This chapter is prob my longest yet, and one of the most fun to write just for the sake of sheer silliness. Hopefully you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it…

Chapter Fourteen

.

"Our blunders mostly come from letting our wishes interpret our duties."
Unknown

.

Neal is no sooner through his partner's front door than he's questioning, "So, what's so exciting it warranted a trip to your home instead of the office?"

"We're brainstorming," Peter tells him, already walking towards the dining room table to continue doing just that.

"Brainstorming?" he repeats, and then turns to usher his daughter through the threshold after she'd been dawdling on the front steps.

"Wasn't that what I said?" his partner replies, and then he catches sight of an already familiar brunette behind Neal, silently appeasing her curiosity by continuing to simply look around the space. "Oh."

"How about you watch some TV while Peter and I do some work?" Neal proposes, smiling down at his little girl.

Camille looks up at him; swithering from side to side, her uncertainty is obvious. "I don't really watch television," she enlightens him.

Neal sees Peter throwing his gaze to the wall with a sigh, because of course she doesn't. She's his daughter; nothing's ever easy with him, why should he expect any less from his offspring.

"Can I read a book?" she asks, her expression hopeful.

"Sure," Neal replies; he's had more complicated requests. He turns to his partner with a grin, "Got any child-friendly literature around here?"

Peter fits him with a look before he begins to scan his bookcase.

"What about this one?" he finally suggests, pulling it from the shelf to hand it to the six-year-old.

"The FBI Field Manual?" Neal asks, intercepting the hand-off to read the title, and lifting his eyebrows at the man next to him, unimpressed. "Seriously, Peter, is that just your go-to guide for everything? Got anything else; maybe something a little less restrictive?"

"Right, of course, what was I thinking providing insider tips to a criminal's daughter on how to evade the law?" Peter mutters as he snatches it out of his hands with a scowl and puts it back in its place.

"My Momma's not a criminal," Camille tells them; so childlike and matter-of-fact.

Neither of them say anything, not quite sure where this is leading or which direction they should even steer it.

"She's never been put in jail," his daughter continues, and looks up at him then with those words; much to the sudden amusement that appears to have overtaken his partner's features.

"I have heard it said that the moving business is the safer option," Peter remarks at that.

Neal pointedly ignores him and instead announces, "You know what? A little television won't do you any harm."

He plucks Camille from her place and lifts her across to the couch, and then sets about finding a child-appropriate channel. He hands the remote to Camille when he's confident she's happy with his choice and walks back over to his partner.

"Shall we?" Neal asks, already moving towards the table where there are several folders set out.

"By all means," Peter says, stifling a laugh as he follows after him.

.

"I'm hungry," Camille announces, and they look up from the mountain of paperwork they've amassed in the short space of time to find her standing at the end of the table between them.

"Well, Peter?" he says to that, looking across at his partner.

"Me?" Peter answers. "She's your – responsibility."

"She's in your home," Neal replies; not missing a beat after the other man's near slip-up.

Peter opens his mouth to retort, but he beats him to it.

"What would Elizabeth say if she knew this was how you treated your guests?" he inquires, unable to stop the smug look from passing over his face.

"She'd say you're not considered a guest anymore because you take it upon yourself to invade our home so much, and I have no obligation to aid such a nuisance," is the retort.

"Must you wound me so?" Neal feigns a hurt look, his hand over his heart for added effect. "And actually that's what you'd say, not your wife. Nevertheless I'll meet you halfway, and go see what you've got in the fridge."

"In my fridge, not the fridge," Peter rephrases. "It belongs to me; it's not something we share, it's mine and mine alone."

"Peter, please, this is important," he interrupts him with a frown that chastises him for his lack of manners and awareness of the situation as he then ducks his head back round the door with a grin to ask of his daughter, "Are you a fan of devilled ham?"

The face she makes is answer enough and he laughs his way back into the kitchen as his partner scowls at him.

Finally, when they're running out of ideas and products, Neal suggests, "How about we make some pancakes?"

Camille's face lights up and Peter groans; of course she'd pick the messiest, most complicated option offered to her, she takes after her father.

.

"Neal," Mozzie says as soon as the line connects. "I need you to come meet me."

"I'm at Peter's just now with Camille," Neal responds, looking over to where his daughter is excitedly cracking the eggs off the edge of the bowl as Peter looks warily on. "Can't it wait?"

"I know where you are, I'm across the street," his friend replies. "And leave the small person. The Suit can look after her."

He rolls his eyes and exhales as the line goes dead, and then rejoins the pair in the kitchen.

"I have to go meet Mozzie," he tells them, and then looks between the two. "Will you be okay here?"

Peter's eyes widen a touch at the prospect of being left alone with Camille, while she just nods at the notion, not phased in the slightest.

"You're not taking her with you?" his partner inquires.

Neal shrugs. "She wants pancakes," he says.

She grins up at him, before twisting round to deliver the same message to his partner.

"You'll be fine," he assures him. "I'll be back soon."

.

"This better be good, Moz," he says as he nears his friend, seeing him kitted out with a large set of headphones.

"Oh, it is," is the assured response.

"Care to explain?" Neal inquires, his eyebrows lifting in question.

"How about I show you instead?" Mozzie returns, and produces another electronic contraption from inside his coat.

It's a live video feed of the Burke household, and when he tilts his head to the side to fit Mozzie with a look, he finds another set of headphones being held out in offering in place of an explanation.

His friend can't lift his hands up in defense, but his expression does it well enough for him.

"Don't worry," Mozzie says, placating any fears he may have for repercussions on his partner's side. "I got El's permission first."

He offhandedly wonders if the infamous Peter Burke gut-detector is in full swing right now.

"She was of the same opinion as I that it would be highly entertaining to watch The Suit try and handle your offspring for a short time," Mozzie informs him, and then turns back to the screen with a devious smile.

When Neal remains silent, still trying to take this all in; sure, he's quick, but this is a little otherworldly at the moment, he receives a nudge in the side.

"Come on Neal, you know you want to see how your FBI man does without back up," his friend prompts, and he makes his alliance known by taking the proffered headset and positioning it firmly over his own ears.

He grins like a Cheshire cat when he sees Peter kit his daughter out in thick oven gloves and then carefully help her to get a grip of the handle of the frying pan before she attempts to flip the pancake that simmers within. The sound of his partner's instructions and the trepidation in Peter's voice as he tells the six-year-old to be careful and not to flip it too high or too vigorously is almost endearing.

Naturally, Camille does it with incredible gusto, and the pancake goes flying up in the air until it attaches itself to the kitchen ceiling. The eyes of both occupants point skyward, yet when the pancake starts to unravel from the surface above it still somehow manages to land on Peter's head.

They watch as he peels the half-cooked batter off his face and deposits it in the nearby trash-bag, before turning back to face Camille.

The six-year-old is holding the frying pan out towards him with bright eyes and a hopeful smile that make a play of her innocence. "Will we try again?" she asks, deliberately cheerful.

Peter works his jaw and takes a deep breath in before plastering a large, overly enthusiastic smile back on his face. "Sure, why not?"

And they can't help it: they're laughing throughout.

.

"What did I miss?" Elizabeth's voice joins them a moment later as she hurries up to where they're standing, hunched over the all-too-small screen.

Mozzie shares the scene with her, saying, "Perfect audio, real time footage and pause/rewind functions, that's right, I am a man of many talents."

She wraps her arms around his shoulders and gives him a squeeze. "And we appreciate it, Mozzie," she tells him genuinely with a smile, and then she bursts out laughing at the sight they just witnessed, before commenting, "Oh, poor Peter."

"D'you think he'll ever trust me again?" Neal inquires casually, still smiling brightly.

"If he doesn't, you can always employ your daughter to speak on your behalf," Elizabeth tells him amusedly, sharing a look with him, as she fixes her own headset. "I'm sure she'd win him round to your side eventually."

"Maybe not!" Mozzie calls out, drawing their attention back to the screen, and Elizabeth lifts a hand to her mouth to cover her immediate outburst of laughter. Neal and Mozzie have no such desire to quash their amusement and allow their hearty laughter to fly free with the wind.

.

"Watch, it's heavy – " Peter calls out, holding out his hand in a move that proves useless mere seconds later.

The bowl of pancake mix topples off the counter and lands on the floor with a great crash. It shatters on impact, but not before splattering its contents all over Camille on the way down.

The six-year-old wipes the sticky substance out of her eyes, separating her bangs so she can see as she flicks a dollop of goo on the floor.

She lifts her arms in a shrug, palms up though she doesn't really offer him anything, and grimaces a little at the mess. "Oops."

Peter drops his head to his chest with a sigh and a shake of the head, hands on his hips, and it's written all over his face; the one thought that's running through his mind. Unbelievable.

And outside, the group huddles over the footage and laughs.

.

"Hey hon," Elizabeth greets her husband with a smile, even though he can't see her when she answers the phone. "How's it going?"

"Oh, Elizabeth, thank God," Peter breathes out in response. "Tell me you're on your lunch break."

"I am," she replies, playing her part perfectly. "But what's wrong? You sound all worked up about something."

"I need you to come home," her husband tells her.

She frowns, and it manifests itself in her voice, "Why? Has something happened?"

"Neal happened," Peter practically growls in return.

"What did he do now?" she asks as she shoots a look across at him.

Neal simply raises his hands, shrugging his shoulders, with a wide grin on his face. As far as he's concerned, he got roped into all this through a plan she and Mozzie hatched together; he's innocent here. Not that he isn't taking immense pleasure in watching it all unfold, of course. He'll gladly take this as his partner's payback for the little stunt with the handcuffs.

"He left me alone with Camille," Peter explains, and then grinds out, "I swear if I find out that phone call wasn't an emergency I'll wring his scrawny little neck. Did you know she was so accident-prone?"

Elizabeth shakes her head at both men next to her, and turns her attention back to the phone call.

"She's broken a bowl already and spilled pancake mix all over herself, and when I tried to get her upstairs she tripped and now there's little sticky hand prints all over the walls, and of course I thought she was going to crack her head open after her earlier display so I threw myself forward to catch her and I've got batter all over myself now too," he continues with a tired, wrought-out sigh.

Elizabeth can't help but giggle. "Oh honey," she says, mildly sympathetic amid her amusement. "I'm afraid I'm on a working lunch at the moment. Why don't you call Diana?"

"Ok, that's good. Yeah, and I'll get her to bring Jones, he entertained her well enough when Alex brought her into the office," he tells her. "Thanks, hon."

"My pleasure, honey," she replies.

Somehow she manages to hang up just before another bout of giggles erupts from her lips.

"He's going to call Jones and Diana for help," she tells the pair.

"Hmm, I wonder if they could be persuaded to bring the van," Mozzie muses out loud.

Neal looks at him like he's insane; not only will Peter likely notice the familiar gray surveillance van parked across the street from his own home, but he knows Moz hates the vehicle as much as he does.

"To hook this up to so we can get bigger screens to view it on," Mozzie completes his thought, looking at Neal with an expression that tells him he'd have thought that much was obvious.

Neal nods slowly. "Right," he remarks. "I think we'll just stick with your handheld for the moment, Moz."

"You try and improve on a good thing, you get shot down," Mozzie grumbles, and Neal just shakes his head at friend, sharing a smile with Elizabeth, who is watching the pair with a fond expression.

"Come on," she cajoles the pair of them, "Let's go put my husband out of his misery."

.

When Neal finally manages to get Camille to stop laughing and talking and going over-and-over what she and Peter had done in his absence, he gets her into a bath and leaves her to her own devices; the six-year-old quite content to play around in the water and clean herself of all the pancake mix, taking particular delight in smelling each of the bottles in turn that make up Elizabeth's collection along the edge of the tub.

He warns her not to use all of his partner's wife's bubble bath and the other various contents within the jars, and she just grins up at him, all innocent and childlike as if she'd never dream of doing such a thing. Neal shakes his head at his daughter, already aware that he'll likely have to replace the whole collection; she's costing him a fortune and she's only been with him a day, but he couldn't care less. All the clichés in the world couldn't prepare him for how he feels now he knows of her existence, now he has her in his life; she's priceless and irreplaceable and she's made him a better man already; how could anything else even begin to compare?

Elizabeth shoos him downstairs where Jones and Diana are sitting with Peter, going over the details he and his partner hashed out earlier for their latest case. She insists on washing his daughter's clothes, and goes about finding something for his little girl to wear while he goes back to work, so to speak, ensuring him that she'll keep an eye on the accident-prone child. He trusts her implicitly, but still, it is somewhat surprising how easily he also trusts her and her husband with his child. It's nice, he realizes, it feels safe, and he'd be lying if he said it didn't make him love them that much more.

Some time later, with Camille still otherwise occupied up the stairs, a head pops round the door and he hears his friend ask, "Is it safe to come in now?"

Elizabeth's laughter has Mozzie stepping fully into the house and she personally escorts him into the living room where the others are, ensuring him that Peter has promised no physical harm of any kind.

"And no government tagging either," Mozzie prompts.

He eyes Peter and the other two FBI agents flanking him skeptically.

"This isn't going to be some big government conspiracy where – "

"No, Moz," Elizabeth cuts in gently, smiling indulgently at him and patting his arm as she tells him, "No retribution of any kind."

She sends a sly smile over to her husband as he watches them in silence.

"Peter is well aware of how crafty I can be," she sends him a wink and Neal watches as the corner of his partner's lips tweak upwards in the slightest move, before Elizabeth turns back to Mozzie and comments with a mixture of reassurance and self-pride, "He knows you were powerless to go against my little plan, such is the brilliance of my creation."

Diana shares in Elizabeth's laughter, while Jones just shrugs at his partner, who is shaking his head at his wife as she stands between Neal and Mozzie and beams back at him.

She is a woman of many admirable, enviable talents; not least of all the hold she has over her husband.

Neal grins: with Elizabeth on his side as the main attraction, and Camille as an added bonus, Peter will never be able to stay mad at him again. It really all is about who you know, and he's racked up quite the exceptional list of contacts; then again, he's been known to play to his strengths, and no one's ever accused him of being a terrible people-person.

Camille calls down the stairs to Elizabeth to tell her she's dressed and asks if she can brush her hair, breaking up their little gathering.

"Alex usually does it for her," Neal notes, and Elizabeth nods and makes her way back up the stairs minutes after she's just descended them, with a smile that tells him she's more than a little pleased, even somewhat honored, to be asked to perform a role usually reserved for his girl's mother.

Mozzie has whipped out his handheld screen, and Diana is already in a fit of laughter as she watches her boss peel a half-cooked pancake off his face, Jones joining in moments later, when he turns back to see Peter shaking his head at the lot of them.

"This is your fault you know," his partner says, giving Neal one of the many versions of the famed finger-point.

"My fault?" Neal asks in return, feigning innocence. "I got dragged into this by your wife's sneakiness and Mozzie's entrapment – I'm as much a victim as you are!"

"That girl created havoc in my house – I don't think there was a surface left untouched by that damn pancake mix, and I had fraught nerves all afternoon every time she took a damn step thinking she'd fall and crack her head open or choke on an egg or something equally ridiculous and you-like – and yet somehow she still managed to make delicious tasting pancakes at the end of it all," Peter reminds him, reiterating his point by stabbing the air with his fingers in Neal's direction as he repeats, "Your fault."

He's not getting out of this one, and to be honest, he's too damn amused by the whole scenario not to revel in the pride that had overtaken him as soon as he saw her running riot and has yet to let up since. He can't help it, she does crazy things to him, and he loves her for it.

So Neal simply shrugs, and sends Peter his winning smile and says, "What can I say? She's my daughter; she takes after her Daddy."

But instead of hearing his partner tut at what has become his typical response, or hear Diana scoff at his comment, the room goes suddenly quiet and a small voice speaks up instead.

"You're my Daddy?" Camille asks.

He is so screwed.

.

TBC…

I apologise for not replying to reviews – life's been mega hectic lately, but should be calmer now so I'll get back on that ASAP ;) – but as always, it really does mean so much to me that you take the time to leave me your thoughts.
Thanks for reading, and please do let me know what you thought of the chap or my fic in general :)
Steph
xxx