Round two proved to be a little more difficult. For both of them.
They'd made it home – Peter's home – a place that as a criminal informant he shouldn't ever have been allowed near, let alone inside. Yet following that first impromptu visit to share with Peter his discovery of the Dutchman's identity, Neal has not only been allowed back, but Peter has taken to commanding it on more than one occasion. Neal attributes his current situation to be one of those.
"You know," Peter opens the door, continuing their debate on the price of coffee from the car, "despite the outrageous cost, it does taste damn good."
He finishes said coffee and strolling through the house throws his empty cup into the recycling.
"Told ya." Neal copies his actions, punctuating his words with a milder version of his usual bright smile.
The house is quiet, so quiet in fact the sound of Satchmo padding his way to the backdoor echoes loudly through the family room. Neal moves to let the dog out, following him in his eagerness to access the backyard.
Standing alone on the patio, basking in the warmth of the mid-afternoon sun and relishing in the scent of lavender growing in the small garden. With the distance sounds of the city a low hum in the background Neal takes a moment to let all the stresses of the morning drift away. They'd been at work a sum total of five hours, give or take. Barely a dent compared what they usually put in, but today it felt like a major success to have made it this far without completely breaking down. Physically he's exhausted. Keeping his eyes open in the car had been a real challenge. Arms and legs feeling like heavy weights anchoring his body to the floor, Neal's pretty sure the second he sits on the Burkes couch he'll be asleep within moments. Which is the problem….
Neal remembers bit and pieces from his dreams last night. The all-consuming darkness crowding him, penning him in, being alone and without the protection he's so recently come to rely on as part of his everyday life. He remembers feeling afraid, but of what exactly eludes him now. Whether that's because his memories are fuzzy or just the magic of sleep, he doesn't know yet. What he does know, what he wishes he could forget is the many times he woke up in a state of distress, tears streaming down his face only to find Peter sitting beside him, looking utterly exhausted.
"Beer?"
Neal jumps, not only at the sudden unexpected company, but from the chill of the bottle as the cold glass slips into his hand.
Neal frowns as he raises the neck to his lips. "We really are done for the day."
"I would offer you something stronger, but I need you conscious if we're going to talk."
Any good feelings he's manage to find through the tranquillity of his surroundings are immediately sucked away. "I thought you said not to worry about what I couldn't remember!" He hates how whiney he sounds, but damnit Peter promised!
"I did, I did." He laughs.
"So, what is there to talk about, other than how long you expect to keep me as your prisoner - in the literal sense." He eyes the house, rankled by Peter's far to jolly response.
Peter's eyes narrow, but he takes the jibe on the chin. "My home isn't a prison thank you very much, don't let El hear you say it is. And you're staying with me until these guys are caught – or would you prefer protective custody at Rikers?" He rises an eyebrow in challenge.
Neal stares at him unblinking. "No," he concedes with a sigh, and in a forced light tone adds, "I'm good." There's a flash of something in Peter's eyes that signal he's surprised about that reaction, but right now Neal isn't bothered about examining it too hard. "So," he takes a swig of his beer. "What's there to talk about?"
"How about you calling Bancroft and requesting to help on Ruiz' case?"
Neal blanches. Though he'd known this was coming he's kind of surprised Peter has chosen to discuss it outside the office, also what's more surprising is how not mad he sounds. Naturally Neal assumes it's a trap.
"That what Bancroft told you?"
"It's what Hughes told me." Peter averts his eyes, lifting his arm to take a drink of his own beer. "Luckily for you he told me right after you left to go undercover so I didn't get the chance to rip you a new one."
Neal can't help but wince at the disgruntled tone. "Are you mad?"
"You have to ask?" Peter glares at him.
"Kind of." He blinks innocently back.
Peter rolls his eyes in return. "What do you think?"
"I think you're mad." Neal quickly turns away. Focuses on emptying his bottle.
"Good guess." Peter nods, seemingly pleased. "But I am distinctly calmer now than I was." A hand cups his elbow, turns him to face Peter. "Just tell me Neal, why would you do it? Hughes and I bent over backwards to ensure you never had to take on a dangerous assignment with another team again."
Looking over at the sun to mask the wetness welling up in his eyes, Neal fights with himself over telling the real truth or just a version of it. For once, whether it's the fact he feels like he's not slept properly in days or just the whole situation where he's grateful to even be in Peter's house again, the truth actually wins outs.
"That's kind of why, actually."
…
2 weeks earlier – before Neal went undercover
"Agent's Underling and Steward, right?" Neal flashes a wide smile to the two stereotypically unamused federal employees standing on his door step.
"It's Underhill," The first, and tallest of the pair barges his way in, followed swiftly by his cohort. "but I know you knew that, Caffrey."
"My mistake," Neal mutters under his breath, facing the empty hallway for a few extra seconds to compose himself before shutting the door and spinning around. "Would you like a drink?"
He slips between them heading for his wine rack, but a hand on his arm stops him in his tracks.
"Not so fast convict." Steward speaks this time.
Neal eyes him warily, he's used to insults from Diana, in a playful banter-ish sort of way, but neither agent in his presence has given him a second glance since he started working for the FBI. He only knows who they are because of the godawful mandatory interdepartmental training days Peter forces him to attend, which he's pretty sure is just his way of making sure Neal has to suffer too.
"It's just a drink." Neal looks from Agent Steward to the hand still clasped around his forearm. "Unless you're here on official business?"
"Not official." Underhill prowls his apartment, stepping towards the balcony doors but never crossing the threshold. "Just a friendly visit."
"Friendly." He repeats. "Right."
"Look, Neal. Can I call you Neal?"
Neal frowns. He's used to handling bullies, guys or girls that think they are stronger, smarter or superior to him in someway that give them the right to push him around. He always tries to respond with a carefree attitude, one that both confounds his enemy and leaves them without recourse to follow through with whatever threat they may lobby. However, what he's not accustomed to is having that tactic used on him.
"Sure," Neal slips the hold that's since loosened and positions himself with his back to the door.
"Agent Ruiz is our boss, we work for him, you understand?"
"I think I get the concept of hierarchy in the workplace, thank you."
"We're working on a big case, one that could make all our careers."
"What's that got to do with me?"
"You, Neal, are key to helping us bust a high-profile extortion ring."
"Hey you're talking to the wrong guy. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not in charge at the FBI." He lifts his pant leg to remind them.
"Don't get sweet with me kid." Underhill chuckles, showing his advanced years through the numerous lines marring his forehead. "I realise you may not think you have a say, but you have more power than you think. Burke has a soft spot for you. And as much as I may not have made the same choices myself, I get it."
Neal shifts uncomfortably at the mention of Peter. His own attachment issues aside, that soft spot is what makes Neal feel safe, not to mention the numerous other emotions he'd rather not examine too closely. He hates it when Mozzie tries to convince him to use Peter's feelings for him in a con. But Moz is Moz. Neal tries very hard not to take him too seriously. The same coming from these stooges – Peter's colleagues by all accounts - actually makes him angry on Peter's behalf.
"What we're trying to say," Steward butts in, clearly seeing his partner getting off topic and sentimental. "This case tanks without your help. Burke has already blocked our request to have you go undercover, Hughes is supporting his decision."
"So, what do you want me to do?" Neal stuffs his hands in his pockets.
"You," Underhill smiles at him again, almost grandfatherly, "you are Neal Caffrey. You can get your way when you want it. How else have you gotten such a sweet deal and a whole FBI Department wrapped around your finger?"
"Sure would hate for that sweet deal to end," a put upon sigh passes Stewards lips. "All because some have lost sight of what you're supposed to be doing for us. May end up with a less than easy to appease handler next time, or worse."
Playing to his vanity, the good cop- bad cop routine, he's well aware he's being conned. They hope to get him to do what they are technically not asking. Neal doesn't like that his relationship with Peter is being used as a bargaining chip. Or that the hard-working Agents of white collar may also come under fire for supporting Peter in protecting him. Despite what it may look like from the outside, all Neal's tried to do since joining the FBI is get along with everyone. He likes to be liked. Limiting the number of people who want to hurt you is a strategic move. Making friends by making yourself indispensable to them is one of the first things you learn living on the streets.
Both Agents start to make their way towards him and Neal quickly contemplates how fast he'd have to move to get out the door and down the stairs unscathed. Very aware both are probably carrying guns and wouldn't think twice about shooting a 'fleeing felon'.
Before he can make his mind up whether to run or not a file folder hits him in the chest.
"Read it." Underhill tells him straight. "If you choose to help, I know you'll know how to get it done."
And with that very cryptic parting message, they let themselves out.
…
It's two days and one innocuous and not at all leading call to Agent Bancroft later when Neal finds himself being called into Hughes office. Alone.
"Caffrey, sit."
Neal closes the door quickly and does as he's told, feeling the usual uneasiness surface and holding it in. Though Reese comes across as a fair man, Neal always feels likes he's been caught swapping notes in class and sent to the principal's office when in his presence.
"Something wrong, Sir?" Neal asks politely after a prolonged silence envelope's the room, resulting in Neal squirming under the intense stare being aimed his way.
"Violent crimes have requested your skills on one of their undercover operations." He doesn't even wait to see Neal's reaction, which tells Neal he either doesn't care, or is already well aware of his role in this. "You're to be temporary on loan to Agent Ruiz for such a period of time that it takes to resolve the case. Peter will remain your primary handler, but he will not be involved in the operation or have a say in how you are used. Understood?"
Neal waits a beat, makes the expected complaints comparing himself to a well-used a library book and expresses concern that Peter isn't present for this meeting. Anything less would have been suspicious. Hughes looks pretty uninterested through it all and Neal wonders if he should really have bothered. A question that's answered seconds later.
"Caffrey I have children," Reese sighs, bored and more than a little irritated. "Hell, I have grandchildren your age, one with a great grandchild on the way."
Neal blinks, completely thrown by where he's going with this.
"There isn't much that can get past me, and trust me, Peter is just as clued in with you." He pauses, leans over the desk and looks him dead in the eye. "Be careful on this. For both our sakes."
Suddenly finding himself at a loss for words Neal does the only thing he feels capable of in this situation. He nods and mentally promises to make this up to Peter as soon as he's back.
…
Standing on the patio, still basking in the warm sunshine Neal brings his story to a close with, "I had no choice."
"Of course you had a choice, you could have come to me!" Peter yells.
The sudden sharpness of his tone makes Neal flinch, a movement that isn't missed by the great Agent Burke. Peter doesn't say anything, just holds both hands up in surrender, then walks away heading for the back door of the house.
Voice back to a regular volume and words calm he says, "When are you going to learn that I care about you and I want to help you?"
A look of resignation crosses Neal's face. "I know you care." He whispers, attention on kicking the dirt beneath his feet.
"You just struggle with dependence." Peter answers his own question. "I get it."
"Do you?" Neal shifts his gaze, eyeing him warily.
"I like to think I do," he reaches out and squeezes Neal's arm, "to an extent. Maybe you could talk to me about it sometime?"
Neal looks at the hand still holding him and back towards the sun gradually getting lower in the sky. "I think I'm done with talking today."
There's a lengthy beat of silence, where Neal isn't sure he's said the right thing. Then the hand lets him go and a smile appears on Peter's face.
"Oh good, means I might actually get my reports done." He points inside, an unspoken order to follow. "Won't have you chirping in my ear about who knows what all afternoon."
That gets a laugh out of him, as Peter no doubt intended. The normalcy of it is so comforting Neal feel's himself relax once again. It must have shown on his face because his keeper disappears into the kitchen, from where he can hear the fridge door opening and the distinct sound of glass bottles clanking together. Putting two fingers in his mouth Neal lets out a loud whistle and just as enthusiastically follows Satchmo's galloping paws into the house.