Written for day #7 of domaystic 2022, "nothing in the fridge." Good thing I'm not on a schedule!


Working Dinner

Cheride

"You need a hobby," Neal said as he watched Peter stuff his briefcase full of blue file folders and scribbled notepads.

"I'm doing just fine, thank you very much." When the briefcase wouldn't close tight enough to latch properly, Peter lifted the lid again and snagged the top three folders. "Take these, would ya?"

Neal shook his head with a grimace, but he took the files without comment and waited for Peter to finish gathering the work that would consume their weekend.

Finally seeming satisfied, the agent slipped into the jacket he'd slung over the back of the chair, grabbed his briefcase and left the office, with Neal following behind into the bullpen. They paused at Neal's desk for his things.

As Neal slid the case files into his unusually full messenger bag, he caught Peter's curious look. Except on Peter, curiosity about anything related to Neal typically looked more like suspicion.

"What?"

"Should I be worried you've apparently begun bringing a go-bag to work?"

Neal thought about trying to rile Peter up a little—put on his best conman smile, throw around a few "hypotheticallys" and sneaky sounding answers, watch Peter's eye twitch. That was usually good for a little fun, but it was late and they were both tired, which meant Peter's actual suspicion would be too close to the surface for joking. He opted for an honest answer instead.

"It's not a go-bag; it's an overnight bag. Just a few necessities."

"What's the difference?"

This time, Neal couldn't help himself. "About ten grand and a phony passport."

Peter even rewarded him with a tiny bit of an eye twitch, which made Neal laugh. But the other man didn't look amused.

"Oh, come on, Peter. What do you think this is? It's already after seven, and you've collected more work than we could possibly do in a week, much less during this 'working dinner' you're dragging me to."

"You complaining about working late?"

"Not at all," Neal assured him. "But if I wake up one more time in your guest room without a clean shirt and a fresh pair of boxers, I will be complaining."

"So you're very deliberately not complaining while trying to say that I monopolize your weekends."

Neal sighed as he led the way to the elevator. "You're not seriously complaining that I'm not only not complaining, but am willing and prepared for you to monopolize my weekend?" He jabbed at the button to take them to the parking garage.

"You make me sound like some kind of ogre of a boss."

Neal laughed lightly at the sulkiness. "You're a lot of things, Peter, but a bad boss isn't one of them. That's just your guilt talking. But listen, this isn't my first rodeo. I know how you get when Elizabeth is out of town, and since it's halfway through her month-long trip, you're right on schedule to move from standard workaholic to overachieving factotum. I heard you talking to Jones this week about maybe rearranging the bullpen." He rolled his eyes. "Trust me, even if that briefcase of yours is filled with decades-old mortgage fraud, I'd rather be doing that on your comfortable couch with a nice glass of wine than up here doing manual labor just because you're bored. I am absolutely not complaining."

As they tossed their bags into the backseat, Neal threw a pointed look across the top of the car toward his handler. "But I still say you need a hobby." He smiled sweetly as Peter glared back for a moment, then climbed into the car.

Settling in for the drive to Brooklyn, Neal passed the time quietly watching the world go by through the window. The only upside to leaving the office so late was not having to deal with rush hour; Peter was erratic enough behind the wheel without the added frustration of sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic.

And he honestly wasn't complaining about a working weekend. He always tried to be around more when Elizabeth was away, though Peter had rebuffed several of his offers to hang out this week. The gruff, tough FBI agent didn't like to admit he didn't enjoy rattling around the house without his wife, but Neal knew better, and Peter's mood had been slowly deteriorating. Besides, El had texted just this morning to say she was getting worried and ask if Neal would please keep an eye on Peter over the weekend. Peter deciding to take home an enormous stack of work and "inviting" his consultant to dinner just meant Neal didn't have to invent a way to insert himself into the man's plans. So no, he really wasn't complaining at all.

But Peter didn't need to know that.

He snapped the radio on, looking for some kind of dance music, or opera, or maybe NPR would have a show about art, anything that would make Peter roll his eyes, maybe even slap his hand away. He thought pestering the guy was at least as much a part of his job as criminal insight and redundant paperwork, maybe more.

Peter didn't disappoint, and quickly turned off the radio with a quietly growled, "Keep your hands to yourself."

Neal kept his grin to himself, too.

The silence was comfortable, but Neal didn't let it last too long. "At least I'll get some of Elizabeth's cooking out of this deal. What kind of scrumptiousness did she leave for you this time?"

But Peter shook his head. "She got called away unexpectedly to take over an event that was in trouble, so she didn't have time to put much together. The stuff she left is long gone."

"So when you invited me for a working dinner, you meant my work would actually start with the dinner."

"Of course not." He gestured through the windshield at the upcoming block featuring golden arches, pigtailed redheads, and smiling southern gentlemen. "Thought we'd stop and pick up burgers or something."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Is that what you've been doing this week? No wonder you've been so cranky. I'll cook."

"Nah. I haven't had a chance to get to the market. Carryout is easier. And I haven't been cranky."

"Really, I don't mind, and I'm sure there's something at your place I can turn into a meal. Elizabeth wouldn't leave you to starve. And she'd never forgive either one of us if you turn into a junk food junkie while she's away. I don't want to listen to her worrying about your eating habits, or listen to you whining when she puts you on some kind of clean diet. I'll cook."

"Well, since you're the boss," Peter grumbled sarcastically. "But don't say I didn't warn you about the grocery situation."

"If your cupboards are really all that bare, we'll call out for pizza or something, but I'm sure you're exaggerating."

Twenty minutes later, Neal was staring forlornly into the refrigerator. "Man, you really weren't exaggerating."

Peter's answering huff was less 'I told you so' than Neal would've expected, but still sounded pretty self-satisfied.

Neal cataloged one egg, a block of cheddar cheese, the remnants of a gallon of milk, one half of a grilled chicken breast, and some lettuce and green onions that had seen better days but probably wouldn't kill anyone. Mayonnaise, two kinds of mustard, a couple sticks of butter, and one can of beer rounded out the collection.

The pantry and cupboards were better stocked. Besides flour, sugar, and other basic staples, there were plenty of canned veggies, some cooking broth, a pack of spaghetti, a few potatoes that weren't quite sprouting yet, and half a loaf of sourdough bread. Even a few cans of soups and stews. Oh, and an entire cabinet of spices. Peter wouldn't starve, but he still clearly thought stopping for a greasy bag of burgers was easier than opening a can of soup, much less trying to throw a few items together to make a meal. Neal supposed he shouldn't be surprised by that.

"Ready to call for that pizza now?" Peter was almost gloating, though Neal was certain he should've been at least a little embarrassed about the state of his kitchen and his patent inability to be a culinary adult.

"Seriously, Peter, this has me more worried about Elizabeth than you. It's not like her to leave you to fend for yourself. Just how quickly did she have to leave?"

"Hey! I know how to take care of things, you know."

"Clearly."

After an expectant and all too knowing look from Neal, Peter finally came clean. "She placed an order for grocery delivery before she left, but I wasn't going to be home in time, so I canceled it."

"You're hopeless. There's been absolutely nothing going on lately that required you to work late. Just admit you don't like being home alone. Or cooking. And that you'd rather work yourself—and me—to a state of exhaustion and then live off takeout to avoid it all."

"Fine. So I love my wife and I miss her. It's not a crime."

"No," Neal agreed with a fond smile, "it isn't. We just need to work on helping you understand you can take care of yourself even while you miss her."

"Yeah, yeah. So. Pizza?"

Neal shook his head. "No pizza. This isn't ideal, but it's workable. You take Satch for his walk and I'll put something together. Give me about an hour."

Peter looked at him skeptically, but he gathered the leash and his dog and disappeared out the door, barely grumbling at all.

Running through a mental checklist, Neal came up with a plan and got to work. First, he started a pot of water to boil, then peeled the potatoes, cubed them, and tossed them into the slow cooker. Soup would take too long for tonight, but it would give them a head start for lunch tomorrow.

While he was waiting for the water to boil, he shredded the cheese, sliced the chicken, and chopped the onions, then once the spaghetti was cooking, he grabbed the peanut butter and started rummaging through El's spice cabinet, weighing his options. Soy sauce, garlic powder, ginger, sesame seeds. He was probably missing a few things, but he could make it work.

Fifty-five minutes later, Peter strolled back in, looking infinitely more relaxed, carrying a six-pack and a bottle of wine.

Neal looked up with a grin. "Can't get groceries, but I see where your priorities lie."

"You were on my priority list, too," Peter answered, holding up the bottle as proof.

"A cork and everything. I'm impressed."

Peter laughed and placed the bottle on the table before putting the beer in the fridge and grabbing the one well-chilled can.

"And your timing is perfect. Go ahead and sit down."

Before taking his place at the table, Peter snagged a couple of file folders from his briefcase and situated them for easy access. Neal shook his head with an indulgent roll of his eyes as he put a couple of plates onto the tabletop before taking his place across from Peter. He poured a glass of wine, sniffing hesitantly as Peter examined the food before him.

"This actually looks good," Peter told him.

"Don't sound so surprised. You forget I'm the kitchen-capable one in this partnership. Pot roast notwithstanding, of course."

Lowering his face slightly closer to the warmth and aroma, Peter said, "Smells good, too. What is it?"

"Basically grilled cheese with chicken, and sesame noodles. I had to improvise a bit with the sauce and seasonings, but I think it's okay. And I can almost guarantee it's better than the burgers you were after."

Peter took a bite of the sandwich, nodded encouragingly, then shoveled in some noodles, and then more noodles still. "It's better than okay," he said thickly.

Neal chuckled. "Slow down there, Butch; no one's going to take it away from you." He began his own meal more sedately, and decided it wasn't too bad, if he did say so himself.

They ate in silence for a few minutes until Neal saw Peter casting more frequent glances toward the file folders, like he was trying to decide just how long he had to wait to prove he really wasn't some kind of unbearable taskmaster.

This time, Neal managed to control his eye roll, but the amused fondness was harder to hide. "Go ahead," he said with a small smile. "Tell me about the first ne'er-do-well in your crosshairs."

Looking almost gleeful, Peter opened up the folder labeled Aiden Barker, but Neal stopped him before he could start reading out the particulars.

"But, Peter, tomorrow . . ."

Peter looked up from the file uncertainly. "Yeah?"

"I may not be able to find you a hobby, but I'm definitely teaching you how to grocery shop."

~END~


Hope you enjoyed it; thanks for reading!