. Now get out. I need to clean the kitchen."
He couldn't leave it at that. "I love you, honey," he said and placed a kiss on her lips and then on her belly.
"Yes, I know. That's exactly how this happened," El chuckled.
Peter grinned. "And you love me for it."
"Mmm-hm, I suppose I do. But you better get out of here before I change my mind."
On the way to the car, Peter tried to clear his head and remember to be Special Agent Burke again, ASAC of the White Collar division, not Peter Burke, who was waiting for his life to change forever. By the time he got to the prison to meet with Jones and the other agents, he had been semi-successful.
"Hey, I thought you weren't coming," Jones greeted him.
"Apparently, neither is the baby. El wanted me to stop hovering," Peter replied. He didn't mention that he had almost changed his mind three times on the way over here.
"Well, I'm glad you're here. We were just checking the security cameras," Jones said and walked with him to the security room where Peter met Agent Renner, who was officially in charge of the investigation, and Lance Maxwell, the warden of the prison.
"Problem is there's not much there. Obviously, there are no cameras in the actual showers, so we've been focusing on who was going in or out, but there are a lot of blind spots."
"Which made it the perfect spot to jump Woodford. No witnesses?" Peter asked.
Jones shook his head. "None that have come forward so far."
"Snitches get stitches," Renner chimed in.
"Lovely," Peter said.
"Could it have been one of the other Panthers? Some internal rivalry?" Jones suggested.
"No, they were out in the yard at the time. Woodford liked to shower alone when everyone else was outside," the warden explained.
Peter frowned. "Again, that's important intel if you want to kill him. But the other Panthers wouldn't have any reason to want Woodford dead. Without him, they are neither safe nor respected. Cut off the head of the snake, and there's no more reason to fear it."
Which might have been the point. The Pink Panthers were the kind of criminals who commanded respect even behind bars. Their well-known reputation could have made them a worthwhile target. Now, without Woodford, there were no more Pink Panthers.
It sounded like a good thing, but it didn't feel like it. This wasn't right. The FBI, Interpol, Neal... they had worked incredibly hard, risked everything, to bring in the Panthers. They had been about to spend the rest of their lives in jail. That's how it was supposed to go. But now, someone had changed the game.
It wasn't a question of whether Woodford had deserved to die. The question was why someone had thought that he did.
Peter sat down to study the security footage in greater detail, focusing on the time when Woodford's body had been discovered and all hell had broken loose. "What's that guard doing?" he asked after a while, freezing the image and pointing to the bottom right corner.
"Getting help?" Renner suggested.
"No, that's what everyone else is doing. All the other inmates and guards are running towards where Woodford was found. That guard is the only one heading away from the commotion."
"You're right," Jones agreed, sitting up in his chair.
They tried to get a better look at the guy, but all they got was the back of his head. And then they lost him entirely in the ensuing chaos and the onslaught of other guards, who had come rushing in to help and to get the situation back under control.
"There could be a dozen explanations as to what that guard was doing," Renner argued.
"But the killer knew exactly when and where to strike, and that man clearly knows all the camera angles. That's a lot of coincidence, and I don't believe in coincidences," Peter said.
Renner's brow furrowed. "What are you saying, Agent Burke?"
"I'm saying this looks like an inside job. Or, that man, whoever he is, is in fact not a guard."
Warden Maxwell looked appalled, not sure which option he liked less. He seemed to decide on the latter. "There is no way that man got in here if he wasn't a guard."
"Guess there's only one way to find out," Renner said.
He hauled in one guard after the other for questioning. It was a slow-going and time-consuming process that didn't provide them with a lot of answers. Apparently, a couple of new guards had been hired recently, so anyone who thought they might have seen an unfamiliar face didn't dare admit to it on record as to not point fingers at a colleague. They did admit, however, that they switched shifts on a regular basis, so the official duty roster was of no help. Which made figuring out who had actually been on duty as opposed to who should have been a bloody mess.
Beyond that, no one reported that they had seen anything out of the ordinary – other than the dead inmate. Without any incriminating evidence other than an unidentified man in a guard's uniform, they would have to sift through bank statements and phone records to look for any indication that someone was lying.
While Renner fumed, Peter felt a cold certainty settle in his gut. This was no coincidence. Someone had targeted the prison's weaknesses (camera blind spots, inmate routines, changes and irregularities in the duty roster) with clinical precision. And that took time and planning. And above all, motive. That's what they needed to figure out first if…
"Is there a Special Agent Burke in here?" a young man from the warden's office asked when he poked his head into the room.
"I'm Burke," Peter replied, swiveling around in his chair.
"Um, your wife called. Apparently, she tried to call you, but your phone seems to be off. She wants you to know that the baby's coming."
"What?" Peter leapt to his feet and reached for his phone. It wasn't off, but there was no reception.
When the warden saw that, he said, "Ah, yes, cell service is spotty in here, I'm afraid."
Peter wanted to ask why the hell no one had bothered to tell him that earlier, but there were more pressing matters at hand. "Is my wife still on the phone?"
"Uh, I think so..."
Peter shoved the man out of his way and ran over to the warden's office to pick up the receiver. "Hon, are you okay? What's going on? Is it time? Are you sure it's not a false alarm?" he asked breathlessly.
El sounded breathless, too, probably for a very different reason. "Oh, yes. These are definitely real contractions. They are not going away."
"What do you mean 'not going away'? How long have you been having contractions?"
"About two hours, I think. I'm not sure. I thought it was Braxton Hicks."
"But you said this wasn't happening today!" Peter reminded her. He couldn't believe El hadn't told him what was going on right away.
"I'm flattered that you believed me, honey, but I have never done this before. So unfortunately, I have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about!"
Right. Oh God. This was it. Peter felt his chest tightening and his throat closing up. He broke out in a cold sweat. Which was of absolutely no help to El. He couldn't afford to panic. He needed to sort this out. Take back control. He could do that. He was trained to do that, dammit.
Come on, Peter, think!
"How far apart are they?" he finally managed to ask. "Should I call an ambulance?"
"About ten minutes? They were closer together, and then they spaced out again." It sounded more like a question than an answer, which only freaked Peter out more. "So no, I don't need an ambulance. I just need you to come home – and don't drive like a maniac! I need you to get here alive."
If El's guesstimate was correct, there really was no need to go to DEFCON 1 just yet. The plan they had agreed on with Dr. Chontos was to labor at home for as long as possible. But Peter still felt uncomfortable. "I don't know, honey. Maybe you should call Mozzie and have him take you to the hospital. I can meet you there."
"No. You said you wanted to be there. For all of it. So just get here, hon," El insisted.
"I don't like the idea of you being alone..."
"Then stop arguing with me and get off the phone!"
Peter winced and gave in. "Okay, I'm on my way. Don't move."
El snorted. "Should I also keep my legs closed?"
"Can't hurt." Okay, he really needed to come up with better advice, and fast. "I love you, honey."
"No time for that. Start driving, hon."
Peter got off the phone and was about to head for the exit when he noticed that he didn't have his jacket on. He would have left it, except his car keys were in his jacket pocket. So he ran back to the security room and grabbed it.
"I'm leaving," he announced unnecessarily because the expression on the faces of everyone in the room said 'duh'.
"Thanks for the assist," Renner replied.
"And good luck!" Jones called.
Peter had already taken off running. As soon as he had cell reception again, he started dialing.
Come on, pick up, pick up, pick up, he thought.
"Suit! You called the baby phone! Is this a trick?" Mozzie finally answered.
"Why would I trick you about the baby coming?" Peter asked, panting while he stopped to remember where he had parked the car.
"How should I know what sort of diabolical, unethical, and malicious strategies they teach wannabe suits at that supposed school of yours?"
"Stop talking, Mozzie!" Peter interrupted him. Goddammit, where was his car? "El's in labor, and she's home alone. I'm on my way, but I'll need at least half an hour, more like an hour this time of day..."
Now it was Mozzie's turn to interrupt him. "Say no more! And don't worry, Suit. I have successfully delivered babies before."
"No!" Peter yelled, his heartrate skyrocketing. He forced himself to take a breath. His car was right in front of him. "You're not delivering anything," he said in a calmer manner but still making sure Mozzie heard him. "Just be with her."
"Copy that," Mozzie replied and hung up on him.
Peter got into his car and tried to mentally prepare himself for the worst and longest car ride ever.
He should have just stayed home. Who cared how or why a man like Woodford had died? Sure, he deserved justice just like everyone else. But it wasn't necessarily Peter's job to get it for him. Not when it meant that he would miss his son's birth.
No, he wouldn't miss it. El's contractions were too far apart. The baby wasn't coming yet. Unless her water broke... Peter floored the accelerator.
Then he eased up again. El had warned him not to get himself killed on the drive home. Then he would definitely miss out on seeing his son.
Why had he thought it was a good idea to leave the house in the first place? He had proved Mozzie right. He was unreliable when it came to what was most important.
Which was not this case. It wasn't justice either. Not that this had ever really been about justice. It was about Neal. Neal had died, and now Woodford was dead and...
… and Peter had no business thinking about death right now. He couldn't bring those thoughts with him into the house. Not that he believed in that kind of thing. But he figured they could use all the help they could get.
Anything, anything at all, as long as Mozzie didn't end up delivering the baby. Mozzie – of all people!
No, that wasn't fair. It was good that Mozzie was there. A good thing he was doing for El. She trusted him. She needed him while Peter was stuck in this traffic that would never end. Only to support her, though. Not to play doctor.
God, at this rate, he would never get home...
But, eventually, he did.
Peter burst through the front door and found the downstairs empty. At first, he thought that El had left for the hospital after all, but then he spotted her hospital bag, packed and ready, still sitting in the hallway.
He raced upstairs. "El?"
He found Mozzie sitting on the floor next to the bathroom door that was slightly ajar. Satchmo was lying right next to him. "She's taking a bath. It helps to relax the muscles and ease the pain of the contractions," Mozzie explained.
Peter thanked him and went inside the bathroom. He was flooded with relief when he finally found his wife looking more or less the same as when he had left her – except for the fact that she was lying in the bathtub with her eyes closed. But she was still very, very pregnant.
"I'm here, honey. I'm here," he said and bent down to kiss her.
El's eyes flew open. "Good. I'm sorry I rushed you. You didn't miss much."
"That's okay. Now let me help you get out," Peter offered.
"Oh no, I'm not getting out of this tub," El refused. "The pain is not so bad in here, actually."
After he had done everything in his power to get here as fast as he could, it baffled Peter that his wife didn't want to move. "Honey, we need to get to the hospital."
"No, we don't. I called Dr. Chontos. She says it's way too early. If we go to the hospital now, they would probably send us back home. The contractions are still up to ten minutes apart," El explained.
Peter felt some of his tension leave him. "Really? But that's what you said an hour ago."
"Believe me, hon. I know."
"Patience, Suit," Mozzie chimed in from the other side of the door. "All good things come to he who waits."
Peter wasn't sure how to proceed. He had thought that once he made it home, he would be able to do something, take charge, not simply continue to wait.
Then both El and Satchmo began to whimper. Only, in El's case it was more of a moan of pain when the next contraction came, while Satchmo was whining that he wanted to go out. He didn't seem to grasp yet what was going on. Of course not. But Peter needed to focus on his wife. He offered her his hand, and she took it.
"I'm with you, hon," he promised. "How bad is it?"
"Not as bad as it's going to get," El replied with an anxious smile.
He didn't respond because Peter knew he couldn't say out loud what he was thinking. Obviously, El was the one who had to do the hard part, but the whole concept of childbirth felt just as torturous to him. He had to watch his wife suffer unimaginable pain and not do anything about it. That went against every instinct he had. Every bone in his body told him to save her. Only he couldn't. Because she was saving them. She was giving them a son.
Satchmo whined again.
"I'll take him," Mozzie offered, and they heard him get up and shuffle away with Satchmo on his heels.
Now Peter was the one who lowered himself to the floor to sit with his back against the tub, his arm resting on the rim so he could keep holding El's hand.
"So what now?" he wondered.
"Distract me," El said. "Tell me what happened at the prison. Did you figure out who killed Woodford?"
Peter sighed. "Not yet. Whoever did this was smart. They knew where the cameras were and when Woodford would be alone."
"Are there any suspects?"
"Currently, everyone who wore a guard uniform, except we don't really know who that was." Peter shook his head and told her about the mess with the duty schedule.
El smiled at him. "You'll figure it out. You always do."
Only his wife would try to cheer him up while she was the one in labor. Peter chuckled. "It's not actually my case, El. This isn't a white-collar investigation anymore."
"But they asked for your help. So what does your gut tell you?"
"That we would have to figure out the why first if we want to find out who really did this," Peter replied.
"What do you think was the motive?" El asked. "He was already in prison, and he wasn't getting out."
Peter shrugged. "Could have been revenge, which would be a long list, I suppose. Or someone trying to make a name for themselves. Staking a claim."
"To what?"
"Being better than the Pink Panthers. Or maybe being the next Pink Panthers?" It was all just guesswork at this point.
El sighed. "There's always going to be someone else waiting in the wings, isn't there? Makes you wonder why you did all this. Why Neal had to die for this."
"Stopping the Pink Panthers was not in vain, El," Peter assured her. "We brought in the most dangerous gang of thieves of our time and that still means something. They are done. Now more than ever, actually. I'm not saying it's right, but Woodford won't be making any more trouble now."
It was an ugly truth, but a little part of him was relieved that Woodford would never again be a danger to his family. "And if someone is following in their footsteps, then we'll get them, too. We as in the FBI, not me personally," he hastened to clarify.
El had a curious look on her face. "But you would want to, wouldn't you?"
"What do you mean?" Peter asked, hesitant to answer.
"Ever since you made ASAC and especially these past few months, you've been complaining a lot about all the paperwork and being cooped up in the office all day and not getting to play the game anymore because you stopped being a field agent. And I feel like I told you to do that. I'm not taking it back because, obviously, this is happening and I need you here with me," El explained, her voice momentarily gaining an edge before it softened again. "But, honey, I do want you to be happy."
Peter turned his head so he could look at her better. "Honey, I'm sitting here with my beautiful, pregnant wife, waiting for her to give us a son. Of course, I'm happy." He pressed a kiss to her wet hand. "Being out of the field, not having a CI, not having Neal to handle, it just takes some getting used to," he admitted. "But I have loved coming home to you on time and not missing out on any of these wonderful moments with you."
"I'm not sure this is one of those moments," El replied, but she was smiling.
"I think it will be," Peter said.
"Because you're not the one being torn open from the inside."
Peter made a face.
"Too graphic?" El hedged.
"A little."
"Then you need to keep distracting me," El said. "We might be here for a couple more hours."
Peter tried not to look as weak as he felt at the prospect. He had only one job to do here. "Focus on what's really important, honey. This might be happening more slowly than we had hoped, but it is finally happening. We're having a baby."
El's smile turned thoughtful. "Are you scared?"
"No. Not scared." Peter shook his head. "I'm terrified."
"Me, too," El whispered. "But we'll figure it out. We always do. I learned how to live with an FBI agent. We managed to afford this house, have a dog, two demanding jobs, and still find time for us."
Peter nodded. "I would never bet against us."
"But he will have to come before all of that," El reminded him.
"I know," Peter agreed. "I heard you the first time, hon. And I promise you he will want for nothing."
El grimaced, which wasn't the reaction he had expected. "No, no, I believe you! It's just..."
"Another contraction?" Peter eagerly glanced at his watch. "Nine minutes. Keep breathing, honey."
She did, but the contractions were still not coming closer together. Instead, the water in the bathtub went cold. Peter helped her to climb out of the tub and offered her a massage, but El refused.
"I think I'll just make dinner," she decided and waddled down the stairs with Peter following close behind.
"Um, you do know that we won't be here tonight to eat dinner?" he asked.
"Yes, but we'll be glad to have something ready to heat up when we get back from the hospital. And the books said to stick to your routines."
And so they made lasagna, with El stopping to lean on Peter during every contraction and Peter taking note of the intervals.
"Your son is really taking his time," El huffed.
"I hate to break it to you, hon, but he might become an FBI agent after all," Peter smirked.
"Why?"
"Because he's obviously doing his due diligence right now. You can't fault him for not wanting to rush into this world before gathering all the facts."
El groaned. "But he's my son, too! Why can't he be more spontaneous? Take a leap of faith. Be... an artist?"
Peter snorted. "Because you can't pay the bills with that."
"Oh, and how many baseball players actually make it to the Major Leagues? Seeing as his father didn't."
"Ouch," Peter said.
El's face crumpled. "I'm sorry, hon. I didn't mean that. It's the labor pains talking."
"That's okay, honey. Let it all out. You can't be holding anything in right now. I can take it. It's the least I can do. So go ahead and hit me with it," Peter encouraged her.
"I don't want to hit you," El refused, but she was laughing a little. "Okay, our son can do something a little more substantial. He could become a scientist or... an architect."
"You realize we can't actually choose that for him?"
El shrugged. "You're right. He should do whatever makes him happy – as long as that includes going to college."
"Oh, definitely," Peter nodded. "Unless he does get drafted by a professional sports team," he added.
And El screamed.
"Honey, it was just a joke!"
El shot him a helpless look and dug her fingers into his arm, squeezing painfully.
"Ah, no more talking? If the contractions are becoming more intense, we're getting closer. That's good!" Peter smiled broadly at his wife, but she seemed unable to share his enthusiasm right now. "Uh, I mean, relatively good."
Finally, El loosened her hold on his arm, allowing the blood to flow to his fingers again.
"Five minutes," Peter informed her gently. He didn't dare say it again, but this was good. This was progress.
El managed a thin smile. She knew it, too. But the intensity of the contraction seemed to have shocked her a little.
"Okay, we can clean up the kitchen later. Let's sit. You'll need your strength, honey," Peter decided and led El over to the couch. Things were going to get rough. And that was only until they could leave for the hospital for the actual delivery.
But Peter felt a new sense of purpose. He was always better on the home stretch. Now he could keep his eyes on the ball. Pretend to have some control over a process that couldn't be controlled.
Mozzie hadn't returned yet but that didn't worry Peter. He was giving them space, and privacy, and the chance to experience their final hours as a family of two without having to worry about Satchmo. It was the most thoughtful gift he could have given them.
When El was settled on the couch, Peter got some ice and put on the playlist he had prepared. It consisted of all her favorite songs – those that made her happy anyway. Then he sat next to her and took her hands in his. "We can do this, honey. You're doing great."
The music made El's eyes come alive again. "How do you know that? How many other women have you coached through giving birth?"
"Came close once."
"What?"
"It was before I met you," Peter remembered.
"Oh, so before your life had meaning," El teased.
Peter grinned at her. "Exactly. Anyway, I got stuck in an elevator with a pregnant woman."
El stared at him, amazed that she had never heard this story. "What happened?"
"She completely panicked, and I told her that I was with the FBI and that I had everything under control. Then I pressed every goddamn button in that elevator twice and prayed to God."
"Did he hear you?"
"Well, after about half an hour of telling her to breathe in and out, they had the elevator fixed, I had calmed her down, and we went our separate ways. And about a week later I met you, so yeah, I'd say he heard me," Peter replied smoothly.
His wife smiled, which, under the circumstances, felt like quite an accomplishment. "How did you manage to calm her down?"
"I told her that they had taught us how to deliver babies at Quantico. So, worst case scenario, she was in good hands."
Now, El laughed. "And she believed you?"
"Don't I look trustworthy?" Peter asked, grinning.
El opened her mouth to say something, but the next contraction stripped her of the ability to speak. Peter encouraged her to squeeze his hands as hard as she needed to and cooled her neck and face with the ice once she let go again.
El slumped in his arms. "I don't think she actually believed that you knew how to deliver her baby, hon," she said weakly. "But I do believe that she felt safe with you."
Peter pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I got you, hon."
"I know you do."
Together, they made it through another hour of the contractions becoming increasingly regular and intense. El still did most of the work, but she did seem to appreciate all of Peter's efforts. Until it was time to get in the car and drive to the hospital.
"Do you realize that when we come back home it will never just be the two of us anymore?" Peter marveled.
He needed one hand on the steering wheel, but the other he was still holding out for El, and she squeezed it. "I do. But this house… it was never meant for two," she reminded him.
She was right. They had bought the house thinking they would have a family soon. 'Soon' had turned out to be a relative term. But now the waiting was almost over.
At the hospital, they were admitted quickly and efficiently. The nurses clearly knew what they were doing. Unlike Peter and El. Still, Peter was glad that they had waited so long to come in. Laboring in a sterile hospital room with a bunch of strangers checking in on how she was progressing seemed a lot harder for El than at home.
Of course, the contractions had really intensified. They were relentless, often overlapping, and not allowing El to catch a break.
"I can't do this, Peter. I'm too old for this," she cried out.
"Honey, we've been over this. You're not old. You're beautiful and strong, and you're going to be an amazing mom. You can do this. Remember what they said in the birthing class. Try to change position," Peter suggested.
"I can't change position because I can't move because it hurts!" El hissed, not sounding the least bit like herself. But neither one of them had ever been through something like this.
Peter knew he needed to be the one who stayed calm and rational. Which usually came natural to him. This was different, though. "I know it hurts, honey. But it will hurt less if you try a different position."
El glared at him. "Don't take this the wrong way, hon. I still love you, but I really need you to shut the hell up now, because you have absolutely no idea what you're talking about!"
"Yes, I do, because I know you," Peter insisted. "And I know you want to meet our son." Reminding her over and over again what they were doing this for seemed to work the best.
"Not fair!" El whined, but she did change position.
The scream that ripped out of her with the next contraction almost caused Peter's eardrums to burst.
He crouched in front of her. "Okay, honey, do you remember when I proposed to you? The first time."
"What?" El asked, panting, confused, and more than a little irritated.
"Do you?" Peter pressed.
"Of course, I do."
"We had just come from a hospital, too, and I had gotten really close to proposing to you right there in the waiting room, because you were crying and I just wanted to make it better," Peter told her. "You were scared that you could lose me because we weren't officially a family. Well, this is it, honey. This is what better looks like. This is us finally becoming a family."
El gritted her teeth, and her next scream was filled with a little less blinding pain and more determination. Or so Peter told himself.
Still, they were both pleasantly surprised when Dr. Chontos walked into the room. "I was here for a consult when I heard that you two had come in," she explained. "I can assure you that you're in excellent hands either way, but would you like me to deliver your baby?"
El was too wiped out to speak so it was Peter who said, "Yes, of course. Please tell us that he's ready to come out."
Dr. Chontos smiled and examined El. "Everything looks good. You're still transitioning, but you're almost fully dilated, which means you can start pushing soon. I know that doesn't sound like a reward, but, believe me, it will be. So get ready to say hello to your son."
Peter believed in always being prepared, but nothing in the whole world could have possibly prepared him for what came next. It was the most painful, nauseatingly messy, terrifying, and single most awe-inspiring, humbling, and moving experience in his life.
How El did it was magnificent and, quite honestly, beyond Peter's understanding. She was completely exposed and exhausted and pushed to her very limit (quite literally). But she kept fighting with every ounce of her being, listening to the doctor's instructions to avoid tearing, and looking up at Peter, pleading for help when she faltered. All he could give her was the assurance that he had never ever been more proud of her and more in love with anyone.
And then he saw his son crowning. It was like everything inside of him shifted, everything he believed in, everything he thought he knew, his tether to the life he had lived was cut and formed anew, reattached to that little baby struggling to come into the world.
He could only tear his eyes away to bend down and rest his forehead against his wife's. "I can see him, El. Our son. And you can see him, too. Just a little longer. Just one more. And he'll be ours."
El's eyes clouded over for a moment. Then they narrowed, and her sweaty grip on Peter's hand tightened one more time.
And then, suddenly, their son was there, and he was screaming.
Dr. Chontos asked Peter if he would like to cut the umbilical cord, and yes, of course, he did. He had prepared for this, though now that it was actually happening, he was afraid it might hurt the baby.
It didn't, of course, and it only took seconds. Then Dr. Chontos immediately placed the baby, red and still covered in vernix, on El's belly.
El's eyes were wide, and her arms were shaking, from exhaustion or emotion or both, when she reached out to hold her son to her. The skin-to-skin contact calmed him down and he stopped crying. Peter crouched down next to both of them, and when El managed to meet his gaze, he saw the same feelings reflected in her eyes that he knew were also written in his.
Pure wonder, infinite joy, and love, a love so fierce he had never thought it possible.
The nurses began to dry off their son, covered him with a towel, and gave him a cap to keep his head warm. Then they checked his heartrate and his breathing, but they did all this as the baby kept resting on El's chest. Which was good because she didn't look like she would have given him up again.
In truth, neither Peter nor El noticed what the doctors were doing. They were too busy gazing at their son. The absence of tension in the room told them that nothing was wrong, and so they were left to enjoy these first, blissful moments as a family of three. After a few minutes their newborn son even began to make awkward, inexperienced little movements that helped him to find El's breast and latch on so she could nurse him with a little assist from Dr. Chontos.
Eventually, El got cleaned up, and she asked Peter to take the baby. He was hesitant at first to take him away from her, but then he couldn't resist holding him for the first time.
"Hey there, little man. You're probably wondering what you're doing with me. I'm sure you want to get back to your mommy. I understand that. Believe me, I do. But I just want you to know... I'll always be right here."
The baby yawned. Peter decided not to take it personally. If being pushed out into the world was even half as exhausting as doing the pushing, he could understand. He wasn't surprised that both El and the baby were half-asleep by the time they were moved to the recovery room, their son resting in his mother's arms again.
Peter would have been perfectly fine just sitting there, looking at his wife and son. But then El opened her eyes.
"Hey, hon," Peter said tenderly, leaning in closer. "How are you feeling?"
"Better and worse than I could possibly imagine," she replied. "What about you? How's the hand?"
"I am… in awe of you, El," he told her. "It's always been you. From the moment you walked up to me in the DeArmitt Gallery, I knew it was you. And now you have given us a son."
El smiled down on the baby, her pride shining brighter than her exhaustion. "He really is perfect, isn't he?"
"He is beautiful. Just like his mother," Peter said.
El lifted her eyes to his. "He needs a name."
"He does," Peter agreed. "So, are we thinking he looks more like an Alexander or a Mateo?"
"How about Neal?" El said softly.
Peter's smile dimmed a little in surprise. These past couple of hours had been the first time he hadn't once thought about losing Neal. Because the birth of their son was the opposite of that. It was new life. A new beginning for their family. Finally, time to heal because they couldn't possibly be filled with anything other than happiness. The chance to move on and yet never forget. Peter couldn't think of a better way to do just that.
"I love it. I love you," he said, smiling broadly at his wife and leaning in to give her a gentle kiss.
El mirrored his smile. "I love you, too, honey."
"Good. I was a little worried you might have changed your mind after all this."
"Of course not. Neal and I would have never made it through today without you," El said, her voice catching.
There were no words to describe how it made Peter feel to hear her call their son by his name for the first time. "You do know we're asking for trouble with that name, don't you?"
"Maybe. But would you really have it any other way?"
A grin spread across Peter's face. "Nope."
They spent a couple more minutes admiring the newest member of the Burke family. Peter quickly discovered that time lost all meaning as long as he could watch his son breathe. But eventually he remembered that his job wasn't done yet. El needed time to recover and not worry about a thing. So Peter headed out to the cafeteria to get her something to eat and drink for when she felt like she could keep it down. And then he got to the business of making calls, letting his dad, his in-laws, and everyone else of importance know that Neal Burke was healthy and excited to meet them – although probably not as excited as they were to meet him.
When Peter returned to the room, he found Mozzie standing next to a sleeping El and Neal.
"Shh, they are asleep. Sleep is of vital importance for newborn babies. It's when their young pliable minds are developing," Mozzie informed him.
Peter smiled and joined Mozzie. "Good to know." He hadn't been gone long, but he was eager to see his son again.
"I'm counting ten fingers, ten toes, and a nose," Mozzie observed. "You did good, Suit."
"Thank you," Peter said. "For saying that and for your help today."
"Thank you for calling me," Mozzie replied with a nod.
"I was hoping El would still be awake so you could meet the baby properly."
Mozzie shrugged. "That's all right. Her rest is very well deserved."
That was an understatement if there ever was one, but Peter nodded and they relapsed into silence.
"So, what can we expect from him?" Mozzie asked eventually. When he saw the confusion on Peter's face, he clarified, "What name did you give him?"
"His name," Peter said, pausing for a moment, "is Neal."
"Oh." Mozzie wasn't always easy to read. Most of the time he was a mystery to Peter. A mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a crazy person. But in this moment, he was entirely unguarded and didn't bother to hide the surprise on his face. A surprise that morphed into grief but also affection. "So, great things then," he said softly.
"I hope so," Peter agreed.
Very carefully, Mozzie reached out to touch the baby's tiny fingers. "And so, we have come full circle. Life goes on, and you can either keep up or get left behind."
"You're not getting left behind, Mozzie," Peter said, and even though he had never been able to connect with him the way El had, he really meant that.
"That is very kind of you to say, Suit, but none of your concern right now. You have a truly wondrous time ahead of you. You should make sure to enjoy it."
"I will," Peter promised.
Mozzie nodded. "And tell El congratulations for me."
"You can tell her yourself when you come by the house," Peter said.
"I don't think so. This is your Neal. My Neal has gone to sleep more permanently. Anyway, try not to turn him into a baby suit too soon. If he lives up to his namesake, he will be too smart for his own good sometimes, but he will need the freedom to figure it out on his own. Let him be free. And whatever you do, do not lose him!"
"Never." He was a little worried about Mozzie's emotional state but that was the only answer Peter could give him.
"Good. Now I need to leave. Hospitals bring back bad memories of being shot or poisoned – and Napoleon for some reason."
With that strange little comment, Mozzie was gone.
When Peter turned back around from watching him exit, he saw that the baby was stirring. His movements were still fairly limited and a little jerky. Quickly, Peter scooped up the infant, hoping to soothe him before he could start to cry and wake his mother.
"Hey, did Mozzie wake you?" He talked softly to his son as he gently rocked him in his arms. He was so small and light, and still Peter had this irrational fear of dropping him. "I know he looks a little strange, but he's all right. Your mommy likes him a lot." Peter paused. Then he corrected himself. "He's a very good friend. You can trust him. Well, most of the time. But for you, I'm sure he'd make an exception."
The baby's eyes began to close again. "That's right. Go back to sleep, son. I heard it's good for you. And we want the best for you, don't we, Neal? Because you're very special to a lot of people. You always have been."
Whether he had even an inkling of how loved he was or not, Neal seemed to feel safe enough in his father's arms and drifted off to sleep.
Peter smiled.
And stood watch over him.
So he could be there when his son needed him again.