Chapter 28: Home
Thursday, July 1, 7:50PM
Peter didn't breathe easy until he was inside his own home with the door locked behind him. He felt reasonably safe here, only because the alarm had been engaged and an agent had been sitting on the house since the night before, watching for any strange activity. He knew that none of that meant someone couldn't get in, but it made him feel better nonetheless.
It also made him feel better that Elizabeth was safely ensconced at her sister's house upstate. He had had the – rather difficult – conversation with her that morning while Neal was using the bathroom.
"You want me to what?" she had asked, her voice turning incredulous.
"I want you to go see your sister. Just until this is all over," he had said, trying his best to use a reasonable but not a patronizing tone.
She sighed. "Peter, we've talked about this. You can't just send me away or lock me down every time you're involved in a dangerous case. That's ridiculous, and I refuse to live my life that way."
"I know, El," he had replied, rubbing a hand over his face. "And I agree with you, normally. This time is different."
"Different how exactly?" she asked.
"Different because this time there have been actual dangerous attempts on Neal's life, and different because Friedrich threatened you specifically." He hated to tell her that, didn't want her to worry, but she needed to know. She had a right to know.
She was quiet for a moment. "That just makes me want to stay and show that asshole I'm not easily intimidated," she said.
He chuckled. "And that's one of the many reasons I love and adore you. But El…normally I can keep you safe. Right now, my attentions are…split."
"Between me and Neal, you mean."
"Yes. And since he's been the primary target, I have to focus on keeping him safe. I can't be worried about you at the same time."
She sighed, and he knew she was going to agree. "Okay," she said. "I'll go. On one condition."
"Name it," he said, thanking whatever higher power was listening that he had such an understanding, reasonable wife.
"You're going to be alone with Neal during this time. Completely focused on him. Right?"
"Right," said Peter, confused. "I can't risk leaving him alone or with anyone else if I can help it, and…it's probably safer if we work out of the house."
"Think about what we've discussed, Peter. About the way you feel about him. This might be your opportunity to…show him."
Peter racked his brain, trying to create an explanation for what she was saying. They had talked about how he cared about Neal. He had admitted it. She thought Neal fit into their lives seamlessly, that he was "filling in gaps" in Peter's life.
How was he supposed to show Neal that?
"I'll try," he said, noncommittal.
"I guess that has to be good enough for me," she said. "What I want here is for Neal to understand what he means to us, and that has to start with you."
Now, standing in the empty house with Neal, he considered what she had meant. He thought he understood. Neal had a self-worth problem. He always seemed so surprised when people stuck their necks out for him, seemed uncomfortable with people going to too much trouble for him. Peter wanted him to realize that he was worth it.
Neal was gazing around the room, gone slightly dim in the summer evening light. The expression on his face was a mixture of relief and comfort, and that warmed Peter. He smiled.
"Come here," he said. Neal turned and crossed to him without hesitation, and that warmed Peter even more.
He unlocked the torso harness and then helped Neal unfasten the bulletproof vest, tossing both items in the corner. He took a moment to let his hands skim over Neal's chest and shoulders, as if brushing off the emotional weight that had come with each. It seemed to have the desired effect, because Neal hummed in satisfaction.
"Thanks," he said. "It's good to be home." He looked around. "When I left yesterday morning I…wasn't sure I'd get to see it again."
Peter's heart squeezed at that. The fact that Neal truly considered his house "home" after such a short time, and the fact that it had pained him to leave it before embarking on his attack on Hagan's warehouse. It confirmed to Peter what Neal had said the day before: he hadn't taken the step lightly and was aware of the risks.
"I don't know about you, but I didn't really eat much of that hospital dinner, and I'm still hungry. You want me to scrounge something up?"
Neal nodded enthusiastically. "Definitely," he said. "I've been choking down that food for two days."
Peter rolled his eyes. "You had all of three meals. El brought you that feast during the day yesterday."
Neal frowned and looking around. "Speaking of, where is Elizabeth?"
Peter motioned for Neal to follow him into the kitchen. "She went to visit her sister upstate," he said. "She'll be back next week." Or possibly later, if we lose the arbitration, he thought.
"Why?" asked Neal. He opened the refrigerator and began poking around.
What to tell him? The truth, Peter decided. He needed Neal to understand the true gravity of the situation with Friedrich so he'd start talking. No reason to save his best cards for later.
"I thought she'd be safer there," he explained. "I didn't tell you this, because I didn't want you to worry, but Friedrich made some not-so-veiled threats before the hearing yesterday."
Neal froze. He turned, a package of chicken breast in his hand.
"What kind of threats?" he asked. "Against Elizabeth?"
Peter nodded. "And against you. Since the threats against you have proven to be more than mere words, I have to focus on you. That means—"
"That means you can't protect your wife," said Neal, his voice small. He set the chicken on the counter and then turned and leaned back against it. Running a hand through his hair, he met Peter's eyes, his own filled with sorrow. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm truly fucking up your life."
"Hey," said Peter. Before he realized what he was doing, he had moved across the space to Neal's side. He rested his hip against the counter right beside Neal and placed a hand on Neal's shoulder. "You're not fucking anything up, I promise you. This has happened before. A case gets dangerous, El is involved, I send her away. She doesn't like it, but she does it. You know why? Because she knows that it'll help me resolve the situation if I don't have to worry about keeping her safe."
"Sure. And this time, the reason you can't focus on her is because you've got me like a lead weight dragging you down. What about your other cases, you haven't been working on them at all, have you? You spent the last two days in the hospital, you've barely slept. For fuck's sake, you're risking everything. That's on me. I'm doing that."
During his speech, Neal hunched down further and further. Peter had never seen him quite so…small. Neal always seemed to take things in stride with a sheen of devil-may-care bravado, a larger-than-life confidence. Watching this Neal, one who seemed to want to fold in on himself and disappear, was chilling.
Peter slid his arms all the way around Neal, rested his chin on Neal's shoulder. He moved his chin back and forth, in a soothing motion, the way he might if El was having a rough day. All he wanted at that moment was to make Neal realize that he was worth it. This was what El had wanted him to do. This was what Peter wanted, as well.
"Listen to me," he said softly. "You're not doing anything. This is all happening to you. Don't take on Friedrich's guilt, he deserves to carry it all."
Neal let out a shaky laugh, but he relaxed slightly into Peter's embrace, leaning towards him and tilting his head in his direction so that his temple rested against Peter's forehead. "Jesus, you sound like a motivational speaker."
"Maybe I missed my true calling," said Peter. "Now, what should we do with this chicken? I think there's some mozzarella cheese in there, and bread crumbs in the pantry."
"You know how to make chicken parmesan?" asked Neal, pulling away slightly and raising an eyebrow.
"Not at all. I'm sort of hoping you do."
Neal laughed for real then. He stepped out of Peter's arms and rubbed his hands together. "Move aside. I'm on it."
Peter hopped onto one of the kitchen stools to watch Neal work. He worried that Neal should be resting, but decided to let him be. His smile was worth it.
* WC – WC – WC – WC – WC – WC – WC *
Thursday, July 1, 9:36PM
"What is that, exactly?" asked Neal, eyeing the contraption on the bed warily.
After they had both yawned through dinner – a delicious chicken parmesan, if he did say so himself – Peter had suggested they give up the fight and hit the sack. He had left Neal to get ready for bed on his own, and Neal had luxuriated in being able to take a shower and brush his teeth and wear Peter's giant soft pajama pants that had been freshly washed. By Elizabeth, no doubt.
Neal hadn't been certain what was going to happen once it was time to actually go to bed. His nerves had started to jump all over the place, making his skin feel itchy and his stomach clench at the remains of dinner. Would Peter stay with him after tying him up in whatever the Court had determined was sufficient to keep him in place? Would he react to being restrained the way Friedrich had wanted him to? Would he have nightmares again?
Peter sighed. "It's an arm binder," he said. "It's supposed to—"
"Let me guess. Bind my arms?" Neal reached for it and touched the leather hesitantly. There were two sleeves that had no openings for hands, connected by a set of complicated-looking straps and locks. He had said he didn't mind restraints that much, and he wasn't kidding. Under the right circumstances, they could be enjoyable, at least before his time with Friedrich. But this looked evil. Maybe not as evil as the Justice Facility restraints, and yet…
"You don't have to wear it," said Peter. "It was delivered along with the rest of the equipment."
Neal considered this. "The Court ordered it, right?"
Peter nodded. "For sleep only," he said. "At least until you can wear your GPS collar again, and then we revisit the order. But I'm not going to make you. You've got the old ankle monitor on, and…I don't think you're going anywhere. Am I wrong?"
Neal shook his left leg, feeling the ankle monitor that was fastened there. It had been part of the compromise with the Court. Because he couldn't wear the GPS collar until the shock burns healed, in exchange for not being either locked up or in full restraints at all times, Margaret Beechwood had convinced the judge to authorize an ankle monitor like they used for white collar criminals under house arrest. It was the "lite" version of the GPS collar. No shocks involved, just location monitoring. Neal didn't think he could get it off, but he wasn't planning to try, in any event.
"You're not wrong," said Neal. "I'm not going anywhere. I think I sort of proved that last night."
"Good enough for me." Peter took the arm binder and tossed it into the corner.
"We'd be violating the Court order," said Neal.
Peter shrugged. "I'm not concerned."
They stared at each other for a long minute. Did Neal want to wear it? No, not really. Not in the way it was intended, to keep him from doing something he wasn't planning to do. But part of him was a little curious. He had never tried to get out of an arm binder before. He wondered what it would feel like. He wondered if he could control his reactions. He didn't like not knowing.
Finally, Neal sighed. He went over to where the thing had landed and picked it up, holding it out to Peter.
"I am," said Neal. "I'm causing enough problems. This isn't a big deal, let's just follow the damn order." When Peter started to protest, Neal shook his head. "Look, by this this time next week, with any luck, you'll be the one making up the rules."
Peter took the restraint. "Are you sure?" he asked. "This is your call, Neal. I am fine with saying 'fuck you' to the judge on this. No one will know unless you run, and you're not going to do that."
"I'm sure," said Neal. "Just…put it on already before I change my mind."
Peter nodded. "If you do change your mind, though, just tell me. I'll take it off. You don't have to prove anything, here."
"How does it work?" asked Neal.
Peter turned it over, frowning. "I think there's a couple of ways to do it," he said. He looked Neal over a moment. "Come here."
Neal stepped closer, standing with his arms at his sides, trying to be as calm as possible. He had asked for this, and it was Peter. He could trust Peter. If Peter said he could take it off, he could take it off.
Peter took Neal's arm and slid his hand down to Neal's wrist, the action comforting. Neal relaxed further at the touch, and when Peter slid his arm into the first sleeve, pulling it up and over his elbow, he smiled.
"It's soft," he said. Glancing at Peter. "The leather, I mean."
"Good." Peter fastened the short straps that went around his wrist and below his elbow, securing the sleeve on his arm. He then did the other arm in the same fashion, once again stroking from shoulder to wrist before putting the sleeve on.
Neal's arms were still free, even encased within the sleeves, so he moved them around, stretching out his shoulders in anticipation of losing that movement. He wiggled his hands around inside the leather. It wasn't tight, but there wasn't much give. He wouldn't be able to use his fingers at all.
"Ready?" asked Peter.
Neal nodded. "Ready," he said.
Peter pulled both arms in front of his body, crossing them with his hands on opposite shoulders. Then he began pulling the large straps around. He paused here and there to run a comforting hand over Neal's shoulder or chest, wrapping and fastening, until –
"There," said Peter. "That should do it." He stepped back to look over his handiwork.
Neal pulled at his arms. They didn't budge at all. He couldn't raise his elbows or even really move his hands anymore. He felt a bit of panic and claustrophobia rise up. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he should tell Peter he wanted out.
He raised his eyes to Peter, ready to cry uncle, and stopped.
Peter was staring at him, with an odd expression on his face. His eyes were dark, his pupils wide, and his mouth was open slightly. As Neal watched, his tongue darted out and wet his lips.
Neal gasped, and looked away. All thoughts of removing the arm binder fled. With Peter looking at him like that, he wanted to stay in it forever. The thoughts he had been entertaining about Peter in private suddenly rushed forward, and he found himself wondering if Peter was attracted to him in the same way he was attracted to Peter.
He could feel himself starting to stir, whether from the restraints or from the way Peter was looking at him, he wasn't sure. He took a deep breath, and then another.
"Let's go to bed," he said, desperately. He was half hard already, but if he could get under the covers he could avoid Peter's scrutiny, and maybe make it through the night in one piece.
Speaking seemed to break the spell. Peter shook his head slightly, and then nodded. He crossed to the bed and pulled the covers back so that Neal could slide in. Neal immediately turned on his side, away from Peter.
When Peter curled around Neal's back and snaked an arm around to rest on Neal's bound arms, he melted backwards into Peter's heat. It felt like it had been ages since he had gotten to sleep in Peter's arms, but it had only been day and a half. One night.
If Neal wanted to, he could worry about how attached he was getting. He didn't want to.
"Neal," said Peter, his breath tickling Neal's ear.
"Yeah?"
"We still need to talk about Friedrich."
Neal tensed, and Peter could clearly feel it, because he began to run his hand up and down Neal's arms.
"I know you don't want to," said Peter. "And I understand. I wouldn't push this if it wasn't important."
"I know," said Neal.
"Would it help if I told you what I was thinking? Why I think it's so important?"
Neal wanted to turn, wrap his arms around Peter. The man was being so damned gentle. He'd been that way from the very first, and it was starting to break Neal down. He had always been "Neal Caffrey" up against "Peter Burke." "Neal Caffrey" was confident, talented, charming, brilliant. "Peter Burke" was determined, ruthless, and also brilliant. But how was he supposed to keep being "Neal Caffrey" in front of this Peter Burke, the one who ministered to his injuries and held him close and paid attention to his feelings?
He was almost glad for the restraints, because it meant he couldn't give in to his instincts. Instead, he just said, "Yes."
"Vega has come after you twice, now. I've got people working on a link between Vega and Friedrich. If we can find one, and prove that Friedrich is behind these attempts, we turn our decent chance at arbitration into an almost sure thing."
Neal nodded. He knew that ESIA had eroded prisoners' rights to the point where they almost weren't considered human, but owners did not yet have carte blanche with their inmates' lives. It was a loophole, sort of. Owners could do anything they wanted with their inmates except kill them themselves. It was why Friedrich hadn't outright done the job himself in the first place, and had turned him over to Justice. If they could show that Friedrich to made these attempts, it would be easier to persuade the arbiter that he shouldn't get his desired result.
"The thing is," Peter continued, "we don't have a lot of time, and I'm not confident we can find that link directly. So the next best thing would be to uncover Friedrich's motives. If we can do that, we might be able to make the case circumstantially."
"Makes sense," said Neal.
"Which is why I need to ask…Neal, why the hell does Friedrich want you dead so badly?" Peter's voice shook on the last question, and the emotion in his words stalled Neal's own anxiety for a moment.
He tried to figure out the best course forward. How much could he tell Peter without destroying himself in the process? Without ruining Peter's opinion of him, changing the way Peter looked at him? What could he leave out and still have the story make sense?
Neal's silence stretched on and on. Finally, Peter squeezed him. "You still awake?"
"I'm awake," whispered Neal. "Peter…I'm trying. I swear to you I'm trying to tell you. I just can't seem to make the words happen."
Peter took a deep breath, and when he exhaled, it ruffled the hair on Neal's neck. Neal shivered. Peter must have felt it, because he tightened his arm.
"Okay," said Peter. "Why don't we go to sleep. Can you promise me to try again in the morning? Maybe in the daylight it'll be easier."
Neal nearly cried in relief. He had a reprieve. A short one, but a reprieve nonetheless. He'd take whatever he could get.
"I promise," he said. "I'll tell you. In the morning."
He would, he realized. He had to. Even if it was a partial story, he'd figure out how to reveal enough but not the worst parts about himself. He was "Neal Caffrey." He could figure this out, and Peter would still see him the same way.
"Thank you," said Peter.
Neal felt Peter's nose in his hair, and he shivered again.
"Cold?" asked Peter. "Should I get another blanket?"
"No, I'm okay," said Neal.
Peter hummed. He shifted his hips closer and drew his knees up, forcing Neal's up as well. Neal was now completely surrounded by Peter. This was the closest they had ever been.
"Better?" he asked.
Neal swallowed. "Yeah."
It was going to be a long night.
* WC – WC – WC – WC – WC – WC – WC *
Friday, July 2, 7:27AM
Peter woke up in the exact same position in which he had fallen asleep, which only happened if he had been truly exhausted.
Neal, however, had shifted. Instead of facing away from Peter, he had turned around and was now burrowed into Peter's chest. Peter smiled down at him. The fact that the great Neal Caffrey was snuggling with the FBI agent who took him down…well, it was something that would have been hard to believe if he didn't see it for himself.
And yet, it wasn't really so much of a surprise, Peter thought. He had analyzed Neal thoroughly while they were playing their game of cat and mouse, and he knew that underneath the confident exterior was a man who was driven by his emotions. It was how he had caught Neal, after all, baiting his heart. He had just never thought that he'd be the recipient of those emotions.
It was a heady thing, knowing that Neal put so much faith in him and felt so safe with him. Even Elizabeth, whom Peter knew was his biggest fan, didn't bring out his need to protect so fiercely. Sure, he took his job as protector of his wife seriously, but with Neal…
…Neal was letting his walls down at such a furious pace that Peter was compelled to shelter him. That was what it was, he decided. Neal had no choice but to be vulnerable, and he was dealing with it, but he needed Peter at the moment in a way El never really did. Peter was more than happy to give him whatever he needed.
Maybe that was what El had been talking about the other night. Neal filled gaps because Peter needed to be needed, more than El needed him. That didn't mean he was unhappy, just that there was a part of him that went unfulfilled. He was able to ignore it, but now that Neal had awakened it, it was going to be hard to push back down.
If things went his way at the hearing, maybe he wouldn't have to. Not for ten long years, anyway. Neal would be his to protect until the Contract ran out. For the first time, Peter allowed himself to admit the truth: he liked the idea, beyond just saving Neal's life. He wanted to Neal to be his.
Peter let his fingers run lightly up and down Neal's spine as he thought. He hated to wake him, but he'd like to at least get him out of the damned restraints.
After a few minutes, Neal stirred. He pressed his nose into Peters chest and let out an unhappy grunt. Peter laughed softly, his torso vibrating, which caused Neal to huff and pull back slightly. He blinked up at Peter blearily, wiggling around until he remembered he couldn't move his arms. His tongue shot out to the corner of his mouth, and he grimaced.
"I'm drooling," he said, disgust heavy in his voice. "You let me drool all over your shirt."
Peter laughed again. "I don't mind," he said, and was surprised that it was true. The small damp circle under his left pec chilled slightly now that it was exposed to air, and for some reason it made him grin.
"What are you so happy about," griped Neal. "My nose itches." He hesitated a second, then dove forward towards Peter's chest again, dragging his nose back and forth across the fabric of Peter's shirt.
Peter grasped Neal's shoulder and pushed him back, Neal's head straining towards him.
"Hold still," said Peter. He reached out a hand, and Neal stopped moving, watching it warily. Peter slowly advanced his hand towards Neal, then lightly scratched his nose. "Okay?"
Neal snorted. "You like this," he said. "You like seeing me all trussed up and helpless."
Peter's breath caught, and the memory of that moment last night, when he had just gotten Neal into the restraint, came flooding back. He had been floored for a second at the feelings that were stirring in him at the sight.
He shoved the memory back down where it belonged. A strange, inexplicable moment, that was all that was.
Even though Peter had been just thinking he liked the way Neal Needed him…
Neal interrupted his thoughts be speaking again.
"Can I get out of this?" he asked, pulling at the restraint.
Peter immediately pushed himself upright, pulling Neal with him. He busied himself with the fasteners until Neal's sleeves were free, then undid them one at a time, sliding them off of Neal's arms.
Neal stretched out his arms one at a time then reached over his head and arched his back. He let out a groan.
"Sore?" asked Peter.
"You have no idea," said Neal, gasping as he clasped his hands behind his back and stretched upwards.
"Here, lie back down," said Peter. "On your stomach."
Neal looked at him in question, and Peter just smiled, took him by the shoulder and pushed him into position, shoving the pillow up so that Neal's forehead could rest on it and his face was free. He pulled Neal's arms down by his sides, and knelt by Neal's hip. He smiled at how pliant Neal was, letting him manhandle him this way.
Peter placed his hands on Neal's back and began to press down with his fingers, gently at first and then with increased pressure. Neal moaned as Peter found the tight cords of muscle and slowly worked them loose. His worked his way outward from Neal's spine to his shoulders, and the down the spine to his lower back. Eventually, he was digging his fingers into the spot where Neal's shoulder met his neck, and Neal sighed.
"This okay?" asked Peter. "Feeling better?"
Neal just hummed a response, sinking further into the mattress as his muscles let go.
Peter entered a state of contentment. Giving the massage was as soothing to him as receiving it was to Neal, it would seem. The rhythmic push and pull of the warm muscles beneath his fingers, the way Neal's body just gave in to the demands of his hands…Peter felt as though a fog had settled around them both, sleepy and comfortable and just existing.
After a while, Peter stopped, rubbing across Neal's shoulders in soothing circles. Without thinking, he leaned forward and placed a kiss on the back of Neal's neck.
He froze.
"Mmm," said Neal, in almost a whimper. "Don't stop."
Carefully, Peter began his rubbing motion again. "Like that?" he asked, cursing silently at how breathy his voice sounded.
"The other thing too," murmured Neal.
The other thing too.
Peter felt his heartbeat speed up. Did Neal mean he wanted Peter to kiss his neck again? Could he do that? It had been a moment of…something. Something completely unguarded. He licked his lips.
Slowly, so slowly he was barely moving, he bent down again. He let his lips touch Neal's neck, his nose buried in Neal's hair.
Neal sighed.
Peter kissed him again, then moved down his spine, leaving kisses a couple of inches apart on his way down. When he reached the hem of Neal's t-shirt, he hesitated a mere moment before giving in to temptation. He slid his fingers up underneath, skimming over the skin on Neal's lower back, just above the waistband of his pants.
After each kiss, Neal let out a little sigh or whimper, and when Peter's fingers touched his skin, he inhaled a shaky breath. The noises Neal was making were…
Peter shot straight up and yanked his hands back. What was he doing?
He cleared his throat. "I think it's time to get up," he said, scrambling backwards off of the bed. "Meet you in the kitchen for breakfast?"
He had grabbed his cell phone and was out of the room without waiting for an answer.
Once in his bathroom, Peter braced his hands on the counter and hung his head. What had just happened? He felt like he had been another person, or drifting in a dream state, rather than reality. He had kissed Neal.
And Neal had…
Peter took one deep breath after another. His mind jumped back to his earlier thoughts. He was giving Neal what Neal needed. Hadn't he just been admitting that that was something Peter needed as well, to be there for Neal? Hadn't he just decided he was comfortable with Neal filling that space in his life?
But this was different this was…
Peter flashed back to the night before, to the moment he had fastened the arm binder and stepped back to get a good look. He remembered that fierce jolt of…lust…he had felt. He had tried to ignore it, but maybe it couldn't be ignored.
He should face it, then. He was Peter Burke, he didn't need to avoid a problem. He would solve the problem, that's what he did. He'd let himself think about it, get it out of his system so it wasn't lurking in the background, waiting to take him by surprise. Then he could dismiss it.
He closed his eyes, imagining. He imagined Neal stretched out on the bed, waiting for him. He'd stand at the foot of the bed, and Neal would be gazing at him through lowered lashes, a faint smile on his lips. He'd crawl up the miles of Neal's lanky frame, settle his weight on top for a moment before pushing up onto his arms. He'd—
- oh -
press his hips down, feeling Neal's length hardening underneath him. Neal would sigh, just like he had during the massage, and…
Nope. This wasn't going to work. There was no way that fantasizing about his convict would do anything but give him an erection that he'd have to take care of. Peter was kidding himself if he thought a simple fantasy would get Neal out of his system, now that he had taken root.
It wouldn't be the first time Peter was attracted to a man. It would just be the first time in a long time. And it would be the first time he had felt it this strongly.
Maybe he didn't just want Neal to be his to take care of. Maybe he wanted more.
Fuck.
He needed to call Elizabeth.
