January

Peter's phone buzzed with a text from Jones.

Peter headed to Diana's office. She wasn't there, but Jones and Neal were. Neal was on the small sofa, leaning against the arm of the couch in his undershirt, arguing. Jones stood over him, arms crossed, ignoring his protests.

Jones looked up when Peter entered, "Peter."

"You told him?" Whined Neal.

"What's happening?" Asked Peter, though he felt he knew at least partially.

"He passed out."

"I did not," protested Neal.

"So you meant to smash your face on the desk?"

Neal didn't have a response for that.

"Neal, do we need to go to the hospital?" Asked Peter.

"No!" barked Neal, sitting up more, "I'm fine."

Peter walked closer. Neal had the traces of a nosebleed at the edges of his nostrils, and there was blood on Diana's blotter. His shirt was hanging on the back of the wheelchair, wet, like it had been rinsed out, but there were still faint blood stains down the front.

Jones looked at Peter, "I went for coffee and when I came back he was on the floor bleeding."

"I just tried to reach a file and I fell," said Neal, sheepishly, gesturing to Diana's bookcase beside the desk.

Peter sighed.

"Don't make me go home," begged Neal, "El's at work and I'm so bored."

"That's up to Diana," said Peter.

"What's up to me?" Asked Diana, coming in with a fresh stack of cases from Hughes. She took in Neal's state, the blood on her desk, and the possessive way Jones was standing over Neal.

"What happened?" Asked Diana.

"I stood up to get a file," said Neal, "it didn't work. That's all. I'm fine."

"I found him on the floor covered in blood."

"There's nothing wrong that going home or going to a doctor could fix," clarified Neal.

Diana looked between Jones, still clearly shaken, some of Neal's blood on his sleeve, and Neal, who did seem essentially fine, if embarrassed and frustrated.

"Jones, get one of the probies. Maybe...Agent Perry."

Jones nodded and left, somewhat reluctantly. Diana looked sternly down at Neal, "when he comes back, you're going to apologize for scaring him. And from now on if you need something, a record, a file, whatever, that you can't reach, you'll call a probie. If you do those things you can stay."

Neal blinked at her, about to argue, but seemed to realize he wasn't going to win.

"Okay," he mumbled.

Jones returned with a young blond man, who looked around the room in confusion, "am I in trouble? Is this about the jelly?"

Diana snorted, "yes, it's about the grape jelly you had smeared on both your most recent reports. No you're not in trouble. You're just going to learn how often we rely on those documents and how fun it is when they smell like old food. Every time Caffrey needs a document, you'll be getting it. Understood?"

Agent Perry nodded, shamefaced.

"Okay. Dismissed."

He walked out. Both Neal and Jones seemed deeply amused, and much calmer.

Neal looked at Jones, "I'm sorry. That had to be scary to walk in on."

Jones shrugged, "it's okay. Just don't do it again."

Neal gave him a cockeyed grin.

Peter was impressed. Diana had managed to sort everything so smoothly, and had more than handled a frustrated Neal.

"Okay, I'm going to go put ice on my nose," said Neal, "gotta take care of all the assets at my disposal."

Peter snorted, and reached to move the wheelchair close but Jones was already there, glaring at Neal, daring him to protest Jones standing right there while he went from sofa to wheelchair. Neal would have shaken Peter off if he'd been that insistent, but possibly actually feeling bad for scaring Jones, he just let out a dramatic sigh and let it happen.


When they got home, El was still out setting up decorations for a wedding the next morning. Neal decided to shower to clear the rest of the dried blood from his nasal cavities. He made it up the steps with Peter, but he was basically not putting weight down on the left at all. He sat down on the bench just inside the bathroom, and Peter went back down and came back up with the wheelchair. Neal took his well fitted sweater off, and leaned down to take off his socks. Peter leaned on the bathroom cabinet, watching him. Neal looked up, and giggled, "this isn't a strip tease."

Peter chuckled, "no?"

"The least you could do is reciprocate."

Peter laughed, and started undoing his shirt buttons. Once they had finished divesting their garments, Neal went over to the shower. He popped from the chair to the shower seat, and turned the shower on, pointed at the wall, waiting for it to get warm. Peter got into the shower too, and closed the door.

The water started to get hot enough to make steam, Neal checked the temperature, and turned it down very slightly. Peter chuckled. Neal always wanted to practically boil his skin off, while Peter preferred it a little cooler. Peter moved the showerhead to spray on both of them, and got the shampoo. He plopped a bit on his own head, and then turned to Neal. Neal smiled at him, for once completely genuinely. He leaned back against the wall, as Peter massaged the shampoo into Neal's hair, getting out the significant amount of product he used.

Neal closed his eyes, body relaxing, as warmth soothed pain and Peter's touch soothed his stress. Peter, done working the shampoo in, slid one hand down to rest on Neal's shoulder, giving him a little massage, as he used the other hand to quickly sudz up his own short hair.

Peter and Neal rinsed their own hair, and Peter got the conditioner. Neal pulled down on his arm, he knelt in front of Neal, and Neal rubbed the conditioner into Peter's hair. He used his perfectly kept fingernails to scratch a little as well. Then he gently smoothed Peter's hair back with both hands for the conditioner to sit. Peter had not used conditioner until he had showered with Neal. Neal insisted. Peter didn't complain.

Peter got the body wash and gave Neal some, and himself some. Neal slid his hands over Peter, while Peter's hands slid over his shoulders, neck, back, washing and massaging. Neal leaned his face into Peter's belly, a little squish over solid muscles, closed his eyes, and relaxed.


Later that night, Peter, Neal, and El were laying together in the living room bed, curtains closed around them. Neal was in the middle, sitting up with his back to the wall, sketching. Peter was on his laptop typing and Elizabeth was listening to an audio book. Peter was in his boxers and a T-shirt, Elizabeth was in a silk nightgown with a robe open over it. It had been a gift from Neal and Peter had not a single complaint. Neal was in a pair of Peter's sweatpants, and no shirt. Neal was also covered by a heated blanket, Elizabeth had her legs under it, tucked against Neal's. Peter laid on top, though he was considering getting under it, he wasn't cold but it would facilitate cuddling.

Neal put down his pencil on his belly, and stretched his right hand open and closed. Elizabeth was on that side, she reached up and pulled his hand, kissing his palm and then pulling down to lay over the blanket. She gently massaged his hand. He sighed, closing his eyes gratefully. After a moment he picked up the pencil with his left hand and kept drawing. When that hand got tired Peter put his laptop on the couch, next to where Satchmo was snoozing, and traded off, warming Neal's hand and gently squeezing it between his bigger ones. Neal gazed at him for a long moment, a deep sort of tiredness in his eyes.

"What's up?" Asked Peter.

Neal sighed, "that thing today, with Jones…"

"Yeah."

Elizabeth pulled her headphone down and paused her audiobook,"something happened with Jones?"

Peter and Neal looked at each other and before Peter could say anything, Neal quickly said, "I miscalculated and fell. I was fine, but it scared Jones."

Elizabeth stared at him, waiting.

"And…"

"And he bonked his nose and there was blood everywhere. But he really was fine."

"Jones saw this happen?"

"No, he came in right after it happened, I was on the floor. I was getting up but he understandably thought it was a lot worse than it was."

"I can see why," said Elizabeth, you're sure you're okay, you didn't hit your head?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay. Well, tell me if you get a headache or anything."

Neal smiled, "I never have a headache when I'm in bed with you."

Peter chuckled.

The doorbell rang. All three of them groaned. Peter, the most dressed, went to the door. He looked through the peephole and sighed, backing up to signal to the other two that they might want more clothes on.

Elizabeth wrapped the robe around herself, and pulled the blanket up to her waist. Neal seemed to remain unconcerned, which tracked.

Peter opened the door, and in came Mozzie, "I went to his apartment, June said he hasn't been there for over a month, but you have."

"He's right here," said Peter, annoyed, and gestured to the bed. Mozzie stopped, stared for a moment, and then continued forward, sitting on the armchair.

"Neal, I need to talk to you. Alone."

Peter sighed. Neal stared up at Mozzie, then looked at Elizabeth, then back at Mozzie, "really? It's Elizabeth."

"Mrs. Suit."

Neal sighed, "okay, whatever."

El got out of the bed, and she and Peter reluctantly walked out into the dining room.

"I can't believe him," said Peter.

"Well, I think it's good. When are you most worried about Neal?"

Peter let out a little laugh, "when he's not causing any trouble."

Elizabeth nodded, and patted his chest, "so why worry?"

"Mozzie just isn't the best influence."

"No, but he does care about Neal."

"Yes," agreed Peter, grudgingly.

After maybe ten minutes Neal called for them to come back. Mozzie was still there, standing awkwardly by the door.

"Tell them, Mozzie," directed Neal, still seated on the bed.

Mozzie fidgeted, but then sighed, and relented, "an associate of mine may be in danger. I need Neal's help."

Neal threw his pencil lightly at Mozzie's leg. Mozzie grumbled, but added, "and the FBI's."

Peter looked at Elizabeth, she patted his arm, "I'll make coffee."

Peter and Neal both watched her go, then looked back at Mozzie, Peter with an annoyed look on his face, Neal annoyed and tired.

"What?" Asked Mozzie.

"Start talking," demanded Peter.

"That tone is more threatening when you're wearing pants," said Mozzie.

Peter glared down at the bald man.