NaNoWriMo Day Two! Today's chapter summary: Neal stays up too late and honors one of his and Peter's oldest traditions, emotional midnight phone calls.
It was late. Really late. Like 1 or 2 am late. If Neal was a responsible person, he would have been asleep for several hours by now. But the words 'responsible' and 'Neal Caffrey' never really seemed to mesh together. Neal wasn't really tired but he wasn't awake either. The only real thing he was feeling was listless. He wanted to sleep, but couldn't really get the energy to go to sleep.
He'd had these mornings-or were they nights-before. But back then, there was always someone to talk to. Kate would be next to him, waking up when he mustered the energy to get in bed and mumbling 'what's wrong, babe?' And Neal would tell her or just murmur sweet nothings until she dragged him into sleep with her. Or Mozzie would still be awake, savoring a glass of expensive wine, and talk Neal's ear off about conspiracy theories and old poetry and how the two related to each other until Neal slipped unconscious. Now…now he was on his own.
June probably wouldn't mind Neal waking her this early. She'd probably say something about how Byron used to do things like this all the time. But...Neal couldn't bring himself to bother her, even if she was awake. He didn't want to seem like a bother or, more pressingly, like a little kid talking to his mommy because he can't sleep. Which left only one option.
He reached for his cell phone.
El was out of town, spending time with her sister for some relative's wedding or something like that. Therefore, Peter was alone in his home with his dog. Satchmo was sleeping downstairs on his bed (the living room couch). Peter was doing the same upstairs in his comfortable bed. Alone.
His cell phone rang.
Peter was deep in sleep, so it took him a minute to realize the ringing sound was real and not a dream. He blearily opened his eyes and groped for the lamp. He switched the lamp on. Light flooded the room, scorching his eyes. Peter hissed and closed his eyes. He turned the lamp off. The phone kept ringing. Finally, after more failures than he'd like to admit, he found his phone. He hit answer.
"Burke," he said brusquely, his voice still raspy from sleep.
"Hey, Peter," Neal answered on the other end. He seemed perfectly awake, despite the time.
"Neal. Why are you calling me at-" He checked the time on the alarm clock. "1:30 in the morning?"
"Just wanted to talk." Neal would've sounded fine to any casual observer. To Peter, however, he was very not okay. Neal's voice was just a little too high, just a little too tight, and just a little too watery. Neal was upset.
Peter could tell Neal was upset and understood that Neal telling him he was upset, even without actually telling him, was a big step in their relationship. But...it was 1:30 in the morning. He was tired. Neal should have been asleep. God, I sound like his father. Peter knew he should try to be nice to Neal right now, but...it was too early for politeness.
"Neal, it's 1:30. Why do you want to talk?"
Peter swore he could hear Neal shrug through the phone. "Why not? No better time."
Peter sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Yes. There are many better times. Like after the sun is up. Why are you even awake?"
"Couldn't sleep."
This...this was the reason Neal was calling. It'd happened before, Neal calling him too early in the morning to be a respectable person. Years ago, while Neal was still on the run, Peter had started to get anonymous phone calls in the middle of the night from a burner phone number. Early on in the Caffrey case, the FBI was confident that they would close it in a few weeks. So, they were spending early mornings and late nights, leading Peter to get about four hours of sleep a night. Peter wasn't thinking quite straight with the first call and answered it against his better judgment.
"Hey, Agent Burke."
"Who is this?" Peter knew, logically, that confronting an anonymous man on the phone like this wasn't a good idea. But, he was tired. It seemed like a good idea.
The man laughed. "Really? Don't you recognize me?"
Peter signaled frantically for Jones to start tracing the call. In return, he got a thumbs up and a computer turning on. The trace was useless-it was, in fact, a burner phone.
"No, I guess you wouldn't," the man continued. "You haven't heard me before, have you?"
"Who are you?" Peter demanded.
The man laughed again, but this laugh sounded more tired than excited or happy. "Neal Caffrey. Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Agent Burke."
This has to be a hoax. There's no way Neal Caffrey would be calling me in the FBI office. "How did you get this number?"
"You should really lock down your Facebook. There's a ton of information on there. Love your dog."
Peter's blood ran cold. His Facebook? That stupid little college idea had all this information linked to it? At the same time, Neal Caffrey was calling him. Maybe this could be used for good.
"Why are you calling me?"
"Why not?" Caffrey answered with a laugh. "Maybe I just want to talk."
Even with knowing nothing about Caffrey, Peter could tell something was wrong. His voice sounded tight and thin, almost like he was about to cry. And Caffrey was way younger than the BAU's profiles would have suggested. Those profiles said someone in their mid-30s, someone who was going for revenge against a previous employer. This person-if they really were Neal Caffrey-sounded no older than 20, maybe 25.
"Are you okay?"
Caffrey laughed again. "Just fine, Agent Burke. Nice talking to you." His voice had changed. He didn't sound like he was going to cry anymore. "Have fun." Caffrey hung up.
Ever since that first call, Peter got late-night calls from Neal. It was almost a routine. About once a month, his phone would ring around midnight. He'd answer, Neal would say he just wanted to talk, and he'd hang up after a few minutes of banter.
The calls didn't stop when Neal went into prison either. They just moved to a more convenient time, around noon instead of midnight. Those times, Peter tried to be more considerate. Neal was young and put in the highest security prison in the state. It had to be terrifying, so Peter would talk to Neal as long as he could, play along with his stupid jokes and 'alleged' stories, and try to reassure the kid as best he could.
But after Neal got out and started working with the FBI, the calls stopped. Peter figured that was because he could, you know, talk to Peter instead of use a phone. That didn't mean the calls didn't happen, but they became significantly less frequent. Although, after Kate...
"Are you feeling okay?" Peter asked Neal.
Neal audibly shrugged. "Don't know. I don't feel tired."
'I don't know' was probably the closest Neal would ever get to saying 'I need help.' Peter was his lifeline, so Neal lit a flare. Peter had to help this kid.
"Any other reason you called me? Why not the little guy?"
"Don't know his number."
"You don't?" Peter had learned years ago that it was best to play along with whatever Neal decided to talk about. It was his way of processing emotions.
"I don't. Got a new burner and he hasn't told me the number."
"Oh." Peter didn't have much else to say. He'd wait for Neal to start the next conversation.
Neal cleared his throat. "Peter?"
"Yeah, Neal?" The sleep had long ago left Peter's voice. Neal needed to know someone cared about him and, right now, that someone was Peter.
"Do you hate me?"
"What? No! Of course I don't!" Peter was concerned. What made him think this? Did I do something? "Why would you even ask that?"
"I don't know," Neal answered. His voice seemed even tighter and he was starting to get choked up. "I just...I..."
"Calm down, kid. Talk to me. What's wrong? Specifically."
"I...I don't know...it's really everything." Neal was crying in earnest now. Peter didn't think he'd ever heard Neal cry. Seen silent tears, sure. But heard him cry like this? Never.
"Neal, I don't hate you."
Neal sniffed. "Thank you, Peter."
Peter shook his head, even knowing that he couldn't see. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know. I couldn't sleep."
"Okay."
Neal sniffed again. There was a rustling sound over the phone. Probably Neal wiping tears off his face or getting into bed. A deep, shuddering breath. "I...can we just talk?"
"Sure."
Peter may have needed the sleep before work tomorrow. But Neal needed a friendly voice more. And Peter had a real soft spot when it came to Neal.
The next day, both Neal and Peter got into work together late and very, very tired. When the team asked about what happened, the two would just share a look and laugh. Yeah, it was a good reason to stay awake.
I hope you enjoyed; leave a review if you really enjoyed it! Hopefully I'll remember earlier tomorrow. Good luck and I hope your novels are coming along well!
