~ o O o ~

A Place Called Home

Chapter 9

~ o O o ~

Neal hadn't heard back from Keller yet, but he didn't doubt that the text message would arrive, and probably sooner rather than later. So in the meantime, he'd have to get the tools he needed to make whatever forgery he'd be asked to do. Only, good art supplies weren't cheap. Which was why the next evening, he waited till the baseball game Peter was watching was over and then made his move.

"So. Let's talk about an allowance," he said casually.

Peter choked on his beer. "A what now?"

"An allowance," Neal repeated patiently. "I mean, I know how to get stuff that I need, but you don't approve of my methods—there's this whole section on 'no taking, no stealing, no borrowing without asking' in the house rules. So it's really in your best interest to provide me with a more . . . well, legal means to get what I want.—I'm thinking along the lines of a hundred bucks. A week."

"Yeah, I just bet that's what you're thinking. Well, think again," Peter said and took a long swig from his beer bottle—which made Neal want to say something to make him choke again. But he suppressed the urge, because the conversation that would follow an 'oh by the way, I talked to Keller' was not one he was keen on having.

"Ninety-five bucks?" he tried to bargain instead, hoping for a reasonable counter offer.

But Peter either didn't get the concept of bargaining or he was simply not in the mood, because he just shot Neal a "you've got to be kidding me" look.

"Come on," Neal complained, stressing the second syllable. "I even worked for it really hard. Sorting all those files at the bureau might have emotionally traumatized me for life.—You wouldn't want me to sue you over child labor abuse, would you?"

"You're the one who always says that you're not a kid anymore," Peter pointed out.

"You're the one who always says that I am still a kid!"

They looked at each other for a few seconds, neither of them giving in. Then both realized simultaneously that they were in a stalemate, and Peter heaved a sigh.

"What is it that you think you need?"

Art supplies so that I can forge paintings for the criminal you're after. It would probably be better to keep that part to himself and instead deflect if he didn't want to outright lie to Peter. "New York is a very expensive city. Come to think of it, a hundred a week will hardly be enough to survive."

Peter seemed to mull this over. "Alright," he finally relented. "I'll give you a hundred a week."

"Really?" That had been way easier than expected.

"Sure. But you owe me rent and food and the money for the clothes El bought you . . . I think all in all, you owe me at least a hundred a week. So you better start earning your money's worth at the bureau. No more slacking off!" he said sternly, but a self-satisfied smirk belied his words.

Neal decided that all that merited was a dark look and a dryly stated, "Funny."

Peter grinned. "I'm trying."

But Neal wasn't about to give up that easily. "Seriously, Peter. You have no idea how easy it would have been for me to just pick a few pockets. It has to count for something that I didn't and came to you instead, right?"

But apparently it did not, because Peter shook his head disbelievingly. "You were with me the whole time. When could you possibly have picked some pockets?! "

Neal gave Peter a meaningful look. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"What I really want you to answer is what it is that you need money for.—I thought we did a pretty decent job of providing for you so far."

Since the best lie was always based on a foundation of truth, Neal decided to reveal at least part of the reason why he needed the money. "I should be able to do something fun in the evenings. Seeing as I already have a curfew—" His tone of voice made it very clear what he thought of the concept. "—it's simply not fair to make me watch boring baseball games when we get home."

"Seriously? You don't like baseball?" Peter asked, surprised (apparently he hadn't noticed Neal's deliberate bored sighs that had become increasingly louder as the game had gone on). "Huh.—So what would you like to do?"

Neal shrugged. "I like to paint occasionally." An understatement, but not a lie.

In that moment, El came in. "Hey boys. Is the game already over?"

"Yeah. Finally!" Neal said with an exaggerated long-suffering sigh. "Say, Elizabeth, how much money do you think I should get a week?"

Peter rolled his eyes and shook his head to El behind Neal's back—which Neal of course noticed anyway. Without thinking about it, he pounced on Peter to keep him from signaling El and trying to get her on his side. Peter was so surprised, he almost fell off the couch, all the while El's melodious laughter was ringing through the room.

~ o O o ~

When the weekend came around, Neal was getting nervous. Keller still hadn't sent the announced text message. He was up in his room all day, waiting for some sign from Keller, even though he knew he would probably only contact him at night, anyway.

Also, if he had to tell Keller that he didn't have the necessary supplies, he would probably assume that Neal was trying to con him or that it was just some sort of stalling technique.

Which, granted, would be something Neal might try, but the (sad) matter of the fact was that Peter seemed immune against his charms. He seriously hadn't caved, even though Neal had tried out his innocent look, his bored look, his seriously-bored look—combined with various boredom activities he knew drove Peter crazy (from playing around with a rubber band ball he had found lying around at the bureau to repeatedly picking Peter's pocket throughout the day).

Not that Neal could really blame him. He couldn't seriously expect Peter to spend money on him. Or at least not any more than he already was. The clothes El had bought for him were pretty decent. More than that actually, if he were honest with himself. And Peter hadn't asked for this.

With Keller it had been different. It had always been about a mutually beneficial arrangement. Peter on the other hand didn't really get anything out of this deal. Apart from all the information Neal could give him on Keller—but Neal had already given him that, and now Peter was stuck with him, having to provide for him for the time being. And the only way Neal knew how to give something back was obtaining money through means that Peter was very clear about were not an option.

"What are you moping about?" Peter's voice brought him out of his thoughts.

"I'm not moping," Neal denied automatically.

"Well," Peter said as he sat down next to Neal, "I got something for you that might help you stop not-moping." With that, Peter held out a bag for Neal to take, a self-satisfied grin on his face.

Neal shot him a suspicious took—a smirky Peter was usually no good news for him—but then he took the contents out of the bag nevertheless. It contained some colorful pencils, a box of watercolors and a sketch block.

Neal was about to make a sarcastic comment and maybe even laugh a little about Peter's joke, even though it fell rather flat, when suddenly he realized that it wasn't some sort of trick Peter was playing on him.—His expression said it all: it wasn't his "gotcha!" grin, but a friendly smile and he was obviously pleased with himself and his "surprise". In short, Peter genuinely thought these kinds of "art supplies" were what Neal had had in mind.

But Neal wasn't the best con his age for nothing, and so he plastered on a huge grin himself—he wouldn't want Peter to feel bad, when all he had wanted was to do something nice for him—and said, enthusiastically, "Thank you! This is great!"

In his thoughts, however, he was already thinking about a different source of income. There was no way he could forge any painting with watercolors that school kids used for art class.

He had tons of ideas how to get the supplies he needed—unfortunately, none of them legal. Well, what Peter didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. And the house rules were more like guidelines, anyway . . .

"You're welcome," Peter replied in the meantime in a warm tone of voice and ruffled Neal's hair.

Neal glowered at him for that and patted his unruly hair that Peter had messed all up down again. But then he had to smile again, this time an honest smile, because it was actually very nice of Peter to give him these—albeit not exactly forger-friendly—art supplies. Especially since Peter didn't have to buy him anything. Who knew, maybe his charm was working on Peter, after all.

"So," Peter said, getting up and taking a step towards the door. "You're busy, then? I can go watch my game, without having to worry about you blowing our house up or something?"

"I think you're safe. I don't do explosives."

Peter huffed out a laugh, mumbled something like "Good to know" and finally left him alone.

Even though Neal hadn't gotten what he had actually wanted, trying to con Peter into getting him art supplies had been less of a con than he had thought. Turned out he really had missed painting more than he had realized.

He liked to paint for fun, sure, but he also used painting as a coping mechanism. To clear his head or to deal with stress . . . and these last few days had been very stressful. Moving in with a fed, trying to make a run for it, changing his mind and going back, getting a midnight visit from the person he had believed wanted to kill him, getting blackmailed . . .

So even though Neal would have to get some real art supplies soon, Peter's surprise hadn't been completely in vain. Neal decided that for now, sketching would have to do, and so he took one of the pencils and the sketch block and just started, not even knowing himself yet what he wanted to draw.

While his hands were working on the sketch, his mind was busy coming up with a plan how to thwart Keller. He could play along, forge the painting and find out when the heist was supposed to go down. Then all he had to do was tip off the feds and he'd be rid of Keller . . .

Now if only he knew why he didn't feel as good about his plan as he should.—It was foolproof after all.

~ o O o ~

After the game was over, Peter realized that he hadn't seen or heard from Neal in an unusually long time.

"What is it?" El asked, who was sitting on the couch with him, her head on his shoulder, looking up at him.

"Huh?" Peter said, coming out of his thoughts.

"You have that frown on your face that means something's troubling you," El explained, leaning in to kiss away his frown.

Once she leaned back again, Peter said, "I don't think it's been this quiet in our house since before last Saturday."

That got a raised eyebrow from El, so Peter elaborated, "Since before a certain someone became our house guest. There's only one possible explanation. Neal's up to something.—I should go check on him."

El laughed at that and seemed to be hardly able to stop. "Honey. Don't you think that you're a little too suspicious of him? You always think he's up to something."

"That's because he always is up to something," Peter grumbled.

"Well, if it makes you feel better, go see what our teenager is doing. But don't forget: a little trust every once in a while goes a long way."

"Trust, but verify," Peter replied, getting up.

Neal was sitting on his bed, drawing intently, so immersed in his activity that he didn't even look up when Peter came in.

"What are you drawing?" Peter asked, coming closer.

Neal's head shot up at that and he quickly turned his sketch block around so that Peter couldn't see what he'd been drawing. "Nothing.—You know, just sketching around."

"Ah," Peter said, nodding his head. "So . . . you've just been up here drawing this whole time?"

"Yeah," Neal said slowly, shooting him a strange look. "Was there some sort of reason why you're interrupting me or did you just want to make sure that I wasn't robbing you blind because you left me alone for three minutes?"

"Try three hours."

"Well, since you checked up on me and all your possessions are still in the right place—do you mind?" Neal looked pointedly at the door.

"Not at all," Peter replied good-naturedly, sitting down with Neal. The kid's obvious attempt at hiding away his painting from him had made him curious. It was better not some plan to rob a museum or something . . .

While Neal was busy groaning and scooting over, Peter made a quick grab for the sketch block, turning it over. Neal frantically tried to get it back, but he was too slow.

It was not a plan of a teenage criminal mastermind. Far from it. In fact, it was a very detailed drawing of a scene in a park. People were walking along paths and sitting on park benches—an old man feeding birds, and a young couple pushing a baby buggy. A perfect snapshot in time of a happy, sunny day in the park.

And there, at the edge of the paper were Peter and El, walking arm in arm, looking out at the meadow, where Neal was playing with Satchmo near a lake. You could even make out the ducks diving for food, even though they were in the background, the details so minute that Peter wondered if you needed a magnifier to take a better look at the picture.

This—could not be the work of a fifteen-year-old kid! Could it? Peter looked up at Neal, whose ears had turned slightly pink.

"I want that back!" Neal declared testily and snatched the block out of Peter's hands.

Peter was still baffled, but he composed himself and said, "That is very accurate!"

"I know," Neal replied in a thanks for stating the obvious tone. "I don't quite remember her face, though," he added after a short pause, tapping the woman pushing the baby buggy.

On closer inspection, the woman's facial features lacked the detailed precision of everyone else in the drawing. Nothing that Peter would have noticed himself at all.

"She was there?" Peter asked surprised.

"Sure," Neal replied, shrugging his shoulders. "You didn't see them?"

"Well, let's just say I certainly wouldn't remember every detail about her face, either."

Neal shrugged again, and then he ripped out the page and crumpled it up. Before Peter could protest, he explained, "I've been trying to get her face right for half an hour."

"You know, we could always take Satch to the park again, tomorrow, if you want. See if we can find new people and new faces."

Neal's eyes were shining and he started enthusiastically, "Yeah, that would be . . ." But then he broke off and his smile faded away. "Or, I don't know. Maybe tomorrow isn't the best time. I'll probably do some more drawing."

Peter's alarm bells started ringing again. "Something wrong?" he asked.

Apparently Neal sensed what Peter's real concern was, because he looked him right in the eye and said, "Don't worry. I'm not planning anything."

And Peter probably would have even believed him—if he hadn't heard that tone of voice before. When Neal had insisted he just wanted to go home to his parents for dinner. And then again, when he had denied that he knew anything about Keller, that it was just a coincidence that he had run into Peter. And basically every time since then when he insisted that he was okay when Peter woke him up from a nightmare, even though Peter had seen the terror in his eyes in that one moment when Neal hadn't yet realized that it was just a nightmare, somewhere between dream and consciousness.

"Okay," Peter said, regardless, letting it go for now. Even though the alarm bells in his head were ringing louder than ever.

~ o O o ~

The long awaited text message arrived exactly at 1:05 am. Apparently, Neal wouldn't have had to worry about art supplies—Keller would provide everything he needed.

At 1:07, Neal took a deep breath. It was time to go meet with Keller . . .

~ o O o ~

TBC . . .