Peter pounded into the darkened kitchen, his heart jack hammering within the confines of his rib cage, his knees shaky beneath the weight of adrenaline. Thoughts of all the terrible things that could have happened, from Neal escaping to Neal being murdered by his (no doubt) numerous criminal enemies who (no doubt) wanted the microchip that was in the kid's possession, flooded his mind. But what he saw in that moment when he threw open the door, what he saw in those frantic seconds after he slapped the switch and allowed light to engulf the room… It made him question who he was inside.
Four hours earlier. Peter, Neal and Elizabeth were sitting around the kitchen table in the Burke family home, eating dinner. It was the first time they had ever done anything together as a foster family unit, and Neal recognised that this was definitely progress. It was the first proper step in forming relationships between him, the criminal, and Peter, the agent. The first step in forming bonds between the fostered teenager and the parents responsible for his care. Neal was enjoying himself. Peter had tried his hand at cooking some sort of tuna pasta bake and it had definitely not gone to plan.
"Peter." Neal said, struggling to keep a straight face. "This is… delicious." He gestured at the brown mush on his plate, and picked out a bone with a slender finger. "Loving the added extras." He said, careful to keep his tone free of sarcasm and the smile out of his voice. Peter sniffed and extracted a fish bone from his own meal.
"One tries his best." He muttered, voice gruff. There was silence as the three of them all toyed with their food. Neal was unsure if Peter was being serious or not. Did he know that the food was abominable? Surely he did. But with Peter Burke, things were rarely what they seemed. The silence stretched on as nobody ate a mouthful. Elizabeth was the first to crack. Unable to hold back the tide of laughter, she disintegrated into giggles and gestured at the sloppy mess in front of her.
"Peter doesn't usually cook." She told Neal in a stage whisper, as though confiding a great secret. Her dark curls caught the light as she threw her head back, still laughing at her husband's dismal culinary skills.
"I can see that." Neal pushed some of the pasta onto his fork, raised it to his mouth, then appeared to think better of it. The fork lowered to rest against his plate. "Thanks for trying though, Peter. It was an…admirable effort." Peter chuckled along with Elizabeth. Acting offended, he shoved his meal away and stood up from the table. "I'll order pizza."
Peter stared at the sight before him. It was one in the morning, and having been so rudely awakened at this ungodly time of night, Peter Burke was expecting to find all sorts of horrors waiting for him in his kitchen. Like Neal, gone. Escaped with the tracking anklet slit in half and the microchip clasped in one hand. Or Neal, murdered. By Keller or Rusty or any number of the countless, shady criminals the kid was associated with. But what he saw…
Neal, standing on a chair.
The boy was straining, his arms above his head, trying to reach the crisps that El stashed above the fridge. His whole body swayed as the chair wobbled precariously. Peter noted with consternation that Neal was balanced on one leg in a bid to keep his weight off his injured ankle. God. The kid was going to fall and break his ribs againand it would all be Peter's fault.
"Neal! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Neal startled and spun around on the chair, which groaned in protest. His socked feet slid on the smooth surface – one hand shot out to steady himself against the reflective metal casing of the fridge.
"Peter?" Neal looked surprised. "What are you doing? Why are you awake?" Peter hurried over and helped Neal down from the chair. Just seeing the kid standing there, wobbling recklessly, made his heart jump like nails were being driven into chest.
"I heard a noise. I… I thought…" He trailed off. Peter was slowly realising that he was overreacting. Overreacting big time. The look on Neal's face told him that he was right.
"I was just getting a snack, Peter." Neal said innocently. "No offence, but your tuna pasta bake earlier wasn't exactly five star dining." He gestured at the packet of crisps held in his hand. He must have snagged them at some point during the conversation; his quick pickpocket fingers had moved faster than Peter could have possibly followed. Peter sat down heavily at the kitchen table.
"But… But I ordered pizza." He said dumbly. It was all he could think to say. Neal padded over and sat next to him.
"Sorry I woke you, Peter. Thanks for the pizza. But I was just getting a snack. I'm a teenager – we're always hungry." He smiled benevolently, and Peter sighed. Why was he so overprotective? Hearing the knocking coming from downstairs had whipped his mind up into a frenzy. He had been sure that something was amiss. That something was going on. Peter suddenly narrowed his eyes. Neal was a master thief. So how had he managed to mess up so badly on a simple kitchen raid? Every teenager pillaged food from the kitchen, but Neal – the God damned cat burglar – had made enough noise to wake Peter up. Yup. Something's going on here. Peter was going to get to the bottom of it. But right now…
A cavernous yawn split his thought processes. He was exhausted. It was the middle of the night and he had a long day of work looming over his head. Peter slowly stood up from the table, embarrassed that he had made such a big deal about Neal grabbing a late night snack. He blamed it on the stress of being a parent. Because that's what he was now: a parent. Most fathers had had fifteen years to get used to having a fifteen year old son. It took decades to grow accustomed to caring for another person. Peter had never had to deal with that sort of pressure before. He had been an only child. No siblings, no cousins, no pets, not even a fish. There had been a cactus on his desk once. It had died. Reviewing his life, Peter supposed that he couldn't blame himself for overreacting when an unruly teenager had been abruptly thrust upon him. Hell, he could barely handle taking care of Satchmo. Grumbling about Neal and the buckets of worry that came with being a parent, Peter bid his foster son goodnight and shuffled upstairs. All thoughts of Neal being in the kitchen for a reason other than raiding the fridge were brushed from his mind.
The second Peter was gone, Neal sagged against the table top with relief. Christ, that had been too bloody close. Once the footsteps of the agent had receded into nothingness, Neal cupped his hands to his mouth and whispered, "Moz. You can come out now." There was a rustling noise, then the cupboard above the fridge erupted and Mozzie stuck his head out, his spectacles askew. Packets of crisps tumbled all around him as he uncurled his gangly limbs from the foetal position and slowly climbed down onto the waiting chair. He landed on the smooth surface with all the tact of a rhino, and hopped down with a graceless but inaudible thud.
"Close shave." He said, rolling out his shoulders.
"I still can't believe you fit in that cupboard." Neal smiled. Mozzie brushed the dust off his shirt and glanced up at the cupboard 2 metres above the floor.
"Yeah. Me neither." He gestured for Neal to lift up his leg. Sighing at how fast the conversation had turned from amiable to serious, Neal propped his foot up on the chair. The tracking anklet glowed ominously.
"Can you crack it?" Neal asked. There was an anxious quiver in his voice – even he could hear it – but for once he didn't care. He wanted the bloody thing off. There was a tense silence as Mozzie examined the anklet.
"No." He said finally. "I'm sorry, Neal. You flew too close to the sun, my friend. It burned your wings." Neal ran his fingers through his hair, trying to quell the bitterness that surged through his soul. Damn it. Damn the feds. Damn Peter Burke.
"You're sure?" He asked, desperate to the point of pleading. "There's absolutely nothing you can do?" Mozzie placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head resolutely.
"I'm sorry. But there's nothing."
"Wonderful." The pair of them sat quietly in the dead hush of the kitchen. The only illumination came from the humming fridge and the radioactive dial of Mozzie's watch.
"Neal." Mozzie said after a moment. "The Suit really cares for you." Neal shrugged self-consciously. He knew it was true.
"So?"
"So?" Mozzie repeated incredulously. "So that is so, so bad, Neal! The feds are manipulating you. The second you reveal the location of the microchip, the Suit and Mrs Suit are going to ditch this whole foster care shenanigan and ship you off to prison." Neal wrung his hands uneasily. He still remembered the bite of handcuffs against his skin. The prospect of prison terrified him, but…
"If I don't give up the chip, Moz, Peter will lose his job." The words dripped off his tongue. They came hand in hand with thoughts like if I don't give up the chip I'll be a terrible person, and if I don't give up the chip, Peter and Elizabeth will lose their home. Mozzie shook his head vivaciously, anger flaring in the depths of his eyes.
"What's more important, Neal? Me, you, our treasure, our greatest score, your freedom, our achievements? Or the fate of one Peter Burke?"
Peter Burke stood by the window of his rosily lit bedroom, drinking in the cool night air and examining the street below. Sleep dragged at his consciousness with velvet claws, but he wanted to de-stress before hitting the hay. Plus, he wanted to wait until Neal had plodded back to bed before he closed his eyes. He knew he couldn't sleep until he was certain the kid was safe. Neal had been downstairs for a long time. Part of Peter wondered what was taking Neal so long – the same part that wondered how a master thief like Neal had failed to steal a packet of crisps without getting caught. But as tiredness weighed down his thoughts, Peter soon abandoned his deliberations. He stored them in his mind for safe keeping, filed away for a time when he was more alert and knew what to do with them.
A flicker of movement caught Peter's eye. He had been distracted – gazing into his thoughts and memories instead of the street below him, but the sudden shift caught his attention. Blinking like an owl, Peter studied the street below. There was a figure lurking in the darkness. Hoodie, jeans, and a pair of those impractical shoes with the laces designed specifically not to tie up. He looked rather villainous. And he… was next to Peter's car! Incredulous, Peter watched open-mouthed as the hoodlum melted the lock of his Volvo with a miniature blow torch, glanced furtively around, then threw open the door. Peter was rooted to the spot with shock at witnessing such an audacious robbery, but seeing the vandal reach down and start hot wiring the engine without a care in the world stunned him into action. He grabbed his gun and raced downstairs, hooting and cursing. Neal swerved into his path.
"Peter-"
"Crime in progress gotta dash." Peter breezed past him and flung open the front door, bursting out onto the street feeling like Arthur Dent in his dressing gown and slippers. The criminal sitting in his car snapped his eyes up to meet Peter's, swore when he saw the weapon, and made a snap decision to flee. The man stumbled out of the car with a great deal of cursing and legged it down the street.
"HEY!" Peter yawped after him. A dog, somewhere, barked in protest. Lights flickered on in houses across the road. "STOP!"
Peter heard a squeaking sound, then jumped back, startled, as Neal raced past him. The kid had cracked the lock that tethered Peter's bike to the railings outside his house with ease and was now seated on the absurdly large bicycle. Tipping an imaginary hat to Peter, Neal zipped past him and pedalled furiously after the burglar, who swore and poured on the speed. Peter leapt up and punched the air, cheering Neal on, before dashing into his house and ringing the police. There was a crime in progress. And for once, Neal wasn't the culprit. He was the crazy teenager on the adult-sized bike engaging the culprit in hot pursuit. Peter grinned at the bizarre thought of a conman chasing a criminal. This was going to be good.
Hey everyone :) Hope you enjoyed this chapter and would love to hear your comments :D