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cookiegirl♥ Happy 4th Annual Caffrey-Burke Day! ♥
Title: All Wrapped Up (or: Five Times Peter Comforted Neal with a Blanket)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cookielaura
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter, El, gen
Word Count: 4958
Rating: G
Warnings: Panic attack
Beta:erinm_4600, remaining mistakes are mine!
Summary: Neal needs blankets. Peter has blankets! It’s fate. Shameless hurt/comfort, set in the early seasons.
Notes: Written for this prompt byazertynin on collarcorner: ‘five times Peter uses a blanket to help/comfort Neal’. Posted for Caffrey-Burke day! Also filling the Wild Card square on my tropebingo card.
1.
‘Stop it,’ Peter said, nudging Neal’s hand away from the dash.
‘But –’
‘No. That’s as high as it goes. The heating dial isn’t going to magically turn further just because you keep fiddling with it.’
Neal slumped back in the passenger seat and folded his arms across his chest. ‘You need to get a car with a better heating system.’
‘The Taurus has an excellent heating system,’ Peter said firmly. ‘And you should have worn a sweater. It’s a New York stake-out in November, not a Paris fashion show.’
‘I’m wearing a coat. And a scarf!’ Neal said indignantly, holding up the thin strip of cotton around his neck, which looked like it would barely hold off a light breeze.
Peter rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, very fashionable. How about you try focusing on surveillance instead of how cold you are?’ He was fairly sure Neal’s constant complaints were due more to boredom than an imminent possibility of freezing to death.
‘Fine.’ Neal turned and stared out of the window for all of two minutes before looking around for the Thermos, unscrewing the lid and then giving a dramatic sigh when he found it was empty.
‘You already drank it all,’ Peter said, somewhat redundantly.
‘Not true. You had some.’
‘I had one cup. You had four.’
Neal set the flask down hard on the car’s floor. ‘I think we should arrest this guy just for living so far away from a Starbucks. Doesn’t he have any consideration for the people who have to do surveillance in the freezing cold? If it was me being watched, I’d have had pizza delivered to the car by now.’
‘Well, you’re a different class of criminal,’ Peter said with just a touch of sarcasm, and watched as Neal’s face lit up for the first time in hours.
‘You’re too kind,’ Neal said, grinning. Then the smile was knocked off his face by a body-wracking shiver. Peter frowned; that hadn’t looked like Neal had faked it. He reached out and briefly touched Neal’s cheek with the back of his hand. The skin was much colder than his own. He sighed.
‘Wait here,’ he said, getting out of the car and slamming the door behind him. Peter rifled through the trunk until he found what he was looking for, then opened the passenger door and thrust the bundle of lime green and bright yellow at Neal. He headed back around the car to his own seat and settled back into it.
Neal was staring down at the pile of lurid fabric that had been dropped on his lap. ‘What is this?’ he asked, and Peter could tell he was trying to keep the horror from his voice.
‘It’s a picnic blanket. I bought it for one of mine and El’s early dates. Now I keep it in the car for emergencies. Put it on.’
Neal unfolded the blanket slowly, his nose wrinkling a little. ‘You took this on a date with Elizabeth and she agreed to another one?’
‘She liked it,’ Peter said defensively, then grinned when Neal gave him a disbelieving look. ‘Okay, she didn’t like it. She was amused by it. And she suggested I get my eyes checked to see if I was color blind.’
‘Did you?’ Neal asked, wrapping the blanket around himself and pulling it up to his chin.
‘Yes. My sight is perfectly normal.’
‘Then there’s no excuse for this,’ Neal said, indicating the blanket.
‘I can take it back, if you don’t want it,’ Peter offered.
‘No!’ Neal said quickly, tugging it more tightly around him, as if afraid Peter might pull it off him. ‘No, it’s great. Really. It’s very nice.’
Peter smiled and pulled out his cell, then held it up and made as if to take a picture. ‘Then you won’t mind me showing El how stylish you look in it.’
Neal lunged across and grabbed the phone out of Peter’s hand, then shoved the phone into his pocket. ‘I’m confiscating this until the end of the night.’
Peter shrugged good-naturedly and let Neal keep it. He didn’t need photographic evidence – he’d be unlikely to forget how Neal looked right now, completely covered in neon lime and yellow checks, only his head peeking out from the top of the blanket. It was almost cute.
And at least he’d stopped complaining about the cold.
----
2.
Peter pushed open the door to Neal’s apartment more forcefully than was truly necessary. He’d been waiting downstairs for twenty minutes and his patience was running thin. They had an important meeting that morning, and Neal had been given strict instructions to be ready by seven thirty – instructions he had obviously ignored.
‘Caffrey, I swear, if you’re trying to decide between three different hats…’ Peter trailed off as he walked into the room and found the apartment dim and empty, the curtains still drawn across the French doors, shutting out the morning light. The bed was abandoned, half of the blankets trailing down the side of it and the other half pooling on the floor, and Neal was nowhere to be seen.
‘Neal?’ he called, concern building in his gut. He had never seen the apartment in disarray like this. When he got no reply, he pushed open the door to the corridor that led to Neal’s closet and bathroom, and called out again. This time, he received a response: a pained groan of acknowledgement coming from the bathroom. He frowned and edged towards the door, which was slightly ajar.
‘Everything okay in there?’ Peter asked awkwardly, not particularly wanting to go in.
‘Um, not really,’ came Neal’s voice. It sounded weak and unhappy. ‘M’sick.’ There was a pause, and then: ‘You can come in, I’m not indecent.’
Peter sighed, hoping this wasn’t some sort of con to get out of the – admittedly very boring – meeting they had scheduled that morning. But all thoughts of that flew from his mind when he saw Neal, who was slouched on the floor, a couple feet from the toilet, his head tilted back against the wall. His face was almost as white as the tiles he was leaning against, except for the red blotches on his cheekbones. His hair was flopping over his forehead, looking darker than usual next to his pale skin, and his pajama pants and white tee were crumpled.
‘What the hell happened to you?’ Peter asked, swiftly crossing the bathroom and crouching down next to Neal. Without thinking about it, he put a hand to Neal’s forehead to test his temperature, the way he did when Elizabeth was feeling ill. Neal flinched back in surprise at first, then relaxed into the touch.
‘You’re burning up,’ Peter said.
‘Oysters,’ Neal replied.
‘Excuse me?’
‘You asked…what had happened.’ Talking was obviously a strain, but he carried on. ‘Went to an oyster bar. With Mozz. Don’t think they were…as fresh as we’d have liked.’
‘Is Mozzie sick too?’ Peter asked.
Neal gave a half-hearted shrug. ‘Don’t know. If he is… he won’t be happy. Probably burn down his safe house after he recovers, to rid it of the germs.’ He attempted a grin, but it fell from his face as he doubled over, clutching his stomach. His breath came hard and quick for a few moments, and Peter hovered next to him, unsure what to do.
After a minute the cramps seemed to pass and Neal leant back, heavily, against the wall. ‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘Sorry for being ill?’
‘Being late. Would have called, but… phone’s still on the nightstand. Couldn’t… make it back.’
Peter sighed. Neal looked more pathetic than he’d ever seen him, and much as he would like to deny it, it was tugging at his heartstrings. ‘Don’t worry about it. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.’ He reached to help Neal stand, but Neal put out a hand to halt him.
‘Need to stay here,’ he said with a grimace. He patted the side of the toilet as if it was an old friend. ‘Been throwing up on a pretty regular basis.’
Peter frowned. ‘Do you need the doctor?’
‘No, it’ll pass.’ Neal must have thought Peter looked unconvinced, because he repeated himself in a slightly stronger voice and tried another smile while he was at it.
Peter gave him an assessing look. ‘Okay, but if you’re not better in a few hours, we’ll talk about it again.’ He glanced at his watch, irritated that he didn’t have more time to stick around and make sure Neal was okay. ‘I can’t miss this meeting, but I’m gonna ask June to come up and sit with you, alright?’
Neal shook his head. ‘Don’t bother June. I don’t need… to be fussed over.’
‘It’s non-negotiable,’ Peter said. ‘Besides, since when doesn’t Neal Caffrey like being waited on?’
Neal managed to glare at him for a moment, then winced as the stomach cramps came back. As he leant over to hold his stomach, Peter noticed the gooseflesh across the tops of his arms.
‘I’m gonna get you a blanket,’ he said as Neal returned to a mostly upright position. Peter stood up and headed back to the bedroom, where he gathered up the blankets on the bed and floor, and picked up a pillow as well.
When he returned to the bathroom, Neal gave him an amused look. ‘That’s not a blanket, Peter.’
Peter ignored him. ‘Lean forward,’ he said, and pushed the pillow behind Neal’s back when he did so, thinking it would be more comfortable to lean against than the cold ceramic tile. Then he draped one of the blankets around Neal’s shoulders, and the other over his legs. He had one left, so he tossed that over Neal’s lap for good measure.
Neal looked up at Peter from his cocoon of blankets. ‘You’ve made me…a nest.’ He sounded both surprised and entertained. Peter shared the surprise part, at least.
‘Yeah. Well, I don’t want you catching your death in here.’
‘Right. Who would solve your cases for you then?’ Neal asked lightly. The colour seemed to be returning to his face a little, though he still looked nauseous.
‘Very funny. I’ll send June straight up. Try not to drive her to distraction, okay?’
‘’Kay,’ Neal said. He pulled the blanket around his shoulders closer to him and closed his eyes. ‘I’ll be better by tomorrow.’
‘Of course you will,’ Peter said, turning to leave. ‘I’ll call you later.’ He was halfway out the bathroom door when he heard Neal call him.
‘Peter?’
‘Yeah?’ he asked, turning back.
‘Thank you for my nest.’
‘You’re welcome.’
----
3.
‘Any chance we can change to a channel that isn’t wall-to-wall sports?’ Neal asked, putting down the file he’d been reading and stretching out his legs, yawning a little as he did so. It was nine pm, and he and Peter had been working through the evening at the Burkes’, determined to figure out the answer to their case before the morning. They were both getting tired, and even the background sounds of the baseball game on television and El washing dishes in the kitchen weren’t doing much to keep them awake.
Peter picked up the file Neal had cast down and swapped it for the one he’d been looking at. He glanced at the game, which he’d barely been watching, and shrugged. Truth be told, he was impressed Neal had lasted through two hours of sports with only a couple complaints.
‘Sure, put on whatever you want.’ He flicked to the first page of the file, and the words started to blur together in front of his eyes. ‘I’m gonna go get another coffee, you want one?’
‘Please,’ Neal said, his attention already on the remote control, so Peter joined El in the kitchen.
She looked up from the sink and gave him a smile. ‘Come to dry the dishes?’ she teased.
Peter put his arms around her from behind and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. ‘I promise I’ll wash and dry all next week, once this case is out the way,’ he said. He turned to make the coffee.
‘Neal seems better tonight, doesn’t he?’ El asked in a softer voice. They had been inviting Neal around more often in the three weeks since he’d gotten re-released into Peter’s custody after Kate’s death, and Peter knew Elizabeth kept a close eye on him to see how he was doing.
‘Hard to tell,’ Peter said. If he admitted it, he had been watching Neal closely too, hoping to figure out what was going on in his mind, but Neal didn’t reveal much.
El had just opened her mouth to reply, when they heard a clatter from the living room. Peter frowned, and poked his head out of the kitchen.
‘Neal? Everything okay?’
Neal didn’t reply. He was staring at the television, his face pale and drawn, and it looked as if he hadn’t heard Peter. The television remote was lying at his feet, having been dropped onto the wooden floor.
Peter stepped further into the room. ‘Neal?’ When he looked closer, he saw Neal’s hands were shaking, and his eyes had a strange, faraway look to them. His breath was fast and shallow, and he seemed as though he might topple over on the couch at any moment. Peter hurried over next to him, and followed Neal’s eye line, to the television set, where an action movie was playing. Neal must have channel-surfed his way to it, at the worst possible time.
On the screen, a plane had exploded. Debris was raining down, and the burning carcass of an airplane loomed, fiery and smoking, in the background. The scene was painfully familiar, and the breath caught in Peter’s chest. For a moment he too was right back at that hangar, watching Neal tossed into the air by the explosion, feeling the searing heat on his skin, smelling the stench of tar and flame and flesh.
Peter grabbed for the remote and switched off the set, fingers fumbling in his desperation to get rid of the image. He pushed the coffee table out of his way, then crouched down in front of Neal and grabbed at his trembling hands, which were surprisingly cold. Neal didn’t seem to register his presence, but just went on staring unseeingly at the dark screen. His breath was increasing in speed, his chest rising and falling in tiny, anguished gasps.
‘Neal? Neal, it’s okay. You’re here, with me, everything’s okay. Breathe, slowly.’ He rubbed Neal’s hands between his own, trying to infuse some warmth into the skin. Seeing Neal like this, caught inside this blank terror, was shaking him up. He felt Elizabeth at his side, crouching next to him, and saw her rub her hand up and down Neal’s arm.
‘Sweetie? It’s alright, you’re safe.’ Her voice was soft and soothing, but it didn’t seem to make any difference to Neal. After a moment, she told Peter she’d be back in a minute, and left for the kitchen.
‘Neal, breathe for me, slowly, come on. In, out, slower, slower.’ Peter kept going, despite the lack of reaction from Neal, keeping his tone low and steady, even though he felt like panicking himself. Neal swayed dizzily as though he was about to fall forwards, and Peter grabbed his upper arms, and held him firmly, trying to transfer some of his strength into Neal. Neal’s head tipped forwards and rested on Peter’s shoulder, and they stayed like that, Peter bending awkwardly, still repeating his litany of breathing instructions, until Neal’s breath did slow, and he slumped back against the couch.
Peter sat down next to him, and Neal turned his face towards him, looking unfocused.
‘Peter?’
‘Yeah, buddy, you okay?’
A shiver ran through Neal, and Peter grabbed for the throw blanket on the arm of the couch. He wrapped it around Neal’s shoulders and held on longer than necessary, doing his best to ground Neal in the present.
‘Peter…’ Neal said again, and his gaze flicked back to the television, relief tingeing his expression when he saw it was blank. ‘I…there was…Kate.’
‘I know,’ Peter said softly. He looked up as Elizabeth reappeared, holding a mug.
She bent down in front of Neal. ‘Hey sweetie. Made you some tea. Lots of sugar. It’s good for shock.’
She handed it to Neal and he took it from her, holding it in his lap. He shivered again and Peter pulled the blanket around him more tightly.
‘Sorry…I don’t… sorry.’ Neal looked utterly lost. ‘I’ve never…’
‘No need to be sorry,’ Peter said. ‘Drink your tea.’
Neal looked down at the mug in his hands as if seeing it for the first time. He frowned distractedly.
‘I…don’t drink tea, Peter.’
‘You do today,’ Peter said firmly, and something about his tone must have gotten through to Neal, because he raised the mug and took a sip, and then another. As he drank, his face started to relax, and the shaking in his hands abated. Elizabeth sat down on his other side and started to chat to him softly about her plans for the weekend, and Neal turned to listen to her, letting himself be distracted.
Peter, however, didn’t take his eyes off Neal, watching over him until he was smiling and laughing again, pretending to be just as fine as ever.
----
4.
Peter parked the Taurus in front of June’s townhouse and glanced across at the passenger seat. Neal was dozing, his head tilted against the window, his exhalations leaving small white clouds on the glass. His breathing was heavy but quiet and even – trust Caffrey to even snore elegantly.
Peter couldn’t blame him for falling asleep; an undercover mission that was supposed to last for a day had become drawn out and complicated, and Neal had been with the suspects for going on sixty hours, during which he had barely dared to close his eyes, let alone sleep. Peter hated to wake him now, but there was no way he was carrying Neal up five flights of stairs to his apartment.
He reached over and nudged Neal gently. ‘We’re here,’ he said, keeping his voice low. Neal didn’t wake, though he shifted in his seat and lifted a hand to push Peter away ineffectually.
‘Neal,’ Peter said more forcefully. ‘Time to get up.’
Neal’s eyes flicked open and he shook himself awake, looking around blearily. ‘Feels like we just left a minute ago,’ he said, his voice thick with exhaustion.
‘That’ll be due to my brilliantly smooth driving,’ Peter said. ‘Come on, you need some proper sleep.’
Neal nodded his assent and dragged himself from the car, following Peter slowly up the path to the front door, and through it to the stairs.
‘You don’t need to escort me to my room,’ he said as Peter started up the staircase next to him. ‘I promise not to get into any trouble between here and there.’ But as he finished speaking, Neal stumbled sideways on the stairs and caught himself heavily against Peter’s side.
‘Yeah, that’s reassuring,’ Peter said. He righted Neal, who looked like he could be blown over by a light breeze. Peter dropped back to the step behind him so he could stop him if he started tumbling down.
‘You know, with the amount of times I’ve helped you up these stairs,’ Peter said, ‘I’m starting to think I should petition June to put in an elevator.’
Neal gave a weary huff of a laugh. ‘Maybe you should just stop sending me on cases where I get drugged or injured,’ he pointed out.
Peter rolled his eyes. ‘Pretty sure a lot of those incidents were your fault,’ he said, ‘but if you like, I can arrange for you to sit and tackle more mortgage fraud cases instead?’
Neal tried to scowl at him, but it was obviously taking all his effort just to keep his eyes open. ‘I think I’ll stick with the missions,’ he said.
‘Good choice.’
They reached Neal’s door, and Peter watched as he fumbled for his keys, supporting himself with one hand on the doorframe. Once the door was unlocked, Peter followed him in to make sure he didn’t collapse on the floor.
Neal headed straight for the bed, and Peter went to pull the curtains shut across the French doors. When he turned to say goodbye to Neal, he saw him half-lying on the bed, one foot still on the floor. His eyes were shut and the quiet snores had resumed. At first Peter thought he might be faking for Peter’s amusement, but he quickly decided that Neal would be unlikely to take up such an ungainly position willingly.
He stepped quietly over to the bed and carefully swung Neal’s right leg up onto the mattress so he was lying down properly. Assuming that Neal wouldn’t want June’s expensive silk sheets ruined with dirty shoes, Peter leaned over and tugged off Neal’s loafers, setting them on the floor by the side of the bed. Neal made a small, indecipherable noise, but the movements didn’t seem to rouse him.
Peter gave him a quick once-over and figured that the slacks and shirt would be comfortable enough to sleep in, and messing with them would only disturb Neal, but the tie which Neal had loosened a little in the car was still around his neck. He sighed; it would be just like Neal to half-strangle himself in his sleep and then blame Peter. Peter bent and gently inserted his fingers into the knot, until it was undone and he could pull the tie off. He took a moment to contemplate whether other agents ended up undressing their CIs, then decided it didn’t really matter.
He turned and picked up one of the thick blankets folded at the end of the bed, shook it out, and laid it softly over Neal. Neal’s eyes fluttered but didn’t open; he shifted slightly under the quilt and then pulled it closer to him. His face was slack with sleep and for once, he looked utterly guileless, like an innocent child. Peter felt a small, sudden ache in his chest, and his hand went to Neal’s hair without thinking, brushing the stray lock off his forehead.
There was a part of Peter that wanted to lie down on Neal’s couch and sleep there; his own nerves were frayed after the sixty hours of waiting and hoping for the mission to end, waiting and hoping for Neal to be safe. But he had a home to go to, and he told himself firmly that Neal didn’t need him any more tonight.
He made his way to the door, keeping his footsteps light on the wooden floor, but as he opened the door it creaked on its hinges and he heard a rustle as Neal stirred. He poked his head back around the corner, and saw Neal had turned onto his side, one hand holding the blanket close to his chin. One of Neal’s eyes half opened, just for a moment, and a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
‘G’night P’ter,’ he murmured, snuggling further under the blanket.
‘Goodnight Neal.’
----
5.
‘You got any plans for Saturday?’ Peter asked, as he and Neal leaned against the wall outside the FBI offices, eating pretzels and taking in as much fresh air as they could before they had to return to work.
‘Why?’ Neal asked as he tilted his hat down to keep the sun from his eyes. He shot a quick glance at Peter. ‘You scared I might be planning a celebratory art heist?’
‘You know, Neal, you might choose to make heist jokes when you’re not in the vicinity of hundreds of FBI agents,’ Peter said with a long-suffering sigh.
‘Who says it was a joke?’ Neal asked innocently. Peter glared at him and he grinned. ‘Don’t worry, I’m just hanging out with Mozz. Might go out for drinks, seeing as Mozzie’s almost exhausted June’s wine collection.’
‘Yeah? No big party planned?’ Peter said. He didn’t know for sure if Saturday even was Neal’s birthday, but it was the date he’d put down on all his official forms.
‘You don’t think I’d have invited you if I was having a party?’ Neal said curiously.
‘Not if it was a criminal party,’ Peter muttered, taking a large bite of pretzel.
Neal chose to ignore that. ‘I’m not big on birthdays,’ he said simply. ‘Never have been.’
Peter turned slightly to look at Neal, his curiosity piqued. He would have thought that a young Neal would have loved birthdays, being the center of attention. But then, he knew so little about Neal’s childhood, he wasn’t even sure who Neal had to pay attention to him.
‘Your family wasn’t into parties?’ Peter asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral, trying not to seem too eager for details of Neal’s past and wary of stirring up bad memories.
Neal shrugged. ‘Not so much.’ He gazed out across the street, avoiding Peter’s eyes, and at first Peter assumed that was all the information he was going to get. But after a moment Neal took off his hat and began to twirl it in his hands, and Peter knew there was more to come.
‘I didn’t mind Robbie’s birthdays, though,’ he said, and Peter frowned for a moment, feeling as though he had missed part of the conversation.
‘Robbie?’ he said, still trying to maintain the casual tone of his voice.
Neal spun the hat on one finger. ‘We were friends, when we were kids. He used to have these family picnics for his birthday, and he’d take me along. They’d have lime Jell-O, and red velvet cake. And they had this huge picnic blanket – I’ve never seen one so big – but he had so many cousins, and aunts and uncles, and both of his parents, we still barely fit on it. I always ended up on the grass.’
Neal’s voice was light, but Peter heard the decades-old envy running through it, and saw the tightness at the corner of his mouth. In his mind’s eye he could see a small Neal, seven or eight years old, looking at that huge family with the same acquisitive gaze he used now for art and jewels, but with far less hope of stealing it.
Peter was about to say something, though he didn’t know what, only that he had to break the thick silence that had fallen between them, when Neal pushed himself off the wall and tossed his balled up pretzel wrapper into the trash can.
‘It’s five after two, Peter, you’re slacking,’ he said, reaching over to tap the watch on Peter’s wrist, and Peter followed him back up to the office.
----
‘I was thinking we should plan something for Neal’s birthday,’ Peter said to El, as they ate dinner that night.
Elizabeth put down her knife and fork. ‘Peter Burke, how sweet of you. You do care.’
‘I just like an excuse to eat birthday cake.’
‘If you say so.’ She smiled as if she knew something he didn’t. ‘What should we do? Dinner? We could make a reservation at that Asian fusion place Neal’s been raving about?’
‘Actually…’ Peter said, ‘I had something different in mind.’
----
Peter pulled up by June’s house and texted Neal to let him know he was there. A couple minutes later, Neal came strolling out the door and over to the car, wearing cream slacks, a dark polo shirt, and –
‘Is that a straw hat? Really? You do remember you’re just coming over to help me move furniture, right?’ Peter asked as he wound the window down.
Neal grinned at him. ‘It is possible to look good while doing manual labor, Peter.’ He let himself into the car and settled into the seat. Peter rolled his eyes. He very much doubted Neal had been fooled by his furniture-moving excuse, but hopefully he just thought Peter was taking him out for a birthday lunch.
By the time they had returned to Brooklyn, left the car at the Burkes and started walking towards the nearest park, Neal was shooting him smug glances and making cracks about how this furniture was a surprisingly long way away from the house. But when Peter walked past several restaurants and turned into the park entrance, Neal’s glances became confused.
‘What?’ Peter asked innocently.
‘Nothing,’ Neal said. ‘I just thought we might be going for lunch –’
He stopped talking, his breath catching, as he saw Elizabeth, sitting under the shade of a tree, her legs stretched out in front of her on a large picnic blanket, a wicker basket on one side of her.
‘Neal!’ she called, waving him over, and getting to her feet to hug him. Peter watched as he held Elizabeth for a moment, then stepped back, a smile on his face that looked both thrilled and stunned.
‘Happy birthday sweetie,’ El said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
‘Yeah, Neal, happy birthday,’ Peter said, clapping him on the shoulder and then flopping down on the picnic blanket.
Neal stayed standing, apparently still a little shell-shocked. Peter patted the blanket next to him. ‘Sit, Neal. There’s plenty of room.’
Neal sank to the ground and sat cross-legged, in between Peter and El. Elizabeth had already started unloading the food from the basket, and Neal let out a laugh and reached for a bowl filled with green Jell-O.
‘Is this lime?’ he asked, slightly incredulous.
‘Well, technically it’s mojito-flavored, but there’s lime in it,’ El said with a wink. ‘Sound good?’
Neal grabbed a spoon, dug it in and tasted it. ‘It’s perfect.’ He looked over at Peter. ‘It’s perfect, thank you.’
Peter smiled back. ‘Any time.’
Title: All Wrapped Up (or: Five Times Peter Comforted Neal with a Blanket)
Author:
cookielauraCharacters/Pairings: Neal, Peter, El, gen
Word Count: 4958
Rating: G
Warnings: Panic attack
Beta:
erinm_4600, remaining mistakes are mine!Summary: Neal needs blankets. Peter has blankets! It’s fate. Shameless hurt/comfort, set in the early seasons.
Notes: Written for this prompt by
azertynin on collarcorner: ‘five times Peter uses a blanket to help/comfort Neal’. Posted for Caffrey-Burke day! Also filling the Wild Card square on my tropebingo card.1.
‘Stop it,’ Peter said, nudging Neal’s hand away from the dash.
‘But –’
‘No. That’s as high as it goes. The heating dial isn’t going to magically turn further just because you keep fiddling with it.’
Neal slumped back in the passenger seat and folded his arms across his chest. ‘You need to get a car with a better heating system.’
‘The Taurus has an excellent heating system,’ Peter said firmly. ‘And you should have worn a sweater. It’s a New York stake-out in November, not a Paris fashion show.’
‘I’m wearing a coat. And a scarf!’ Neal said indignantly, holding up the thin strip of cotton around his neck, which looked like it would barely hold off a light breeze.
Peter rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, very fashionable. How about you try focusing on surveillance instead of how cold you are?’ He was fairly sure Neal’s constant complaints were due more to boredom than an imminent possibility of freezing to death.
‘Fine.’ Neal turned and stared out of the window for all of two minutes before looking around for the Thermos, unscrewing the lid and then giving a dramatic sigh when he found it was empty.
‘You already drank it all,’ Peter said, somewhat redundantly.
‘Not true. You had some.’
‘I had one cup. You had four.’
Neal set the flask down hard on the car’s floor. ‘I think we should arrest this guy just for living so far away from a Starbucks. Doesn’t he have any consideration for the people who have to do surveillance in the freezing cold? If it was me being watched, I’d have had pizza delivered to the car by now.’
‘Well, you’re a different class of criminal,’ Peter said with just a touch of sarcasm, and watched as Neal’s face lit up for the first time in hours.
‘You’re too kind,’ Neal said, grinning. Then the smile was knocked off his face by a body-wracking shiver. Peter frowned; that hadn’t looked like Neal had faked it. He reached out and briefly touched Neal’s cheek with the back of his hand. The skin was much colder than his own. He sighed.
‘Wait here,’ he said, getting out of the car and slamming the door behind him. Peter rifled through the trunk until he found what he was looking for, then opened the passenger door and thrust the bundle of lime green and bright yellow at Neal. He headed back around the car to his own seat and settled back into it.
Neal was staring down at the pile of lurid fabric that had been dropped on his lap. ‘What is this?’ he asked, and Peter could tell he was trying to keep the horror from his voice.
‘It’s a picnic blanket. I bought it for one of mine and El’s early dates. Now I keep it in the car for emergencies. Put it on.’
Neal unfolded the blanket slowly, his nose wrinkling a little. ‘You took this on a date with Elizabeth and she agreed to another one?’
‘She liked it,’ Peter said defensively, then grinned when Neal gave him a disbelieving look. ‘Okay, she didn’t like it. She was amused by it. And she suggested I get my eyes checked to see if I was color blind.’
‘Did you?’ Neal asked, wrapping the blanket around himself and pulling it up to his chin.
‘Yes. My sight is perfectly normal.’
‘Then there’s no excuse for this,’ Neal said, indicating the blanket.
‘I can take it back, if you don’t want it,’ Peter offered.
‘No!’ Neal said quickly, tugging it more tightly around him, as if afraid Peter might pull it off him. ‘No, it’s great. Really. It’s very nice.’
Peter smiled and pulled out his cell, then held it up and made as if to take a picture. ‘Then you won’t mind me showing El how stylish you look in it.’
Neal lunged across and grabbed the phone out of Peter’s hand, then shoved the phone into his pocket. ‘I’m confiscating this until the end of the night.’
Peter shrugged good-naturedly and let Neal keep it. He didn’t need photographic evidence – he’d be unlikely to forget how Neal looked right now, completely covered in neon lime and yellow checks, only his head peeking out from the top of the blanket. It was almost cute.
And at least he’d stopped complaining about the cold.
----
2.
Peter pushed open the door to Neal’s apartment more forcefully than was truly necessary. He’d been waiting downstairs for twenty minutes and his patience was running thin. They had an important meeting that morning, and Neal had been given strict instructions to be ready by seven thirty – instructions he had obviously ignored.
‘Caffrey, I swear, if you’re trying to decide between three different hats…’ Peter trailed off as he walked into the room and found the apartment dim and empty, the curtains still drawn across the French doors, shutting out the morning light. The bed was abandoned, half of the blankets trailing down the side of it and the other half pooling on the floor, and Neal was nowhere to be seen.
‘Neal?’ he called, concern building in his gut. He had never seen the apartment in disarray like this. When he got no reply, he pushed open the door to the corridor that led to Neal’s closet and bathroom, and called out again. This time, he received a response: a pained groan of acknowledgement coming from the bathroom. He frowned and edged towards the door, which was slightly ajar.
‘Everything okay in there?’ Peter asked awkwardly, not particularly wanting to go in.
‘Um, not really,’ came Neal’s voice. It sounded weak and unhappy. ‘M’sick.’ There was a pause, and then: ‘You can come in, I’m not indecent.’
Peter sighed, hoping this wasn’t some sort of con to get out of the – admittedly very boring – meeting they had scheduled that morning. But all thoughts of that flew from his mind when he saw Neal, who was slouched on the floor, a couple feet from the toilet, his head tilted back against the wall. His face was almost as white as the tiles he was leaning against, except for the red blotches on his cheekbones. His hair was flopping over his forehead, looking darker than usual next to his pale skin, and his pajama pants and white tee were crumpled.
‘What the hell happened to you?’ Peter asked, swiftly crossing the bathroom and crouching down next to Neal. Without thinking about it, he put a hand to Neal’s forehead to test his temperature, the way he did when Elizabeth was feeling ill. Neal flinched back in surprise at first, then relaxed into the touch.
‘You’re burning up,’ Peter said.
‘Oysters,’ Neal replied.
‘Excuse me?’
‘You asked…what had happened.’ Talking was obviously a strain, but he carried on. ‘Went to an oyster bar. With Mozz. Don’t think they were…as fresh as we’d have liked.’
‘Is Mozzie sick too?’ Peter asked.
Neal gave a half-hearted shrug. ‘Don’t know. If he is… he won’t be happy. Probably burn down his safe house after he recovers, to rid it of the germs.’ He attempted a grin, but it fell from his face as he doubled over, clutching his stomach. His breath came hard and quick for a few moments, and Peter hovered next to him, unsure what to do.
After a minute the cramps seemed to pass and Neal leant back, heavily, against the wall. ‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘Sorry for being ill?’
‘Being late. Would have called, but… phone’s still on the nightstand. Couldn’t… make it back.’
Peter sighed. Neal looked more pathetic than he’d ever seen him, and much as he would like to deny it, it was tugging at his heartstrings. ‘Don’t worry about it. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.’ He reached to help Neal stand, but Neal put out a hand to halt him.
‘Need to stay here,’ he said with a grimace. He patted the side of the toilet as if it was an old friend. ‘Been throwing up on a pretty regular basis.’
Peter frowned. ‘Do you need the doctor?’
‘No, it’ll pass.’ Neal must have thought Peter looked unconvinced, because he repeated himself in a slightly stronger voice and tried another smile while he was at it.
Peter gave him an assessing look. ‘Okay, but if you’re not better in a few hours, we’ll talk about it again.’ He glanced at his watch, irritated that he didn’t have more time to stick around and make sure Neal was okay. ‘I can’t miss this meeting, but I’m gonna ask June to come up and sit with you, alright?’
Neal shook his head. ‘Don’t bother June. I don’t need… to be fussed over.’
‘It’s non-negotiable,’ Peter said. ‘Besides, since when doesn’t Neal Caffrey like being waited on?’
Neal managed to glare at him for a moment, then winced as the stomach cramps came back. As he leant over to hold his stomach, Peter noticed the gooseflesh across the tops of his arms.
‘I’m gonna get you a blanket,’ he said as Neal returned to a mostly upright position. Peter stood up and headed back to the bedroom, where he gathered up the blankets on the bed and floor, and picked up a pillow as well.
When he returned to the bathroom, Neal gave him an amused look. ‘That’s not a blanket, Peter.’
Peter ignored him. ‘Lean forward,’ he said, and pushed the pillow behind Neal’s back when he did so, thinking it would be more comfortable to lean against than the cold ceramic tile. Then he draped one of the blankets around Neal’s shoulders, and the other over his legs. He had one left, so he tossed that over Neal’s lap for good measure.
Neal looked up at Peter from his cocoon of blankets. ‘You’ve made me…a nest.’ He sounded both surprised and entertained. Peter shared the surprise part, at least.
‘Yeah. Well, I don’t want you catching your death in here.’
‘Right. Who would solve your cases for you then?’ Neal asked lightly. The colour seemed to be returning to his face a little, though he still looked nauseous.
‘Very funny. I’ll send June straight up. Try not to drive her to distraction, okay?’
‘’Kay,’ Neal said. He pulled the blanket around his shoulders closer to him and closed his eyes. ‘I’ll be better by tomorrow.’
‘Of course you will,’ Peter said, turning to leave. ‘I’ll call you later.’ He was halfway out the bathroom door when he heard Neal call him.
‘Peter?’
‘Yeah?’ he asked, turning back.
‘Thank you for my nest.’
‘You’re welcome.’
----
3.
‘Any chance we can change to a channel that isn’t wall-to-wall sports?’ Neal asked, putting down the file he’d been reading and stretching out his legs, yawning a little as he did so. It was nine pm, and he and Peter had been working through the evening at the Burkes’, determined to figure out the answer to their case before the morning. They were both getting tired, and even the background sounds of the baseball game on television and El washing dishes in the kitchen weren’t doing much to keep them awake.
Peter picked up the file Neal had cast down and swapped it for the one he’d been looking at. He glanced at the game, which he’d barely been watching, and shrugged. Truth be told, he was impressed Neal had lasted through two hours of sports with only a couple complaints.
‘Sure, put on whatever you want.’ He flicked to the first page of the file, and the words started to blur together in front of his eyes. ‘I’m gonna go get another coffee, you want one?’
‘Please,’ Neal said, his attention already on the remote control, so Peter joined El in the kitchen.
She looked up from the sink and gave him a smile. ‘Come to dry the dishes?’ she teased.
Peter put his arms around her from behind and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. ‘I promise I’ll wash and dry all next week, once this case is out the way,’ he said. He turned to make the coffee.
‘Neal seems better tonight, doesn’t he?’ El asked in a softer voice. They had been inviting Neal around more often in the three weeks since he’d gotten re-released into Peter’s custody after Kate’s death, and Peter knew Elizabeth kept a close eye on him to see how he was doing.
‘Hard to tell,’ Peter said. If he admitted it, he had been watching Neal closely too, hoping to figure out what was going on in his mind, but Neal didn’t reveal much.
El had just opened her mouth to reply, when they heard a clatter from the living room. Peter frowned, and poked his head out of the kitchen.
‘Neal? Everything okay?’
Neal didn’t reply. He was staring at the television, his face pale and drawn, and it looked as if he hadn’t heard Peter. The television remote was lying at his feet, having been dropped onto the wooden floor.
Peter stepped further into the room. ‘Neal?’ When he looked closer, he saw Neal’s hands were shaking, and his eyes had a strange, faraway look to them. His breath was fast and shallow, and he seemed as though he might topple over on the couch at any moment. Peter hurried over next to him, and followed Neal’s eye line, to the television set, where an action movie was playing. Neal must have channel-surfed his way to it, at the worst possible time.
On the screen, a plane had exploded. Debris was raining down, and the burning carcass of an airplane loomed, fiery and smoking, in the background. The scene was painfully familiar, and the breath caught in Peter’s chest. For a moment he too was right back at that hangar, watching Neal tossed into the air by the explosion, feeling the searing heat on his skin, smelling the stench of tar and flame and flesh.
Peter grabbed for the remote and switched off the set, fingers fumbling in his desperation to get rid of the image. He pushed the coffee table out of his way, then crouched down in front of Neal and grabbed at his trembling hands, which were surprisingly cold. Neal didn’t seem to register his presence, but just went on staring unseeingly at the dark screen. His breath was increasing in speed, his chest rising and falling in tiny, anguished gasps.
‘Neal? Neal, it’s okay. You’re here, with me, everything’s okay. Breathe, slowly.’ He rubbed Neal’s hands between his own, trying to infuse some warmth into the skin. Seeing Neal like this, caught inside this blank terror, was shaking him up. He felt Elizabeth at his side, crouching next to him, and saw her rub her hand up and down Neal’s arm.
‘Sweetie? It’s alright, you’re safe.’ Her voice was soft and soothing, but it didn’t seem to make any difference to Neal. After a moment, she told Peter she’d be back in a minute, and left for the kitchen.
‘Neal, breathe for me, slowly, come on. In, out, slower, slower.’ Peter kept going, despite the lack of reaction from Neal, keeping his tone low and steady, even though he felt like panicking himself. Neal swayed dizzily as though he was about to fall forwards, and Peter grabbed his upper arms, and held him firmly, trying to transfer some of his strength into Neal. Neal’s head tipped forwards and rested on Peter’s shoulder, and they stayed like that, Peter bending awkwardly, still repeating his litany of breathing instructions, until Neal’s breath did slow, and he slumped back against the couch.
Peter sat down next to him, and Neal turned his face towards him, looking unfocused.
‘Peter?’
‘Yeah, buddy, you okay?’
A shiver ran through Neal, and Peter grabbed for the throw blanket on the arm of the couch. He wrapped it around Neal’s shoulders and held on longer than necessary, doing his best to ground Neal in the present.
‘Peter…’ Neal said again, and his gaze flicked back to the television, relief tingeing his expression when he saw it was blank. ‘I…there was…Kate.’
‘I know,’ Peter said softly. He looked up as Elizabeth reappeared, holding a mug.
She bent down in front of Neal. ‘Hey sweetie. Made you some tea. Lots of sugar. It’s good for shock.’
She handed it to Neal and he took it from her, holding it in his lap. He shivered again and Peter pulled the blanket around him more tightly.
‘Sorry…I don’t… sorry.’ Neal looked utterly lost. ‘I’ve never…’
‘No need to be sorry,’ Peter said. ‘Drink your tea.’
Neal looked down at the mug in his hands as if seeing it for the first time. He frowned distractedly.
‘I…don’t drink tea, Peter.’
‘You do today,’ Peter said firmly, and something about his tone must have gotten through to Neal, because he raised the mug and took a sip, and then another. As he drank, his face started to relax, and the shaking in his hands abated. Elizabeth sat down on his other side and started to chat to him softly about her plans for the weekend, and Neal turned to listen to her, letting himself be distracted.
Peter, however, didn’t take his eyes off Neal, watching over him until he was smiling and laughing again, pretending to be just as fine as ever.
----
4.
Peter parked the Taurus in front of June’s townhouse and glanced across at the passenger seat. Neal was dozing, his head tilted against the window, his exhalations leaving small white clouds on the glass. His breathing was heavy but quiet and even – trust Caffrey to even snore elegantly.
Peter couldn’t blame him for falling asleep; an undercover mission that was supposed to last for a day had become drawn out and complicated, and Neal had been with the suspects for going on sixty hours, during which he had barely dared to close his eyes, let alone sleep. Peter hated to wake him now, but there was no way he was carrying Neal up five flights of stairs to his apartment.
He reached over and nudged Neal gently. ‘We’re here,’ he said, keeping his voice low. Neal didn’t wake, though he shifted in his seat and lifted a hand to push Peter away ineffectually.
‘Neal,’ Peter said more forcefully. ‘Time to get up.’
Neal’s eyes flicked open and he shook himself awake, looking around blearily. ‘Feels like we just left a minute ago,’ he said, his voice thick with exhaustion.
‘That’ll be due to my brilliantly smooth driving,’ Peter said. ‘Come on, you need some proper sleep.’
Neal nodded his assent and dragged himself from the car, following Peter slowly up the path to the front door, and through it to the stairs.
‘You don’t need to escort me to my room,’ he said as Peter started up the staircase next to him. ‘I promise not to get into any trouble between here and there.’ But as he finished speaking, Neal stumbled sideways on the stairs and caught himself heavily against Peter’s side.
‘Yeah, that’s reassuring,’ Peter said. He righted Neal, who looked like he could be blown over by a light breeze. Peter dropped back to the step behind him so he could stop him if he started tumbling down.
‘You know, with the amount of times I’ve helped you up these stairs,’ Peter said, ‘I’m starting to think I should petition June to put in an elevator.’
Neal gave a weary huff of a laugh. ‘Maybe you should just stop sending me on cases where I get drugged or injured,’ he pointed out.
Peter rolled his eyes. ‘Pretty sure a lot of those incidents were your fault,’ he said, ‘but if you like, I can arrange for you to sit and tackle more mortgage fraud cases instead?’
Neal tried to scowl at him, but it was obviously taking all his effort just to keep his eyes open. ‘I think I’ll stick with the missions,’ he said.
‘Good choice.’
They reached Neal’s door, and Peter watched as he fumbled for his keys, supporting himself with one hand on the doorframe. Once the door was unlocked, Peter followed him in to make sure he didn’t collapse on the floor.
Neal headed straight for the bed, and Peter went to pull the curtains shut across the French doors. When he turned to say goodbye to Neal, he saw him half-lying on the bed, one foot still on the floor. His eyes were shut and the quiet snores had resumed. At first Peter thought he might be faking for Peter’s amusement, but he quickly decided that Neal would be unlikely to take up such an ungainly position willingly.
He stepped quietly over to the bed and carefully swung Neal’s right leg up onto the mattress so he was lying down properly. Assuming that Neal wouldn’t want June’s expensive silk sheets ruined with dirty shoes, Peter leaned over and tugged off Neal’s loafers, setting them on the floor by the side of the bed. Neal made a small, indecipherable noise, but the movements didn’t seem to rouse him.
Peter gave him a quick once-over and figured that the slacks and shirt would be comfortable enough to sleep in, and messing with them would only disturb Neal, but the tie which Neal had loosened a little in the car was still around his neck. He sighed; it would be just like Neal to half-strangle himself in his sleep and then blame Peter. Peter bent and gently inserted his fingers into the knot, until it was undone and he could pull the tie off. He took a moment to contemplate whether other agents ended up undressing their CIs, then decided it didn’t really matter.
He turned and picked up one of the thick blankets folded at the end of the bed, shook it out, and laid it softly over Neal. Neal’s eyes fluttered but didn’t open; he shifted slightly under the quilt and then pulled it closer to him. His face was slack with sleep and for once, he looked utterly guileless, like an innocent child. Peter felt a small, sudden ache in his chest, and his hand went to Neal’s hair without thinking, brushing the stray lock off his forehead.
There was a part of Peter that wanted to lie down on Neal’s couch and sleep there; his own nerves were frayed after the sixty hours of waiting and hoping for the mission to end, waiting and hoping for Neal to be safe. But he had a home to go to, and he told himself firmly that Neal didn’t need him any more tonight.
He made his way to the door, keeping his footsteps light on the wooden floor, but as he opened the door it creaked on its hinges and he heard a rustle as Neal stirred. He poked his head back around the corner, and saw Neal had turned onto his side, one hand holding the blanket close to his chin. One of Neal’s eyes half opened, just for a moment, and a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
‘G’night P’ter,’ he murmured, snuggling further under the blanket.
‘Goodnight Neal.’
----
5.
‘You got any plans for Saturday?’ Peter asked, as he and Neal leaned against the wall outside the FBI offices, eating pretzels and taking in as much fresh air as they could before they had to return to work.
‘Why?’ Neal asked as he tilted his hat down to keep the sun from his eyes. He shot a quick glance at Peter. ‘You scared I might be planning a celebratory art heist?’
‘You know, Neal, you might choose to make heist jokes when you’re not in the vicinity of hundreds of FBI agents,’ Peter said with a long-suffering sigh.
‘Who says it was a joke?’ Neal asked innocently. Peter glared at him and he grinned. ‘Don’t worry, I’m just hanging out with Mozz. Might go out for drinks, seeing as Mozzie’s almost exhausted June’s wine collection.’
‘Yeah? No big party planned?’ Peter said. He didn’t know for sure if Saturday even was Neal’s birthday, but it was the date he’d put down on all his official forms.
‘You don’t think I’d have invited you if I was having a party?’ Neal said curiously.
‘Not if it was a criminal party,’ Peter muttered, taking a large bite of pretzel.
Neal chose to ignore that. ‘I’m not big on birthdays,’ he said simply. ‘Never have been.’
Peter turned slightly to look at Neal, his curiosity piqued. He would have thought that a young Neal would have loved birthdays, being the center of attention. But then, he knew so little about Neal’s childhood, he wasn’t even sure who Neal had to pay attention to him.
‘Your family wasn’t into parties?’ Peter asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral, trying not to seem too eager for details of Neal’s past and wary of stirring up bad memories.
Neal shrugged. ‘Not so much.’ He gazed out across the street, avoiding Peter’s eyes, and at first Peter assumed that was all the information he was going to get. But after a moment Neal took off his hat and began to twirl it in his hands, and Peter knew there was more to come.
‘I didn’t mind Robbie’s birthdays, though,’ he said, and Peter frowned for a moment, feeling as though he had missed part of the conversation.
‘Robbie?’ he said, still trying to maintain the casual tone of his voice.
Neal spun the hat on one finger. ‘We were friends, when we were kids. He used to have these family picnics for his birthday, and he’d take me along. They’d have lime Jell-O, and red velvet cake. And they had this huge picnic blanket – I’ve never seen one so big – but he had so many cousins, and aunts and uncles, and both of his parents, we still barely fit on it. I always ended up on the grass.’
Neal’s voice was light, but Peter heard the decades-old envy running through it, and saw the tightness at the corner of his mouth. In his mind’s eye he could see a small Neal, seven or eight years old, looking at that huge family with the same acquisitive gaze he used now for art and jewels, but with far less hope of stealing it.
Peter was about to say something, though he didn’t know what, only that he had to break the thick silence that had fallen between them, when Neal pushed himself off the wall and tossed his balled up pretzel wrapper into the trash can.
‘It’s five after two, Peter, you’re slacking,’ he said, reaching over to tap the watch on Peter’s wrist, and Peter followed him back up to the office.
----
‘I was thinking we should plan something for Neal’s birthday,’ Peter said to El, as they ate dinner that night.
Elizabeth put down her knife and fork. ‘Peter Burke, how sweet of you. You do care.’
‘I just like an excuse to eat birthday cake.’
‘If you say so.’ She smiled as if she knew something he didn’t. ‘What should we do? Dinner? We could make a reservation at that Asian fusion place Neal’s been raving about?’
‘Actually…’ Peter said, ‘I had something different in mind.’
----
Peter pulled up by June’s house and texted Neal to let him know he was there. A couple minutes later, Neal came strolling out the door and over to the car, wearing cream slacks, a dark polo shirt, and –
‘Is that a straw hat? Really? You do remember you’re just coming over to help me move furniture, right?’ Peter asked as he wound the window down.
Neal grinned at him. ‘It is possible to look good while doing manual labor, Peter.’ He let himself into the car and settled into the seat. Peter rolled his eyes. He very much doubted Neal had been fooled by his furniture-moving excuse, but hopefully he just thought Peter was taking him out for a birthday lunch.
By the time they had returned to Brooklyn, left the car at the Burkes and started walking towards the nearest park, Neal was shooting him smug glances and making cracks about how this furniture was a surprisingly long way away from the house. But when Peter walked past several restaurants and turned into the park entrance, Neal’s glances became confused.
‘What?’ Peter asked innocently.
‘Nothing,’ Neal said. ‘I just thought we might be going for lunch –’
He stopped talking, his breath catching, as he saw Elizabeth, sitting under the shade of a tree, her legs stretched out in front of her on a large picnic blanket, a wicker basket on one side of her.
‘Neal!’ she called, waving him over, and getting to her feet to hug him. Peter watched as he held Elizabeth for a moment, then stepped back, a smile on his face that looked both thrilled and stunned.
‘Happy birthday sweetie,’ El said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
‘Yeah, Neal, happy birthday,’ Peter said, clapping him on the shoulder and then flopping down on the picnic blanket.
Neal stayed standing, apparently still a little shell-shocked. Peter patted the blanket next to him. ‘Sit, Neal. There’s plenty of room.’
Neal sank to the ground and sat cross-legged, in between Peter and El. Elizabeth had already started unloading the food from the basket, and Neal let out a laugh and reached for a bowl filled with green Jell-O.
‘Is this lime?’ he asked, slightly incredulous.
‘Well, technically it’s mojito-flavored, but there’s lime in it,’ El said with a wink. ‘Sound good?’
Neal grabbed a spoon, dug it in and tasted it. ‘It’s perfect.’ He looked over at Peter. ‘It’s perfect, thank you.’
Peter smiled back. ‘Any time.’
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2015-10-23 04:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-10-23 05:31 pm (UTC)What a treat!!! Soooo much adorableness right from the very beginning. I love everything about this, the banter, the blackmail photo attempts, the nest, the brief semi-undressing session, lol... and d'awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. I can totally understand Peter, Neal is just too irresistible, once you see him, you just have to take care of him :P
Brilliant ♥
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Date: 2015-10-23 06:06 pm (UTC)He took a moment to contemplate whether other agents ended up undressing their CIs, then decided it didn’t really matter."
Loved this!! Nobody else comes close to Caffrey-Burke ♥
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Date: 2015-10-23 07:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-10-23 07:30 pm (UTC)Had to LOL at Neal promising to not get in troubles climbing the stairs, only to almost fall. If someone could actually get in troubles "between here and there" that's precisely Neal. LOL
Happy Caffrey-Burke Day! :)
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Date: 2015-10-23 08:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-10-23 11:37 pm (UTC)Favorite line: His breathing was heavy but quiet and even – trust Caffrey to even snore elegantly. Fitting so perfectly!!
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Date: 2015-10-24 12:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-10-24 12:15 am (UTC)Hee yes, I would definitely have to smother him in blankets too!
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Date: 2015-10-24 12:16 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2015-10-24 12:17 am (UTC)Haha yes poor Neal, he could get into trouble standing still!
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Date: 2015-10-24 12:18 am (UTC)Awww, Peter, you know our boy just as well as we do :P
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Date: 2015-10-24 12:19 am (UTC)Lol I wish more men would snore elegantly!! :D
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Date: 2015-11-07 08:11 pm (UTC)♥♥
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Date: 2015-11-29 02:10 am (UTC)