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Chapter 27

Lying in bed that night El felt the anger rise in her. All this time she – like Hughes – had assumed it was Neal who was hiding something from everyone, but it wasn't. Peter had the choice to tell her. The choice to be honest, and didn't do it.

The day had went by smoothly. Neal had been quiet, Peter even worse. Leaving her to do work on her computer. She had gone to bed first, unable to take the silence anymore. Peter was in the shower now, three hours later. She couldn't sleep, wanted to confront him, but didn't want to do it in front of Neal. She could tell before that he felt guilty about saying something he thought he shouldn't have.

By the time she had worked herself up inside, Peter was getting in to bed. As he settled, turning the light off, she snapped. Sitting up, turning her light on, and facing him, speaking before he knew what was happening.

"Why didn't you tell me about the pictures?"

"What? Why are you asking?"

"Neal told me. Told me he said you could l tell me about the pictures. But you didn't. You didn't trust me. Why?"

"Why did he... it wasn't that. I didn't show you them because I didn't want anyone to see them..."

"Because you wanted to be in control?"

"Excuse me?"

"You and control? Or because you didn't think I could handle it? Because guess what... I saw them and I'm still managing. I'm still functioning... no worse nightmares, no inability to understand social situations. You see... all good here, not worth the mistrust eh?"

"Don't you dare..."

"You need to tell me things..."

"I don't need to do anything."

"You need to stop trying to control everything around you. Everyone around you..." She noticed their voices were becoming raised, both sitting staring at each other. She saw the anger and pain on her husband's face. She lowered her voice to an angry whisper, "especially him. You cannot try to control him through this like you do with everything else."

"I'm not listening to this anymore." He said no more, standing and slamming the door behind him, hearing her slam the bathroom door shut almost at the same time. He stood with his back against the door, head tilting back to make contact, eyes closed. He was breathing hard, arm still painful. He was just getting his heart rate under control when a subtle noise made his adrenaline spike, feeling his body jerk into an upright position, eyes snapping open.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to..."

Seeing Neal stand there made Peter smile. Every time he saw the state of his friend, he knew he was doing everything for the right reasons. The slight feeling of happiness disappeared at the expression on Neal's face. He looked scared, upset, but more than that, he looked guilty. Standing in his door way, fidgeting and refusing to meet Peter's eye.

"Hey. I just didn't expect you to be up that's all. It's ok."

"I didn't mean that. I... I told El that I had said you could tell her about the... the thing and now..."

"No, it's not your fault. This is... this is nothing. Don't worry. I'm, eh, I'm going downstairs, I need to clear my head, give El some space. I'll see you tomorrow though, ok? Get some sleep." He walked to the stairs, still looking at Neal as he descended, leaving him to retreat to his room.

oOo

His back was sore, his arm worse. The sofa was uncomfortable and being shot hadn't helped. Three hours he slept, give or take fifteen minutes. What El had said circled in his mind. Was he being controlling? Should he have told her? No, he couldn't she would have been put at unnecessary risk. She'll understand, eventually.

The mix of exhaustion and pain equalled one thing, coffee. He had just sat down when Neal reached the bottom of the stairs. He looked rested, but the dark skin under his healthy eye told another story. The bruising around both his eye and shoulder were healing, but Peter could tell something else was going on. Still, his friend gave him a small smile as he sat across from him.

"You ok? How was the sofa?"

"Not the best. You hungry...?" He had began to rise from his seat when he noticed El halfway down the stairs. Neal saw the glaze over his eyes, concentrating fully on his wife, almost forgetting he was sitting across from him. It made him smile.

El walked into the kitchen without looking up from her phone, already dressed for work. She was about to turn and leave with her bag when Neal said her name. She looked over, small frown at how he looked.

"Is it ok if I talk to you both for a minute?" She hesitated, glancing at her husband who she was still mad at, before walking over and sitting down. Neal stood. "I want to say thank you for letting me stay, really," he looked between them both, keeping eye contact, "but I feel it would be best if I went home."

"What?" Peter was shocked, El too. They both suddenly forgot they were fighting, staring at each other at the same time and looking back at Neal in an almost comical way. "No... No, no, no. You're not going anywhere." Peter was standing, shaking his head. El watched him, seeing him change. He looked scared.

"I think it's for the best. Really, don't worry about it. This is putting too much strain on you both and it's not fair, you didn't ask for it and it would help if I just went."

"Like hell it would. You're our friend and you didn't ask for this either," Peter was taken a back at the force in his wife's voice as she spoke, "you need to stay here. You need us to help you. You need to get better." Peter was pacing behind her, glaring at Neal without noticing.

"Why? Why are you saying this?"

"Last night, you both were arguing and I think it would be best if I removed myself..."

"We weren't arguing about you. We were arguing about me... and how I'm an idiot." This made El laugh, the sound escaping her mouth without her noticing, hand clamping over it. And suddenly the tension was broken, as Neal was next, head bowing forward. Peter looked at them, Neal holding his bruised ribs and El with her head in her hands. He smiled, laughing too, hands covering his face. It took a few minutes until they had all calmed, Neal leaning against the kitchen island behind him. They looked at each other, silence exempt the clock.

Then a knock at the door.