A/N A prompt fill for a request asking for a fic of Neal being truly afraid and Peter being there for him. Mentions of sexual assault but NO rape— don't worry this is not a depressing story.
A fill for a prompt from an anon on Tumblr who asks: "Could you maybe write a fic about Neal having to unexpectedly face one of his fears - maybe something Peter didn't know about? I'd love to see Neal actually frightened by something and Peter being there."
Here you are my friend, I know it is perhaps a bit more serious than I first expected but I hope you will enjoy it anyway.
Disclaimer: I did write most of this while I had COVID-19 so if it's not up to my usual standards kindly forgive me. It's also the reason it took me so incredibly long to fill this prompt. But here it is at last anon.
"It's ridiculous how often El asks to borrow you, you'd think she thinks this work release is for her." Peter grumbled as they traveled somewhat slowly through Wednesday morning rush hour traffic.
"Why, what did she want?" Neal asked with a wide grin as Peter rolled his eyes at how obviously flattered his CI was.
"Oh, I don't know, Yvonne's out sick and she's got a very large event to prepare for at the—some exclusive gallery I don't remember." Neal looked excited,
"I would be happy to help her you know, if you want to give me the day..."
"Yeah, I knew you would say that and the answer is no. We have to go check out a body that just appeared on the Rockmore case—Organized Crime just linked it to their investigation which makes this thing a whole lot more complicated." Neal sulked.
"Wow, I would way rather be with El."
"Cowboy up, you're out of prison to solve crime not do wedding cake tastings."
WCWCWCWCWC
It was the tattoo that had done it, Peter recalled as he looked back on the moment. The scene was crawling with agents as Peter hashed out the situation with Ruiz over the body. It was always a headache when two separate investigations linked, leaving somewhat of a turf war over who would lead. Eventually Ruiz agreed with the rather obvious fact that the White Collar angle was currently a more promising 'in' to take down the gang.
"We'd like to send Caffrey in on this one," Peter said, trying to keep his expression professional as Ruiz agreed a little too readily to send in the conman instead of one of his agents to a fairly dangerous op. "Caffrey!" Neal looked over,
"Yeah?" He glanced back at the dead body as if somewhat afraid that it might grab him if he wasn't looking at it and then back at Peter.
"You good to go under on this one?"
"Sure." Neal brightened as he always did when the FBI admitted they needed his help, before his smile slipped away and he edged further from the body, looking slightly green.
But it was only when they lifted the sleeve of the victim's arm and noted the tattoo on his bicep that Neal had stopped doing his nervous 'I really don't like dead bodies' shuffle and had gone still. Very still and very very quiet.
Peter had noticed it at the time, force of habit he supposed, he noticed most things when Neal acted sketchy, but there was a dead body that had turned up on their case for heavens sakes and he didn't have the brain space to think about it at the time.
Later on, he really wished he'd taken the time anyway.
It was the fumbling that Peter noticed first.
Neal always moved with a sort of grace to his movements, a quality that stemmed from years of painstaking precision in creating great works of art and preforming incredible feats of daring and gymnastics. He did everything with a nimble ease that, while it wasn't a trait as recognizable as his confident stride, was still something Peter had noticed after working with him for a while.
And yet—as Peter handed Neal the small listening device as he always did before an undercover operation—Neal fumbled and nearly dropped it. Sure, it wasn't the most major cause for alarm on the 'something's-wrong-with-Neal-meter', Neal had an inelegant moment or two once in a while, but it was...unusual.
Jones just huffed a laugh at Neal's uncharacteristic moment of clumsiness and turned back to the monitor but Peter felt a vague pit of unease form in his stomach. He watched Neal closely as the CI painstakingly taped the listening device into place with more concentration than usual.
Peter could understand a case of nerves before an undercover operation from most of his agents but if Neal felt nervous before an op he rarely showed it in any way except acting even more relaxed. He protected weakness with a show of strength and the more tense the situation the more cool the conman appeared. Yet small tells of unease were uncharacteristically visible this time, as Peter picked them out, perturbed.
Something was definitely up with Neal.
After about three minutes of watching, Peter had had enough and reached out a hand gently toward Neal's shoulder. He was intending to try and relax his friend, wordlessly reassure him as he occasionally did, but as his hand touched Neal's body the younger man flinched—full bodied and violently.
Neal physically recoiled away for a moment, acting on instinct and turning as if facing a threat, his eyes blown wide as he met Peter's startled gaze. The entire interaction lasted perhaps a few moments but the following seconds seemed more like minutes as Peter stared at his CI in shock. Jones and Diana were looking as well, eyes wide.
It wasn't that the flinch was so very violent or that Neal had really even moved much at all, but simply the fact that it was Neal Caffrey who had flinched.
And then Neal was grinning and straightening and murmuring an embarrassed apology and looking very much as if he hoped Peter would ignore the whole thing entirely, only the smile that he wore was a horribly cobbled together thing with something that was quite the opposite of joy in his eyes and Peter had felt something in that brief touch and every sense in the agent's body was screaming at him not to let it go.
Peter was not Neal when it came to reading people but he was an FBI agent and he was quickly cataloguing the signs, the bodily responses that even the best of cons couldn't repress. Gently, slowly, making careful eye contact he reached out again and took Neal's hand in his own and his stomach clenched into a tight knot.
Neal was trembling.
It was that feeling, of Neal's hand, ice cold and trembling in Peter's own, that snapped the pieces together.
Neal was...frightened.
Neal, who had stared down the barrels of guns, who had pulled off some of the gutsiest heists Peter had ever seen or heard of, who had gambled with millions, lived four years in a supermax prison—was desperately trying to hide the fact that he was shaking with fear.
It was so completely out of character, so utterly unlike any way Peter had ever seen Neal react to any situation, even far more dangerous ones, that Peter felt his mouth go dry.
"Jones, Diana, out of the van." Peter's voice was quietly authoritative and the agents nodded, silently stepping out, leaving the agent and his CI alone. Neal tried to extract his shaking hand from Peter's but Peter just held it tightly and gently took the other one as well. Changing his grasp slightly he wrapped his fingers around Neal's wrists, his fingers feeling in a key spot as his lips thinned and his jaw tightened slightly.
A con man could control many things about his body in a fear-inducing situation; he could put on an expression of ease, could fight against the instinct to curl in on oneself when in danger, could regulate breathing from harsh and gasping to slow and calm.
But even the best conmen couldn't control everything. Not even Neal Caffrey could control the wide eyes, the natural trembling...or the wildly beating pulse.
Peter was silent for a few moments before he spoke, deliberately keeping his voice gentle.
"Care to tell me why your heart is trying to beat out of your chest right now, partner?" He purposely used the affectionate nickname, his eyes gently seeking out Neal's elusive ones, trying desperately to communicate— you're not in trouble, please just tell me what's wrong.
He was relived that Neal was apparently smart enough to realize he wouldn't get away with his usual 'I'm fine' but the con tried the next best thing.
"It's nothing Peter."
Peter took a moment to draw in a breath, determined not to get upset. The last thing Neal needed right now while looking so pale and desperate was someone yelling at him.
"Neal, I'm already pulling you out of this op no matter what you say. I'm not putting you out there." Neal didn't even argue this point at all but seemed to relax very slightly at the words. Peter kept his voice gentle, "What's different about this op from all the other ones?"
Neal just looked down and didn't answer. Peter pulled in a breath, tempted to reach a hand over to Neal's painfully slumped shoulders but remembering what had happened only minutes before.
"Alright." He said quietly, "We'll send someone else in. We still need your expertise but you'll stay here with me in the van." Neal just nodded, avoiding Peter's eyes.
Peter called in the situation and prepped Jones to go under instead, thanking heaven that it was not a complicated op though it was a bit dangerous.
The meet went smoothly and Neal kept the situation well in hand, calmly feeding Jones the information he needed to know, but Peter didn't fail to notice the continuing signs of Neal's discomfort. The shoulders held stiffly before being consciously relaxed, the heavy breathing that was intentionally controlled, the hands shoved deep into Neal's pockets, barely allowed out.
As the meet finally wrapped up, Neal's shoulders slumped and as soon as it was safe he all but scrambled out of the van with a murmured excuse. Diana stood on instinct to follow him but Peter waved her down,
"I'll go after him."
Peter got out of the van, blinking in the brightness of late afternoon and wondering how exactly he should deal with this disquieting situation. In the back of his mind was a question that he batted away,
If there was something that scared Neal this badly, did he, Peter, even want to know about it?
Neal wasn't far off, to Peter's relief. He was standing just inside an alleyway nearby holding his hand up and looking at it distantly, almost as he would a strange object or a piece of art he didn't particularly like. Peter could see as he walked closer, Neal was shaking again.
Peter came up to him quietly and stood silent. Neal spoke first, more to himself than anything else.
"What kind of conman am I if I let myself fall apart because of a freaking tattoo?"
A tattoo. That was when Peter remembered the body earlier that morning. That was when he began to wish he'd taken the time to wonder at Neal's strange reaction to it. But now wasn't time to ask, now was a time to answer the question that Neal had asked.
"A human one. I know you try to avoid that a lot Neal, but you're still human even if you try not to be." Neal gave a ghost of a smile that quickly faded.
"It's still pathetic."
"No, it's not." Peter reproved gently. He paused, "You...wanna tell me about it?" Neal finally lowered his hand, shoving it almost viciously into his pocket.
"You're gonna think it's worse than it is considering—" he gestured vaguely. "I don't even know why this is happening, it's not even like—"
"Neal." Peter cut him off softly and Neal sighed.
"This gang that we're investigating? They had a few members in Sing Sing. They were pretty powerful and liked people to know it." His hands were out of his pockets again, his right hand playing nervously with the fingers of his left. "Those tattoos...they all had them. I recognized it on the body this morning."
"The tattoos..."
"They're the most vivid thing I remember about them."
Peter felt a sickened pit began to form in his stomach,
"Did they hurt you?" His voice was rough and his stomach lurched as Neal avoided his gaze and didn't answer which in itself was answer enough. Peter wasn't sure if he had the courage to ask the question that was begging to be asked but tried anyway, "Neal did they—" his voice choked off and Neal finally looked up.
"No." Neal's voice was quiet, "No, they didn't." But almost was the unspoken look in Neal's eye.
Still Peter felt like he could breathe again at the words, his lungs released from some sort of iron grasp.
"When you saw the body..."
"I knew it was the same gang, I heard Ruiz taking about it, but it's those damn tattoos that—" Neal broke off and Peter nodded in understanding, his heart twisting.
Neal had been about to be sent into a situation with dozens of men wearing the same symbol that identified what was clearly one of his worst, most shameful and helpless memories—it was no wonder he'd reacted severely. Peter was surprised he had managed as well as he did—though of course this was Neal Caffrey they were talking about.
But Neal still wasn't alright, not really. His feet shuffled back and forth, his gaze stayed steadfastly stuck to the broken pavement of the alley, his hands were back, firmly, in his pockets though Peter could see the slight tremor traveling up his arm.
Peter already hated thinking of Neal in prison enough, it wasn't as if he didn't know about the dangers but to hear that something really had happened to his gentle, sweet, young CI in the place Peter had put him—Peter knew he'd be having a new nightmare now and this one all the worse for being based on reality.
Peter could see it in his minds eye, Neal being cornered in some dangerously remote spot of the prison, three or four members of the gang leering at him as they overpowered him. He would have been able to see little as they pinned him down, tore at his clothes, perhaps nothing beyond a tattoo on a muscled bicep. But he'd be able to hear the cruel taunts, smell the stink of the sweaty men, taste a trickle of blood in his mouth, and flinch helplessly away from their hands.
Perhaps a guard had stumbled upon them in time, perhaps the men only wanted to demonstrate their ability to do whatever they wanted, and in the end no lasting harm had been done—at least nothing physical. But there were scars that remained that it seemed even Neal hadn't realize were there.
Peter wanted to throw up as he thought of it, but he turned toward Neal instead, hurting with the knowledge of how much more the real memory must sicken his friend.
Peter's protective instinct was in overdrive as he watched his younger partner still breathing carefully, trying not to think about what had happened or what could have happened that day, and heart wrenchingly trying to keep up his usual cool, unaffected mask, failing so piteously.
This time Peter moved slowly and obviously toward him, not wanting to make the same mistake as last time and startled his friend as he pulled Neal against him. Neal accepted the embrace easily this time, though after the usual amount of time began to pull back as though he expected Peter to let go. But Peter could feel Neal's heart pounding against his chest, the tension that still ran through Neal's body, the shivering that Neal was still futilely trying to suppress, and he didn't let go.
Neal tensed for a moment, a bit unsure, before he finally seemed to truly melt into the embrace. He let his head rest on Peter's shoulder and Peter could feel him relax, no longer trying to stop his trembling. For a minute or so it grew more violent and Peter just tightened his hold ever so slightly as Neal's breathing grew shaky. But within a few minutes Peter could feel the tension ease until Neal stood calm.
Finally Peter let go, feeling maybe just a bit sheepish over the fact that he'd basically held his CI for the past three minutes, but Neal no longer looked like a strong breeze would knock him over and Peter had no regret, not when Neal had so openly turned to him for comfort. His heart was still twisting at Neal's innocent gesture of trust as he'd tucked his head against Peter's shoulder, reminding Peter that he'd really do just about anything in his power to keep his CI— his friend — safe.
They stood somewhat awkwardly for a few moments before Peter mercifully took the situation in hand.
"Here's what's gonna happen and you're not arguing, okay? We're going to go back to the office and fill out our reports and then you're coming back to eat whatever El made for dinner and you're going to spend the rest of the evening helping my wife decided between five different shades of white for the table clothes at her event. That sound good?" Neal smiled,
"Yeah. That sounds great."
"Great." Peter grinned, nudging slightly at Neal's shoulder as they started for the van.
Neal walked closer than usual to Peter, and Peter was just fine with that, keeping a protective hand around his CI's neck. It was instinct for Peter Burke to protect those around him and the grasp was subtle promise that Neal didn't fail to miss.
I care about you.
I'll protect you.
Nobody touches my family.
You're safe.
