Neal didn't have much of an opportunity to speak further to Peter while they were at the hospital, though it wasn't due to a lack of desire. After all, he did have more questions, and had even started to ask them, but they were soon interrupted by a nurse who arrived with discharge papers and an offer to show Peter to a phone.
"If you still needed one," she qualified the offer. She looked between the two men. "I heard you were asking."
"Yes," Peter responded, pushing himself away from the exam table he'd been leaning on. He took a step towards the nurse with renewed energy. "I appreciate that. A phone would be great."
"Right down the hall," the nurse replied. "I'll show you."
Peter took another step forward, but then hesitated. He turned to give a look to Neal. "I just need to give Elizabeth a quick call. I have no idea what she's been told."
Neal met his eye and nodded. In his mind he thought, 'That doesn't seem like a quick call…' But out loud, he said, "Okay." Then, as Peter continued to give him a 'look' he frowned. "And I won't go anywhere in the meantime," he stated, assuming the driver of Peter's prolonged attention. His tone became slightly defensive. "If that's what that look means."
"It does..." Peter admitted. "Just stay here for a few, okay?"
Neal offered an exaggerated eye roll but didn't verbally respond. Apparently that was good enough for Peter because the man simply nodded and then followed the nurse out of the room.
Truth be told, Neal was too tired to even consider going anywhere. And there was no where to go. He had no intention of running, and it hadn't even crossed his mind. He also had no way of contacting anyone with the completely dead paperweight of a phone that was in his pocket. Filthy and exhausted, he wanted nothing more than to find himself back at June's in a hot shower and then in bed, far away from this three day timeline.
Despite this, the look Peter had given him just now left him with an uneasy feeling.
Did he always assume he intended to run? Were all bets off when the tracker wasn't on? Did Peter think that's what was constantly on his mind? Is that what his look meant?
Given everything else going on, everything they had just been through together, Neal was bothered that Peter felt he might be considering an alternative place to be.
The last day had been a nightmare, and looking back on it now, it almost felt like the experience couldn't be real.
Despite everything that had happened, the primary thing on his mind now was a single image. Of Ed, the pilot. For some reason, regardless of what had happened afterwards, he couldn't help but to think principally of Ed. This man, someone he really knew little to nothing about but had developed a brief camaraderie with, weighed heavily on his mind.
He couldn't help but cringe when he remembered his last view of Ed.
That was the gruesome picture that kept replaying itself in his head.
He hadn't deserved what happened to him. Neal still wasn't certain how it had all even happened – as he looked back now his memories were jumbled. But the one thing that was vivid was the image of Ed's face.
He couldn't rid himself of it, even as he tried to displace it from his mind.
He didn't even know how long he was thinking about that before Peter was back in the room.
"Neal," came the other man's voice.
Neal just looked up, frowning. It abruptly jarred him from the gruesome reverie of Ed. No words formalized quickly enough to verbalize.
"Our ride is here," Peter explained. Tucked under his arm appeared to be some kind of document, perhaps the discharge papers the nurse had noted earlier. "You okay?"
Neal nodded. "Yeah. Let's go," he replied. He looked around himself, as though he had belongings to take with him. He had none. He had a useless half used tube of travel toothpaste in his hand, a battery drained phone in his pocket, and nothing else to claim around him. He didn't even have his busted tracker anymore – Gerry had confiscated it.
He looked up and saw Peter had already turned away, stepping back into the hallway.
He stood, dropping the toothpaste on the chair behind him, and followed.
The walk down the hall reminded him of why he didn't like hospitals. The sterile walls and floors, marked with the scuff marks of heavy traffic of shoes and rolling devices, the constant beeping, and hushed somber sound of bad news. The odor of disinfectant and bleach.
He was ready to leave this behind to get back to the city. He understood the 'protocol' and all that which required them to get checked out, but he felt this detour had been unnecessary. Thankfully, they were both largely fine. He didn't need someone shining flashlights in his eyes while he looked left and right to tell him that.
It had also led to Peter learning about Neal's other experience with Dean and a taser… He hadn't planned to share those details with Peter. For what? It wasn't going to change anything. Now he was probably going to have to talk about it. He didn't want to talk about it. Dean was cruel. There was nothing else to it.
The fresh air outside was a welcome change. He took a deep breath. It was hard to believe it was only a few hours into daylight. The day already felt so long.
The ride that arrived for them was a Ford Expedition.
It conveniently had a third row of seating, which Neal embraced, taking advantage by climbing in to the back row unprompted.
Peter didn't say anything, but he took the second row.
Neal didn't miss the frown and partial look of disdain on the driver's face when they both got into the car. He was certain it was due to their appearance. They had gotten some frowning second glances upon leaving the hospital as well from bystanders.
They appeared filthy.
For two that typically appeared clean-cut and adorned in suit and tie, they currently projected a vastly contrasting image.
Yet another part of the experience that Neal was anxious to put behind him. He'd assumed many disguises in the past – yet unbathed after a day in the woods and rain, dried blood on his clothing, was never one of them by choice.
He stretched out his legs, leaning into the leather seat appreciatively. He was as comfortable as his aching body would allow. It was decidedly the most amenable seating offered to him in the last twenty four hours.
The car was warm. The engine hummed almost silently, the faint sound of jazz music playing over the speakers.
Neal had every intention to ask a couple questions. How long was the ride. And how was Peter's phone call. More importantly, what do they do next.
He had a couple other questions in mind as well. The questions continued to build.
His mind hadn't fully spelled those out before he promptly fell asleep. They had barely just pulled away from the curb.
While asleep, Neal forgot where he was. In his dreams, he was back underground. He was running, hallway after hallway, looking for an exit with Dean in pursuit, weapon in hand. Ed had been with him, somehow alive, although his physical state was just as poor as Neal had last seen in person.
The thought sickened him.
Every time he looked at him, it became more grotesque.
When Neal woke up, it was to Peter's hand on his shoulder. The physical touch caused him to jump.
"We're here," Peter stated, withdrawing his hand. He seemed to recognize Neal's reaction. "Ready?"
Neal blinked. The car was parked, no longer moving. He felt in a daze.
Peter studied Neal quizzically. "Hey. You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah," Neal replied dismissively. "I'm good." He forced himself to move, blindly moving across the back row to exit the vehicle in a stupor, simply following the motions. He didn't register 'here' until he was out of the car.
It wasn't until his feet were on the sidewalk and Peter was thanking the driver that he realized where they had been dropped off. The familiar image of Peter's Brooklyn home was suddenly in front of them.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed.
The SUV pulled away from the curb, and Neal watched it grow smaller in the distance down the urban, car-lined street.
He rubbed at his eyes briefly, stifling a yawn. "You want me to take a cab home?" he asked. He realized now for the first time that Peter's own vehicle was sitting in a parking lot owned by the original helicopter company. More questions formed in his mind. He wondered if Peter still had his keys on him. He turned to gauge Peter's expression.
"No," Peter replied. "Let's go inside."
Neal ran his hands over his face, tired. "Then you'll call me a cab?" he asked.
Peter just reached out and patted his shoulder. Neal didn't let on that the contact hurt, all while wondering what that gesture was supposed to mean. He started to realize he wasn't quite on his way to June's.
"Come on," Peter said. He dropped his hand and started to walk toward his front door. "Let's go."
Neal sighed. He watched Peter walk a few steps, resisting initially, but then he reluctantly followed. He was exhausted. He wanted his bed. His shower. But he didn't want a confrontation either.
The front door swung open before they even reached it. Elizabeth rushed out, quickly closing the gap between her and Peter and embracing him tightly. She didn't hesitate, barely taking in their appearance.
"Oh Peter," she said with a hint of emotion to her voice.
Neal stood back, motionless, observing.
"Easy, easy…" Peter urged, though he hugged her back with equal vigor. "Hon, let me breathe."
"I was so worried," she admitted. She stepped back but kept her hands on his forearms. "Reese told me you were delayed on the trip, but he gave me no other information. I knew something was wrong."
"Well, I'm back," Peter responded. "And I'm fine."
"Fine?" she echoed. She shook her head, looking him up and down. "This is fine, honey? Look at you."
"All I need is a shower."
"A shower. Right. I have a feeling you need more than that."
"Come on, Hon," Peter persisted.
"And you," Elizabeth continued, dropping her hands from Peter and turning to look at Neal. "Neal, honey – are you okay?"
Neal nodded. "I'm fine, Elizabeth."
"Fine. You guys and your 'fine.'" She looked skeptical but returned her attention to Peter. "You've barely told me what happened, Peter," she stated. "What is going on?"
"And I'll give you the full story," Peter assured her. "But inside. We don't need to tell the whole neighborhood."
She gave him a small eye roll but then took his arm to accompany him back into the house. Once through the doorway, the golden retriever welcome party was also in full force.
"Oh, look who missed me too," Peter said fondly as Satchmo's tail wagged vigorously and his hand became wet from a generous wet tongue. The attention was short-lived as Satchmo then turned his full attention to Neal.
"He did miss you," Elizabeth responded as she closed the door behind them, turning the deadbolt.
Neal leaned down and scratched behind Satchmo's ears as the dog leaned into him appreciatively. The effort caused his abdomen and head to hurt. He looked up and watched Peter as the man's eyes scanned his familiar living room and peered up the stairs.
"You guys must be exhausted," Elizabeth commented.
"Oh, you have no idea," Peter responded, shaking his head.
Neal gave it a second. No one spoke.
"Has anyone been here while Peter was away?" he asked abruptly.
He was met with two stares. Elizabeth's was concerned and a little confused. Peter's was more of a frown.
"Neal—" Peter began.
"Why?" Elizabeth asked at the same time.
"Anyone at all?" Neal persisted. He looked from Elizabeth to Peter as he straightened his posture. Satchmo whined his objection to the absence of attention, but Neal ignored him. He looked Peter straight in the eye. "I wouldn't talk freely here, Peter."
Peter's frown deepened. "Neal," he said again.
"What's that mean?" Elizabeth asked tentatively. She looked from Neal to her husband. "Hon, what's he mean by that?" A moment of silence passed. "Why aren't you saying anything?"
Peter sighed. He eyed Neal for a minute but then turned to Elizabeth. "It's a good question," he told her. "Has anyone been here?"
"In the last twenty four hours?" she asked. "No, Peter."
"No one at all? No one from a utility company? No deliveries?"
"No, Peter," she stated firmly. "Why?"
Peter glanced at Neal again. "I have a lot to explain."
"Sure sounds like it," she replied, tone concerned. "What's going on, Peter?"
"A lot…. Let's put on some coffee, and I'll tell you about it," Peter responded. He pointed at Neal. "You – go take a shower."
"Can you just call me a cab?" Neal replied with a sigh.
Peter shook his head and gave him a look. "No."
Neal gave him his own look right back, standing his ground. "I'd much prefer to go home, Peter."
"No," Peter repeated.
Neal tried to intensify his look. Two could play at this game. However, the expression back from Peter that he received was making him squirm. "Peter," he objected, trying not to whine.
"Go upstairs. Take a shower."
"I don't have any clothes here."
"Borrow some of mine."
Neal made a face. "Peter," he whined again.
"Can someone tell me what's going on?" Elizabeth asked, tone a bit exasperated.
Peter gave her an appeasing look.
"I'll start the coffee," she said with a sigh. With that she walked away towards the kitchen.
Neal leaned forward to pet Satchmo again. It was a convenient excuse to avoid eye contact. As Elizabeth exited the room, he spoke. "I'd like to go home, Peter," he repeated. "I need to."
Peter saw right through it. "Hey - Look at me," he directed.
Neal hesitated at first, combing his fingers through the dog's blonde hair. He could feel Peter's eyes on him. With a sigh, he eventually looked up before Peter inevitably repeated himself. He never won this battle.
"Don't fight me on this," Peter said, lowering his voice. He then added, "Please."
"Is it such a big deal that I'd like to go home?" Neal stated simply. He felt Satchmo push against his leg.
"I know," Peter acknowledged. "I really know. But you can't, Neal. Not yet."
"Why?"
Peter didn't respond right away. He ran a hand across his jaw, rubbing at the stubble.
"Because I don't have the anklet?" Neal began, voice rising slightly. While the 'look' he'd endured at the hospital was absent, he was reminded of it. "Because you can't track me? That's not fair, Peter. I've already been a hostage for the last twenty-four hours, and I –"
"No," Peter interjected, raising his hand to cut Neal off. He shook his head. "No, that's not why."
"Then why?" Neal demanded, feeling frustrated. His headache had returned.
"Because," Peter persisted. He glanced toward the other room, where Elizabeth was now out of sight. "It might not be safe."
"Why?" Neal challenged. "You're home. Why can't I be home?"
Peter turned his head back to him. "Neal." He shook his head. "No. Trust me on this."
Neal sighed, shifting his weight. "He's not targeting me. You're being paranoid."
"No, I'm not." Peter continued to shake his head. "You don't know him."
Neal gave Peter a skeptical look. "I can take care of myself."
Peter sighed. "No. Not this time. I'm giving you a direct order, Neal. You're staying here. I'm sorry."
Neal felt agitated. If it wasn't safe to go home, then was June safe? Wouldn't it be better if he was there, so he could keep an eye on her and the house? He was anxious to connect with Mozzie, who he knew could help get some intel for them, whether Peter liked it or not.
Neal didn't answer.
Peter took his silence as opposition.
"Listen. We've been through this before. If you're not going to listen to me, then I won't give you a choice. We can go downtown and you can sit in a holding cell-"
"No," Neal objected.
"-until I figure this thing out," Peter finished irritably. "Because I'm not having you be another complication-"
"No. No, Peter. I didn't say anything," Neal objected, giving Peter a disgruntled look. His desire to sleep was dissipating. "Peter, I want to help. I'm not trying to make things complicated."
Peter looked at him expectantly. "So you'll stay?"
Neal exhaled in exasperation.
"Shower," Peter replied, gesturing upstairs. "Then we'll talk."
Neal did want to shower. That wasn't the issue. He just preferred to to do it at home. He didn't want to stay here, but arguing otherwise felt it was also a losing battle. He didn't have it in him to fight with Peter. He knew Peter wasn't having him stay to spite him. He was actually concerned. As much as he wanted to go home, Neal also knew they were on a limited timeline. He could help Peter more if he was here.
"Fine," he replied. In his mind, the 'listen to Peter' side of the page was outweighing the list of reasons to push to go home. His mental capacity to continue to debate was waning.
Peter looked pleased at the decision. "Good, Neal."
Neal reached into his back pocket, withdrawing his battery drained phone. He extended it to Peter with another sigh. "Can you charge this for me?"
Peter accepted the phone with a nod. He looked down at it's blank screen. "Yeah. I'm going to need to get a replacement myself."
Elizabeth leaned against her counter and watched her coffee pot with a frown. She couldn't help but glance back toward the other side of the house, where her recently returned husband and Neal were speaking in hushed but agitated tones.
She had been in limbo the last day. A direct phone call from Reese Hughes had been enough to have her think the worse. He had assured her otherwise. Told her that he was just calling to let her know Peter wouldn't be home that night. He couldn't disclose why but 'she shouldn't worry.'
The call had left her feeling anxious, up half the night in worry. She had considered calling another member of the team, trying to get more information, but had held a boundary; she'd told herself to wait until the next morning.
Then the call came that morning. First Hughes again, letting him know that Peter had been found.
"Found?" she had echoed in disbelief. In accusation. "You never said he was missing."
He had answered vaguely, said they would be in touch, and the next thing she knew he was quickly ending the call.
A couple hours later, Peter had called.
It was an unknown number, and on edge she answered on the first ring.
It was again very brief.
"I just wanted to tell you I'm fine," Peter had said. "I don't know what they told you, but—"
"Nothing, Peter," she had interrupted, impatient and worried. "They haven't told me anything. Were you missing? I just thought you were working late. And now—"
"I'm fine, and I'll be home soon," he said. "Stay home and wait for me."
She had readily agreed, feeling worried now over something she didn't even know about. Anxious for him to get home, to see him in the flesh.
Seeing him and Neal in person had left her feeling even more confused and concerned. They both looked like they had been through hell. And despite the claims of being 'fine' she was fairly certain to have seen traces of dried blood – on Neal's hairline, and Peter's hands and shirt.
She retrieved a couple mugs from the cabinet, sighing and trying to calm herself. She knew she'd have answers soon.
"I'm sorry about that, Hon."
Peter's voice caused her to turn, blue ceramic mugs still in her hands.
"Peter, what's going on?" she asked.
He approached her, looking weary. "A lot," he admitted. "And I'll explain."
"Are you sure you're okay?" she persisted with a frown. "You look like you've been through the wringer, Peter."
"You could say that," Peter replied. He reached out for a mug. "I could really use a cup of coffee though."
"Let me," she replied. She withdrew the mug from his reach and turned back to the coffee pot. She placed both mugs on the counter. "Is Neal okay?"
"He'll be fine," Peter replied. "But I need him to stick with me the next few days… I hope you're okay with that. You'll understand why when I explain."
"Of course," she answered, frowning. She filled one of the mugs and slid it down the counter towards him. She filled half a mug for herself. "Start talking."
A shower was a godsend.
For a moment, all of reality was out the window. Neal could turn off his mind to the world.
It was one of the luxuries of life that was easily taken for granted. There were even days when running late or feeling too tired that bathing was a rushed but necessary inconvenience. Now, standing in the steaming shower, letting the stream of clean spray directly hit his face, Neal couldn't imagine ever not taking advantage of such a luxurious indulgence.
He looked down at his feet, watching the Burke's once pale colored marble tile darken with the dirt and grime that washed off of him. Looking down at his body, he cringed, seeing the still forming bruises and wounds.
He ached as he used the available bar of soap to wash himself further. The water was so hot it nearly burned, yet he enjoyed the feeling. As he washed his face, he squeezed his eyes shut. Suddenly the image of the pilot was in his head again.
He opened his eyes, flinching as the soap water burned his vision.
Scrubbing at his hair, he sighed, welcoming the pain as a distraction as he tried to clear his mind once again.
Everything was filthy. His skin, his nails. He scrubbed and scrubbed.
After what felt like an eternity, he reminded himself that he wasn't the only one who needed to shower. While he was certain that Peter and Elizabeth had a lot to catch-up on, he also realized Peter was likely anxious to clean up as well.
He turned the faucet, bringing the shower to a stop.
The whole room had steamed up. As he stepped out of the shower onto the bathmat on the floor, he could no longer see himself in the fogged up mirror. He preferred that.
He stared at the two towels that were draped from hooks on the wall.
Two towels. His and hers.
He felt uncomfortable for a moment as he stood there, dripping wet.
He glanced over towards his own filthy clothes, which he had cast aside in a messy pile in the corner of the bathroom. He wished he could burn those clothes, and he had no intention of touching them.
He turned back to the towels. Both were blue.
Taking a deep breath, he arbitrarily stepped forward and reached for the towel on the left.
It seemed ridiculous to be having a moral dilemma over something like a towel considering the bigger picture at the moment.
He found himself feeling the same way a few minutes later.
Despite indirectly having permission, Neal felt odd standing in the doorway of Peter and Elizabeth's bedroom.
Despite only knowing Peter 'in person' a brief amount of time, he had already looked into this room a handful of times.
Now, clad in only a stolen towel, he felt like he was trespassing.
In a way it was crazy – he was invited here. It's not like he had snuck in. And Peter had welcomed him to his wardrobe. Yet still, the space felt off limits, and crossing the threshold into the room felt like he was breaking some rule.
Maybe it felt like breaking a rule because despite the invitation being for borrowed clothing, he had a deep desire to look further. To go through those matching bed-side tables. To look further in the closet. Perhaps something was under the bed.
He was considering this when a hand connected with his shoulder, nearly causing him to drop his towel.
He spun around.
"Peter," he said accusingly. "Jesus Christ."
Peter raised his hands up. "Whoa. Didn't mean to spook you."
Neal narrowed his eyes. "You didn't."
"I was just checking in." Peter paused.
Neal stared at him.
Peter looked back. His eyes floated downward, towards Neal's abdomen. "You okay?"
Neal suddenly felt self-conscious. He shifted up the towel further, wrapping his arms around his middle. Those goddamn wounds again. He tried to cover their presence. "Yes." He paused. "Though I may have stolen your towel."
Peter shrugged and gave a smirk. "As long as you left me some hot water." He nodded towards his bedroom. "You want me to get you some clothes?"
Neal wasn't sure why he felt so uncomfortable. "Yeah," he replied slowly. "I wasn't sure… I mean, I didn't want to go through Elizabeth's things."
Peter seemed unphased, walking into his room. "I assume you're okay with going casual."
"Sure," Neal answered. He lingered in the doorway. He watched Peter pull open a dresser drawer and begin to rifle through some clothing. "Peter?"
"Yeah?" Peter responded as he pulled out some clothes.
"What do we do now?"
Peter glanced upwards towards Neal. "Dodgers or Mets?"
Neal made a face, shifting his towel again. "Peter…" he objected.
Peter smirked. He turned back to the drawer and withdrew a dark, more nondescript t-shirt. "Fine. No sports." He tossed the shirt towards Neal.
Neal caught the shirt. "Peter. I also need pants."
"Oh, you need more than pants." Peter sighed. "Look. Now it begins."