Chapter Text
Neal sat on the floor next to Peter, slightly leaning against him. He was keenly aware of every breath, and the privilege of being able to take it. This… this had been close. Relief washed over him, and he smiled lightly to himself.
“Ow,” he said.
Peter jerked a little. He had been scanning the crowd for Elizabeth, Neal assumed, but now he turned his attention to Neal.
“Yeah, I’ll bet. Neal, you’re still bleeding. Stay here, I’ll go get you some help,” Peter said, and began getting to his feet.
Neal groaned as he took his own weight. He nodded toward a group of FBI agents who were making their way inside the gallery through the busted doors. “Diana is on her way over. She’s better at getting help, anyway. Go find Elizabeth.”
Peter looked like he had just been given a hall pass. He clapped Neal lightly on the shoulder, mumbled “ooh, sorry,” when Neal winced, and went to find his wife.
Jones and Diana met Peter as they each crossed the room. Peter pointed back at Neal, Jones pointed outside, and they parted. Jones when to oversee the arrests, and Diana approached Neal.
“You look like hell, Neal,” Diana said, and crouched in front of him. She took out a small knife and cut the zip ties around his wrists. Then, with a surprisingly gentle hand, she looked over the cuts on his arms, torso, back and neck. “You know Neal, I didn’t come back from DC so I could babysit you. I told you not to do anything. You know what happens when you don’t listen to me, right?”
Neal kept his head down, raising only his eyes to meet Diana’s. “Someone gets hurt,” he said in a low, serious voice.
Diana stood up, and helped Neal to his feet. “Some of these need stiches. Come on.”
Neal took an uneven step, leaned on Diana for balance, and then began walking. “Although you technically told me not to identify as FBI, and I didn’t.”
Diana laughed deeply. “Oh, my mistake, Caffrey. Next time I’ll be sure to add that you shouldn’t identify as Peter’s wife, either. Man, I can’t wait to tease Peter about this. Maybe we can print out some business cards that say “Burke-Caffrey.”
“Hey,” Neal said in a wounded tone, as they stepped outside the gallery and towards the line of people waiting for a pair of ambulances to treat them. “Who said it wouldn’t be Caffrey-Burke?”
Diana just gave him an incredulous look. “Please,” she said with disbelief.
Neal positioned himself at the end of the line, but Diana grabbed him by the elbow. “Ow,” he said almost to himself, but she ignored him.
“Excuse me,” she said to the EMT who was giving out blankets and bottles of water.
She flashed her badge. “Berrigan, FBI. What are all these people being treated for?”
The EMT turned towards her, lowered her voice, and said, “Emotional distress.” Neal thought—but wasn’t sure—that she rolled her eyes.
“Yeah. So no.” Diana shooed away the next person who came up for treatment, and dragged Neal so he was standing in front of the EMT. “This man needs actual medical attention. He’s with the FBI. Are you qualified to do stiches?”
The EMT nodded. “I am. And yeah, those look like some pretty nasty cuts. Here, have a seat.”
Diana directed the waiting people to the other ambulance. She turned back to Neal, who had taken off his shirt and was sitting just inside the ambulance, the EMT already preparing to run stitches on one of the cuts on his back. “I’m going to check in with Jones. Will you be okay?”
He smiled at her. He didn’t think he realized how much he missed her until they were both back home. “I’ll be fine.”
As she turned to go, though, he called back to her. “Hey, Diana? Thanks. I told Peter you were way better than him at getting help.”
“Damn straight I am, Mr. Burke-Caffrey,” she said.
~*~
Neal was sitting curbside outside the gallery, shivering lightly, when Peter found him. His shirt, mostly in ribbons, did little to protect him from the cold night air. He almost regretted the effort it took to put it on.
Most of the guests had given their statements and gone home, the police were taking a few final photos of the crime scene and collecting the security footage (which had probably been wiped), and the onlookers had mostly lost interest and abandoned the perimeter.
Peter sat down next to him.
He sighed heavily. “It was quite a night, Neal.”
Neal looked at Peter. He placed his arms on his knees. “Yeah. Quite the welcome home.” He examined his hands for a long moment, and then Peter spoke again.
“Neal, I think… I think that part of me was glad it was you up there tonight.”
He paused, and Neal lightly shook his head. He felt the same way, but he could sense where this was going, and he didn’t think he had the energy to be maligned by Peter tonight. He closed his eyes against the attack that was coming. How did they always end up here?
“Peter, I know what you’re going to say. We keep circling back to this conversation, don’t we?” Neal laughed humorlessly. “I make the wrong decisions for the right reasons. I act impulsively and put others at risk. And I do it all for me.” He knew he sounded bitter, but he was out of ways of explaining it to Peter. It was like they were experiencing the same world but inside-out and upside-down.
When Peter responded, his voice was low, calm, and dead-serious. “A swing and a miss, Neal.”
Neal looked up, and Peter was looking right at him. No, seeing him. For the first time in a really long time.
“That’s not even close to what I was going to say.” Peter paused and removed his jacket. He handed it to Neal, but then changed his mind and just placed it over Neal’s shoulders.
“No, I’m fine. Your bandages cover more skin than your shirt. Listen, Neal, what I realized tonight—hell, what I’ve been realizing for the last year—is that you keep making the hard decisions so that I don’t have to. I know,” he said, talking over Neal when he began to interrupt. “I know it’s the opposite of what I said about Hagen. But tonight, Neal… I honestly don’t know what I would have done if Elizabeth had come forward,” he said emphatically.
“As hard and as helpless as it was watching you get hurt, I’m afraid,” Peter’s voice cracked here, and he ran his hand down his face, and looked away and down the street. “I’m afraid I would have caused the death of all those people in there if you hadn’t been there, Neal, and it was my decision. And I’m afraid of what it means that I’m glad you stepped in, and what it means that I’m glad you intervened with Hagen. What I said about consequences… Well, I did mean it. You never seem to think through the consequences. But you also keep sparing me consequences, and I… I know why you left, Neal. Thank you.”
Neal kept Peter’s gaze held, not sure what to say. It was Peter who broke it off, which was unusual. Neal knew what he would normally do now, but he felt an overwhelming urge to not deflect. Not manipulate. Not joke it down. He was tired of never knowing how much of his relationship with Peter was real, and how much was crafted. So he stayed quiet, sitting on the curb, looking at the closed shops across the street. He waited.
Eventually Peter spoke again. His voice was low, but light. “I’m surprised it worked. No one in real life would ever believe we were married.”
Neal turned to him, reanimated by the sheer absurdity, and easy casualness in Peter’s voice. It was a tone he hadn’t heard in a year and three weeks. “Peter, everyone believed it. Not only the bad guys, but the guys in the van loved it. They said we made a cute couple.”
“No they didn’t,” Peter said, and stood up. He extended an arm to Neal, and helped him up, as well.
Neal shrugged lightly in concession, then regretted the motion. It pulled on his stitches. “Maybe not. But they definitely liked the alias. I think we should cultivate it.”
“Right,” Peter said. He got out his car keys began walking down the road. “Because married couplies fight about Frozen? Where did that even come from, by the way? You know I don’t watch that stuff.”
Neal stopped in his tracks, and Peter turned back to him. Neal raised both eyebrows in challenge, his tone almost didactic.
“It was just the first title that came to mind. But you seemed to have a very fair grasp on the plot, under distressing circumstances, Peter.” He paused. “How do you know about Frozen? I assumed you were more of a Twilight Zone/Outer Limits reruns kind of man.”
Peter’s mouth hung open for a moment, and he merely shook his head. “Then why would you ask about It? You know what, never mind. I just.. hostages, and everyone listening, and a countdown...”
Peter turned and walked towards his parked car, muttering to himself. Elizabeth was leaning against it, wrapped tightly in her shawl.
As they approached Elizabeth rushed towards Neal. She wrapped him in a big hug, and whispered, “Thank you, sweetie,” in his ear. Neal felt warm tears on his neck. She held him tightly for a moment, and only let go when Peter reminded her of Neal’s stitches.
They climbed into the car, Elizabeth insisting that Neal take the front seat next to Peter. They drove in silence for a while. Peter broke the silence.
“You stole my wife’s jewelry, Neal.”
“You knew it was only a matter of time, Peter.”
“Can we get it back?”
“It won’t come off. Elizabeth, you have tiny fingers.”
“Neal,” Peter said, with a slight warning to his voice.
“Leave it, hon.” Elizabeth said from the back. Neal will return it tomorrow.”
Neal smiled triumphantly at Peter.
“Peter?” Elizabeth said suddenly from the backseat. Peter looked back at her through the rearview mirror.
“Yeah, hon?”
“How do you know about Frozen?”
Neal’s smile became a quick laugh, then he closed his eyes, relaxing. Right this moment, the music and the steps aligned perfectly.