Three Days Per Night (1/1)
Title: Three Days Per Night
Author: May Eve
Fandom: White Collar
Summary: "Elizabeth kicked you out again."
Disclaimer: At spes non fracta.
Characters/Pairing: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke
Warnings: OOC Elizabeth
Rating: K
Word Count: 620
.:.:.:.:.
Three Days Per Night
.:.:.:.:.
Neal's brow wrinkled at the knock on his door. He stood and crossed the room to see who would be visiting him at - he checked his watch - half past midnight on a Wednesday. A familiar, sheepish face offered him a lopsided grin through the crack. He held back a sigh and pulled the door open wider.
Peter's grin fell as he entered and Neal didn't say a word, looking him over curiously. He had just taken a breath to break the silence when Neal beat him to it, "Elizabeth kicked you out again."
It wasn't a question and Peter just sighed, dropping his coat on the rack and crossing to collapse on the couch. Neal remained where he was, staring blankly at the well-worn black jacket hanging by his door before following in his partner's footsteps. While he understood Elizabeth's position and even her methods, this was getting ridiculous. Her most recent attempt to force her workaholic husband to rest was a simple rule: for every three days he went without coming home, there would be one night he couldn't sleep at home. Thus, Peter wound up at Neal's.
Admittedly, the man was improving - only three stays over the past three months rather than the two per month it had been. Still.
Neal dropped to the couch beside Peter without a sound and waited patiently for what he knew was coming.
The rant was impressive, he could admit. Peter was a caricature of frustration, pacing a groove in the floorboards, jerking his arms around him, dragging on his hair, shouting until he was hoarse and Neal thought the ringing in his ears might be permanent. He had every right to be upset, but then, so did El. Neal just couldn't understand how she could continue this when Peter was so obviously exhausted. Their latest case had taken up nearly two weeks and Peter had slept maybe an hour here and there. His waving arms were slower than normal, his steps heavier, and his voice cracked more than once.
Eventually, the older man wound down and fell back gracelessly into his seat on the couch. Sighing softly, Neal stood and dragged Peter up. Seven steps and he was pushing Peter down onto the bed. It was a sign of just how exhausted the man was that Peter allowed himself to be manhandled without comment or protest. Kneeling, Neal yanked off Peter's terribly old-fashioned shoes and dropped them in the corner. He crossed to the closet and dug out a plain T-shirt and some old shorts. Tossing them on the bed beside Peter, all he said was, "Change." Peter groaned as he sat up and started stripping, for once uncaring of modesty. Neal walked out anyway, filling a glass of water and returning to set it by the bed.
Peter was already settled and snoring on top of the sheets, dead to the world. Sighing again, Neal maneuvered the heavy limbs under the sheets and pulled the covers over Peter's shoulders, refusing to consider the fact that he was essentially tucking the man in. He grabbed the only free pillow and stepped quietly out of the room, closing the door over for the illusion of privacy. He sank wearily onto the couch - he hadn't exactly slept much for this case either - and draped the blanket over himself.
He lay on his back for about ten minutes before groaning and shifting to his side. He shifted a few more times before he found a comfortable spot, facing the door to the bedroom, just able to see Peter's foot hanging off the edge of the bed. His last thought as his eyes slid closed was surprisingly lacking in venom.
I really hate this couch.
.:.:.:.:.
Author: May Eve
Fandom: White Collar
Summary: "Elizabeth kicked you out again."
Disclaimer: At spes non fracta.
Characters/Pairing: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke
Warnings: OOC Elizabeth
Rating: K
Word Count: 620
.:.:.:.:.
Three Days Per Night
.:.:.:.:.
Neal's brow wrinkled at the knock on his door. He stood and crossed the room to see who would be visiting him at - he checked his watch - half past midnight on a Wednesday. A familiar, sheepish face offered him a lopsided grin through the crack. He held back a sigh and pulled the door open wider.
Peter's grin fell as he entered and Neal didn't say a word, looking him over curiously. He had just taken a breath to break the silence when Neal beat him to it, "Elizabeth kicked you out again."
It wasn't a question and Peter just sighed, dropping his coat on the rack and crossing to collapse on the couch. Neal remained where he was, staring blankly at the well-worn black jacket hanging by his door before following in his partner's footsteps. While he understood Elizabeth's position and even her methods, this was getting ridiculous. Her most recent attempt to force her workaholic husband to rest was a simple rule: for every three days he went without coming home, there would be one night he couldn't sleep at home. Thus, Peter wound up at Neal's.
Admittedly, the man was improving - only three stays over the past three months rather than the two per month it had been. Still.
Neal dropped to the couch beside Peter without a sound and waited patiently for what he knew was coming.
The rant was impressive, he could admit. Peter was a caricature of frustration, pacing a groove in the floorboards, jerking his arms around him, dragging on his hair, shouting until he was hoarse and Neal thought the ringing in his ears might be permanent. He had every right to be upset, but then, so did El. Neal just couldn't understand how she could continue this when Peter was so obviously exhausted. Their latest case had taken up nearly two weeks and Peter had slept maybe an hour here and there. His waving arms were slower than normal, his steps heavier, and his voice cracked more than once.
Eventually, the older man wound down and fell back gracelessly into his seat on the couch. Sighing softly, Neal stood and dragged Peter up. Seven steps and he was pushing Peter down onto the bed. It was a sign of just how exhausted the man was that Peter allowed himself to be manhandled without comment or protest. Kneeling, Neal yanked off Peter's terribly old-fashioned shoes and dropped them in the corner. He crossed to the closet and dug out a plain T-shirt and some old shorts. Tossing them on the bed beside Peter, all he said was, "Change." Peter groaned as he sat up and started stripping, for once uncaring of modesty. Neal walked out anyway, filling a glass of water and returning to set it by the bed.
Peter was already settled and snoring on top of the sheets, dead to the world. Sighing again, Neal maneuvered the heavy limbs under the sheets and pulled the covers over Peter's shoulders, refusing to consider the fact that he was essentially tucking the man in. He grabbed the only free pillow and stepped quietly out of the room, closing the door over for the illusion of privacy. He sank wearily onto the couch - he hadn't exactly slept much for this case either - and draped the blanket over himself.
He lay on his back for about ten minutes before groaning and shifting to his side. He shifted a few more times before he found a comfortable spot, facing the door to the bedroom, just able to see Peter's foot hanging off the edge of the bed. His last thought as his eyes slid closed was surprisingly lacking in venom.
I really hate this couch.
.:.:.:.:.