...Peter watched Neal carefully while he examined the evidence. He looked at the photos, and swallowed. He wondered precisely what Peter knew. He realized that there was no way Peter could have seen the contents of the thumb drive. Neal could see all of his carefully crafted plans come crashing down around him, if he said the wrong thing and tipped off Peter. He knew Mozzie would be livid at the potential loss of 8 million dollars. Neal briefly wondered what Ammon would do if Neal told the FBI and got him arrested again. He was pretty sure Ammon would have some sort of contingency plan in place-no doubt Keller and Hagan would have been given some sort of instructions to cause him pain. In a split second, Neal decided to stick with his original plan. He'd tell Peter-but after he sorted out the situation. What Peter didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
When Neal didn't say anything, Peter prompted, "Well? Do you have that thumb drive?"
Neal shook his head carefully. He made eye contact with Peter, and said as sincerely as he could manage, "I didn't know he stuck something in my pocket, Peter."
"Well, go check your dirty laundry." Peter leaned back on the couch. He desperately wanted to believe that Neal was telling him the truth.
"I can't." Subconsciously, Neal's eyes darted up and to the right for a split second, before he deliberately made eye contact with Peter. He desperately wanted to rub his nose, but knew that was a general indicator that a person was lying. He relaxed his hands instead, spreading his fingers out over his knees. His mind racing for some sort of logical, believable lie, Neal added, "I took them to the dry cleaners yesterday." Neal brushed his chocolate hair off his forehead, and held eye contact with Peter.
Peter pursed his lips. Even without utilizing all of the interrogation training the FBI gave him, Peter knew all of Neal's tells. In part this was due to having spent years chasing him, but also, because he had spent just as much time working hand-in-hand with him. He knew when his CI was lying to him. He gave a slow nod, and pulled out his phone. He pulled up his email and found the daily report on Neal's tracking anklet. He glanced over it every night before bed-even though it irritated El-and he hadn't remembered seeing anything about dry cleaning on it. Sure enough, he scanned through the document, with Neal's one excursion to the abandoned wharf where he nearly got arrested, he hadn't left the house. Peter set his phone on the table and stood up, not saying anything. Neal watched him, trying his best to appear relaxed. Peter headed over to the easel by the kitchen table, and picked up a small tube of paint. He put a tiny dollop on his finger and walked over to the corner where his bookshelf butted up against the wall. He was about a yard away from where Neal perched on the end of the grey couch. Neal's brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what Peter was doing.
Peter held his hand flat, palm down, in front of his eyes. Holding it horizontally, he dropped his hand an inch, so it was even with his nose. He then moved it an inch lower. Still measuring some invisible marker, he moved his hand back up to his nose, and down again. After a second of further consideration, he pressed his finger into the corner, leaving a small, dot at his chin level. He headed back to the easel and wiped his finger off on a rag near the paint supplies.
"Is that some sort of Rorschach ink test you're inventing, Peter?" Neal's question made Peter grin.
"No, I thought I'd get into some pointillism." he responded lightly, which made Neal grin in turn.
"Well, you're no George-Pierre Seurat." He chewed on the inside of his lip, because Peter's smile had faded. He sat down next to Neal, again, and looked him squarely in the face.
Once he was sure he had Neal's attention, Peter spoke. His tone was calm, but authoritative. "Neal, go get the thumb-drive."
"I didn't know Ammon put something in my pocket, and I don't have it." Neal answered Peter firmly. Any guilt he felt about lying to Peter had long since disappeared in the efforts to avoid being caught in a lie.
Peter's mind was racing. He was positive Neal was lying to him. The urge to swat Neal for blatantly lying made the palm of his right hand itch. He made a slight fist in order to press his fingernails repeatedly into his palm. Peter was surprised that he could have a physical reaction to Neal's lying. He hadn't expected that.
The night he spanked Neal, Peter had laid out some spanking ground rules and made some promises to himself while he rubbed Neal's back until he fell asleep. He hadn't shared them with Neal, though-they were his own personal lines that he would not cross. One of them was he would never spank Neal without proof, and without Neal's agreement. He would never, ever, lay a hand on Neal in anger. He was growing frustrated that Neal would intentionally lie to him, and Peter tried to figure out what could possibly have motivated him to look him in the eye and spin a tale like this. He didn't want to threaten and force him to tell the truth, he wanted Neal to trust him enough to confide in him. Peter sighed, and stood up. He reached down and gently took Neal by the upper arm. He held him in the same place he would have grabbed Neal if he were wearing handcuffs-Peter's hand tucked under Neal's armpit and fingers curled around his bicep. He carefully steered Neal past the coffee table and around the end of the couch.
Neal was sputtering, but compliant. "Peter, what are you doing? Hey! Seriously, Peter. Peter?" He let Peter maneuver him.
After Peter had Neal positioned where he wanted him, he put a hand on Neal's shoulder. "Look at me, kid." He waited until he had Neal's full attention.
"I know you're lying to me." Neal's eyes widened.
Peter continued, "I'm a little upset that you don't trust me enough to tell me the truth." Neal's eyes widened further, eyebrows raised. He opened his mouth to argue and deny Peter's claim that he didn't trust him, but Peter spoke before he had a chance to form any words.
"I think you need a few minutes, without any distractions, to think through my questions, and the possible outcomes in front of you." Peter pointed to the dot. "Put your nose there."
Neal balked. "What?"
Peter just leveled a look at Neal that made him feel about two feet all. He tapped the corner, above the dot, and said one word.
"Nose."
Hesitantly, Neal leaned forward until his nose touched the dot. He had the absurd thought that that he hoped the paint was dry because he'd look silly with paint on his nose. That thought was immediately followed with the realization that he was standing in the corner like a child, and he already looked silly enough on his own. His face flushed bright red in embarrassment. He couldn't believe Peter had made him put his nose in the corner. And he couldn't believe he'd gone along with it! He shifted and moved his feet closer to the corner-he felt very self conscious and uncomfortable. After a second he pulled his face away from the corner and looked up at Peter. "For how long?"
Peter glared at him. "Keep it there, Neal. I'll let you know." Peter waited until Neal pressed his face back into the corner, and then he quietly crossed the living room to sink into one of the brown chairs. He propped his elbows on his knees and cradled his head in his hands. Why did Neal have to be so difficult, and so self-destructive!
Author's Note: Lovely Readers, I have spent a ridiculous amount of time on the White Collar Lexicon looking at pictures of Neal's apartment (and flicking through older episodes on Netflix), trying to figure out exactly which corner I would put Neal's nose in if were about to spank him (which, I suppose, for the purposes of this story, I am). If anyone has a better suggestion, let me know, because as much as I want Neal standing in a corner, he's got shit all over his apartment! There's not a single easy-access corner to use! *grumble, grumble* I decided to put him in the little nook that the end of his couch creates...the bookshelf meets the wall, and the couch is against the wall...leaving about three feet of space between the couch and the bookshelf. Just enough space to stand and face the corner. If you don't mind that half of corner is a wall of books. ...*sigh*
Also...my sassy, impatient guest, my four-day holiday weekend isn't over yet! And this is update number three! =P pbtthh! So there! This chapter is for you! Seriously though, thank you for all the kind feedback all of you. I have approximately 24 hours to maybe squeeze in another chapter. Maybe. ;)
