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See Chapter 1 for summary and warnings!

Author's Notes: Okay, this chapter and the next move a little slower than I was planning this fic to be, but I felt like I really needed to spend some time setting up how everybody feels about Neal in the Burke house before moving on to meeting June, Diana, Jones, etc and working on the Dutchman case. So here's a couple chappies kind of setting that up. Hope they're not boring or anything lol. This is also the first time I've ever written from El's POV so I hope it sounds on target. Let me know what you think! :)

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Chapter 3: Woman on the Job

El sighed as she stared at the plate across the table. Its contents had long gone cold, but just having it there was a sort of comfort, a reminder that she didn't live in this house all by her lonesome. Not that you would know it lately—the nosy old lady down the street had actually asked if she and Peter had separated. El had made certain that Satchmo did his duty in her lawn the next time they went for a walk.

In the woman's defense, the case Peter was working on now did have him at the office pretty much around the clock, coming home long after the eight o'clock news would have lulled Mrs. Widgepin to sleep under her afghan. El understood that at times Peter's work had to come first in the most literal sense, just as she knew that in his *heart* she would always be number one. He was her honey, and always would be. But it did get lonely in the house with only Satch to talk to. Not that he wasn't a fantastic friend and, hell, he farted less than Peter, but he wasn't much of a conversationalist. Sometimes El found herself talking to no one, gesturing and laughing as if there was someone next to her as she chopped veggies and heated marinara sauce for a dinner that Peter would probably miss.

Not that El wasn't a busy lady herself. Her job was a whirlwind, too, especially when you got down to the wire on big events. But it didn't require the same complete dedication that being an agent did. After all, if something went wrong at her office, a customer might have to drink cabernet instead of pinot noir. If something went bad at the Bureau, people could die. But the knowledge didn't make her any less lonely on the nights she went to sleep with no one to keep her warm.

"Okay, Satchmo," she said tiredly, gesturing to the dog. "Go ahead. Eat up."

Satch gave her a big doggie grin as he leapt onto the chair, scarfing down Peter's cold dinner for the fourth time this week. The pup was going to be as big as the house if her hubby didn't start making it home for dinner more often.

El stood and began gathering the dishes, pausing to pour herself another glass of wine. She wasn't sure if Peter would even make it home before she went to bed tonight. She'd spoken to him briefly earlier, but he'd been very distracted, mumbling something about keeping promises and overdue meetings, then he'd had to go. God, she missed him. Hopefully this case would be closed soon and they could go back to having at least their evenings together.

The sink was almost full, so El squeezed some soap into the water and began to scrape the plates tiredly. It was nights like this, when she'd worked hard all day and didn't even have Peter there to keep her animated, that El wished her husband would agree to buy a shared contract on a house slave to clean up a couple times a week. She understood that he spent all day dealing with the slave trade and didn't want to bring it home, but it was impossible to find maids these days since major traders like SlaveMart had pushed so many free men's businesses out of the market.

El was lucky that she planned high society events or she might have been at risk of being replaced by a slave herself. After all, why pay someone to plan your party when you have a slave living in your house that can do it for free? It had happened to her friend Claire, who made most of her money doing Halloween bashes and kids' birthday parties and other get togethers that were a hassle to plan but didn't require any real skill.

There was a sound at the door and El dropped the plate she'd been scrubbing into the soapy water, a smile growing on her face as she wiped her hands off on a dish rag. It looked like Peter had made it home after all. She wouldn't be sleeping alone, but he was going to be stuck eating a PB&J since his dinner had been sacrificed to Satchmo.

"Hey, hon!" she called out as she walked into the living room, ready to give her man a big kiss. "I'm glad you made it home…" Her words trailed off as she entered the living room, eyes widening at the sight before her.

A young, slim man was standing at Peter's side, dressed in scrubs and cuffed at the wrists. His head was lowered, making it hard to see his face, but he looked quite handsome even with dirty hair and distinct bruises around his neck.

It wasn't until he raised his eyes off the floor to meet hers that it all computed and El realized who he was. She'd recognize those bright blue eyes anywhere. They'd stared at her from every corner of Peter's study once upon a time, and they'd even had his wanted poster on the fridge, though this version was much skinnier.

Neal Caffrey. The young man was Neal Caffrey, criminal slave, her husband's obsession for almost three years. In her house. In chains. Well, wasn't this an interesting development?

"Hey, hon," Peter said, looking uncomfortable as he glanced between her and Neal. "Look, I'm sorry that I'm late…"

El's lip twitched in amusement. That was what he had to say? There was a chained, bedraggled Neal Caffrey in the middle of their den and he was sorry he was late? Talk about ignoring the elephant in the room.

"It's okay, hon," she replied, humoring him as she tried to figure out how, exactly, to bring up this tender subject. She knew well that near the end of his search some of Peter's fellow Feds had started teasing him about his obsession with Neal, and she didn't want to rattle his feathers, but it would be nice to know why there was a criminal tracking dirt on their carpet.

El moved forward and pecked Peter on the lips without taking her eyes off the boy next to him. "So…" She spread her hands, raising an eyebrow as Peter coughed nervously, shifting from foot to foot.

"Uh, well, we were, uh, pretty busy at work today, you know."

Okay, the elephant had gotten so big it was ridiculous, but before El could decide how to proceed, the boy—Neal—dropped his head so far that all she could see was the top of his mess of hair then took three deliberate steps to the side, crouching down on the floor, sort of hiding himself beside the sofa. It looked strange, but not awkward, if that made any sense, as if the young man had been responding to some silent command.

The thought made El start as she realized that he *had* been responding to a silent command. There were lots of slaves at the events she planned, so she had a pretty good idea of how they behaved, probably even more so than Peter since she got to see them in normal situations instead of when they were scared or upset. She saw slaves step aside and kneel down like that all the time when their masters were carrying on conversations that obviously did not include them. A sort of 'out of sight, out of mind' thing, she guessed, a polite way to give their masters some space but still be right there if called upon.

She and Peter had been talking as if Neal wasn't there, so the young man had followed his training and made himself scarce. He didn't know that she and her husband were both grasping at a way to bring him up. For all he knew, they'd never talk to him at all, just ignore him like some free men did their slaves. She'd actually met slaves who didn't know anything at all about their masters—not their full names, not what they did for a living, not who their relatives were, anything—simply because their masters had never said anything to them that wasn't a command, like they were robots or something. It was kind of disturbing.

Peter was looking at Neal like the poor boy had lost his mind or something, so El moved over next to the young man, reaching out and touching his shoulder. He didn't move at all, not even to look up, and she gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"It's okay," she said quietly. "We weren't ignoring you. We want to talk to you. Stand back up, okay?"

The young man obeyed immediately, climbing silently to his feet and moving back over next to Peter, standing a little closer than he'd been before, his body tilted slightly toward the man. Hm. Interesting.

"What the hell was that?" Peter questioned, looking puzzled.

"Never mind it," El said quickly, knowing Neal was probably as confused by Peter's lack of knowledge as Peter was by his actions. "So, Peter, honey, all 'welcome homes' aside, it isn't that I'm not thrilled to have a chance to meet the man behind the myth, but what, exactly, is Neal Caffrey doing at our house?"

"You know who I am, m'am?" Neal questioned, looking surprised.

El smiled at him. "Oh, you have no idea, Mr. Caffrey. My husband had a whole room dedicated to finding you!"

Neal glanced at Peter out of the corner his eye, an almost quizzical look, before returning his gaze to El. "I'm a slave, Mrs. Burke," he said in a matter of fact voice. "There's no need to speak to me like that, m'am. I'm not a mister."

"Is that roundabout permission to call you 'Neal'?" El questioned teasingly, though what she really wanted to do was wrap her arms around the skinny young man and squeeze away all the fear that was hovering around him like storm clouds, intensifying every time he glanced Peter's way. Yet, despite being obviously scared as hell of her husband, he kept inching closer and closer to the man like he was something safe. Very interesting, indeed.

"I'll answer to anything you want me to, Mrs. Burke," he said in a soft voice before cocking his head to the side, a comically thoughtful look coming over his face. "Except 'Petunia.' I'll take a whipping before I answer to 'Petunia.'" The wide, careless grin on his face was contradicted by the fear in his eyes.

Peter gave a snort of laughter, rolling his eyes, and El giggled as well, though the duality of Neal's attitude worried her, made her wonder what had happened between him and Peter. Was this just about the fact that her husband had caught him or was there something more to it? She knew that Peter was a good and honorable man and that he would never hurt anyone, not even a slave. No, *especially* not a slave. That wasn't the kind of person he was.

Her hubby had always taken a very firm stance on how slaves should be treated. On one of their earliest dates, a woman at the restaurant had thrown hot coffee on her slave's face for some minor misbehavior. Despite the fact that these things were unfortunately common, Peter had become visibly upset. When she'd asked him about it later, all he'd said was, "I joined the Bureau to protect those who can't protect themselves, including those who don't even have the right to try." It was a pretty liberal stance to take since, legally, an owner had every right to decide if their slave lived or died, but El had always thought it was a very noble thing to believe.

"Look," Peter said, reaching out and putting a hand on Neal's hunched shoulder. "Neal here is going to be staying with us for awhile. He thinks he can help me catch the Dutchman, so I agreed to take on his criminal contract for a month to see whether or not he's blowing smoke."

"I've blown a lot of things, Master, but never smoke," Neal said with an amused glint in his eyes. There was no flash of fear this time, but El noticed that his shoulders did tense as he said the words, almost like he was expecting a blow.

"Don't be crude around my wife, Neal," Peter replied. His tone was more fatherly annoyance than flat out beration, but it was enough to bring the fear back, leaving the slave nodding rapidly as he eyed Peter.

"Sorry, Master. Sorry."

"Oh, don't be a prude, Peter," El said, trying to put Neal at ease. "I'm a big girl, I think I can handle big girl jokes. I *am* over the drinking limit!"

"I wouldn't know it, Mrs. Burke," Neal said smoothly, flashing her a smile so big and bright that it could blind a person. Seriously, the pictures of Neal? They did him no justice at all. No wonder her lover hadn't been able to get his mind off catching the young man.

"Oh, Neal, please don't call me Mrs. Burke," El said. "It makes me feel like a grandma! In fact, if you call me Mrs. Burke, I may just have to call you 'Petunia.' The name's Elizabeth, or El, if you like."

Neal laughed and it sounded real, his shoulders loosening up a bit. "Okay, Ms. El."

Casual, but still respectful. The Neal that Peter had described to her so often wouldn't have bothered with titles but, from the way this boy acted, El wasn't so sure Peter understood the thief as well as he thought. Maybe he could anticipate his moves, but she wasn't sure he understood the other man's motivations.

The Neal he'd told her about thought of himself as the big shot, the best that there ever was, the one who was better than everyone, but it was obvious that the Neal in this room considered her husband to be the man of the hour. Everything he did was orchestrated around Peter's movements and reactions, and El got the feeling that, right now, the young man would be most at ease sitting at Peter's feet. She recognized the look in his eyes, had seen it on the faces of other slaves in precarious situations where their master was both the protector and the one to fear. Getting down low expressed submission and also put the slave out of their master's line of sight where they were less likely to anger him, while staying by his feet kept them safe from outside attacks.

It was not a look that a rebel like the man Peter had always described would wear. In fact, if El was a betting woman, she'd put all her money down that there wasn't a rebellious bone in the young man's body. Being cocky and outspoken didn't make you a rebel; defying your master did. Now that Peter was the closest thing that Neal had to a master, the slave was obviously struggling to meld their previous interactions with this new position.

Yeah, Peter was definitely going to have to rethink his assumptions about Neal if this was going to work for even a month, starting with the idea that the young thief didn't give a damn what Peter said or did since the poor boy was obviously shaking in his boots every time the other man looked at him.

That was still the one thing El didn't get, though. Why was Neal so very, very afraid of Peter? It was one thing to be leery of someone you didn't know now calling themselves your master or to be worried that the man you had foiled for three years now owned you. But neither of those things explained why Neal looked positively terrified when Peter glanced his way. Had he heard some things about Peter that weren't true, or perhaps made some assumptions of his own? Because if there was one thing she knew for sure, it was that Peter would never really hurt any slave, especially not one he secretly respected as much as he did Neal Caffrey.

"I tried to get him to call me 'Peter,'" her husband said, breaking her out of her thoughts. "But he wouldn't." Peter sounded irritated. "Wouldn't even call me 'Agent Burke.' Apparently I'm now 'Master.'" He laughed, shaking his head. "I definitely never would have expected to have the great Neal Caffrey to be calling *me* 'Master.'"

Neal dropped his eyes, hands clenching and face reddening. "Forgive me, Master," he said after a moment, voice very low and sharp. "Sorry I didn't meet your great expectations."

The words were sarcastic, but El caught a flicker of embarrassment in Neal's eyes, though it was quickly replaced by anger. He thought Peter was making fun of him. A moment later, the anger was gone, replaced once more by fear as he hunched his shoulders, obviously expecting Peter to strike him for the words. All of this, of course, was missed entirely by Peter, who was still grinning a little stupidly at her, totally unaware that Neal was trying his best to navigate through what he probably thought of as the mine field in his new master's head.

El sighed, running a hand tiredly through her hair. Men. They could never communicate. It didn't matter if they were free men or slaves, put two of them together and nothing would get done.

"Hey, sweetie, it's okay," El said to Neal, tipping his chin up with her fingers. "From what I understand, he is your master now. So there's no shame in calling him what he is, right? No need to feel bad about showing some manners, even if that Tarzan I love over there doesn't always appreciate them." El smiled at him. "You're going to have to cut us a little slack here. We've never had a slave before. I've spent some time around them at my job, and you know as well as anyone that Peter works in the trade, but I haven't had a slave in my house since I was a girl. And I don't think Peter's family ever had slaves at all, right, hon?"

Peter slowly shook his head, like he wasn't quite sure where this conversation was going or if he was going to like it when it arrived. "Nope, we couldn't afford one. Before SlaveMart got big, they were damn pricey."

El reached out, squeezing Neal's arm. "Most of our knowledge about this stuff is second hand, based off things we've seen or heard. So if something we say or do confuses or bothers you, feel free to speak up, okay?"

Neal's eyes flickered to Peter again, like he wanted to make sure the man agreed with El's assessment before he spoke, then he threw that big grin at her, shrugging his shoulders as best he could with his hands cuffed in front of his body.

"Well, you can order a user manual from SlaveMart for $5.99 plus shipping and handling. If you check the little box on the order form that says 'first time owner' they'll even send you an incredibly helpful pamphlet explaining important information about being slave owners. Great facts like how if you don't feed them for more than thirty days they may die of starvation, and if you decide to chop their balls off in your kitchen then they may not be good for sex work in the future."

"Hey," Peter said with a laugh, "I gotta admit, not feeding you for a month would sure clear a lot of paperwork off my desk."

El winced almost as much as Neal at the words, resisting the urge to reach out and smack the big dummy. It was obvious he was teasing, to him at least, but she was pretty sure that Neal was taking the words at face value.

"That was a joke, Neal," El said when Neal kept eyeing Peter with a disturbed look on his face. "Wasn't it, hon?"

"Of course it was," Peter said, brow furrowing slightly. "You know I wouldn't starve you," he said, reaching out to ruffle Neal's hair in a friendly way. "Not even if it would make my life a lot easier."

From the look on Neal's face, he still wasn't so sure that the starving thing had been a joke. At some point very soon they would have to sit down with the slave and discuss their intentions, but she wanted a chance to talk to Peter alone first, because she was pretty sure they weren't on the same page when it came to what was going on in Neal's head. If her husband had any clue how much he frightened the younger man, he wouldn't be half so crass around him. In fact, El was certain that he was going to be pretty upset when she told him considering that he honestly hadn't done anything to earn the way Neal looked at him like he was a ticking time bomb that he needed to crack before the clock hit zero. Not to mention the little talk they were going to have about agreeing to take slaves into their home without even giving her the smallest courtesy of a phone call.

"I can be useful, Master," Neal said, voice a lot cooler than his tense posture suggested. "It's true that I wasn't trained in cooking, cleaning, yard work, or CPR, but I'm an awfully good pretender. And I *was* trained in origami and parachuting, which obviously makes up for my lack of practical skills." He flashed another cocky smile, giving El a quick glimpse of the man he might have been if he'd never had a collar around his neck. The man that maybe he still could be, with the right owners. The man that Peter saw.

"Gee, origami, huh?" Peter said dryly. "That's some serious skill there."

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it! You never know when you might find a use for a crane made out of newsprint, sir." He grinned as Peter chuckled.

"Well, now that we're up on your outstanding skill set, I think Neal here could use a shower, don't you think, Peter?" El said, planting a big smile on her face. "And dinner of course. I bet both of you are hungry as hell."

Neal glanced over at Peter like he was looking for direction, shoulders tensing a little when Peter didn't even look his way. El knew it was because he had no clue that Neal was looking to him for permission to do things, but in Neal's mind her husband's non-response might as well have been a big, giant NO.

"I'm fine, thanks, Ms. El," Neal said at the exact same time Peter said, "Oh, yeah, I'm starving."

Her hubby glanced over at Neal, raising an eyebrow in his direction. "What, you ate already? I thought they pulled you off your shift to see me."

"His shift? What were you contracted for, Neal?" El asked curiously, immediately regretting it when a look of deep shame rolled over the man's handsome face.

"I was a prison slave, Ms. El," he said in a soft voice, locking his big blue eyes to the floor again.

"Yeah, isn't that a laugh?" Peter said, seeming to find Neal's embarrassment amusing. El frowned. That wasn't like her husband at all. What was going on here? "Caffrey ended up with a criminal contract at, get this, a *prison.* Talk about irony. Real fitting, isn't it?"

"Yes, Master," Neal said in a forced tone, cheeks flaming, apparently unaware that Peter's question was rhetorical. He looked up, meeting El's eyes. "I deserved it."

El's breath caught slightly, her smile fading away as she watched the naked pain that crossed the man's face as he said the words.

"I'm sure you didn't, Neal," she said softly. No one deserved to go through anything that put a look like that on their faces.

Peter shook his head. "He committed a crime, El. He's a conman at heart. Don't let him scam you into believing he's done no wrong. Facing the consequences of our decisions is a part of life, as I'm sure Neal now understands."

The look on Neal's face went from shamed to defeated, and El had to fight back the urge to smack her well-meaning but dense-as-hell husband upside the head.

"He's right, I deserved it," Neal repeated again. Apparently it wasn't any less painful the second time, because the same look of humiliation rose in his eyes.

It was definitely time to steer the conversation away from this. She could officially add 'accidentally trampling people's souls' to the list of things she and Peter needed to talk about later.

"You know what, Neal, how about you go ahead and eat anyway?" El said, not believing for an instant that Neal was 'fine'. "You look a little skinny." She smiled at Peter. "Why don't you take him up to get showered and I'll whip up something for you boys to munch on, okay, hon?"

Peter nodded, putting a hand on Neal's back to guide him toward the stairs, fingers giving the man's slim shoulder a gentle squeeze. There was something almost protective in the way he hovered over the younger man as they headed up the stairs, and it made El smile despite how badly their lines were crossed when it came to understanding one another. It would be okay. They had a woman on the job now.