Fic: Expendable 1/? Rated T
EXPENDABLE
Neal tried to hide a yawn
as he finished up the last of a seemingly endless supply of paperwork. He actually had enjoyed being handled by Peter instead of this new status as a true consultant/agent in training. When he was Neal Caffery, work release felon, there was a lot less paperwork that he had to do. Now he had to do requisitions, time sheets, expense reports, daily reports, and the sheer volume made him want to scream. Scream or head to the Met, rip off a picture, just so Peter and Hughes would be forced to return him to his previous, unpaperwork encumbered life. The paperwork wasn’t even considering the classes and homework for the Academy. He still wondered how Hughes had gotten it arranged so that he could do long distance education without having to go to the academy, except for two weeks of field exercises coming up in September. Peter had groused that Neal should be exempt since he was in the field on a daily basis, but evidently even Quantico had limits to how far they would let themselves be pushed in this unusual arrangement.
He ignored the cough from Peter. Peter really wasn’t coughing. Peter was merely trying to get Neal’s attention, in what he felt was a covert way. He insisted in hiding the nature of their relationship, even though it was mostly common knowledge. Neal didn’t mind. He would be content to follow Peter’s lead. He might be content, but he still could have fun twinking the leash on occasion. He blinked, hating to admit how tired he was beginning to feel. He had been at it since 6 am with a report do for the Academy. He had sat up at the kitchen table and studied while El and Peter had slept on. He’d snuck out of bed, though from the slap to his backside from Peter, not totally unnoticed. He knew Peter was worried Neal was working himself to hard trying to do it all. Neal would concede he might be, but he wanted Peter to be proud of him.
“Neal? Earth to Caffery.”
Neal looked up, focusing on Peter, or well the most in focus version of Peter. “What? Sorry, I was trying to finish all this up.”
“All our paperwork doesn’t have to be done in a day, you know. Besides, Hughes is giving you the afternoon to work on Quantico.”
“We have the lead on the art theft.”
“Yes, which is no closer to coming through today then it was yesterday.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I should be reading through that again.”
“Neal, its noon.”
“What?”
“Noon, as in 12 o’clock in the afternoon, as in the accepted time that most people go out and get something to eat.”
“Smartass.” Neal opened his folder and pulled out the expense report. “I might just eat something here. I only have $275 left, and I have to pay rent still. That’s going to eat up most of my money.”
“I’m buying.”
“You bought yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that…”
“I happen to like buying you lunch, besides El charges very reasonable rates. Besides, it’s in my best interests to keep my partner fed. It keeps him mentally sharp.”
Neal got embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t think I was slipping. Really, you go and I’ll look over the folder again.”
“You are not slipping. You need to go out and you need something to eat. Maybe if I get lucky, I can get you to sack out on the sofa for a bit.”
“Hughes would kill me.”
“I can call it meditation. Now, seriously, put on the hat and coat. We are going to lunch.”
“Peter..”
“No, Neal. We are going. Any more talking and I’ll tell El exactly why her lunch specials are getting cold. You know she hates to waste food.”
“I feel like a moocher.”
Peter smiled and mussed Neal’s hair. “You are certainly no moocher. Now, come on.”
Neal blinked and yawned. He looked around for his hat, only to find Peter standing in front of him, very amused, with the hat dangling around his finger.
“You’re going to stretch it out of shape like that. This is a fine piece of craftsmanship. It’s a fedora. It’s a classic. Poor baby, abused by the philistines.”
“I am not a Philistine, I’m Scotch-Irish.”
Cruz followed them out of the office with her eyes. She was annoyed. She’d been working her butt off to get Peter’s attention, starving to hear a rare compliment. Yet, he lavished all his spare attention on this ex-con who seemed to luck into largely whatever he wanted. Hell, he was being given the privilege of doing the Academy by distance learning, with the help of three fawning tutors in Hughes, Peter Burke, and Jones. All this energy wasted on something that, to the FBI would be fundamentally expendable, especially in comparison to Peter Burke.
-
Neal tried to hide a yawn
as he finished up the last of a seemingly endless supply of paperwork. He actually had enjoyed being handled by Peter instead of this new status as a true consultant/agent in training. When he was Neal Caffery, work release felon, there was a lot less paperwork that he had to do. Now he had to do requisitions, time sheets, expense reports, daily reports, and the sheer volume made him want to scream. Scream or head to the Met, rip off a picture, just so Peter and Hughes would be forced to return him to his previous, unpaperwork encumbered life. The paperwork wasn’t even considering the classes and homework for the Academy. He still wondered how Hughes had gotten it arranged so that he could do long distance education without having to go to the academy, except for two weeks of field exercises coming up in September. Peter had groused that Neal should be exempt since he was in the field on a daily basis, but evidently even Quantico had limits to how far they would let themselves be pushed in this unusual arrangement.
He ignored the cough from Peter. Peter really wasn’t coughing. Peter was merely trying to get Neal’s attention, in what he felt was a covert way. He insisted in hiding the nature of their relationship, even though it was mostly common knowledge. Neal didn’t mind. He would be content to follow Peter’s lead. He might be content, but he still could have fun twinking the leash on occasion. He blinked, hating to admit how tired he was beginning to feel. He had been at it since 6 am with a report do for the Academy. He had sat up at the kitchen table and studied while El and Peter had slept on. He’d snuck out of bed, though from the slap to his backside from Peter, not totally unnoticed. He knew Peter was worried Neal was working himself to hard trying to do it all. Neal would concede he might be, but he wanted Peter to be proud of him.
“Neal? Earth to Caffery.”
Neal looked up, focusing on Peter, or well the most in focus version of Peter. “What? Sorry, I was trying to finish all this up.”
“All our paperwork doesn’t have to be done in a day, you know. Besides, Hughes is giving you the afternoon to work on Quantico.”
“We have the lead on the art theft.”
“Yes, which is no closer to coming through today then it was yesterday.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I should be reading through that again.”
“Neal, its noon.”
“What?”
“Noon, as in 12 o’clock in the afternoon, as in the accepted time that most people go out and get something to eat.”
“Smartass.” Neal opened his folder and pulled out the expense report. “I might just eat something here. I only have $275 left, and I have to pay rent still. That’s going to eat up most of my money.”
“I’m buying.”
“You bought yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that…”
“I happen to like buying you lunch, besides El charges very reasonable rates. Besides, it’s in my best interests to keep my partner fed. It keeps him mentally sharp.”
Neal got embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t think I was slipping. Really, you go and I’ll look over the folder again.”
“You are not slipping. You need to go out and you need something to eat. Maybe if I get lucky, I can get you to sack out on the sofa for a bit.”
“Hughes would kill me.”
“I can call it meditation. Now, seriously, put on the hat and coat. We are going to lunch.”
“Peter..”
“No, Neal. We are going. Any more talking and I’ll tell El exactly why her lunch specials are getting cold. You know she hates to waste food.”
“I feel like a moocher.”
Peter smiled and mussed Neal’s hair. “You are certainly no moocher. Now, come on.”
Neal blinked and yawned. He looked around for his hat, only to find Peter standing in front of him, very amused, with the hat dangling around his finger.
“You’re going to stretch it out of shape like that. This is a fine piece of craftsmanship. It’s a fedora. It’s a classic. Poor baby, abused by the philistines.”
“I am not a Philistine, I’m Scotch-Irish.”
Cruz followed them out of the office with her eyes. She was annoyed. She’d been working her butt off to get Peter’s attention, starving to hear a rare compliment. Yet, he lavished all his spare attention on this ex-con who seemed to luck into largely whatever he wanted. Hell, he was being given the privilege of doing the Academy by distance learning, with the help of three fawning tutors in Hughes, Peter Burke, and Jones. All this energy wasted on something that, to the FBI would be fundamentally expendable, especially in comparison to Peter Burke.
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