Fic: "Technical Malfunction," White Collar, General
Title: Technical Malfunction
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal, Peter
Rating: General (PG)
Warnings: References to canon character death. No spoilers past 2.01.
Word count: 2900
Summary: Early season 2. Neal gets a surprise visit from Peter
Notes: Just a short one-shot I wrote. As it always happens when I write something that isn't for a prompt or challenge, I could probably find an excuse to keep writing and tweaking this forever. It was time to let it be finished.
Neal was a light sleeper. It was pointless to try to figure out how it started; it was a habit he'd cultivated for a long time.
Back when the feds were on his tail, Neal would wake up suddenly sometimes. He'd hear a noise out in the hall and think the FBI had finally caught up with him.
In prison, even though he'd had his own cell, he was never truly at ease. He always woke up before the morning bell.
It never went away, that alertness. June's house was the most secure place he'd slept in years. But now Fowler was out there somewhere. Kate's killer was out there. They'd wanted him dead, too, and what was keeping them from coming after him if he didn't find them first?
It was dark when Neal woke up to the sound of the door opening. He was awake immediately, and his heart raced as he became aware of someone entering his apartment.
He reflexively reached for an antique cane that was beside the bed. The person who'd come in turned on the overhead light, and as Neal grimaced from the sudden brightness, it took him a second to process what he saw.
"Peter?" he asked, blinking. "Wha-don't you knock?"
Peter stared back at him, looking equally surprised. "Neal. I wasn't expecting to find you here."
Peter looked like he'd just gotten out of bed. His shirt had been tucked in hastily, and he hadn't shaved yet.
Neal slowly put the cane down and sat up on the edge of the bed. His heart was still pounding. He grabbed an undershirt that was lying at the foot of the bed and pulled it on. "Where were you expecting me to be at-" he looked at his watch and made a face. "Four forty-five in the morning?"
And if he hadn't expected him to be home, why didn't Peter just check Neal's tracking data before performing a one-man raid on his apartment? He certainly kept an eye on it-a cynical part of Neal thought it was almost a form of entertainment for him.
Peter's jaw stiffened and he put his hands on his hips. With a sigh, he said, "I just got a call from the Marshals. They said your anklet had been cut."
Neal raised an eyebrow. That explained why he didn't check the tracking data, at least.
He gestured at his leg, and the still-attached anklet. "Really? News to me."
But when he looked down, he did notice something amiss. There was no green light. No red one, either. "The light is off," he said.
Peter walked over to check. Neal lifted his foot up on the bed so he could get a closer look.
"Dammit," Peter muttered under his breath. He looked up into Neal's eyes and pointed at the anklet. "Did you do something to it?"
"Do what? I've been in bed!"
"Well, did anything happen? Any accidental damage? Could you have hit it against something while you were asleep?"
"I thought these things were supposed to be able to withstand wear and tear. I haven't even had this one a week."
"There must've been some sort of malfunction. I'm calling the Marshals...."
Peter stepped away and pulled out his cell phone. Neal listened while Peter identified himself and recited Neal's tracking number. He zoned out for the rest. A wave of fatigue hit him, and he put his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes. The next thing he knew, Peter was back beside him.
"You were planning to hit me with that, huh?"
Neal opened his eyes and saw that Peter was pointing at the cane.
"You'd do the same thing if someone broke into your house."
"Well, I'd probably grab a bat."
Neal had too much pride to buy a bat to keep by his bed for self-defense. At least he could pretend Byron's cane was there for decoration.
"What's the verdict on the anklet?"
"Looks like everything's fine on their end. They said it's probably a problem with the wiring."
Neal raised his eyebrows. "So much for the new, improved model...."
"The model should be fine. It's just a malfunctioning unit."
"Again, I was led to believe these things were a little tougher. I feel misled."
"It's electronic, Neal. It's not perfect. And they caught the problem, didn't they?"
"No, they thought I'd cut it and run. You'd think they'd have a way of telling the difference between tampering and a malfunction."
Peter just sighed and shook his head. He reached into his pocket and pulled out what Neal recognized as the key to the anklet. He crouched down.
"Better see if the key works, at least."
Neal frowned. He hadn't even considered that. It'd be a lie to claim he hadn't looked at the new anklet once or twice, and thought about how he'd go about cutting it (if he needed to, of course). But he never imagined this scenario.
The key worked, however, and Neal breathed small sigh of relief. Peter removed the anklet, leaving a strange lightness in its place. Neal had already gotten used to it again. He flexed his ankle.
"It might be a few hours before we can get a replacement," Peter said. He stood up with slight grunt. He wandered over to the kitchen and set the anklet on the counter with an audible thunk.
Neal got up and followed. "And what if this happens again?"
Peter looked over his shoulder with a wry smile. "If you're thinking of trying anything, glitches like this are one in a thousand. No, ten thousand."
Neal glared at him. "Actually, I'm concerned about my sleep. Surprise FBI raids sort of cut into my eight hours, you know?"
Peter didn't have a bad idea, though. A few recurring glitches would lower the FBI's defenses and make a good build-up to an actual escape. If Neal needed to do that. He didn't intend to, especially right after getting out of prison again, but he couldn't help from dreaming up contingency plans.
Peter frowned at him. "Well, I don't exactly like waking up to a phone call telling me you've cut your anklet." He held up a finger, cutting off any protests Neal might make. "Even if that's not what actually happened."
"I'm just saying. You could have knocked. At least tell me you didn't bother June."
It'd always irritated Neal that part of his deal was letting Peter have a key to his place. Sure, Peter was considerate as a rule, but it still meant Neal couldn't exactly complain about an incident like this.
"I'll try to remember that in the future. And no, I did not bother June."
Neal chose to ignore Peter's sardonic tone. "Glad to hear it."
"Look," Peter said, irritated, "I am sorry about this. But it's not my fault. I've been inconvenienced too, you know."
"Got it. Is there a reason you're sticking around? If you're staying, I can make some coffee...?"
He watched Peter for a response. When Peter looked down, Neal could tell he didn't want to say what was going through his mind. But Neal could read it just fine.
"You don't trust me without the anklet for a few hours," Neal said. His voice was incredulous, but he was only half surprised.
"No, I trust you. With reservations."
Neal narrowed his eyes. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
Peter huffed. "Come on, Neal, what am I supposed to think? You've only been out of prison a week. And it's only been a couple months since Kate...." He shook his head. "Look, I know it's been tough for you, and I know you're holding back. I can respect that. But when I don't know what's going on with you, it makes me nervous. And then getting that call from the Marshals...."
Neal didn't have a response. What could he say? He wouldn't admit it, but nothing Peter had said was exactly unfair. He decided to start making that coffee.
Peter had bags under his eyes, and seeing them reminded Neal of how exhausted he would be in a little bit. Whether Peter left him alone or not, he knew he wasn't getting any more sleep. His heart was still beating at a quickened pace. As he reached for the coffee, a small tin of basil tumbled out of the cupboard, and he suppressed a flinch when it hit the counter.
This was how he was lately. This was how he'd been since that day with the plane. It didn't take much to put him on edge. The adrenaline and frustration made him feel like picking a fight, but even though Peter had just offered him an opportunity, Neal managed to keep himself reined in.
Peter rubbed a hand over his eyes. "It's not just about leaving you unsupervised. This whole night's a mess. If I go home now, it'll be too late to go back to bed, and too early to finish getting ready for work. And then we still need to get that damn anklet replaced."
Neal started the coffeemaker and leaned back against the counter. "If you ask me, we both have a raw deal. We should make a stand. Think I should write a strongly-worded letter to the Marshals?"
"I don't know. Do you feel like pissing them off?"
"Might be cathartic."
Peter smiled and shook his head. He looked at his watch. "I should probably just go. There's no reason you can't get another couple hours. Just don't make me regret leaving you alone."
"Wouldn't think of it. But you don't have to leave on my account. I'm not going back to bed now. And I already put the coffee on."
Peter gave him a sidelong glance. "It's only five o'clock."
Neal shrugged. "Yeah, well I'm kind of awake now."
"Almost sounds like you want me to stick around," Peter said, narrowing his eyes.
"Just don't want to waste good coffee. And I know how much you love June's Italian roast."
Peter hesitated. Neal knew he really did love June's coffee. Finally, Peter took off his coat and draped it over one of the dining room chairs.
When the coffee finished brewing Neal poured them each a mug and they sat down at the table.
Neal wouldn't admit it out loud, but he realized Peter was right: Neal didn't want him to leave yet. With him there, it was easier to pretend he wasn't shaken up.
These days, Neal spent a lot of time distracting himself.
Work was usually all right, and Mozzie came over a lot in the evenings. But once Mozzie left, Neal faced hours of numbing silence. He brought files home from the bureau a lot, but he couldn't always concentrate on them.
Peter took a sip of coffee and studied Neal over the edge of the mug. When he set it down, he said, "Since I'm here...I don't suppose you'd like to tell me how you're holding up?"
"Not much to tell."
Peter held up a hand. "All right, fair enough. Like I said, I get it. But don't expect me to believe you're fine. And don't tell me you're not tired. Maybe you don’t feel like it, but you look exhausted. How much sleep did you get, anyway?"
Neal smiled. "You mean, before you woke me up?"
"I'm beat, and I have a good feeling that I was in bed earlier than you were. I do check your tracking data. I know you go out at night a lot."
"If you're checking my anklet, then you know I go to the gym. I like going when it's quiet."
"You never used to go this much."
"I wasn't aware that going to the gym was something I needed to clear with you." He said it more harshly than he intended.
"It isn't. I just wondered if you were having trouble sleeping."
Peter sounded honestly concerned, and Neal felt a mixture of embarrassment and guilt. He'd thought he was doing a pretty good job of keeping things together. Now, he wasn't so sure, and he didn't know how he felt about Peter keeping an eye on him. He also felt a little bad for snapping.
"I'm managing," he said. It was the closet he could bring himself to giving an honest answer.
Peter must have been able to tell it was the best he would get from Neal. He looked satisfied enough as he nodded and said, "All right. Glad to hear it."
Neal sipped his coffee and looked out window. He was slowly starting to feel more at ease; he might even be able to doze off if he lay down now. His eyes were getting tired and he stifled a yawn. But he still preferred to stay up. It was for the better, and he hoped it would make it easier to fall asleep the following night.
Peering outside, Neal looked for signs that the sky was getting lighter. He'd always enjoyed watching the sunrise. He could remember happier times, when Kate stayed up all night with him while he worked on forgeries. In the morning, she would go out and come back with fresh muffins, and Neal would eat with her while his fingers were still stained with paint.
Then he looked at Peter, who was studying his coffee with heavy-lidded eyes and the expression of someone who would rather be in bed. Neal felt like he should say something. After all, he'd practically asked Peter to stick around.
"You didn't really think I'd cut my anklet, did you?" Neal asked, trying to keep his voice light. He didn't want to pick a fight anymore, and he hoped Peter would realize he wasn't being confrontational.
Peter chuckled before taking a swig of his coffee.
"I told you; I don't know what's going on in your head."
"Really? I thought you were the expert. I mean, you did catch me."
"Twice. And yet, you continue to baffle." He let out a tired sigh and shook his head. "I still don't get why you were so hesitant to take your old deal back. I could've gotten you out of prison a month ago if you hadn't dragged your heels."
He didn't phrase it as a question, maybe because he knew better than to expect an answer. But the question was there regardless.
"What can I say? I wanted to weigh my options."
Peter murmured, dissatisfied, but didn't say anything. Neal knew he'd hoped for a better answer. Maybe he even deserved one.
What Neal couldn't tell Peter was that he wasn't sure if he deserved to come back to this life. He didn't know how to say that without making it sound like he blamed himself for Kate's death. He didn't. But all the same, he'd put her on that path the day he fell in love with her, and it felt like he should want penance for that. But the truth was, Neal appreciated comfort and freedom too much. In a way, prison would have absolved him from feeling bad about that.
And worse, it seemed obscene that he could choose to take back the life he'd had before Kate died. Neal had never weathered a crisis without his life changing irrevocably, like it was a due that had to be paid, a price for being a survivor.
He couldn't explain that, or he didn't want to try. But there was another version of the truth that was just as valid, and just as good of an explanation.
"The last time I got out," he said, "all I could think about was finding Kate. There wasn't much of a decision. This time, I wanted to think about it. Make sure I was doing the right thing."
"And this is the right thing?" Peter asked. There was a trace of hopefulness in his voice.
"Right now? I'm glad to be here."
"It's real good to have you here."
They finished their coffee in silence. By the time Neal's mug was empty, he thought he saw hints of blue in the sky, signaling that it would be sunrise soon. He was glad. Things were always less lonely once the sun came up.
Peter sighed and looked at his watch. "Right, I should go. How about I swing back here at, say, seven-thirty?"
"Sounds like a plan." Neal stood up and collected the empty mugs. He set them in the sink while Peter walked, zombie-like over to the door.
"Think we have a chance of going home early today?" Neal asked, looking over his shoulder.
"I think as long as we don't get any new cases, we might be able to get away with that."
Neal walked over to the door to see him out.
"You will be here when I get back, right?" Peter asked.
Neal refrained from acting insulted, or pointing out the pointlessness of the question. He supposed they both had a reason to be thrown off guard. "Yes," Neal said, humoring him, "I will be here. Now go. Elizabeth's probably wondering what's going on."
"Yeah, I should give her a call before I head home."
He heard Peter's footsteps grow faint as he went downstairs. Once they stopped, Neal went back to the sink to rinse out the mugs.
He took his time in the shower, and then stood in the closet with a towel wrapped around his waist while he picked out a suit and tie.
Maybe he would have time to get some breakfast. He'd promised Peter he'd be there when he got back, but he never said anything about not going out in the meantime.
He was sure that if he got a muffin or donut for Peter, Peter wouldn’t complain or ask questions.
This entry was originally posted at http://citrinesunset.dreamwidth.org/78750.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal, Peter
Rating: General (PG)
Warnings: References to canon character death. No spoilers past 2.01.
Word count: 2900
Summary: Early season 2. Neal gets a surprise visit from Peter
Notes: Just a short one-shot I wrote. As it always happens when I write something that isn't for a prompt or challenge, I could probably find an excuse to keep writing and tweaking this forever. It was time to let it be finished.
Neal was a light sleeper. It was pointless to try to figure out how it started; it was a habit he'd cultivated for a long time.
Back when the feds were on his tail, Neal would wake up suddenly sometimes. He'd hear a noise out in the hall and think the FBI had finally caught up with him.
In prison, even though he'd had his own cell, he was never truly at ease. He always woke up before the morning bell.
It never went away, that alertness. June's house was the most secure place he'd slept in years. But now Fowler was out there somewhere. Kate's killer was out there. They'd wanted him dead, too, and what was keeping them from coming after him if he didn't find them first?
It was dark when Neal woke up to the sound of the door opening. He was awake immediately, and his heart raced as he became aware of someone entering his apartment.
He reflexively reached for an antique cane that was beside the bed. The person who'd come in turned on the overhead light, and as Neal grimaced from the sudden brightness, it took him a second to process what he saw.
"Peter?" he asked, blinking. "Wha-don't you knock?"
Peter stared back at him, looking equally surprised. "Neal. I wasn't expecting to find you here."
Peter looked like he'd just gotten out of bed. His shirt had been tucked in hastily, and he hadn't shaved yet.
Neal slowly put the cane down and sat up on the edge of the bed. His heart was still pounding. He grabbed an undershirt that was lying at the foot of the bed and pulled it on. "Where were you expecting me to be at-" he looked at his watch and made a face. "Four forty-five in the morning?"
And if he hadn't expected him to be home, why didn't Peter just check Neal's tracking data before performing a one-man raid on his apartment? He certainly kept an eye on it-a cynical part of Neal thought it was almost a form of entertainment for him.
Peter's jaw stiffened and he put his hands on his hips. With a sigh, he said, "I just got a call from the Marshals. They said your anklet had been cut."
Neal raised an eyebrow. That explained why he didn't check the tracking data, at least.
He gestured at his leg, and the still-attached anklet. "Really? News to me."
But when he looked down, he did notice something amiss. There was no green light. No red one, either. "The light is off," he said.
Peter walked over to check. Neal lifted his foot up on the bed so he could get a closer look.
"Dammit," Peter muttered under his breath. He looked up into Neal's eyes and pointed at the anklet. "Did you do something to it?"
"Do what? I've been in bed!"
"Well, did anything happen? Any accidental damage? Could you have hit it against something while you were asleep?"
"I thought these things were supposed to be able to withstand wear and tear. I haven't even had this one a week."
"There must've been some sort of malfunction. I'm calling the Marshals...."
Peter stepped away and pulled out his cell phone. Neal listened while Peter identified himself and recited Neal's tracking number. He zoned out for the rest. A wave of fatigue hit him, and he put his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes. The next thing he knew, Peter was back beside him.
"You were planning to hit me with that, huh?"
Neal opened his eyes and saw that Peter was pointing at the cane.
"You'd do the same thing if someone broke into your house."
"Well, I'd probably grab a bat."
Neal had too much pride to buy a bat to keep by his bed for self-defense. At least he could pretend Byron's cane was there for decoration.
"What's the verdict on the anklet?"
"Looks like everything's fine on their end. They said it's probably a problem with the wiring."
Neal raised his eyebrows. "So much for the new, improved model...."
"The model should be fine. It's just a malfunctioning unit."
"Again, I was led to believe these things were a little tougher. I feel misled."
"It's electronic, Neal. It's not perfect. And they caught the problem, didn't they?"
"No, they thought I'd cut it and run. You'd think they'd have a way of telling the difference between tampering and a malfunction."
Peter just sighed and shook his head. He reached into his pocket and pulled out what Neal recognized as the key to the anklet. He crouched down.
"Better see if the key works, at least."
Neal frowned. He hadn't even considered that. It'd be a lie to claim he hadn't looked at the new anklet once or twice, and thought about how he'd go about cutting it (if he needed to, of course). But he never imagined this scenario.
The key worked, however, and Neal breathed small sigh of relief. Peter removed the anklet, leaving a strange lightness in its place. Neal had already gotten used to it again. He flexed his ankle.
"It might be a few hours before we can get a replacement," Peter said. He stood up with slight grunt. He wandered over to the kitchen and set the anklet on the counter with an audible thunk.
Neal got up and followed. "And what if this happens again?"
Peter looked over his shoulder with a wry smile. "If you're thinking of trying anything, glitches like this are one in a thousand. No, ten thousand."
Neal glared at him. "Actually, I'm concerned about my sleep. Surprise FBI raids sort of cut into my eight hours, you know?"
Peter didn't have a bad idea, though. A few recurring glitches would lower the FBI's defenses and make a good build-up to an actual escape. If Neal needed to do that. He didn't intend to, especially right after getting out of prison again, but he couldn't help from dreaming up contingency plans.
Peter frowned at him. "Well, I don't exactly like waking up to a phone call telling me you've cut your anklet." He held up a finger, cutting off any protests Neal might make. "Even if that's not what actually happened."
"I'm just saying. You could have knocked. At least tell me you didn't bother June."
It'd always irritated Neal that part of his deal was letting Peter have a key to his place. Sure, Peter was considerate as a rule, but it still meant Neal couldn't exactly complain about an incident like this.
"I'll try to remember that in the future. And no, I did not bother June."
Neal chose to ignore Peter's sardonic tone. "Glad to hear it."
"Look," Peter said, irritated, "I am sorry about this. But it's not my fault. I've been inconvenienced too, you know."
"Got it. Is there a reason you're sticking around? If you're staying, I can make some coffee...?"
He watched Peter for a response. When Peter looked down, Neal could tell he didn't want to say what was going through his mind. But Neal could read it just fine.
"You don't trust me without the anklet for a few hours," Neal said. His voice was incredulous, but he was only half surprised.
"No, I trust you. With reservations."
Neal narrowed his eyes. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
Peter huffed. "Come on, Neal, what am I supposed to think? You've only been out of prison a week. And it's only been a couple months since Kate...." He shook his head. "Look, I know it's been tough for you, and I know you're holding back. I can respect that. But when I don't know what's going on with you, it makes me nervous. And then getting that call from the Marshals...."
Neal didn't have a response. What could he say? He wouldn't admit it, but nothing Peter had said was exactly unfair. He decided to start making that coffee.
Peter had bags under his eyes, and seeing them reminded Neal of how exhausted he would be in a little bit. Whether Peter left him alone or not, he knew he wasn't getting any more sleep. His heart was still beating at a quickened pace. As he reached for the coffee, a small tin of basil tumbled out of the cupboard, and he suppressed a flinch when it hit the counter.
This was how he was lately. This was how he'd been since that day with the plane. It didn't take much to put him on edge. The adrenaline and frustration made him feel like picking a fight, but even though Peter had just offered him an opportunity, Neal managed to keep himself reined in.
Peter rubbed a hand over his eyes. "It's not just about leaving you unsupervised. This whole night's a mess. If I go home now, it'll be too late to go back to bed, and too early to finish getting ready for work. And then we still need to get that damn anklet replaced."
Neal started the coffeemaker and leaned back against the counter. "If you ask me, we both have a raw deal. We should make a stand. Think I should write a strongly-worded letter to the Marshals?"
"I don't know. Do you feel like pissing them off?"
"Might be cathartic."
Peter smiled and shook his head. He looked at his watch. "I should probably just go. There's no reason you can't get another couple hours. Just don't make me regret leaving you alone."
"Wouldn't think of it. But you don't have to leave on my account. I'm not going back to bed now. And I already put the coffee on."
Peter gave him a sidelong glance. "It's only five o'clock."
Neal shrugged. "Yeah, well I'm kind of awake now."
"Almost sounds like you want me to stick around," Peter said, narrowing his eyes.
"Just don't want to waste good coffee. And I know how much you love June's Italian roast."
Peter hesitated. Neal knew he really did love June's coffee. Finally, Peter took off his coat and draped it over one of the dining room chairs.
When the coffee finished brewing Neal poured them each a mug and they sat down at the table.
Neal wouldn't admit it out loud, but he realized Peter was right: Neal didn't want him to leave yet. With him there, it was easier to pretend he wasn't shaken up.
These days, Neal spent a lot of time distracting himself.
Work was usually all right, and Mozzie came over a lot in the evenings. But once Mozzie left, Neal faced hours of numbing silence. He brought files home from the bureau a lot, but he couldn't always concentrate on them.
Peter took a sip of coffee and studied Neal over the edge of the mug. When he set it down, he said, "Since I'm here...I don't suppose you'd like to tell me how you're holding up?"
"Not much to tell."
Peter held up a hand. "All right, fair enough. Like I said, I get it. But don't expect me to believe you're fine. And don't tell me you're not tired. Maybe you don’t feel like it, but you look exhausted. How much sleep did you get, anyway?"
Neal smiled. "You mean, before you woke me up?"
"I'm beat, and I have a good feeling that I was in bed earlier than you were. I do check your tracking data. I know you go out at night a lot."
"If you're checking my anklet, then you know I go to the gym. I like going when it's quiet."
"You never used to go this much."
"I wasn't aware that going to the gym was something I needed to clear with you." He said it more harshly than he intended.
"It isn't. I just wondered if you were having trouble sleeping."
Peter sounded honestly concerned, and Neal felt a mixture of embarrassment and guilt. He'd thought he was doing a pretty good job of keeping things together. Now, he wasn't so sure, and he didn't know how he felt about Peter keeping an eye on him. He also felt a little bad for snapping.
"I'm managing," he said. It was the closet he could bring himself to giving an honest answer.
Peter must have been able to tell it was the best he would get from Neal. He looked satisfied enough as he nodded and said, "All right. Glad to hear it."
Neal sipped his coffee and looked out window. He was slowly starting to feel more at ease; he might even be able to doze off if he lay down now. His eyes were getting tired and he stifled a yawn. But he still preferred to stay up. It was for the better, and he hoped it would make it easier to fall asleep the following night.
Peering outside, Neal looked for signs that the sky was getting lighter. He'd always enjoyed watching the sunrise. He could remember happier times, when Kate stayed up all night with him while he worked on forgeries. In the morning, she would go out and come back with fresh muffins, and Neal would eat with her while his fingers were still stained with paint.
Then he looked at Peter, who was studying his coffee with heavy-lidded eyes and the expression of someone who would rather be in bed. Neal felt like he should say something. After all, he'd practically asked Peter to stick around.
"You didn't really think I'd cut my anklet, did you?" Neal asked, trying to keep his voice light. He didn't want to pick a fight anymore, and he hoped Peter would realize he wasn't being confrontational.
Peter chuckled before taking a swig of his coffee.
"I told you; I don't know what's going on in your head."
"Really? I thought you were the expert. I mean, you did catch me."
"Twice. And yet, you continue to baffle." He let out a tired sigh and shook his head. "I still don't get why you were so hesitant to take your old deal back. I could've gotten you out of prison a month ago if you hadn't dragged your heels."
He didn't phrase it as a question, maybe because he knew better than to expect an answer. But the question was there regardless.
"What can I say? I wanted to weigh my options."
Peter murmured, dissatisfied, but didn't say anything. Neal knew he'd hoped for a better answer. Maybe he even deserved one.
What Neal couldn't tell Peter was that he wasn't sure if he deserved to come back to this life. He didn't know how to say that without making it sound like he blamed himself for Kate's death. He didn't. But all the same, he'd put her on that path the day he fell in love with her, and it felt like he should want penance for that. But the truth was, Neal appreciated comfort and freedom too much. In a way, prison would have absolved him from feeling bad about that.
And worse, it seemed obscene that he could choose to take back the life he'd had before Kate died. Neal had never weathered a crisis without his life changing irrevocably, like it was a due that had to be paid, a price for being a survivor.
He couldn't explain that, or he didn't want to try. But there was another version of the truth that was just as valid, and just as good of an explanation.
"The last time I got out," he said, "all I could think about was finding Kate. There wasn't much of a decision. This time, I wanted to think about it. Make sure I was doing the right thing."
"And this is the right thing?" Peter asked. There was a trace of hopefulness in his voice.
"Right now? I'm glad to be here."
"It's real good to have you here."
They finished their coffee in silence. By the time Neal's mug was empty, he thought he saw hints of blue in the sky, signaling that it would be sunrise soon. He was glad. Things were always less lonely once the sun came up.
Peter sighed and looked at his watch. "Right, I should go. How about I swing back here at, say, seven-thirty?"
"Sounds like a plan." Neal stood up and collected the empty mugs. He set them in the sink while Peter walked, zombie-like over to the door.
"Think we have a chance of going home early today?" Neal asked, looking over his shoulder.
"I think as long as we don't get any new cases, we might be able to get away with that."
Neal walked over to the door to see him out.
"You will be here when I get back, right?" Peter asked.
Neal refrained from acting insulted, or pointing out the pointlessness of the question. He supposed they both had a reason to be thrown off guard. "Yes," Neal said, humoring him, "I will be here. Now go. Elizabeth's probably wondering what's going on."
"Yeah, I should give her a call before I head home."
He heard Peter's footsteps grow faint as he went downstairs. Once they stopped, Neal went back to the sink to rinse out the mugs.
He took his time in the shower, and then stood in the closet with a towel wrapped around his waist while he picked out a suit and tie.
Maybe he would have time to get some breakfast. He'd promised Peter he'd be there when he got back, but he never said anything about not going out in the meantime.
He was sure that if he got a muffin or donut for Peter, Peter wouldn’t complain or ask questions.
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