October

Neal leaned against the door of Peter's car, as the shadows of trees alternating with rays of late afternoon sun slid through the cab. Yellow and orange leaves blurred together overhead, the beginning of true fall. He looked over at Peter, for once driving with his eyes on the road.

Peter was wearing faded blue jeans, sneakers, and a dark grey sweatshirt. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, which Neal didn't understand. It was freezing in the car.

Neal reached over and turned the vent to blow on himself more directly, and turned up the heat a bit. Peter looked at what he did but didn't comment. Neal crossed his arms over his chest and looked back out the window. His body ached, he needed to get more rest.

"How much farther to the hotel?" He asked.

"About twenty minutes. It's a lodge, with cabins."

"Ah," said Neal, and laid his head against the window, closing his eyes.


The next thing Neal knew, Peter was shaking him lightly by the shoulder. He raised his head and looked around. They were parked in a small lot, with log cabins in a semi circle around it. At the other side was a lodge building.

Neal got out of the car, and started getting their suitcases out of the back, while Peter went inside to check in.

Neal stood, in the crisp fall air, colorful leaves making a patina on the parking lot pavement. It was quiet, only the sound of wind passing through the white barked trees. He leaned against the car, waiting beside their luggage. He wished he was less tired, there was a hiking trailhead off the far end of the lot, it was probably a gorgeous walk.

Peter came back out and picked up his suitcase, "okay, got the key."

They walked to one of the farther cabins, Neal lugging a rolling bag.

"Everything okay?" asked Peter, "you're awfully quiet."

"Yeah," said Neal, "I'm just tired."

Peter unlocked the door, "well, the conference doesn't start until the morning. You can crash in the cabin until dinner if you want. I might go for a walk, you can have the cabin to yourself to sleep."

"Sounds good."

They entered the cabin. There was a minifridge, a sink, a coffee maker. The bathroom was small, just a toilet and sink. There was a bathtub set into the floor, a fireplace, a small sofa, and one queen bed. Peter stopped, looking around, "huh, maybe they gave us the wrong cabin."

Neal chuckled, "ya think?"

Peter shut the door, and Neal stood by their bags as Peter jogged back to the lodge. Neal looked at the cabin, the number, and the reservation email on his phone, though the email took forever to load. The cabin number matched. One of the Harvard crew had made the reservations, they must not have realized the cabins were this small.

Peter came back, looking defeated, "it's the right cabin, and the others are full. Sorry, Neal, we should have reserved two."

Neal shrugged. He didn't care how many beds there were at that point as much as he cared that he got to lie down on one. Peter opened the door again and they went inside. Neal sat on the edge of the bed and kicked his shoes off.

Peter put his suitcase on the other side, and got out hiking shoes. Neal took pajamas out of his bag and went into the bathroom to change. When he came out Peter was by the door, tying his hiking boots.

"See you in a bit, have a good walk," said Neal.

"Thanks," said Peter.

Peter left. Neal crawled into the bed. It was soft, the sheets were nice cotton. He closed his eyes, and curled up to sleep.


"Neal. Neal, it's dinner time, bud."

Neal opened his eyes. Peter was standing over him, cheeks flushed from his hike.

Neal dragged himself reluctantly out from under the warm covers and changed back into his suit. Peter was waiting for him by the door. When Neal reached him, Peter clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder, "you get some rest?"

Neal nodded, "yeah, slept like a log."

"Good," said Peter, patting Neal's shoulder twice, and they went outside.

It was freezing. Neal shivered, as wind cut through his suit like he wasn't wearing a thing. They got into Peter's car, and he drove just down the road to a small brewery that nonetheless had a full parking lot, probably mostly of people from their conference. They got out of the car, Peter put an arm around Neal's shoulders just as Neal shivered. Peter walked him to the door, then opened it for him. Neal looked at Peter, questioning why he was being so nice. But he was beaming around the pub, Neal decided he was just happy.

The restaurant area was packed, Neal and Peter looked at each other, and at the bar. There were a few seats at the end near the kitchen left, they went for those. They pulled out the tall bar stools, and got onto them. A bartender came up to them, "dinner menus or just drinks?"

"Dinner, please," said Peter. She brought them menus, Peter looked at the beers, Neal looked at the wines. Peter ordered a scotch ale, Neal ordered a riesling. Peter flipped to the food menu, while the bartender went to get their drinks. When she came back, Neal ordered pork loin, Peter ordered marinated grilled chicken wings.

Neal sipped his wine, it was dry, citrussy, delicious. Peter seemed to be enjoying his beer. Neal relaxed a little, leaning with his elbows on the wooden bar, "so am I supposed to be doing something at this talk? You haven't even told me why we were invited."

Peter looked into his deep chestnut colored beer, sheepishly. Neal raised an eyebrow, "were we invited or did you just want to get out of the city?"

Peter chuckled, "you got me. They had open applications for speakers and I volunteered us."

"What are we talking about?"

"Improving relationships between urban and rural policing."

Neal stared at him, "and I'm supposed to say what about this?"

"Nothing in particular."

"Is there a reason you brought me out here?" asked Neal, slightly irritated. He was sore from the car ride, it was cold and windy, and he didn't share Peter's love of farms and lakes.

"Hughes only okayed the trip if I took you with me. There's a De Heem exhibit in town, he didn't want you unsupervised and without a case to keep you busy. Sorry."

Neal laughed. There it was.

"I forgive you," he said, and sipped his wine. Their food came. Peter dug into his herbed chicken. Neal looked at his plate, pork loin sitting in a small amount of sauce, with slices of roasted delicata squash on the side, a melted coating of bleu cheese and garlic jam on top. He sliced into it, it was cooked perfectly, juicy and delicious. The meat was flavored with a smokey paprika. It went extremely well with his wine, he had a second glass.

Neal looked at Peter, "I can't really complain, it is wine country and this food is great."

Peter grinned at him, "I'm glad you're enjoying it."

They both dug in for a while, enjoying their food and drink. Neal's thighs, back, and shoulders were sore from being stuck in the car for hours, the second glass of wine was helping some with the stiffness. After their entrees Peter ordered coffee and a brownie sundae and Neal ordered a glass of ice wine and a slice of warm apple pie with a scoop of ice vanilla cream.

Neal finished his dessert about the same time Peter did, got out his wallet as the bartender dropped off their checks. Peter reached over, pushing Neal's wallet down, "I dragged you up here, I got it."

Neal entirely happily put his wallet away, "thanks."

Peter got up, and downed the end of his coffee, Neal got down from his stool. His knees, thighs and back protested, he grunted slightly. Peter put a hand on his arm, "you okay?"

"Just stiff from the ride."

Peter moved his hand to the small of Neal's back as they walked out. The wind hit him again as soon as they went through the double doors, it was colder than when they had walked in. His knees ached from it, he tried to ignore the sensation and just walk normally.

They got into Peter's car, Neal melted into the seat. Peter reached over and turned on the heated seats. Neal smiled at him, gratefully, "that's a feature of your car I actually appreciate."

Peter rubbed Neal's shoulder slightly, Neal winced. Peter frowned, but all he did was rub a little bit more, gentle pressure on Neal's stiff, sore muscles. Peter let go and put the car in reverse, and they backed out of the parking space. Peter drove them back to the cabin, parked as close as he could, and got out. Neal did as well, and they walked up to the cabin door.

Neal hugged his arms around himself as Peter unlocked the door. Peter shepparded Neal in first, then came in himself. Neal went and sat on the bed, taking his suit jacket and dress shirt off, replacing them with his pajama shirt and a sweater. Meanwhile Peter went over to the small fireplace, a stack of logs, a tin of matches, and a pack of fatwood beside it.

Neal got up off the bed with a grunt, Peter looked at him for a second, but seeing nothing wrong looked back at the fire he was building. Neal went and changed the rest of the way in the bathroom. He came back out, and found Peter had lit the fatwood, and it was licking at the bottom of some logs, slowly catching. Peter closed the grate, got up, and sat down on the sofa facing the fireplace. Neal came and sat next to him, watching the flames slowly grow. Peter put his hand on Neal's back, rubbing in a small, gentle circle.

Neal was starting to get sleepy again. He looked over at the single bed, and back at Peter, "is one of us taking the couch or are we sharing?"

"I'm fine with sharing if you are. I can take the sofa, otherwise."

Neal looked at the short bench of the sofa, "I don't think either of us will really fit."

"Me neither."

"Okay, bed it is. I'm gonna lay down. Don't worry about keeping me up."

"Okay," said Peter, "I'll try not to wake you when I go to sleep."

Neal got up and slid under the covers. He laid on his side, watching Peter read by the fire, watching the logs slowly break down. He fell asleep after not too long, and when Peter came to bed he was only vaguely aware of it, a dip of the mattress, tug of the covers. Peter's warmth added to his, the bed only got comfier after that.


Neal woke in the middle of the night. The fire had died to embers, it was starting to get cold in the cabin. He went to get up to add wood, and found that there was an arm around his waist. Neal smiled slightly to himself, and carefully lifted Peter's arm.

He knelt on the flagstone by the fire, which his knees weren't happy about. He added a few logs, and watched them slowly catch, warmth building in front of him. When he was confident it would keep burning, he tried to get up from his kneeling position. His knees and thighs said no, he grunted, and ended up on his hands and knees, in not a small amount of pain.

"Neal?" asked Peter, voice thick with sleep, "you okay?"

"Just sore," said Neal, "go back to sleep."

He scooted over until he could pull himself up on the sofa, and got to his feet. He went back to the bed, and got in, shivering. Peter put his arm over Neal's waist, dragging him back by a few inches until his back was against Peter's front. Neal was pretty sure this was an automatic action, borne of habits from sleeping next to Elizabeth. Neal also didn't have an objection. Peter was warm, and Neal could never get enough of his touch.