"Hey, hey. Wake up." Peter shook Neal's shoulder, grinning when the conman tried to bat his hands away. "You want dinner?" Neal's eyes opened slowly, squinting in the light.
"What time is it?" He mumbled, sitting up slowly.
"It's about 8." Neal nodded. "I was thinking of ordering pizza. You want?" Neal nodded again, eyes brightening at the prospect of pizza.
"I want." Neal slid out of bed, standing too quickly. As the world grew dark, he blindly reached for something to hold onto. Peter grabbed Neal's arm, keeping him balanced.
"Alright, you're alright." He sat Neal back down on the bed, frowning. "Maybe we should take you to see a doctor." Neal groaned at the thought.
"No…I'm fine. I just stood up too fast. That's all. And I haven't eaten since you and Moz practically force-fed me lunch." He joked. The furrow on Peter's brow deepened but he relented.
"Fine. You better not do that at the office tomorrow, got it?" Neal smiled. Did that mean he was definitely going tomorrow?
"Got it. Now pizza or I'll tell El you forgot to feed me." Peter rolled his eyes, shaking his head at the thought. He could imagine that conversation. Neal followed Peter downstairs, easing himself onto the couch as Peter called to place their order. Hanging up the phone, he looked over at Neal, smiling to see how relaxed the consultant was around him now. It hadn't always been so.
Initially, neither of them were completely at ease with the other. It was the nature of their relationship; thieves and lawmen typically didn't keep company with one another. Eventually, they had grown closer, going from consultant and agent to friends, partners.
Sitting down next to Neal, Peter let his hand come to rest on the younger man's shoulder. Neal didn't even open his eyes at the touch.
"You hangin' in there?" A smile.
"Yeah. I'm ok."
"Really ok or trying-to-get-me-off-your-back ok?" Peter grinned when Neal chuckled at that.
"Maybe a bit of both." Neal admitted slowly, careful to keep whatever pain he felt out of his voice. Even so, Peter still knew. When it came to Neal, he always knew. The older man sighed, ruffling Neal's hair.
"You'll be ok." Neal opened his eyes.
"I was really expecting you to say 'cowboy up'."
"Well, you had a helluva day yesterday, Neal. Concussions aren't anything to joke about." The underlying message, of course, being: You scared me and I'm not about to admit it. Neal nodded thoughtfully, letting himself drift off to sleep until the food arrived.
Neal ate less dinner than Peter thought he would. He watched him worriedly until Neal pulled up the lid on the box of pizza, creating a wall between them. They shared a laugh and for a moment everything was normal. Then, Neal asked where his pain killers were, and Peter worried even more, Moz's words coming back to haunt him. Handing the pills over, he watched him swallow them before following him upstairs.
"You don't have to follow me all the time." The con grumbled.
"If I don't, I'll have to explain to El why you fell down the stairs and that is not a conversation I want to have." Neal shrugged, pulling the covers up around him until he was cocooned.
"Ok. Just go 'way before I say something stupid." He thought for a moment before tacking on "Or incriminating."
"If that's the case, maybe I should stay and take notes." He said, even as he was leaving the room. He couldn't blame Neal for wanting to keep some things hidden. From what he'd learned in the past day, Neal's childhood hadn't been a walk in the park.
Peter contemplated what he'd been told that day, piecing together what he knew of Neal Peterson with what he knew of Neal Caffrey. There were still gaps in his knowledge, though they were nothing like they were before. He was starting to learn that some of Neal's quirks and traits could be explained by his childhood. That smile and those eyes were from his mother, and probably his love of art. He had said she was an art teacher. His dad taught him to pick locks when he was just a small child and then, not too much later, taught him to fear guns. Peter shuddered at the thought. Poor Neal.
When El came home, he tried not to tell, but he was no good at lying, not with her. She covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes watering and, for one terrifying moment, Peter thought she might start crying. Thankfully, she didn't. Wrapping herself in Peter's arms, she snuggled close.
"You're not letting him go into work tomorrow, are you?" She laced her fingers through his.
"Well…"
"Peter! He needs to rest!"
"I told him if we didn't catch a case, he could. He wants to be there in case I find something on his mom." El nodded.
"Alright. Just don't overwork him. And if you do catch a case, bring him back here. I'll watch him."
"El, he's a grown man, he doesn't need to be baby-sat." He knew protesting wouldn't matter and he thought it was a pretty good idea, but he still had to say it.
"I'm not 'baby-sitting'. Just taking care of. He doesn't need to take care of himself, not when I'm here." Peter kissed her forehead, smiling at her.
"I love you, El." She returned the smile, squeezing his hand.
"I love you too. Now, take me to bed, it's been a long day." She leaned her head back dramatically, laughing when Peter scooped her up in his arms, carrying her to the staircase. "I think I better walk from here." She giggled, leading Peter up the stairs by his hand.
As they entered the bedroom, the merriment stopped. A dark shape lay curled up in the middle of the bed. Peter groaned as El walked closer.
"Neal?" The sleepy conman looked up, eyelids heavy.
"Hiya, 'lizabeth. You're pretty." She smiled, sitting down next to him, rubbing his back with her hand. Peter rolled his eyes, standing in front of them, arms crossed.
"Why, thank you." She winked at Peter. "Whatcha doing, Neal?"
"I dunno." He wormed his way closer to her, smiling when she ran her fingers through his hair.
"Did you have bad dreams?" Neal nodded at the question. "What were they about?" El asked soothingly, her voice comforting the young man.
"Peter found my mom and she didn't want to see me" He whispered. El frowned.
"But that would never happen, Neal. Mom's always love their kids. Always."
"What about ones like me?" Neal's voice was slurring, on the edge of sleep. El stroked his hair away from his face and leaned down, planting a maternal kiss on his forehead.
"Especially ones like you." She whispered. Peter cleared his throat.
"I think it's time we put Neal back to bed." El nodded. "C'mon Neal, get up." Peter tugged on Neal's arm, indicating he should move. The consultant stood, almost falling into Peter's arms.
"I can't walk." Neal murmured, his eyes closing as Peter scooped him up in his arms. "You're strong, Peter. Do you work out?" El covered her mouth, hiding a giggle.
Peter laid Neal down on the bed, pulling the covers over him roughly.
"Are you mad?" Neal asked, looking concerned. Any anger Peter had instantly melted away. Damn Caffrey.
"No. Just…stay in your bed." Neal smiled sleepily.
"I have my own bed. That's sweet, Pete." Then he giggled. "That rhymed." Peter considered handcuffing Neal to the bed, but he'd probably just slip out anyway. He settled for a stern look and one word-
"Stay."
"Not a dog, Peter." Neal rolled onto his side, slipping into an easy sleep.
Joining El back in their bedroom, he avoided her amused look.
"He's so cute." El finally said, laying her head on her husband's chest. Peter snorted.
"Oh yeah. Just adorable." She looked up and smiled, kissing him softly.
"But you're cuter." This time Peter smiled, wrapping his arms around her protectively.
In the morning, Peter waited as long as possible before he had to go get Neal. He'd been hoping that he'd wake up on his own and come downstairs for breakfast with El and he, but the consultant never did. Knocking tentatively on the door to the guest room, he was surprised when he heard Neal on the other side.
"I'm up." Peter opened the door, revealing Neal, seated on the edge of the bed, head in hand, looking tired.
"Thought you slept well last night." He sat next to Neal.
"I slept great until about three."
"What did you do after that?" Instead of answering directly, Neal pointed at his sketchbook, sitting discarded on the floor. Picking it up, Peter flipped through the old, familiar drawings until he found new ones. "Hey, that's me." He pointed at the picture, looking to Neal for an explanation.
"Keep looking." He was strangely calm, too still for Peter's liking. Neal was a constant whirl of motion, of intellect, of smoke and mirrors. Peter turned the page.
"And this is El. It's…beautiful." He conceded, his fingers touching the picture gently.
"She's beautiful" Neal's voice was flat. Peter turned another page.
"And this is June." He flipped again. "And this is Jones." Another page. "And Cruz." Another. "And this is Hughes-Neal, did you draw all night?" Neal sighed, dropping his head into his hands.
"I told you, I only slept until three."
"Didn't you try to go back to sleep?" Neal turned his head, looking at Peter with dull eyes.
"I couldn't." Peter put the sketchbook down next to him, scooting closer to Neal.
"Why not?" Neal leaned against Peter's shoulder, reminding the agent sharply of the previous night, when Neal had worried him so much. Neal didn't respond. "Neal. Why couldn't you go back to sleep?"
"If I say it, you won't let me go today." His voice was shaky. Peter wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
"Neal, we don't have to look for her today. We can wait 'til you're better-"
"No, Peter, no! I want to find her. I can't-I can't wait anymore." Neal's eyes were wild with fear, fear of losing what he didn't even have yet. Peter pulled Neal closer, holding him tight.
"Ok. Ok, we'll find her today. Just calm down." Neal nodded. "You wanna get going? We still need to get you a change of clothes." Neal nodded, sagging against Peter for another moment before slowly standing.
"Right. Can't go to work in your pajamas."
Peter waited at Neal's kitchen table, flipping through the paper as he waited for the conman. Sighing, he checked his watch, eyes rolling.
"C'mon, Caffrey! No one's going to be looking at your clothes with that big bruise on your face."
"I know." He was much closer than Peter expected, startling the agent slightly. Looking up, he was surprised to see Neal in blue jeans. He'd almost forgotten the consultant even owned any. On top, he wore a simple button down, blue enough to bring out his eyes, soft enough that it looked well worn. Even when he dressed down, Neal Caffrey looked sharper than most. This image was marred by the violent bruising on his face. Peter knew that it was only going to look worse, as the bruise went from purple to blue to a sickly yellow color.
"Ready to go?" Neal nodded, following Peter to the car and remaining unnervingly quiet through the car ride to the office. He kept his head down as they made their way through the bullpen to Peter's office.
"Everyone's staring at me." He mumbled, easing himself into the chair across from Peter's desk. "Privacy wasn't a top priority for the FBI, huh? It's like prison. Someone always watching."
"In prison, you don't get as comfy of chairs." Peter countered, sitting down at the computer, beginning his search for Charlotte Madison. After fifteen minutes of swearing to himself, he found her.
"Neal." The consultant looked up instantly, his eyes hopeful. He didn't dare ask, not wanting to be disappointed. "I found her. Neal she's…" Peter read the address again. "She's in Newark, New Jersey. In University Heights." Neal didn't speak. Peter looked up at him, seeing his partner looking stunned.
Neal's mind was racing. She was so close. She'd been so close for years. How could he have not known? The ache to see her that had grown over the years sharpened.
"I have to go see her." He declared, standing too quickly and sitting down heavily. Peter furrowed his brow.
"Are you sure you want to see her like this?" He gestured vaguely at Neal's face. Neal looked at him, his emotions unmasked. He looked desperate. More so than when he'd been looking for Kate.
"Peter, please. I need to see her. I…I never told her goodbye. I should've told her. But now…She's so close. Peter…" He fell silent, continuing his plea wordlessly with his eyes. Peter sighed. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he couldn't deny Neal when he was like this. He pulled his phone out, calling Jones.
"Hey, Caffrey and I are going to go talk to a person of interest in an old case….down in University Heights, in Newark….If anything comes in, I'm sure you can handle it…Alright…Thanks." Peter closed the phone, making his way towards the door before turning to look at Neal. "Well, are you coming or not?" Neal followed Peter out the door, ignoring the stares he earned as he exited the office.
The car-trip was unbearable. Neal fidgeted the entire way, nearly driving Peter mad. When he finally pulled up in front of an old Brownstone, he pointed at the door.
"This is it. Here we are." Neal gulped, looking pale, wringing his hands in anxiety. "Well, aren't you going to go knock on the door?" Neal looked over.
"Aren't you coming with me?" The nervous energy was obvious in his voice, sounding high strung.
"I'll be right behind you." Nodding, Neal exited the car, carefully making his way to the door. His hands were sweating. He rubbed them on his jeans but it didn't seem to make matters any better. He wondered what she would think of him, of what he'd done in the past, of what he was doing now. What would she think when she saw his face? He still hadn't looked but judging by the stares he got today, he figured he looked hideous. Finally, he raised a trembling hand, pressing the doorbell. Peter squeezed his shoulder in reassurance before dropping his hand back to his side.
After the longest moment of Neal's life, the door opened. Before she could speak, Neal did, his words slipping out.
"Mom. It's-it's me." She covered her mouth for a second, blue eyes widening before she wrapped her arms around him tightly, engulfing him in the smell of paints and flowers and something baking. He closed his eyes, flushing as they began to water.
"Oh! Neal, my baby Neal! I've missed you so much!" She laughed and cried, pulling him into the house and gesturing for Peter to follow. "It's been so long; oh you don't know how much I've missed you! Let me look at you." She took a step back, studying him with an artist's eye. She reached out a soft hand to touch his face. "What happened, dear?" The way she said it, they both knew it wasn't just about the bruises. It was about so many other hurts, the worse kind of hurts; the ones on the heart.
"I-It's a long story, mom." She cupped his cheek in her hand and he leaned into the touch.
"I have time, baby. I always have time for you." She led the two of them to a cozy living room, with overstuffed couches and cheery colors and lots of pillows. Peter sat awkwardly in a chair while mother and son sat on the couch, watching one another closely. Neal slowly began to explain what had happened after he left but soon the words came tumbling out, relating years of time in a matter of minutes. She held his hand, rubbing the back of it soothingly.
"I work with the FBI now, as a consultant, but" He tugged up the leg of his pants "they keep me on a short leash." She nodded. She understood. "This is Agent Peter Burke. He's my partner. We work together." Peter held up a hand in a short wave and smiled. Charlotte returned the smile.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, agent Burke." She shook his hand.
"It's great to meet you too, Mrs. Madison." She laughed, a rich laugh.
"Please. Call me Charlotte. I insist." She didn't break eye-contact once and Peter found himself unable to resist her smile. She was instantly likeable, a trait she had passed on to her son.
"Then call me Peter." She smiled and directed her gaze back at her child, once again bringing her hand to touch Neal's face. "Now, what happened to your face, Neal?"
"We were at a bust and I was pushed. I hit the curb with my face. Broke my nose, split my lip and got a nice headache out of the deal."
"By which he means concussion." Peter chimed in. Neal shot him a glare. Charlotte frowned.
"You poor dear. Let me get you an ice-pack."
"No, mom, it's fine, really." She was already standing.
"Then let me get you boys something to drink. Does lemonade sound good?" They followed her into the kitchen and enjoyed a cold glass of lemonade and some freshly baked cookies as they talked. Finally, they moved back into the living room. Neal thought his head was going to explode. He didn't want to cut the visit short though. He never wanted to leave again.
Charlotte had a mother's instincts though, and she could tell her son was hurting.
"Neal?" She said, laying a pillow in her lap. "Lay down."
"No thanks, I'm fine, mom." He tried to work his dazzling smile, but it had no effect on her. Possessing one herself, she was immune.
"Neal, you never could lie to me. Just lay down, your head must be killing you." Neal relented; resting his head on the pillow as his mother ran her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp as the young man fell asleep.
"Your son's a good man, Charlotte." Peter said quietly. "He's one of the best friends you could ask for. Very smart, very clever." She clucked her tongue in amusement.
"He always has been. He would do anything for his friends. Tell me, Peter. How did he get mixed up in all of that?" She looked worried, the lines on her face growing more evident.
"I don't know. I think he liked the challenge. He was never malicious, not without reason. He was practically the Robin Hood of art theft. Never hurt anyone."
"He was never much of a scrapper." She twirled a thick lock around her finger. "What will happen when he's served his time?"
"My hopes are that the FBI will keep him on as a consultant, though he'll be a free man, he'd be able to choose. But I think he'll stay. He likes it. He likes the challenge." She nodded, satisfied with the answer.
"Does he still paint? Or sketch?"
"Yes. He does. He actually painted a painting for my wife not too long ago. She hung it in the living room. And he sketches too. He's a very talented artist." She sighed wistfully, thinking of a past gone horribly awry.
"Yes, yes he is. I never thought it would lead him to get into so much trouble, though." Peter shook his head.
"Knowing Neal, he would have found trouble whether he could draw or not." She laughed, nodding.
"Yes, yes, that's true. He was always getting into something. Why, I remember when he was just 8, he was disciplined for stealing lunches in the cafeteria line."
"Why did he…?"
"One of his friends, Michael, I believe his name was, couldn't afford lunch. He had no lunch money. Neal just wanted to help." She smiled fondly at the head in her lap. "They didn't know quite what to do with him, so they took away recess. Except he managed to get out there every day. Finally they called me and asked me to do something about it. I told them no. They were punishing him for helping his friend, and if they weren't smart enough to keep one child in a room for thirty minutes, then maybe they shouldn't be teachers." Peter smiled.
"You told them all that?" She nodded.
"I did. And then some, I'll admit. They told me my son didn't have a sense of right and wrong. I asked them, what's wrong about doing anything to help your friend?" Peter smiled.
In that moment, he knew what he'd seen in the sketch the day before, that he hadn't been able to put his finger on; it was the hidden fierceness, the determination to do what needed to be done. If someone told him Charlotte Madison moved mountains to get something done, he'd believe them. She had the same seemingly amoral sense as Neal, not afraid to delve past the black and white rules of right and wrong. It was in those gray areas that they made their differences, doing what should be done.
Peter thought back to one of the first cases they had worked together, where the painting of the grandmother had been stolen. Neal had forged a copy, giving it to the museum and giving the original back to the grand-daughter. Had it been wrong? Yes, but it had been more wrong for the museum to ignore the artist's wishes. Peter had felt inexplicably proud of his partner that day. And he still was.
A/N: Sorry for the delay, but this was the hardest thing I've ever written.