A/N: Yes – an update finally! I figured I should probably get some of my school work done if I intend to pass. Plus my muse was…un-muse-ish. This chapters may seem a tad jumbled. Listening to Burn Notice Episodes while doing homework didn't exactly help get me "in to character."
Thanks to my faithful reviewers – you guys rock. To Steph, Maurader, ghostdolly and Nayah – thanks for your words, they make me blush.
Disclaimer: I don't own, don't sue!
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"You sure you can make it in?" Peter asked hesitantly.
Neal rolled his eyes upwards, felt Peters gaze lingering on his swollen purple cheek. "Yes dad, I'm sure."
"I could talk to Hughes, get you another day. I mean it's only been a day-"
"Peter." Neal interrupted.
"Yeah?"
"I'm not broken."
Peter offered a disbelieving stare.
Neal ground his teeth, "I can make it. Plus, I'd feel bad if I stayed."
His partner's face scrunched up in thought, "Neal Caffrey, feel bad? What could possibly do that?"
"June's been waiting on me hand and foot since yesterday. She had to go out for an hour and she assigned the housekeeper to me."
"Sounds like everything you've ever wanted." Peter grinned.
"Maybe, if it weren't out of pity." Neal grabbed a blue prescription bottle from the table.
"So you're willing to charm someone in to giving you a place to live, but have a problem when they bring you breakfast in bed? Just when I thought I had you figured out."
"I'm a complicated guy." Neal told him, washing down a pain killer.
"Those are-"
"Prescribed?" Neal finished. "Yes, Peter." He held up the bottle "A label with my name and everything." Neal paused a moment, "Speaking of which. I talked to Chris last night. He's doing well."
"That's great." Peter faked a smile.
"He couldn't help but notice no one stopped by to revoke his medical license."
"I may have…Over reacted. A little."
"Yeah. Noticed. So did he…" Neal trailed off, raising his eyebrows at Peter, who frowned.
"I might owe him an apology."
"Good boy!"
Peter glared, "Clothes. Now."
"Yes dad." Neal replied, putting down the bottle and walking away.
Peter grinned, "I'll be in the car. You're old enough to be out of the booster seat now, right?"
Neal didn't answer, but his bedroom door promptly closed harder than necessary.
0o0o0o
Neal climbed slowly in to the car. Getting comfortable with fractured ribs, he had noticed, was next to impossible.
"What's with the scowl?" Peter asked.
"They stole my hat. Or knocked it off. Or something."
"Who?"
"Who else, Peter?" Neal cringed. It was probably still in the middle of the street. It'd probably been run over. Covered with dirt and..oil.
"Ah. At least it's just your hat and not your head."
"It's not just a hat, Peter!"
"We'll get you a new one."
"You will?"
"Me?"
"You offered. You said We'll get you a new one. Now, I know you didn't mean you and I, Peter, because – let's face it – it's not like I'm getting paid a whole lot here. So I figured what you really meant was you would get me a new one."
"Nice try." Peter said, glancing at him.
"So that's a no then? You lied?"
"I did no such thing! You misconstrued what I said."
"So what did you mean, then?"
"I meant we could go by a shop and pick out a stupid hat."
"That I could steal?"
"No." Peter glared.
"So if I can't buy it, and I can't steal it, how am I supposed to get a new hat?"
Peter groaned, and Neal had to turn away to hide his smile. "Fine. I'll buy you a stupid hat. Just please shut up and stop pouting."
"Shutting up."
"Seat belt." Peter noted.
"You're joking, right?"
"It is the law and – contrary to your avid belief – you are not above it."
"Couldn't that classify as cruel and unusual punishment? I think my eighth amendment rights are being violated."
"By a seat belt?" Peter asked incredulously, turning to him.
"Broken ribs." Neal countered, forcing a light hearted smile to replace a grimace. Peter's confidence faltered and Neal smiled. He knew he'd won.
"Should've put you back in prison the second you showed up on my couch." Peter mumbled.
"Touche.. So you haven't told me; What did Stevens say when you showed up yesterday."
Peter sighed, pulling out in to traffic. "Not much. He answered all out questions, didn't seem too nervous. Honestly, I'm not sure he could have pulled it off."
"Oh yeah? Why's that?"
A corner of Peter's mouth twitched upwards, "He was kind of an idiot."
"So he can at least be ruled out as the mastermind." Neal mused. "Any other leads?"
"We checked out the building behind the NAC. It used to be a wine bar with some apartments up top."
"Too bad."
"Yeah. Like this city needs another wine bar." Peter commented.
"How did you know I wasn't talking about the units up top."
"Neal. I'm not an idiot."
"Fair enough. So anything there?"
"You were right. Soot on the railing, cement chips outside the building. Inside was clean."
"Clean?"
"Yep. No pieces of cement, no soot and no secret tunnels into the NAC."
"So they cleaned it out? That seems pretty…"
"Time consuming."
"If they'd already finished the job and gotten away with the painting." Neal thought aloud. He shook his head, "Why clean everything out? Why not just ensure there's nothing left to indict and run for it?"
"Is that what you'd do?"
"Peter-"
"Hypothetically, Neal. Why would you go through all that trouble?"
"Hypothetically?" he mused. "I'd do it if I didn't want anyone to even know I'd been there. Leave no trace, right? Maybe to try and disguise the entrance to the tunnel?"
"To ensure you could use it at a later date and time?" Peter considered.
"You think they'll try and hit the NAC again?"
"Not anytime soon, no. They'll let this blow over first. It wouldn't be worth the risk. They have to know there's an investigation now and law enforcement in the area."
"Damn it!" Neal gasped, grabbing his ribs as Peter hit a pot hole.
"Sorry."
Neal groaned in response.
"I thought you were taking pain killers."
"I am, but they aren't exactly a cure."
"Hmph. Maybe your doctor friend should have given you more."
"His name is Chris, and he gave me plenty."
"So that's why you were making faces, even before we hit the pot hole?"
"Blame your driving."
"We were parked."
"Yeah well, there's a cost for being able to develop rational thought."
"That's what I thought. I'm pretty sure you're supposed to take prescriptions as prescribed, Neal."
"And I'm pretty sure you just want me to tell you what else I may or may not have signed."
"That might be nice."
"Or maybe you want me to sing."
"That wouldn't be so nice."
Neal heard him, but continued staring out the window. This street looked a lot different in the daylight. Less..Menacing. They pulled up in front of the white building and parked. Neal took a breath, supporting himself with the door, and slowly stood up. He couldn't help but examine the area for his hat. Nothing, he thought, disappointed. Not even a squished covered-in-road-dirt version. As he glanced around he noticed a sign and smiled.
"You're parking illegally, Peter."
"I'm a federal agent."
"Oh, so now you're above the law?"
"What? You want me to move the car and have you walk further?"
Neal blew air into his cheeks. "Yeah. No."
"Then stop arguing."
They both moved towards the entrance, where there was a police officer waiting. Peter flashed his badge, Neal flashed him a big smile. They both moved inside without a word.
Neal walked in to a very large room with high ceilings. All the windows – on the ground floor, at least – were either original or reproductions. The glass was slightly wavy – just enough to distort some of the light coming in and the world looking out. Some of the old brick had been artfully exposed, other parts painted with black or burgundy. There were still markings on the floor where the old bar must have sat.
"It still smells like paint." Neal commented.
"Yeah. Noticed that yesterday. Can't find any wet paint, though."
"Latex paint."
"Yeah."
Neal squinted at the walls. "Peter, what kind of paint would you say was used on the brick?"
"Uh, burgundy?"
Neal rolled his eyes, "The finish, Peter. The brick is finished in a semi gloss."
"I'll assume this is going somewhere."
"The back wall – same colour scheme but with a satin finish."
"So they were painted at different times?"
"Possibly." Neal made his way to the back wall with Peter. He knocked on it.
"Drywall." Peter said.
"Gee. I wonder what could possibly be behind it." Neal smiled at Peter.
"I'll take secret tunnel entrance for five hundred, Alex." Peter grinned back.
0o0o0o0o0o
"What are you doing in here?"
"Hiding."
"From what?" Peter asked, sitting down at his desk.
Neal shrugged.
"You nearly beg me to take you to the office today, to escape June's mothering, and now you're hiding. What'd you do?" Peter raised an eyebrow.
Neal gave his best affronted look, "What makes you think I did something?"
"You're you."
Neal frowned.
"Why are you hiding?"
Neal sighed, "They won't stop staring."
Peter chuckled, "I'm not sure whether that statement is paranoid or narcissistic, coming from you."
Neal ignored him and went back to work.
"You're serious? Neal – everywhere we go someone is staring at you." Peter paused, "Women anyway. So why do you suddenly have such a problem with it?"
"Different reasons, Peter. Different reasons. Sitting down there…They're staring at me like I'm the Mona Lisa sitting in the middle of the Louvre."
Peter snorted.
"What?" Neal asked.
"The Mona Lisa – the smile that hides a secret. Fitting."
"Ha ha." Neal replied dryly.
"Oh come on. Lighten up. And would you stop doing that?"
"Doing what?" Neal asked, looking up from his work.
Peter glared, pushing his lips together. "Linking all my paperclips together, Frankenstein."
Neal raised his eyebrows.
"Too much?" Peter opened up a drawer in his desk and furrowed his brow.
Neal nodded, "Going for lunch?"
"Yeah. Going to go meet El."
"Are you going to bring her a ham sandwich too?"
"Did you go through my lunch?"
"Nope. You're just that predictable."
"I don't have devilled ham enough to be predictable."
"It's not devilled ham." Neal corrected.
"So you were snooping."
"Nope."
Peter glared.
Neal smiled, shrugging his shoulders just slightly.
"How'd you know?"
"Your lunch bag was folded over neatly, not crumpled."
"So?"
"So? You're the FBI agent!"
Another glare.
"Fine." Neal caved, wanting to one up Peter. "Folded bag means El packed your lunch. You crumple your bag when you pack it. Plain ham because Elizabeth doesn't like devilled ham-"
"Yes she does!"
"She doesn't like the smell of it."
Peter chuckled, "I think I know my wife a bit better than you."
"Okay." Neal put his hands up, palms out.
Peter narrowed his gaze. "What else, Sherlock?"
"You had cornflakes for breakfast and broke your promise to El to stay away from the Cheetohs. And she knows."
Peter's face reddened, and he appeared flustered. "Do you have your friends spying on me now?"
"Cornflakes were the only cereal in your cupboard a few days ago and – as you've been complaining all week – El has been working late hours. Late hours means she didn't get around to the grocery shopping, and I'm pretty sure you don't know how to. Cheetohs were easy – I heard you make the promise to her, and there's cheese powder on your shirt cuff."
"You think El knows?"
Neal smiled, "I know she knows. Now weren't you going for lunch?"
Peter sighed and glanced back down at the open drawer. "As soon as you give me back my file folder labels."
"Good memory." Neal congratulated.
"Nothing to do with memory, I just figured that's what any five year old would go for." Peter held out his hand.
Neal relinquished them, pushing the small accordion stack across the desk. "I can keep the elastics though, right?"
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Read & Review Please!
I'll post updates despite, but I would *really* appreciate some feedback from the people who add this story as a favourite/put it on alert. Not necessarily all good stuff - let me know if I could do something better too!
