A/N:I'm here, I'm here.

It's that time of year (one of those times of year) when things are crazier than usual, and I appreciate your patience.

Don't hesitate to poke at me in the comments for an update, it actually helps me stop working and do something fun.

Chapter 29: Friction, Part One

Friday, July 2, 8:42AM

Neal lay on his bed in the guest room, afraid to move. All the work Peter had done to loosen his muscles was erased as he tensed from neck to toe.

He heard a door slam down the hall, and then silence.

What had just happened?

That massage…he screwed his eyes shut, trying to recapture that feeling.

When Peter had told him to lie face down, he had been…confused. It was no wonder, really. Deciding to don the restraints the night before and seeing the glimmer of unexpected desire on Peter's face had thrown everything into chaos, at least in Neal's not-so-stable head. Falling asleep with Peter wrapped around him but unable to move had been both comforting and arousing. Waking up in a completely vulnerable position – restrained, drooling, having practically tried to dig a hole in Peter's chest to climb inside – had paradoxically made Neal feel more safe and cared for than he could remember feeling in a long while.

Then Peter hadn't waited for him to comply, had just…moved him where he wanted him. Neal, still feeling dazed from the way he had felt upon waking up, had just let Peter do what he wanted. When Peter's hands began to press into his stiff muscles, he had to bite down hard on his lip and shove his face into the pillow to avoid embarrassing himself. Even so, he knew he hadn't been able to contain the sounds he was making.

It felt so right, having Peter's hands on him, and even though he knew it was just Peter being Peter, and taking care of him, he let himself enjoy it.

Then Peter kissed his neck. It made Neal relax even more, a gesture of affection that he needed in that moment. When Peter drew back, Neal had protested. He wanted those hands to keep moving on him, keep kneading at his muscles.

Peter had misunderstood, however, instead kissing him again. There was a different tone to it. It was less affection, and more…exploration. Neal hadn't been able to believe it, wasn't sure how to react. He was almost afraid to react in any way, not able to believe that something he had been fantasizing about was actually happening.

When Peter's fingers wandered up under his shirt, he had nearly lost it, seconds away from flipping over and grabbing fistfuls of Peter's hair, yanking those lips onto his mouth.

And then, Peter had bolted from the room. It seemed he couldn't get away fast enough.

Shit.

Neal heard the shower turn on, and forced himself to sit up. He had a few minutes, at least, while Peter was occupied, to figure out how to proceed. He headed down to the kitchen, thinking that maybe if he acted like everything was normal, Peter would take his cue, and everything would actually be normal.

But was that what Neal wanted?

He turned on the oven and assembled ingredients for a frittata, finding the movement of chopping vegetables soothing as he tried to make sense of his scattered thoughts.

What did he want, exactly? On the one hand, what he wanted most was to be free. Right? He wanted to be out from under the weight of a prison contract, without law enforcement breathing down his neck, so he could go about living his life.

If he was free, what would that life look like? Kate, of course. It would include Kate. He'd go after her, find her, remind her how much they loved each other. They could live happily ever after.

Doing what, Neal?

He began to crack eggs into a bowl, shaking his head. That question was far too complicated to think about just yet, because being truly free wasn't an option on the table. He could enlist Mozzie's help and run, sure, but he had already decided he wasn't going to do that. Yet.

So. If he couldn't be free, what was the next best choice?

That was easy. He wanted to serve out his contract with Peter. It was the clear choice, especially when presented with other options, but…it was also a good choice on its own.

He liked Peter, he always had. He enjoyed spending time with the man, matching wits, figuring out what made him tick, seeing whether he could be fooled. Peter was an endless source of amusement, in more ways than one. He liked Peter, and he liked being around him.

Neal listened up the stairs a moment; he could still hear the shower. He returned to the kitchen, drizzled olive oil onto the cast iron skillet, and began to sauté the vegetables.

Now, in terms of other feelings…he had acknowledged that he was attracted to Peter. He had never thought that Peter could be attracted to him in return, or be interested in acting on it, so it had just been Neal's problem to deal with and conceal. But now it seemed that there was maybe some reciprocal interest. And that made things complicated.

On top of that, there was the realization that maybe he liked the idea of belonging to Peter in a way that was a little less practical and a little more…instinctive. He was finding that he didn't mind Peter having control of his fate as much as he thought he would, and that was true on the large scale as well as the small one. He trusted Peter to look out for him, and he liked it when Peter did. Liked it in an emotional sense, as well as a physical sense.

But all of that meant…what, exactly? Because at the end of the day, whether Peter was interested in Neal that way or not, Peter was still married. Happily married, to an incredible person who did not deserve to have Neal making moves on her husband behind her back. Speaking of which, he owed Elizabeth an entirely separate apology, and there was no time like the present to make it.

He slid the pan into the oven to bake, and picked up his cell phone, the one Peter had given him. The phone rang twice before she picked up.

"Neal?" asked Elizabeth. "Is everything okay? Are you okay?"

He smiled at the sound of her voice, immediately feeling calmer and more focused, and eternally grateful to have met her.

"We're fine. Elizabeth, I'm so sorry," he said.

"Sorry about what?" she asked.

"That you had to flee your own home. I never wanted to cause you any problems, and I feel terrible that my mess is screwing up your life. I swear, once this is all over, I'll make it up to you."

"Oh, sweetie, don't worry about me," she said. He could tell, from the sound of her voice, that she was smiling, and it made him relax. "Listen, when Peter and I decided to do this, and we knew from the start what that might mean."

"I bet you never expected to be in personal danger."

"I've been in personal danger due to Peter's job more times than I care to count," she said dryly. "This is but one more instance in the long and winding road of our life. Seriously, Neal, do not worry about this. I left not because I was scared, but because Peter was worried about me. When he worries about me, he loses focus, and I wanted him to focus on you and you alone right now."

He sighed. "I appreciate that," he said.

"What did Peter say when you talked to him about this?" she asked.

"The same thing you said. But with less…charm."

She laughed. "Good. Please believe it, then. Peter and I are happy to have you with us. We both like having you around, and are willing to fight for it. You fit with us. You must feel it, too."

He hesitated, moisture pricking at his eyes, struggling with what to say next. All he could think about was that he had seriously been contemplating seducing her husband, and here she was being amazing and wonderful.

She was quiet for a minute, but when he didn't volunteer anything else, she asked quietly, "Neal, has he figured it out yet?"

"Figured what out?"

"How you feel about him? Don't try to deny it, Neal, I've seen the way you look at him. The way you are with him."

Neal felt the color rise to his cheeks. Shit, she could read his mind. Either that, or he had completely lost the ability to con anyone.

"I don't know if he knows," Neal said, his voice shaking. "I barely know myself. Shit, Elizabeth, I'm sorry. You don't have anything to worry about. It's just me being all fucked up because of all the stuff that's been happening. I'll just—"

"Neal, stop," said Elizabeth, her voice calm. "I'm not worried, and you don't have to be sorry. Stop apologizing for things you can't control."

"I can control what I do," he said firmly. "And I promise you that I won't act on it."

"You damn well better," she said.

What?

"I don't understand," said Neal. He was gripping the edge of the counter to stay upright, his fingers going white where they pressed into the granite.

"Neal, I love my husband. Unconditionally. I want to give him whatever he needs to be happy, whether that means leaving town or letting him get what he needs from someone else."

He swallowed thickly. "Does that mean you two have…an open marriage?"

"No, definitely not," she said. "I would never be okay with him – with either of us – going out and having relationships with random people."

"Then…" Neal found himself incredibly confused. "I'm sorry, then I really don't understand what you're saying."

"You're not a random person, Neal. You've been a significant part of our lives for a while now. I've known how he's felt about you for years, and I made my peace with that long ago."

"How he's felt about me?" Neal was having trouble breathing. What could Elizabeth mean?

"He may not know it, or admit it, but I see it. He looks at you the same way you look at him, when you think the other is not watching. Sweetie, he's crazy about you."

Neal let out a breath. Crap. "I didn't…I didn't realize. I thought it was just me. Are you sure?"

"I'm positive. I've been watching him dance around this for years, and this past week has been insane for him. If he hasn't figured it out yet, he will. He's a little slow about these things sometimes."

They were both quiet for a minute. Neal heard the shower turn off upstairs.

"I don't know how to…or even if I could…" he trailed off. "Jesus. This is not a conversation I ever thought I'd be having."

She laughed softly. "You remember that story I told you and Mozzie the other day? About how Peter and I met?"

"Yeah."

"Do you remember what I did?"

Neal smiled at the image brought forth. "You found out he was stalking you and held up a sign saying 'I like Italian.'"

"Exactly. Peter's not going to make a move. Not unless he's absolutely certain it's the right action." She sighed. "So, if this is something you want, you can't rely on him to lead the way."

Neal heard movement upstairs. Peter was moving around. He knew he didn't have much time. "Elizabeth," he said, swallowing his mortification as best he could, "just to make absolutely sure I'm not misreading this entire conversation, are you telling me that you're fine with it if I…seduce your husband?"

"Neal, nothing would make me happier. You two are torturing yourselves. Just…"

Neal waited, and when she didn't go on, he asked, "Just what?"

"Just be careful with him, okay? Peter tends to move forward and go all in very fast, and I don't want him to get hurt. Think about what you want and be clear about the boundaries, if you have them. I know you still care about Kate."

He nodded. He didn't know what he wanted from Peter, exactly. He didn't know what those boundaries might be. Frankly, the idea that he would have to be careful with Peter Burke was almost ridiculous. But he thought he understood what Elizabeth was asking of him.

"I don't take this lightly, Elizabeth," Neal said. "I don't want him hurt anymore than you do."

"I know, sweetie," she said.

"Listen, I better go. Thank you. This was…"

"Oh, we're never going to have a normal relationship, Neal. Best get used to that now. Take care of yourself, and our man."

Our man. Neal felt a bloom of something bright take root in his chest. He barely even knew how to respond, so he just said, "You take care, too. Check in, okay?"

"I will. Bye, Neal."

He hung up just as Peter descended the stairs. He was moving slowly, almost tentatively. When he rounded the corner and saw Neal leaning up against the counter, the relief in his eyes was apparent.

Neal felt the little bright spot in his chest deflate. Peter didn't trust him, not completely. After everything they had been through the past week, after Neal had had a real actual opportunity to run and didn't…Peter still didn't trust him. How was it possible he could trust Peter so completely and Peter couldn't give him just a little bit of credit?

"Making breakfast?" Peter asked.

Neal nodded and eyed him. "You were worried I ran again, weren't you?" he asked quietly.

Peter shook his head. "No, not worried. I'm just…glad you're still here."

"Where am I going to go?" asked Neal. He tried to think of something to say to get back on track. "I told you, I'm not going anywhere."

"At the moment," said Peter.

"Fine. At the moment." Neal gritted his teeth and turned away from Peter, bending down to peek into the oven and check on the frittata.

"Don't be mad at me," said Peter, with a sigh. "Don't be mad at me for being relieved to see you standing in my kitchen. That's all that was. I was happy you were here."

"The only reason to be happy I'm here is because you thought there was a chance I might not be." Neal straightened up and pushed his hair out of his face. He really needed to get it cut. "What is it going to take to get you to trust me?"

Peter frowned. "I do trust you."

"Not really. Not really, you don't. In the past week, I've done nothing – nothing – to give you a reason to doubt my intentions. I've been honest with you—"

"You met up with Mozzie and got a burner phone," said Peter. "You went digging around for information about Kate in more ways than one even after I told you I'd help you with that. You went off on your own and nearly got yourself killed – twice – without thinking about the consequences."

"I thought about the consequences," said Neal. "We already went over that, I'm not defending myself again. Vega trying to kill me in the hospital was not my fault. It happened because I didn't run, not because of something I did. You knew about Mozzie, and I haven't done a single thing regarding Kate behind your back since I asked for your help."

"You searched online."

"Before I asked you for help! You can't throw that—" Neal stopped, took a deep breath. What was happening? He had just been thinking about how he was going to take Elizabeth's advice and try to continue what Peter had started that morning, and instead they were yelling at each other while the frittata was burning.

"Neal..."

Neal held up a hand. He turned away and shut off the oven, then donned mitts and pulled the frittata out. When he turned back to Peter, he had gathered himself.

"Look, Peter. This arrangement between us works in exactly one way. You have to understand that, at the end of the day, you have all the power here, and I am well aware of that, no matter how much I push against the boundaries. This isn't like when we were tracking each other around the world. This isn't like when I was sending you gifts from the prison camp. I have exactly one reasonable option here that doesn't result in the end for me. One."

As Neal spoke, Peter's face fell inch by inch. He looked so distraught that Neal couldn't help himself. He crossed the kitchen until he was standing right in front of the man, and he gave a weak smile.

"But that doesn't mean that I don't have a choice in how I feel about it. I'm here because I want to be here. I want you to buy my Contract. Not just because it's the only option that's going to save my life, but because it's a good option. It's a great option. This is a win for me."

Peter didn't say anything, but he got that little wrinkle between his eyebrows, like he was confused. Neal didn't know exactly where he was headed with this speech, but he had one more thing he felt had to be said.

"So even though you've got all the power, I…kind of…it's working for me. Aren't you curious about why it's so easy for me to just let you do whatever you want? I'm the one who offered to be restrained last night, because I knew that you'd take care of me. I like that. I like knowing that you'll be there for me."

Peter was staring at him, eyes wide. Neal suddenly felt like it was all too much, like there was too much weight to what they were talking about. He needed to step back.

So he did. He took several steps back, towards the kitchen door.

"Neal—" Peter began, but Neal held up a hand.

"Have breakfast," he said. "I'm going to take a shower. When I come down…" he sighed. "You wanted me to talk to you about Friedrich. I can't do that right now, but maybe when I come back down, we can try."

Peter watched him a moment, then nodded. "I'll save you some eggs," he said.

Neal smiled. "Thanks."

Then he practically ran up the stairs.

How the hell was he supposed to move forward with Peter when he couldn't figure out where they were?