April
Peter jogged up the front steps into June's apartment, his shoes splashing slightly in the divets worn by many before them. She opened the door before he got to it. He gave her a quick hug, and they headed inside.
Neal was seated on a small chaise near the door, dressed, hat on. He grinned brilliantly at Peter, "you look nice."
Peter looked down at himself, at the rented tux, "uh, thanks. You ready?"
Neal nodded, pushing himself up on the arm of the lounge, and a handsome dark wood cane with a silver handle, the end of it shaped into a fox. June beamed at the two of them, "I hope you boys have a nice night."
Peter chuckled. Neal kissed June on the cheek, "Peter gets to have all the fun tonight with Diana, I'm in the van with Jones."
She shook her head, "even so. I'm sure you'll find a way."
"That's what I'm afraid of," grouched Peter.
June and Neal laughed. Peter put his arm around Neal, and steered him to the door. They slowly walked down the steps, waved at June from the sidewalk, and got into the Taurus.
Two hours later, Peter was exiting a limo, offering his arm to Diana, stunning in a slinky lavender dress, with just enough room through the thigh to accommodate her pistol. She paused, before getting out, "wait, Peter."
He looked at her, "what's wrong?"
She nodded at the couple going in ahead of them. It was two women. Peter looked around. Most of the other couples milling around were same sex as well. The general vibe was also more colorful and egalitarian than expected.
He whispered to both Diana and the team in the van, "are we sure Baker was married to a woman?"
There was a shuffle of papers in the background, then one of the Harvard crew hissed, "Spouse's name is Robin. We just assumed–."
Diana closed the car door and said over the radio, "how fast can we get Jones into a tux?"
"Half an hour," said the Harvard crew kid.
Diana looked up at Peter out of the back of the limo. He shook his head. This was not going well. The showing was in twenty minutes.
"Where's Caffrey?" asked Jones, suddenly.
Peter groaned.
Minutes later, Neal appeared. Peter went up to him, Neal flashed a huge smile at him.
"You're sure you'll be okay?" demanded Peter.
"I'll be fine," breezed Neal.
Peter sighed, "no luck on that tux?"
"Nope," said Jones over the radio.
Peter shook his head. Neal leaned in and kissed him on the mouth, briefly. Neal was warm, his breath smelled like apples.
Peter let his hand rest at the small of Neal's back, and they headed up to the entrance. Peter showed their invitation, they were immediately allowed in, the doorman gave Neal a big smile. Neal smiled back. Peter rolled his eyes and sighed wearily.
Going up the small flight of steps into the atrium, Neal leaned on Peter's arm. They took it slow, though not as slowly as when they had left June's a few hours before. Neal was pushing himself, to not draw attention. Peter disapproved, but what was he going to do about it?
They found a ballroom just inside, slow music playing, people dancing together. Peter steered Neal to the buffet, and they each took a small plate of appetizers, Neal took a glass of champagne as well and sipped it as they surveyed the crowd. Neal seemed to be having far too much fun with this. Peter dearly missed Diana's no nonsense mission focus right then.
"There," said Neal, indicating slightly with his flute, as he juggled cane, plate, and glass.
Peter looked where he had indicated, and saw their host, the man they had been chasing for eight months over a Civil War era cypher. He was tall, bearded, cheeks pink and eyes crinkled as he greeted couples individually as he meandered through the dancing.
Neal turned to Peter, setting the now empty glass down on a tray carried by a server passing by, "well?"
Peter clenched his teeth, and hissed into the radio, "nobody is telling El about this until I have time to explain."
Peter heard giggles from the van over his earpiece. He ignored them, steeled himself, and swept Neal onto the dance floor. Neal made a little squeak of surprise.
"Did I hurt you?" asked Peter, whispering.
"No," said Neal, and kissed him again. This time he tasted like champagne and bacon wrapped scallops.
Peter led, Neal followed. The tempo was moderate, Neal was warm, pressed front to front with Peter. Peter's arm around Neal's back, Neal's arm around his shoulders. Holding hands. Neal's blue eyes holding his.
They danced for maybe four minutes, working closer and closer to the host's path. Neal was holding the cane behind Peter's back, and it bumped the back of Peter's thighs occasionally. Neal was just the right amount shorter than him, they lined up well for dancing.
"Elizabeth wasn't kidding, you actually aren't a bad dancer," said Neal, amusement in his whole face.
Peter shrugged, embarrassed.
It was a big room, nobody was moving fast, and they did not want to be obvious about trying to get close enough to hear, so it seemed to take an age to get into the right position. They went through two piece changes, one with a slight break while the musicians changed sheets. In that momentary silence, all the voices chattering around them seemed to flood in, bringing Peter sharply into awareness of his body and the environment.
Neal was sweating slightly, but Peter was too in a tux in a room of people dancing. Neal was smiling, huge. Peter assumed it was amusement, and anticipation of all the fun he would get out of teasing Peter about this, but it looked almost more like genuine enjoyment.
Peter had previously noticed Neal was leaning into Peter's right hip with his left to brace himself sometimes, Peter changed angles so they pressed solidly together there and were more open to the other side. Neal's face changed slightly, surprise, and then something soft, almost shy. Maybe just the vulnerability of Peter having been able to tell he was getting tired or sore on that side.
The music started again, and they started dancing again. They finally made it to the vicinity of the host. They heard a few words and bits, "Neptune, navigation, off the coast, foggy tonight, cypher."
Neal's eyes were wide, and he hissed, "that's it, Peter."
They moved just a bit closer. A bell dinged, and the host excused himself, and pushed back through the crowd to the stage. He stood up, and started talking.
"Dammit." whispered Peter.
People filed off the dance floor, Peter and Neal let go, straightening their jackets. Neal leaned on the cane much more than he had when they had left June's house. Peter casually took his arm, and Neal held onto him, as they walked across the floor. Peter aimed them at a few chairs tucked behind a pillared area, and Neal did not object. Neal sat on one away from the couple clusters, near where some people were on a bench chatting loudly while they retied or changed their shoes. They could still hear the host, as he was now using a microphone to give a prepared speech. Neal took off his jacket, and folded it over his right thigh, opened his tie at the neck.
Peter repeated what they had heard for the team in the van. He stood against the wall next to the chair Neal was seated on, and rubbed Neal's upper back. His undershirt and dress shirt were both sweated through at his spine. His back and shoulders were tight, and he was trying to look casual as he rubbed his left thigh with the heel of his palm.
"I don't think we should try and get close again. I think we should just listen and avoid drawing attention," said Peter.
Neal looked up at him sharply. Peter shook his head, "we've got the start of something to go on. Let's not push it, and see what we can find."
"He said it was foggy tonight, Peter. Maybe he's going to move tonight. Recover whatever it is."
"He mentioned Neptune, and navigation. I bet he has some historic marker, some way to find the wreck, but it's too foggy. It's supposed to be foggy the next two nights."
"And what if you're wrong."
"We have agents tracking his car. If he goes to the water, we'll go too. Okay?"
Neal did not look pleased.
"Neal. You promised to listen when I said something was too dangerous. We can't undo being noticed. We can try again."
Neal looked away from him, still obviously fuming. Peter looked down at Neal's hand, still rubbing his thigh. There was a wedding ring on his finger. Peter blinked, "where did you get a ring?"
Neal looked back up at him, "what?"
Peter pointed to Neal's hand, "whose ring is that?"
"Oh. One of the Harvard crew."
Peter stared down at Neal, as one of the kids in the van swore.
Neal shrugged.
Peter sighed, and looked up at the stage. Neal was already pretty sore, there was definitely a non-zero chance that he would be crashing on the air mattress in Peter's living room, instead of his loft apartment at June's. That would mean waking up to El and Neal giggling about Peter dancing.
"Fine," said Peter, an idea coming to him.
Neal looked at him, questioningly.
"There are agents waiting at the marina by his boat. If you think he'll make a move tonight, we can relieve them and see."
Neal nodded, apparently satisfied.
A few minutes later the talk was done, he had shown his art piece, and people started filing forward to see it in turn. Peter turned to Neal, "ready?"
Neal nodded, and tried to get up, pushing up with his right leg and hands, one on the cane, one on the chair. He got about six inches from the seat cushion, and sat back down. He ducked his head, and wrapped his hands around his knee. Peter knelt in front of him and covered Neal's hands with his own, then slid them just slightly further up Neal's leg. He massaged Neal's thigh, gently. Neal's whole body was clenched, and he kept his face turned away from Peter.
Hot tears dropped onto Peter's skin. Peter let go of Neal's leg with one hand and took a napkin out of his pocket, handing it to Neal. Neal took it, but didn't use it. He turned his head finally to look Peter in the eye again, pale, more tears threatening to fall.
"Sorry."
"It's okay," said Peter.
Peter put both hands under Neal's chin, gently wiping wetness off Neal's cheeks with his thumb, "I'm sorry you're hurting. Next time we suddenly have to pretend to be married and dance together I'll be less ambitious."
Neal laughed. Peter let go of Neal's face, patting his right cheek gently as he did.
Neal repositioned himself to try again. Peter stood, and offered his arm to Neal. Neal took it, and between Peter's support and the cane managed to get to his feet. He drew in a sharp breath that hissed between his teeth as his jaw clenched. Peter wrapped his arms around Neal. Neal relaxed very slightly, and let Peter take much of his weight.
"I've got you, Neal." Peter said into his ear.
By the time they made it back to the van, it was foggy, raining, and chilly. Diana opened the van door as they reached it. Peter got in first, and then turned back to face Neal, taking his arm again. Neal hesitated. Diana got out and pulled Neal's other arm over her shoulders. She stepped up with him, into the van. Peter closed the doors.
Neal sat down next to Jones, and stretched out his left leg as much as he could in the cramped space. Jones moved his own legs over to make room.
"Okay, Neal and I are going to go watch his boat. You two stay here and keep monitoring."
Peter looked at Neal, "we're going to stop at my house first. I need to pick something up, and change my clothes."
Neal nodded. He was clearly tired, but still alert and ready.
Peter got back into the car, wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and his trenchcoat. He carried a leather case and another jacket, both of which he held out to Neal. Neal took them, putting the jacket on his lap, and then opening the case on top of it. It was Peter's sextant. He laughed a little.
Peter shrugged, "could come in handy."
Neal looked through it at the street lights as they pulled away from the curb.
"What magnification is this?" Asked Neal.
"5x."
Neal put the sextant away and looked at Peter, "you need 100x magnification to see Neptune."
Peter frowned, "then maybe we were wrong about historic navigation marking the spot somehow."
They arrived at the marina, Peter's fog lights cutting through the haze, and pulled up next to the van. Peter got out of the car. There were only lights on a few ships, including the ship belonging to their quarry. The other set of lights were on a historic looking tallship, he could hear what sounded like drunken revelry coming from that direction.
Peter turned and looked at Neal, as wind whipped his trenchcoat around his calves. Neal was slowly getting out of the car, using the cane and car door to lever himself up. Peter rounded the car, and put his hand at the center of Neal's upper back. Neal flashed him a huge, brilliant smile, as rain started to hit his suit.
"I got you a coat, you know."
"Yeah, let me just put on a jacket that says FBI and let the whole marina know we're here."
Peter shrugged, seriously doubting anyone could make anything out from their target's boat in the fog and rain. They got into the van, Peter gave Neal a hand up into it. Just as they closed the door, he saw another car pulling into the parking lot.
"Hi, Agent Burke," said Agent Perry, a baby faced blond probie, "no movement yet, but they also haven't shut the lights off."
Peter nodded. He looked at what the other agent in the van, a young woman with dark curly hair and tan skin had out, a nautical chart of the New York coastline. He looked at Neal, and Neal edged over, leaning on the back of her chair.
"Is there anything on here related to Neptune?" Neal asked Agent Reyes.
"Um," she said, "well, there's this."
She pointed to the chart, Neal raised his eyebrows, "okay, I guess that counts."
"What is it?" asked Peter.
"A hazardous shipwreck, the USS Neptune."
"We've got movement," said Agent Perry.
Peter looked at Perry's monitor. There were men getting off the boat, and one man getting on.
"You two with me, let's stop them before they get onto the water. Neal, call it in."
Perry and Reyes jumped out of the back, as Neal got out his phone. Peter followed Perry and Reyes out, running into the rain. There was a flurry of activity at the boat, Reyes took down one of the men, Perry struggled with the other. Peter helped him get the man down, and Perry started stating his rights.
There was a sound, and suddenly the lights from the van cut out. Peter turned his head, to look. Neal got out, waving his phone, "my phone just died, I think they used an EMP."
Peter looked at the boat, its lights were still on. Their target revved it up, and cut through the storm over the water. Peter swore.
Neal reached them, limping heavily as he tried to move fast, "I didn't get through before the phone cut out."
Peter stood up, as Perry finished cuffing the men. The shipwreck wasn't far out, even with the storm, Stenson would reach it soon. Peter looked around. The party had continued unabated on the tallship. The wind was coming from the harbor, it would be easy to get out…
"Neal, come with me. Reyes, Perry, put those men in the back of my car, and one of you go for help. Let them know we're going after Stenson."
Neal did not have an easy time making it down the docks, the uneven boards and large gaps made for treacherous footing, even if it had been light out. Peter ended up holding him around the waist, as they hurried to the tallship. When they reached it, Neal sat down on a crate, while Peter stood at the bottom of the walkway.
"FBI," called Peter, "I need to commandeer this ship."
A gaggle of drunk college students appeared at the rail. This, thought Peter, was less than ideal.
Once aboard, Peter stared down at the chart belonging to the tallship. He looked around, and pulled out a huge book bound in blue leather with gold lettering. He set it by the compass, and considered them for a moment. The canvas shelter snapped and strained in the wind above them. He looked at Neal, "I think we can get there."
"How?"
Peter looked at the gaggle of rapidly sobering college students, "Do you have a chip on board?"
"Yeah," said one of them, "to show kids."
"Get it. How long is this ship?"
"76 feet."
"Is that overall, or the deck?"
"Overall.
"What about the deck?"
"Fifty-something."
"Fifty-six." said another student.
"Get ready to sail."
"What's a chip, Peter?" asked Neal as the students scrambled, glee in their eyes.
"A piece of wood on a rope."
Neal blinked at him. Then began to smile slightly, "you're enjoying this."
Peter looked back at him, also grinning a bit despite himself, "I'd rather other circumstances, but yes."
A kid ran back up with a triangle of wood tied to a rope with knots in it, and handed it to Peter. Peter handed it to Neal, "this is going to be your job. You're going to have one of them drop it at the front end of the deck, you're going to be at the back end, and you call out how we take to pass it."
"Measuring our speed?"
"Yes."
Peter opened the book.
Neal wished, kneeling on the deck of a creaking, swaying, bucking ship, bitter brine splashing high on the boards, and soaking Neal through the holes at the bottom of the side, that he had taken Peter's extra jacket with him out of the car. He looked up, waiting for the kid to throw the chip again. Peter was standing at the wheel, his trenchcoat flapping around him dramatically in the wind and rain, holding up a compass and staring forward into the storm.
Neal couldn't help but smile a tiny bit, despite his discomfort.
They eventually made it to Peter's best estimate of the location. The boat was there, Stenson was standing on the deck in a scuba suit, trying to get his oxygen tank on. Peter ran to the side of the deck, and yelled down, but he was either ignored or the wind had whipped his voice away into the night.
Neal stood, struggling to reach the older man as the deck bucked and swayed beneath him. He fell, hard onto his right hip. Seawater washed over the deck just as he lifted his head, soaking him, getting in his nose, ears, mouth. Coughing, he shook it out, and tried to get back up. One of the students ran up to him, helped him to his feet.
"Is there a ladder?"
The student nodded, and let go of him, running across the deck and down the steps into the hold. Neal clung to a large barrel to stay upright. The student returned with a ladder made of rope and boards.
Neal pointed to Peter, "he needs that."
The student went to Peter instead, and another student joined them. Neal sat down, before he fell down. He panted, trying hard to get his body under control. The adrenaline helped, but he still had limits, and he was very much hitting them. He finally managed to get back up, and make it to the rail of the ship.
Peter climbed down the rope ladder, and jumped onto the deck. He was clearly shouting, so was Stenson, but Neal couldn't make out a single word. Stenson dove for Peter.
Neal leaned on the rail, watching desperately as Peter wrestled with the man on the deck far below them. He looked around himself, at the two students by the rope ladder, "hey, is there a rope that isn't connected to anything important?"
They pointed to one, "that's just for offloading cargo."
Neal grabbed it, untied it at one end, sat on the rail, and jumped. The rope pulled tight with his feet about six feet above the deck of the smaller vessel, he let go as he swung over the rail, flying into Stenson's back and knocking him flat, landing on top of him in a soggy heap. The pain was immense and immediate. The gun went off, Peter kicked it away. Neal rolled off, and away. Peter was on top of Stenson immediately, cuffing one wrist, dragging him to a pipe, and cuffing him there.
"Did he hit you? Are you hurt?" asked Peter in a panic.
"No," groaned Neal, lying on his face on the deck, in too much pain to move any further.
Peter skidded over to Neal and fell to his knees beside him, carefully turning him over. Neal pushed a cockeyed grin onto his face. Peter shook his head, then leaned down and hugged Neal tight at the shoulders.
"That was so stupid. So dangerous. You could have–"
Neal kissed him to shut him up. Peter blinked down at him, rain dripping into his eyes and off his nose and chin, stunned into silence. Neal heard yelling, and moved his head to look past Peter, at the gaggle of students leaning on the rail. They were cheering and clapping.
He grinned at Peter, "no pictures this time. EMP and all."
"We're not undercover anymore," said Peter, finally.
"I know. I didn't hit my head or anything, I promise."
Peter looked away, then down at Neal again. He seemed about to speak, but Stenson began fighting the cuffs, growling. Peter sighed, "we'll talk about this later."
"Okay."
Peter helped him scoot into the cabin of Stenson's boat, out of the rain. Neal pulled himself up onto a padded bench, and watched Peter get on the radio, alert the Coast Guard of their location and situation. Done with that, he went back outside, and told the students to stay put and keep an eye out for the Coast Guard's arrival.
The storm was beginning to subside, the boat becoming much stiller on the water. Peter fiddled with the controls, and then pointed to the screen of the shielded system. Neal leaned forward, shivering, to look. It was displaying sonar, and a big form under the water.
"That's it, the USS Neptune," said Peter.
"You took us right to it."
Peter nodded, looking pretty damn pleased with himself. Neal couldn't blame him. This had been one for the books. Peter came to sit beside him, putting his arm around Neal's shoulders. Neal leaned into him, for warmth as much as anything. Peter frowned, realizing how cold he was.
"Let's get you back to the other ship, they've gotta have some blankets up there."
Neal and Peter were sitting on the deck of the tallship, Neal's back against Peter's front, Peter's arm around Neal's chest, Peter's back to the wood box the wheel was attached to. Neal listened to the soft creak of the deck, water lapping gently, an occasional thunk or groan as the other ship floated beside theirs. The storm had cleared, leaving an open sky filled with stars, reflected in the mirror-still water so that it looked like they floated suspended in the night.
One of the students had lent Neal dry clothes, sweatpants and a t-shirt. Several scratchy blankets had been piled on top of him as well. Peter was warm behind him, his arm a welcome solid weight on Neal's chest. The students were down on the lower deck, continuing their so adventurously interrupted party even more enthusiastically than before.
"Didn't El explain that I can't? That you're my CI, and-"
"Yes," said Neal, turning his body a bit, and kissing Peter on the cheek, "isn't it about time Diana headed a team?"
Peter blinked at him.
"You're not wrong. I told Hughes she was ready last year, but there haven't been any openings."
"Weren't you fantasizing about that special assignment? The art crimes liaison? You take that, and she leads our team?"
Peter bit his lip. He looked out onto the water, the milky way reflected in the sea like a path of stars leading to infinity.
"Did you or Elizabeth come up with this?"
"It was a joint effort. Some wine was involved."
Peter laughed quietly, but didn't say anything else. He kept staring out at the water.
"Peter?"
"I'll talk to Hughes in the morning."
A Coast Guard ship cut through the night with a search beam. One of the students ran to the side of the ship and waved at them, and dropped a ladder for people to come up. An FBI agent was first, clearing the ship, making a beeline to Neal and Peter once the students pointed them in the right direction. It was Diana.
She stood on the lower deck, looking up at them, "so you two had quite the adventure."
"You could say that," said Peter.
"Where's Stenson?"
"In the brig."
Diana laughed, "there's really a brig on this thing?"
"No," admitted Peter with a laugh. "He's locked in the head."
Diana headed down. Coast Guard, more FBI agents, and two very frazzled professors boarded after.
"I gotta get up," said Peter, regretfully.
"Yeah," said Neal, keeping his disappointment out of his voice.
Peter gently eased out from behind him, and hopped down to the lower deck. He turned back and looked up at Neal, as Neal scooted back to lean on the box himself.
Neal smiled at him, big.
Peter nodded, and went to join Diana in dragging Stenson out of the hold.
The next morning Peter came downstairs after sleeping in, to find El and Neal on the couch, talking quietly. Neal looked absolutely wrecked, pale, using both hands to cup a coffee mug.
"You're staying home, and resting," ordered Peter.
Neal shrugged, stiffly, "not going to get a complaint out of me."
Peter nodded. He looked at El. She was absolutely beaming, her hand on Neal's left knee. Peter smiled awkwardly at her.
She patted Neal's leg gently, and got up, walking to give Peter a hug and a quick kiss, "so you two had quite the night."
"We did," agreed Peter.
"Neal says you're talking to Hughes today?"
"Yeah."
She smiled, "tell Diana congratulations from me."
Peter nodded, "I don't know if Hughes will say yes, yet. Or if the art crimes liaison is even still open."
"It is," said Elizabeth.
"They offered it to Agent Whitaker," said Peter, slowly.
"And Agent Whitaker got a surprise offer from Sterling Bosh last week, so she turned it down the liaison position to go private," said El, a mischievous glint in her eyes, "it was a very* nice offer."
Peter looked past her at Neal, who sipped his coffee to hide his grin. Peter looked back at El, "were you two planning to tell me any of this, or just mastermind it behind my back?"
"She didn't want to get your hopes up," said Neal. "We didn't know if Agent Whittaker would take the job offer."
"How did you...nevermind. I don't want to know."
Elizabeth kissed him, patted his shoulder, "now go talk to Hughes."
Peter met Neal's eyes, Neal smiled. Peter nodded, kissed El on the cheek, and headed out the door.
Peter walked up to Hughes's office, sweating. He knocked, Hughes looked up, and beckoned him in.
"Agent Burke," said Hughes, pleasantly.
"You remember that I recommended Agent Barrigan for promotion last year?"
Hughes nodded, "I've kept an eye out for an opening for her, but it just hasn't happened yet. I agree she's more than ready."
"What if she took over my team?"
Hughes raised his eyebrows, "and you would…?"
Peter put the art crimes liaison job description on his desk. Hughes picked it up. He read it over, and looked up at Peter, "I see no problem with this. It is a pay cut, more travel…"
Peter nodded, "I know, but less mortgage fraud."
Hughes laughed a little, "I can see that. Have you talked to Diana?"
"Not yet."
"She would be supervising Caffrey. Make sure she is okay with that, and I'll make it happen."
Peter nodded, "thank you, sir."
"Peter," said Hughes, as Peter turned to go.
"Yes?"
"Is everything okay at home? I'm just surprised you'd take more time away from Elizabeth."
"Everything is great at home, actually."
Hughes nodded, "okay, let me know if Agent Barrigan is okay with it."
Peter nodded, and walked back down the steps into the bullpen. Diana was at her desk, Jones was standing next to her, looking at something on her computer.
Peter walked up to them, "can I talk to Diana for a minute, in private?"
Jones nodded, "sure, but you'll want to see this, too."
Peter looked at the screen. It was footage of underwater divers, just beginning to enter the sunken ship.
Peter bit his lip. The transfer would mean not finishing out this mystery. He looked across to Neal's desk, and then back at the footage. It wasn't like Neal wouldn't keep him updated.
"Great, can't wait to see what they find."
Jones walked away. Peter looked at Diana. She raised her eyebrows at him.
"How would you like to be the new head of our team?"
She stared at him, "are you joking?"
"No."
"I...yes. Of course, yes."
"It means you would be in charge of Caffrey. So think about it for-"
She shook her head, "yes. I can more than handle Caffrey."
"Okay. I'll tell Hughes."
"Boss...why? What are you gonna do?"
He sighed. It was one thing to tell Hughes half the truth, but Diana…
"Art crimes liaison to Interpol. And as for why…"
There was no going back. If he said it, it was done.
"It's Neal, isn't it?"
He started. She grinned at him, "I'm not an idiot. I've seen the way you've been looking at each other. And even if I hadn't, those college students were talking non stop about how Stenson was taken down."
Peter groaned, "they saw…"
"They saw you two kiss, yeah."
Peter deflated, relief flooding him. No more tension. Just a clear path.
"Yeah, because of Neal."
"What about Elizabeth?"
"It's mutual. All the way around."
Diana smiled, "that's great, Peter."
"I want you to know, though, I put in for you to be promoted over a year ago. That part has nothing to do with my feelings for Neal."
"I know. Hughes told me about eight months ago that I could transfer back to DC and lead a team there. But it's a lot more supportive here. Not to mention Christie already moved twice for my career."
"He didn't tell me…you turned it down?"
She smiled at him, "being a Black, openly gay woman in the FBI hasn't always been easy, but you had my back from the start."
Peter put his hand on her shoulder, "I'm proud of you, Diana. You're gonna do amazing."
"You bet I am."
He chuckled, squeezed her shoulder, and let go.
"Now if you'll excuse me, Jones owes me some money on a bet."
Peter laughed out loud.
Peter walked into his house, hung up his coat, and turned to face the living room. Neither El nor Neal were there.
"In here, honey," called Elizabeth from the dining room. Peter walked in. There were three places set, candles, a bottle of red wine open, a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. Satchmo slept in a bed in the corner. Neal was sitting at one of the places, El was standing behind him. She walked to Peter, took his hand, and drew him over to the table next to Neal. She kissed him, kissed Neal, and looked at him expectantly. Neal looked up at Peter, the slightest bit of anxiety on his face, "did it go okay?"
Peter put one hand on the table and leaned down, touching Neal's chin with his fingers, and kissed him, gently at first, and then deeper as Neal pulled him in by his tie.
He came up for air, face flushed, lips tingling. Neal and Elizabeth both had huge grins on their faces.
"Yeah, said Peter, his voice slightly husky, "it all worked out."
