The answer was a dozen(s).
Guess this one was a little harder but I still congratulate those that tried their best. I also thank you for all the wonderful reviews. They always make my day a little brighter. And sorry again for a late post. More midterms. Almost done though. And by that time it will be time for finals. Woot…
Anyway, our winners of the last riddle include, but are not limited to:
brokenclaw
kira66
3rdgal (I'll give you this one)
Pghj2005
Sparky Dorian
extraordinary geek
Ultracape
Anonymous riddler
staceydc328
Mycroft R Holmes
Fedora
vesperwhisper
I really liked Photophobic's answer of eighty. Your thought process was very precise and numerical rational (if that makes sense.)
I got the answer "eleven" a lot but I couldn't figure out how that could be a possible answer. If one of you who answered as such could offer me your thought process behind the answer (and I find it rational) I'll repost to include your name amongst the other winners.
So, read away cause I bet you're baffled as to what the title could possibly mean.
._._._._._._.
DIT
The door was already open before Peter Burke could knock a second time. June was standing before him, her worried eyes sparkling with a sudden hope as she released what Peter presumed to be a held breath in relief.
"Thank goodness you came," she said in a flustered manner as rested one hand over her heart. She moved out of the doorway so Peter could enter. He did so with a solemn nod.
"I left the office as soon as you called," he said as the door closed behind him and June took her place beside him. "Has he started yet?"
June shook her head, the faded brown curls bouncing with her distress. "No, he's still packing his tools."
Peter's concerned eyes flickered up to the ceiling where the muffled sounds of movement filtered down; his lips pursed in thought. "Why did he suddenly decide to do this?" he asked, the tone of a questioning FBI agent creeping into the words.
June followed his gaze but hers lingered longer. "I'm not sure. I mean, I'm sure he's noticed what needed to be done and just decided to deal with it himself."
"What a surprise," Peter muttered. He and June stopped at the base of the stairs.
"Peter."
Peter looked down obediently to meet the older woman's dark eyes. She held his gaze with a powerful stare. "It's dangerous for him to be doing this alone."
Peter understood the unspoken request and nodded his compliance. "I'll stop him."
This brought a wry smile to June's lips. "You know as well as I that once Neal has his mind set on something, he'll carry through despite what you say."
Peter returned the smile, warm with sympathetic agreement.
"If you can't stop him," June pleaded, "help him."
Peter sighed as his shoulders sagged submissively. "I know. I will."
With his promise hanging in the air, Peter started his ascent up the stairs.
It didn't take long to find the man he was looking for. All he had to do was follow the sounds of pacing footsteps and the heavy thud of metal being dropped on the ground and the metallic clink of metal hitting metal.
The trail led him to the third floor of June's massive home. He entered a bare room designated for holding what could only be June's late husband's workshop. What had most likely been housed in the basement or lower level of the house now filled the small room. A large workbench took up most of the far wall. Toolboxes lined a third of the left side of the room and the right side had larger instruments hanging on the wall or placed lovingly in the corner. Cabinets stood beside the toolboxes with unused paint cans resting on top. It seemed Byron had been quite the Do It Yourself kind of man. The room served as a memorial to the hard-working husband.
But now another man occupied the room. He moved with quiet confidence as if the room was as much his own as it was Byron's. He traveled back and forth from the toolboxes, pulling open the thick drawers and fishing around inside its contents before coming out with some sort of tool or other. His acquired items were place carefully in a paint-stained burlap bag.
"Neal," Peter called in the parental tone he reserved only for the ex-convict who also happened to be his consultant, partner, and friend.
Neal Caffrey turned to face Peter and, for a moment, he looked like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Then his expression brightened with his signature smile, making his crystalline blue eyes sparkle.
"Hey, Peter," he replied chastely, dusting his hands on a pair of faded blue jeans. A gray shirt hung loosely from his shoulders. "What brings you here?"
Peter folded his arms over his chest with a tilt of his head and a reproachful, lopsided smirk. "June called me."
Neal's smiled flickered guiltily for a moment and then was back in place. He turned away from Peter and crouched down to inspect his bag of tools. "And what'd she tell you?"
"What you're getting yourself into."
Peter noted the wince that hitched up Neal's shoulders slightly and knew he had pinned the ex-con. Neal wasn't going to charm his way out of this one nor was he going to be able to pull the wool over Peter's eyes. The slumping of Neal's shoulders in defeat proved that.
"No need to get yourself involved," Neal advised nonchalantly, his voice light.
"Neal," Peter said as he moved into the room. "I don't want you doing this alone."
"So what," Neal asked as he stood with the bag in his hands. He slung it over his shoulder and staggered slightly under the weight, "you're going to be the one to do it with me then?"
Peter shrugged. "Sure."
Neal hesitated and the glimmer of surprise in his eyes didn't go unnoticed by Peter.
"I already knew I couldn't talk you out of this one. So I figured I'd just help you. If you can't beat them, join them, right?" Peter offered his friend a coy smile. "Plus, if I'm with you I can at least ensure that you're not going to go and get yourself hurt."
"Please, Peter," Neal scoffed with a roll of his eyes. He tried to walk past the agent with his usual grace and confidence but the heavy bag was making him tilt and weave drunkenly. "It's not like I haven't done this before. I think I can handle it by myself."
Peter followed after him deliberately. "If you do it alone, you'll never get it done."
"Peter, I thought we've already established that 'never' is not in my vocabulary," Neal shot back over his shoulder.
"Apparently neither is 'envisage'." Peter dodged around Neal and barred his path. "You need to think about this, Neal. What happens if something goes wrong?"
Neal paused and lowered his gaze in thought. He mulled over Peter's words for a moment and then glanced up at the agent. "All right," he said with reluctant decision and perhaps slight relief. "You can help. You can start by helping me carry this thing."
Peter smiled with smug triumph – which Neal took every precaution to ignore – and eased the bag out of Neal's hands. It was heavy but the tough and sturdy Peter Burke was built better for heavy-lifting than the slim and sleek Neal Caffrey. Neal offered the agent a grateful smile and then kept moving down the hall, Peter falling in step beside him.
The two walked side by side quietly to another room that proved to be used infrequently but still cared for. Very few things resided in this room: just a cabinet, a bed, and the other common characteristics of a spare bedroom. However, everything was currently covered with clear plastic tarp. Beams of wood lay in wait on the floor and a ladder loomed in the middle of the room under a dark patch of ceiling.
Peter placed the bag of tools down next to the wood and straightened with a stretch. Neal knelt down and rummaged in the bag.
"So, what's the plan?" Peter asked expectantly, eyeing the wet stain on the ceiling disapprovingly and preparing himself for the job he and Neal had set out to do.
"Remove the damaged wood, fix the leak, and repair with new wood," Neal answered as he stood with a bar-like tool and hammer in his now gloved hands. He shot an arched brow at Peter as his lips curved up into a devious grin. "You can still back out now if you want. No guarantees this is going to be quick and painless."
Peter just shook his head and moved to the ladder, steadying it with his hands for Neal. "Nope. You're my responsibility. Can't have you falling off this thing of nailing yourself to a piece of wood."
Neal released a curt laugh as he stepped up to the ladder. "Don't jinx me. Now what's the real reason you're here helping me fix a leak and not being at your own house?"
"We're partners," Peter shrugged as if it was obvious. Neal paused at the top of the ladder. "I'm going to help you with whatever you decide to do. Permitting it's legal, of course."
Peter looked up at Neal. Though he couldn't see the ex-con's face, he was sure that there was a smile there.
At last, Neal chuckled and dug into the wood with the metal bar. The wood groaned and splintered on contact but Neal gave it no time to recover as he stabbed at it again. It took a few more jabs and strategic twists of the bar before Neal was finally able to pluck out the last remaining nails with the hammer and the beam of wood detached from the ceiling.
He clasped the wood tightly in his hands and started down the ladder with assertive steps, assured that he would not totter and fall because Peter was standing guard.
But he was over-confident.
Thinking he was in the clear, Neal took another step back with the assumption that he was already on the last step and that his foot would touch solid floor. Instead, he felt empty air as his foot slipped past the last step. Already unbalanced because of the beam of wood he held, Neal tipped backwards and fell. He cringed and waited for the jarring impact to hit his spine.
Peter was faster.
Rather than feeling the hard collision of the floor, Neal felt something softer bump against his back and head as two strong hands slid under arms and halted his fall.
Neal let out a held breath he didn't know he had been holding and looked up to flash a grin at the man that had caught him.
"Good catch, partner."
Peter shook his head with his own sigh as he gently hauled Neal to his feet. "Honestly, what would you do without me?"
Neal shrugged as Peter took one end of the wood and they carried it to an open space on the floor. "Die a horrible death from a splinter." he answered with mock fear.
Peter chuckled, earning a smile from Neal. They lowered the wood to the floor.
"Well, so much for Do It Yourself." Neal commented as he wiped his hands on his jeans.
"I'm partial to DIT over DIY anyway." Peter replied as he returned to his place at the foot of the ladder and Neal ascended up the steps again to remove another piece of water-damaged wood.
Neal looked down at Peter quizzically. "DIT?"
The agent just smiled up at him.
"Do It Together."
._._._._._._.
Haha! Thought I was going in a totally different direction there didn't you? The main inspiration for this story was to deter you the reader from the main plot by making you think Neal was going to perform some sort of heist that Peter was willing to help with. Bet you guys had no idea that what they were really doing were fixing the ceiling. And I bet that you had no theory as to what the story was going to be about based on the title.
Just wanted to trick you all. Consider it a Halloween trick with a little treat at the end. A little cheesy maybe but you gotta love the fluff.
Riddle time: **What has roots that nobody sees. Is taller than trees. Up, up it goes. And yet never grows?**
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
Hobey-Ho