Archive of Our Own

Stepping Up

Blinking in the early dawn, Neal eyed the skylight above his bed and made a face. The sun was just starting to come up, but he could see the other face staring back at him. He had hoped that when he saw it watching him last night that he was either mistaken or that it would somehow disappear during the night. But no, it was still there.

He had no love of pigeons and had eagerly offered to chip in on the cost when June told him last week that she had hired a falconer to come and help clear the house's eaves of the nasty creatures. They left a mess on the porches, steps and in the garden and with her granddaughter and dog playing on all those areas, she was tired of it. In truth, so was Neal. The pleasure of sitting out on his balcony in the early spring mornings had been overly dangerous for the last couple of weeks and after one near miss, he had even contemplated fake owl statues, as tacky and inefficient as they were. Now, it seemed that the pigeons were getting the last laugh as the head of one of their dearly departed was caught on the edge of the glass, mocking him with its dead eyes.

Swinging his legs off the bed, he padded across the room toward the bathroom, unable to enjoy staying in bed any longer under the reproachful glare. It was Saturday morning and he had the entire day ahead of him, no place to be and no one who he had to account to for his actions and now he had a head to dispose of. He laughed, as he pictured telling Peter and Elizabeth how he had spent his Saturday and idly wondered if it was too melodramatic or a fitting end to Friday’s massacre to mix up a small bit of concrete and drop the head into the East River.

An hour later, dressed in jeans, a sweatshirt he normally painted in and sneakers, he slowly walked around the wall rising up from the patio, studying the stones. There was an access ladder in his apartment but that led to a totally different and unconnected part of the roof and there was no way across to the skylight over his bed. The thought of going all the way down to the basement on the off chance June had a ladder that would reach was unappealing and he doubted she had one that tall. Kicking off his shoes, he smiled slowly as he stood on tiptoe and placed his fingertips into two stone crevices. With a quick breath, he lifted himself up, his toes finding their own holds six inches off the terrace. Previous memories of climbs – some up, some down, some both, all mostly in the dark – flooded his mind and muscles and he laughed out loud.

He was still grinning fifteen minutes later, standing perched on the edge of the roof, panting slightly from the exertion and sheer joy of the experience. The view was amazing – even better than from the terrace thirty feet below him. Turning, he carefully continued the climb up the roof tiles, using the metal slate brackets as finger and toe holds. The angle wasn’t too bad, certainly easier than the straight up climb of the wall and he was up at the peak in five minutes. Carefully standing up and surveying the area, he fought the urge to yell at the top of his lungs in sheer joy. The sense of happiness and weightlessness was almost overwhelming and he felt his eyes prickle slightly with tears. The last months had been among the hardest of his life, easily as hard as his first year in prison. But unlike prison, where he could get lost in the routine boredom, now each day felt like a new challenge, an ongoing struggle. A struggle at first to simply Be Good and Do the Right Thing, and now in addition to those, some days there was the struggle simply to get out of bed and keep the mask firmly in place all day, the mask that allowed others to relax and not worry. Kate had been dead for over three months now, he had been back at work for almost two months, back to his routine and yet, most days still felt like a struggle. Every new day was a challenge.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the growing dark thoughts, he instead focused on the current struggle and challenge: figuring out a way down to the skylight. He grinned as he remembered other jobs and plotted his route.

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“Is he asleep?” Elizabeth whispered, tiptoeing into the living room the next evening.

Moving quietly, Peter leaned forward and looked at Neal stretched out on their sofa. His face was half turned into a throw pillow, cutting off part of Peter’s view, but hands were relaxed, resting on his stomach. Long weeks of watching the younger man pretend to sleep, fitfully sleep and at least somewhat peacefully sleep had given him a good foundation to answer the question. He nodded and then held open his arms for her to settle onto his lap.

She sighed as he kissed her neck. “I’m glad he’s asleep,” she said softly.

Peter smiled, “Our bedroom has a door, you know.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “It’s not that, but that is an appealing idea in a bit.” She looked at the younger man for a minute before continuing, “He just looks tired still and too thin. I don’t think he’s eating or sleeping enough. He’s put on a bit of the weight he lost before, but not enough.”

“He’s an adult, honey. He has his own life and we’re doing everything possible to help. But it’s just going to take time.”

“I know,” she said with a quiet sigh. “It’ll get better.”

“Yeah, it will,” he agreed.

Standing up, she quietly picked up a small blanket from the open bin by the fireplace. Unfolding it, she gently spread it over Neal, holding her breath as he sighed slightly, but didn’t wake up. She turned to Peter, stepping back to him as he stood up. “That’s an improvement,” she said with a satisfied smile.

Peter glanced at him and saw he was still fast asleep and nodded. “Told you, it just takes time.” Elizabeth had done the same thing two other times. The first time ended in complete failure with Neal waking up, panting, wide eyed and on edge. The last time, he had still woken up, but had lost the panicked look or, as Peter worried about, was able to hide it as the con man in him slowly rebuilt his protective walls. But now, the younger man was covered against the night chill and still peacefully asleep.

Jerking awake two hours later, Neal stilled himself, forcing his eyes to remain closed and his breathing steady. He shifted a bit, coughed slightly to cover up any signs of actually waking up and mentally took in his surroundings. A second later, he opened his eyes and slowly sat up, glancing at the blanket. The house was dark except for a faint nightlight shining through the kitchen’s frosted door and he knew that Peter and Elizabeth had gone to bed already. The clock on the TV box glowed 11:15 and he shook his head, disgusted with himself for getting too comfortable, silently vowing to be a better guest. He had come over regularly for several weeks and it was becoming a too comfortable routine. The cozy townhouse in Brooklyn was beginning to feel as much of a home as his own studio but he needed to remember that it wasn’t – in fact - his home. He was only here as a guest and guests had certain obligations. Those obligations did not include falling asleep on his host’s couch after dinner.

A Month Later

The first clue Peter noticed that something was going on were the scraped knuckles. It shouldn’t have been – the gradual calmer air that had come over Neal in the last month should have been a bigger clue. But, like the joke about how to boil a frog – gradually and with a slow build up – the change was too gradual, over too long a time, for Peter to catch on right away. Even if he had, he probably would have assumed that the calm was a result of their new arrangement and Neal slowly but surely getting over Kate’s death. As it was, he was only partially wrong.

They had just replaced Neal’s tracking anklet after removing it for a case and Peter caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to look – to watch.

Neal had propped his foot up on the seat of one of the conference room chairs and was readjusting his sock under the hard plastic, straightening it and making sure his pants cuff was hanging correctly. “So do you think the partner was involved,” he asked Diana casually, glancing up from his foot to smile at the other agent.

She shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’d guess that he knew at least.”

Peter tuned out their conversation and focused on Neal’s hands. Or, more specially, the two scraped knuckles on his right hand. He didn’t think he had ever seen the other man with scraped knuckles or at least not without a direct tie-in to a case he had been involved with. Neal was definitely a lover, not a fighter. Making a mental physical assessment of the other man, Peter didn’t see anything else that was out of place and Neal certainly wasn’t acting like he was in pain, not that that was any sort of reassurance. There was no doubt in Peter’s mind that Neal would smile and say he was “Fine!” with four broken ribs or a compound fracture hidden under his suit. But watching him move easily convinced Peter far more than any words could do. Mentally filing it away in the Suspicious Things To Keep An Eye On category, Peter turned back to the conversation flowing around the conference room.

“I think he was in it from the start,” Neal was saying. “When you look at the access times of the computer files, it doesn’t seem like the work of one person.”

Diana nodded, “If so, I bet Crafton cuts a deal and turns on him. No honor among thieves.”

Neal laughed and gave a small shrug. “Among some at least.” Sitting down finally at the table, he glanced at her, “Some of the people I know wouldn’t turn on their worst enemies while others would sell out their mothers for the right deal.” He grinned and gave another small shrug. “Of course, their mothers would also sell them out – do what you know, I guess.” He blinked and smiled again. “That’s why you always have to be careful with who you trust, who knows what’s going on and where things are.”

Peter watched him, seeing the smile falter for a half second and thinking over Neal’s file. The conman had always been a loner, hooking up with teams or other operators for single jobs, but never officially part of a crew. He had a few known associates, of course, but no one who was usually close enough to turn on him. Or at least, no one who would be able to turn on him without implicating themselves in a much bigger operation. Being part of a team implied trust that he didn’t think the other man did easily. Closing the file, he glanced around the room. “I think the rest of this paperwork can be done tomorrow, assuming everyone is OK with that.”

Diana smiled, standing up. “Without a doubt.”

Pushing off from his leaning position by the window, Jones nodded. “Out by five, you’re starting to spoil us, boss.”

Peter laughed. “Don’t get used to it – just consider it a reward for an excellent job with this case.” Watching the other two agents file out of the conference room, he glanced at Neal, who was still sitting at the table. “Ready to go?”

Neal glanced at him as he stood up. “Sure.” Grabbing the legal pad he was using to make notes on, he hesitated for a second, opening his mouth and seeming to catch himself, closing it. “Meet you at the elevators in a few minutes?”

Peter nodded as he gathered his files to carry them back to his own office. He had noticed Neal’s hesitation and smiled to himself with the other man resisted asking the question he knew was going through his head. A quick stop in the bathroom and he meet the other man patiently waiting by the elevators.

Neal laughed. “You know, I’ve always been curious if the water pressure of cities drops as everyone goes to the bathroom right before starting their evening commute. Just think of all the toilets flushing, sinks going, all at the same time. It’s got to be a major pull. ”

“Yeah,” the other man said, with a smile and a shake of his head, “I think I can honestly say I’ve never thought about it.”

He shrugged, “Bet you will now though.”

Peter laughed, stepping into the elevator. “And I’ll have you to thank for that.”

“Always glad to help.”

Unlocking the car remotely a minute later and sliding inside, Peter glanced over and nodded. “You did good today. Excellent work figuring out the log in issue.”

Neal gave him an honest smile. “Thanks. Once I noticed the times and thought about it, it seemed sort of easy to see that they had altered the internal clocks, sort of like running a phantom day light savings program. Once they could go back in time, they could set up alibis and point the suspicion to someone else.” Snagging a straw wrapper out of the cup holder, he idly played with it as the car pulled out of the garage. He opened his mouth and then quickly closed it, turning to look out the window instead. The straw wrapper bent and folded into a complex shape almost without his conscious notice.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter watched him. He knew he could say something to put an end to Neal’s unease, but they had talked about this routine several times and had followed it faithfully twice a week for two months. Now, it was simply something the other man was going to have to learn to trust and that was an internal problem. He heard a very faint sigh as he turned onto the bridge heading into Brooklyn and glanced over at his friend.

Neal glanced at him and gave a slightly embarrassed shrug. “I didn’t ask,” he said softly.

Reaching out, the other man resting his hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “I noticed and I’m more proud of that fact than I am on how you did on this case.”

“Really? Why?” he asked, puzzled.

Peter smiled. “The case you could probably do in your sleep, probably have thought of the same scheme yourself before.” He chuckled when he saw Neal give a noncommittal shrug. “Not asking though … trusting … that’s a new skill set, I think.”

Neal glanced at his friend again, but remained silent, thinking about the words. “You think Elizabeth will be home already or are we in charge of cooking?” he asked, finally breaking the silence and moving back into safe territory.

Peter shrugged, allowing the conversation’s topic to be changed and not pushing. “I’m not sure, but if she’s not home, I’ll give her a call. I know she was putting something in the crock pot when I was leaving this morning. Something with chicken.”

“Something with chicken …” Neal said, “you know, you’re just such a keen observer.”

Glancing over, Peter smirked, “That’s why I get paid the big bucks.”

“More than me,” Neal countered.

Peter laughed, “Well, being out of the work force most of your adult life does tend to limit the pay raises.” Catching Neal’s start of a protest, he quickly added, “Honest work force.”

Next to him, the other man shrugged. “Excitement, travel, interesting people, interesting places versus a set 3% raise every year putting in time behind a desk …” He smiled. “Hard choice there, Peter.”

Dinner turned out to be lemon chicken, rice and green beans and the evening passed uneventfully with the three of them sitting around the dining room table chatting about the day, upcoming events that Elizabeth was working on and plans for the weekend.

Taking a sip of her wine, she glanced over at Neal, “Do you know much about the Rockport Gallery down in the meatpacking district?”

He grinned. “I’ve heard that allegedly on the second floor, the third window from the west corner of the building isn’t tied in with the security system because the tech cut the wire too short and was afraid to tell his boss.”

Peter groaned, making a mental note to tell the gallery tomorrow. “You know, those sort of things could be shared at any time. You don’t have to wait to be asked.”

Neal smiled at him, “I don’t know anything for a fact. I’m just repeating what I’ve been allegedly told. You don’t want me repeating every little rumor I hear, do you?”

Elizabeth laughed, glancing between the two men. “What I meant was more along the lines of, do you know the owner? Clients? I’ve been asked to bid on a job for them, but no one I know has worked with them and some of their art is rather … unique. I’m not sure if it’s exactly the right fit for Burke Premier Events.”

“Unique how?” Peter asked, his voice cautious.

“Last year, when they opened, their big exhibit was a collection of taxidermy,” Neal said, making a face.

She shook her head. “Nothing that extreme right now.”

Peter shrugged. “Not my thing, but a lot of people have deer heads and whatnot on their walls.”

“Yeah, but this was like …” the other man paused, trying to think of a good example. “This was like the body of a fish with the head of a rabbit and antlers from a deer. Very bizarre stuff – the artist said he was making a statement about the inter-connectivity of all species. He did all the killing, stuffing and mounting himself supposedly.”

The other man shook his head, turning to his wife. “Not that I would ever tell you not to take a job, but …”

She smiled, reaching out and touching his hand. “Don’t worry, honey, I was thinking of passing anyway.”

Rinsing the last of the dishes thirty minutes later, Elizabeth glanced at her husband. “Neal seems good tonight,” she said easily.

He nodded, leaning back against the counter as he dried several forks. “We had a good day and caught a major break on a case because of him.”

“I was thinking more personally,” she said with a smile. “He’s eating better than a couple of weeks ago and he seems more relaxed, but he still looks tired.”

Peter nodded, thinking back to his friend’s behavior. “Yeah, I think he is more relaxed finally. He’s starting to lose that tightness he’s had since Kate died.” He glanced around the kitchen, “I think this is a big part of it. You, this routine, everything. Tonight, finally -- for the first time since he moved back to June’s -- he didn’t ask if he was still invited to dinner, act too surprised when I brought him back here, or make a comment about going to June’s after work.”

She smiled, turning toward him “Excellent – a trifecta.” Handing him the last plate to dry, she shook her head. “It’s about time though; we’ve been doing this for two months now.”

Her husband laughed, taking the plate from her, “Two months is excellent for Neal, I think.”

“Well, I’m just happy he’s stopped lurking on the sidewalk on Sundays now. It was making the neighbors nervous.”

Drying the plate slowly, he nodded. “Yeah, slowly, but surely. Give him another six months and he’ll actually start to believe he’s welcome.” Glancing up as the back door opened, Peter shook his head and said dryly, “Perfect timing. The dishes are all done and this is the last to be dried.”

Neal gave an honest smile. “Elizabeth told me to take the Satch for a walk and that you didn’t need help with the dishes.” He glanced between them as his smile widened. “Plus, gives you a chance to talk about me.”

“You’re not the center of the universe, people aren’t always talking about you,” Peter said automatically.

“Ears burning?” Elizabeth said a half second after her husband and then laughed. Giving the younger man an embarrassed smile, she winked. “If we’re talking about you, it’s all good.”

The younger man laughed again. “Oh yeah, I’m sure that Peter has nothing but good things to say about me. Ever.”

“If you’d ever behave,” the other man countered, “that would be true, but ….”

Neal laughed, bending down to unhook the dog’s leash, “Until then ….” There was no anger or accusation in his voice, just simple good humor at the established joke and teasing. “I’m going to take my coat upstairs so you both can finish your conversation, whatever it was about.”

They ended up in the living room fifteen minutes later, PBS’s Mystery on the TV. Elizabeth had claimed the chair, the coffee table pulled up in front of her while she sorted through menus and ads sent to her company from various caterers. It was chore she had to do ever few weeks or the pile got so big it was overwhelming. Peter and Neal sat on the couch together watching the show and discussing how the FBI handled things different than Interpol. Or, more accurately, as Peter discussed and Neal quietly filed away the information for future use.

“Interpol always seemed like they were slightly overwhelmed,” Neal commented. “Not bad or worse than the FBI, but you’re dealing with so many different countries, so many different cultures. And it just doesn’t seem like any police force is too interested in sharing, no matter what the brochures say.”

Peter glanced at him. “They have a nice little file on you, you know.”

Neal shrugged. “Didn’t help, did it?” Then he laughed. “And besides which, everything in there is alleged. I’m innocent of everything they might possibly suspect me of.” Looking down at the sofa for a minute, he looked back up and grinned, “You know, Lyon is a nice enough town, I took a tour of their headquarters one time.”

Peter swore under his breath and shook his head.

“It was interesting and completely above board - me, several families and a nice tour group from Omaha!” Neal protested with a laugh. “Besides which, it was winter and after a month of museums and churches, I needed a change of pace.”

Reaching over, Peter tapped him on the head. “And the best idea that this brain could come up with was taking a tour?”

He shrugged and then grinned. “I bet you’d like it. I haven’t been to France in almost five years – I’m a wonderful tour guide. Maybe …”

“Watch the show,” Peter ordered with a shake of his head, interrupting, “and don’t even think about it.”

“But …”

Peter held up his hand, cutting off the other man, “Enough talking. I really don’t need more stress because of you.”

“Neal,” Elizabeth said, looking up from her paperwork, “please don’t give Peter an ulcer.”

He smiled at her, “I was just suggesting a nice vacation in France.”

“Oh, France would be nice,” she said, grinning. “I haven’t been in ages.”

Peter shook his head and glared slightly at his wife. “Don’t encourage him, honey.”

She laughed and turned back to her paperwork.

“Lyon is really nice,” he said, turning back to Peter. “It’s cool on its own and sort of in the center of everywhere, plus wonderful food. There’s this great restaurant that even you would like. Like two blocks off the main square area so easy to find, but not overrun with tourists. You like sausage, right? They make some of the best sausage.”

Glaring at him, Peter shook his head. “Watch the show,” he repeated.

The younger man held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, I was just saying …”

“No.”

“I’ll get you some sausage for Christmas; I bet that’ll change your mind.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Peter said, turning back to the show.

Neal glanced at Elizabeth and saw her trying not to laugh. In a faux whisper he said, “After he tastes the sausage I get him for Christmas, he’ll change his mind.”

Giving up the battle, Elizabeth laughed out loud. “I can’t wait, sweetie.” She laughed louder as Peter glared at her.

“What did I just say about not encouraging him?”

Putting down his book, Peter turned to his wife lying next to him in bed. “Did you notice if Neal’s knuckles were scraped on Sunday?”

She glanced up from her own book. “I don’t know – I just saw them tonight at dinner. I almost asked, but thought it might be something between you two.”

He eyed her. “What? I’m whacking his knuckles with a ruler now or something?”

She giggled and shook her head. “No, I was thinking more a case that was a bit rougher than you told me about. I was going to ask you, but it slipped my mind until now. It doesn’t look serious.” Studying him, she asked, “What are you worried about, honey? I don’t think they’re going to get infected.”

“No, it’s not that …” His voice trailed off as he tried to figure out what had him worried. “I think it’s just that something new or unexplained with him always puts my radar up.”

“Did you ask him?”

“Do you think he’d tell me the truth?”

She shrugged. “He might, or at least give you enough of an answer to point you in the direction of the truth.”

Kissing her, he picked up his book again and said, “Or at least tell me what didn’t happen.”

“That too.”

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Glancing over at Neal the next day on the drive into the office, Peter reached over and motioned at the scraped knuckles. “Want to tell me what happened here?”

The other man glanced down at his hand, moving it slightly in the sunlight, studying it as if noticing for the first time. He gave a bit of a shrug and said, “I was helping Chris, the owner of June’s landscaping service move some stone planters over there the other night. His guys had put them out earlier, but she wasn’t happy with the placement.” He laughed. “He and I were lugging and pushing and pulling these massive stone planters around for an hour.”

Peter looked at him. “Neal …”

“What?” the other man asked, indignant. “I’m not exactly sure what happened, but that’s what I was doing the other night and it could have happened then, I guess.”

The twisted logic of could haves and guesses made Peter’s stomach twist slightly, but there was no sense pushing Neal at this point over something so minor, at least not until he had a better feeling if something was actually going on or not. He had asked, the other man had given some half-cocked story that had just enough ring of truth to actually be the truth, and now he had to drop it. “So where are these stone planters at anyway?” And that was all the younger man needed to be off spinning a story and one that, if Peter actually checked, would be close enough to the truth to be believable. He made a mental note to review the tracking data more closely. Since Kate’s death, he had reviewed a summary of Neal’s tracking data every day or so and had seen nothing suspicious, but this new development had him worried that something was going on.

“I’m just happy that Chris’s men are going to have the main job of planting all these bushes,” Neal said several minutes later as his tale of June’s gardening projects were wrapping up. “Flowers will be nice in the summer though, I should do something with my balcony too.” He glanced at Peter and then asked quietly, “You think I can get Elizabeth’s help in another month or so when it’s warmer?”

The agent laughed and shook his head. “Look at you, Neal Caffrey, getting all domesticated - talking about planting flowers - literally putting down roots.” He looked over at the younger man and saw him grimace slightly and turn to stare out the window, an unreadable expression now on his face and his mind instantly flashed back to the late night conversations about houses in the suburbs and lawns. Silently cursing himself for his carelessness, he tried to backtrack. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual.

Neal glanced at him, “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” His voice was distant and he gave Peter a quick smile.

As they pulled into the parking garage, he reached over and rested his hand on the other man’s shoulder for a minute and gave it a squeeze. “I think flowers will be very nice and I’m sure Elizabeth will be thrilled to help.”

Next to him, Neal silently nodded, but didn’t meet his eyes even as he flashed another quick smile. “We’ll see, it’s fine.”

He sighed silently and then tried again, “If you ask nicely, I’ll even help lug stuff up all those stairs of yours. The going rate of moving used to be pizza and beer.”

Neal laughed and gave an almost honest smile. “Flashback to college days?”

“And later,” he said, shutting off the car. “Going from a studio to a bigger studio to a 1 bedroom to a bigger 1 bedroom, who had the money to hire a company? A group of friends, the guys lugging furniture, the girls carrying boxes and organizing food …” He laughed and shook his head. “Next time you’re over at the house, ask Elizabeth about getting her moved not long after we started dating from East 89th to Chelsea.”

“Is she going to be happy to tell me this story or am I going to get her mad at me?”

Peter laughed, getting out of the car, thinking about it.

Seeing Peter’s expression, Neal laughed, too. “And I think that pretty much answers that question.”

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Peter’s words ran through Neal’s mind the rest of the week, bringing up other conversations and dreams that he couldn’t shake. The nights were the worst, as always, and without a case to focus on, his mind simply ran circles, too restless to focus on anything else. There were no plans to make and no grand schemes to divert his attention. When he did sleep without other distractions, the nightmares returned which was worse then not sleeping at all. Twice his hand flipped open the phone to dial Moz and both times he clicked the phone off without hitting send, unsure what he’d actually say. “I used to be a great planner and now I can barely hold a thought? Want to scheme with me?” The other man would do it but the admission was too embarrassing and what it might mean was too terrifying to say out loud. The yellow journal was full and buying another one seemed like another admission too embarrassing and terrifying to make, even to himself.

By Saturday night, he couldn’t take it any more. Logging on, he found what he needed and left the studio 20 minutes later.

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Neal groaned as he tried to get out of bed the next morning, his alarm blaring. He had gotten home around 4am and now, peering at the clock, he saw that it was just after 11. He really needed to get out of bed, take a shower and pack. There wasn’t a set time he was expected in Brooklyn, but the routine had been sometime between 2 pm and 4 pm and any deviation from the routine would cause unwanted questions.

The hot, pounding water from the shower almost put him back to sleep and he quickly turned it to cold, waking himself up. Two cups of coffee and left over pasta from Friday’s night dinner had him awake enough to straighten the studio and pack. By 1:30, the food and another cup coffee left him feeling able to get through the rest of Sunday under Peter’s constant gaze. He’d catch up on his sleep tonight with no problem.

Yawning as he slid out of the cab in front of the townhouse, he took a deep breath, bouncing his bag slightly in his hand. On Sunday’s he brought over clothes for Monday and Thursday, so he always had something to wear. Elizabeth had offered to add his laundry in with theirs, but he smiled and instead carried his home with him when he and Peter left the house Thursday morning. Now, once again standing on the sidewalk, he looked up at the house and forced himself to smile. It wasn’t just tiredness that made him pause, it was his feet that were reluctant to move. Forcing himself to put one in front of the other, not wanting to see Elizabeth discreetly peeking out of the upstairs curtains at him or listen to Peter make a joke about sending printed invitations, he climbed the steps and opened the unlocked door. “Hey,” he called out, stepping inside and flipping the door lock behind him as he put his bag at the foot of the steps. He had offered to ring the bell or simply pick the lock, but they insisted on leaving the door unlocked for him.

“In the kitchen,” Elizabeth called out. “You’re just in time, too.”

Walking through the dining room, his nose twitched as the smell of silver polish hit him full on.

“Don’t even think about pausing at the table,” another voice called out from the kitchen. Pushing open the door, Peter looked meaningfully between the silver pieces laid out on the table and the younger man. “I know exactly what’s there …” He smiled as Neal held up his hands. “Maybe you should just put them in your pockets to be safe.”

Not rising to the bait, Neal stuck his hands in his pockets, trying to look innocent. “Happy now?”

“I’ll be happy when my assistant gets back in here,” Elizabeth called out. “Both of you would even be better.”

“We’re being summoned,” the older man said, stepping aside and holding the kitchen door open.

“Actually,” Neal said, pausing in the doorway, “you’re being summoned, I was clearly an afterthought.”

Resting his hand on the younger man’s back, Peter pushed him gently forward. “Doesn’t matter, just go.”

“So, how can I help, Elizabeth?” Neal said, eying her position standing on the kitchen counter. “Looks very tempting in the dining room.” He glanced at the older man, who had resumed his station at the kitchen sink and was washing crystal glasses. “Not that I was tempted or anything.”

Glancing at her husband as he made a half snort, she smiled. “One of my best friends is finally getting married. Two other women and I are throwing her a huge shower next weekend. It seemed like a fun idea for all of us to pool things we used when we all were married.”

Neal caught Peter’s eye rolling expression and hid a smile. “But wouldn’t it be easier just to use stuff from the business? Surely you have most of it or can easily rent it on the cheap?” He caught Peter shaking his head at him from the sink. “Or not.”

Elizabeth glared at him for a moment. “There’s symbolism behind using things from other weddings. Plus, it’s more personal this way. She’s celebrating on things from my wedding and the weddings of friends, not the same silver used at the 50th birthday of some law firm.” Pulling down another 4 goblets, she held them out, “Here, take these to Peter, please, and you can help him dry.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, stepping closer so he could take the glasses. In truth, he enjoyed helping around the house. It made him feel less like a guest or a casual friend and more like family or at least a close friend. You didn’t make just any friend wash dishes, that was an … honor reserved just for those you knew wouldn’t mind or even if they did mind a bit, would expect it somehow. After sleeping in their guest room for months, after all they had put up with from him, done for him, since Kate’s death, he felt he would gladly wash dishes forever and still not get close to paying back the debt he owed.

Collapsing into the couch, Neal leaned his head against the back and sighed, closing his eyes.

Peter groaned as he sat in the chair and stretched his back. “How many boxes total?”

The other man shook his head. “I have no idea. I stopped counting in self preservation around 20.”

Leaning over, Peter picked up the phone from the coffee table. “I need to call Rick and tell him what’s coming.”

“So he can flee?”

The older man chuckled. “As temping as that is …” He quickly switched topics as the other end of the phone was picked up and filled his friend in on the car load of newly cleaned crystal and silver that was currently being driven his way by Elizabeth. “I’m just telling you,” Peter said, “I got a friend to help and I swear, it took us a good hour to load up the SUV. Easily 30 boxes of stuff.” He laughed and glanced at Neal, “No, I didn’t send him with the boxes and Elizabeth - there wasn’t room in the car. Plus, he belongs to me - you can round up your own friend.”

“I could have gone with her,” Neal said as Peter hung up the phone a minute later.

He shook his head. “No, Rick lives down the street from one of his cousins; he’ll have plenty of help.” Sitting up a bit straighter, he eyed the other man.

“What?” the younger man said, yawning behind his hand.

“Tired?”

Neal looked at him wearily before giving a small nod, “A bit. Those boxes were heavy and it was a long day.”

The other man nodded, still studying him. “Is that the only reason you’re tired?” He paused. “Having trouble sleeping still?”

“A bit,” he said after a minute. “But it’s fine. I’m OK. It’s not too bad or anything, nothing like before.”

Peter nodded. “What’s rule number three?”

Neal stared at him and shook his head. “Why?”

Standing up, the other man motioned for him to stand up. “You tell me.”

“Rule number three is that I’m not allowed to go roaming around after 10 o’clock,” he admitted, settling deeper into the couch instead.

“And what did you do last night?”

“You’re checking my anklet again?” Neal shot back. “I thought we were past that, Peter, and you trusted me! What do you think – ”

Peter held up his hand. “Stop.” Moving closer, he sat on the couch, looking at the other man. In a lower voice, he continued, “What did we agree on when you moved back to June’s?”

The other man glanced away and shook his head. “I can’t believe you checked my anklet.”

“Get over it,” Peter ordered firmly. “That’s not the discussion right now and I don’t believe for one second that you’re actually shocked or upset by that fact.”

Neal opened his mouth as if to protest and then slowly closed it, glancing away as he shook his head. “I didn’t think you were still checking,” he admitted.

“Well, I am and I saw you leaving June’s around midnight and not getting home until almost four.” Peter eyed him. “Want to tell me what you were up to at that warehouse?”

Trying not to look surprised, he just shook his head, eying the sofa cushion and refusing to meet Peter’s gaze.

“Not even a story you want to try to float past me? Some elaborate tale of the warehouse being some top secret moving dinner party with the hottest chefs or an exclusive wine tasting where the atmosphere of urban decay and emptiness is a fitting contrast to the richness of the tannins?”

“Take your pick, all of those sound good to me,” he said quietly. “Would any of those work?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t have anything else,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual. “But your ideas sound fun – I vote for one of those.”

Ignoring him, Peter stood up again and held out his hand. “OK then. Up, you know the drill.”

“You’re going to paddle me again? You don’t even know what I was doing! Maybe it was important?” the younger man said, switching from casual humor back to hurt outrage.

“And I’ve asked you twice what you were doing and you’re refusing to say,” he said. “Should I paddle you for playing games too?” When the other man simple looked at him, he continued, “And honestly, Neal, it doesn’t matter. The rule is that you’re not to be out when you’re not supposed to be and that’s pretty much all that matters to me.” He lowered his voice. “This is something we agreed to, correct?”

Reluctantly, the other man nodded.

“And we agreed that even though you weren’t officially living here any more, we were going to keep up this arrangement. Correct?”

Neal nodded again, slowly standing up.

Reaching out, Peter pulled him closer and hugged him. “Let’s go.”

“I’m tired,” he said softly, leaning in close.

Peter nodded. “I’m sure. Four in the morning is pretty late.” Giving Neal another quick squeeze, he let go. “Come on, let’s take care of this issue and then maybe you’ll want to lie down for a bit. Elizabeth is picking up dinner, but she’ll be a couple of hours, I’m sure.”

Settling Neal face down across his lap in the basement, Peter rested his hand on the other man’s bare butt. “Want to tell me what’s going on, Neal?”

“No,” he said after a long pause. “Nothing is going on, I just couldn’t sleep so I got up. That’s it.” Shifting slightly, he tensed his muscles and turned his face more into his folded arms.

Knowing he’d never get the younger man to open up to him until he was ready, Peter didn’t push. Instead, he picked up the paddle and rested it on the bare skin. “The reason really doesn’t matter, you’re not to be out alone after 10 pm, certainly not until four in the morning and you know that. Right?”

The other man nodded, face still hidden by his arms. “How many?”

Picking up the paddle, Peter shook his head even though he knew the other man couldn’t see him. “Enough that I hope it will make an impression and give you something to remember next time you want to go roaming alone.” He had a number in mind, of course, since he knew he couldn’t count on Neal to give any sort of indication he understood or that the punishment had made an impression. Resting the paddle again for a second, he lifted his arm and brought it down sharply on the bare butt four times in rapid succession. “I’m not going to allow you to be out at night, Neal. You could get hurt or get in trouble and you need to be sleeping. If you can’t sleep, then you need to tell me and we’ll work on solving the problem together.” Delivering three more hard swats, he said, “Is that clear?”

“Yes,” the other man said hoarsely, shifting as if he could escape.

Tightening his hold slightly, Peter concentrating on the paddling, making sure the strokes were evenly spaced across the skin and at the same time, focusing on Neal’s reaction. The ragged breaths, tense muscles and squirming told him that it was making a noticeable impression but that the younger man wasn’t in serious distress. He also wasn’t crying, which he knew he couldn’t expect. Fourteen strokes later, he put the paddle down and rested his hand on the hot flesh. “Take a deep breath for me, Neal, we’re done. You can relax.”

“So you’re serious about the no roaming thing, huh?” he said, trying hard to make a joke as he sat up, avoiding all eye contact.

Ignoring the comment, used to this reaction, Peter helped him stand up and pull up his boxers. Sitting back down, he gently guided Neal down with him, holding him close. “Take a deep breath for me,” he ordered, feeling the small shakes going through the other man’s muscles. “Just be still for a few minutes,” he said softly.

“I can’t,” Neal said a second later, pulling slightly away. “I need to go … upstairs or out or … something.” His voice was rough as the tremors increased.

“No,” Peter said firmly. “Sit here with me. You’re fine.”

“No, I’m not.” He gave a short, harsh laugh. “I’m not fine on so many levels.”

“Yes,” he said, resting his hand on the other man’s head for a moment before moving down to his back, “you are.” Reaching back with his free hand, he managed to snag a small blanket off the back of the couch and settled it over Neal. “You’re here and it’s all good. That’s the important thing, everything else we can tackle..”

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

Glancing at his friend sitting next to him in the passenger seat the next morning, Peter cleared his throat. “How did you sleep last night?”

Neal shot him a quick smile. “Good, I was tired. All the unpaid slave labor around your place and everything wore me out.”

The older man shook his head. “We fed you, you know.” Studying the other man out of the corner of his eye to gauge the reaction, he said evenly, “I know it wasn’t a success last time but if you want to try talking to someone again or maybe take something to help you sleep, it can be very easily arranged.” Adding as an afterthought, “Privately or through the Bureau’s resources, it’s not a problem either way.”

“No, I’m fine,” he said quickly. “I was cleared, remember?”

Peter shook his head. “I’m pretty sure you were being more honest yesterday when you admitted you weren’t.”

Neal shook his head. “I was upset yesterday and not thinking straight.”

“Yeah, that’s why you were being honest for a change,” Peter said, struggling to keep his voice firm but open. “So tell me, what’s going on? Be honest with me here.” It was such a fine line they walked between knowing when Neal was playing games with him to get a needed reaction, to tell him to push and call him out and when he was simply resorting to well used coping techniques. As he told Elizabeth, he simply had to trust his gut about the younger man. Right now, it was telling him that they were dealing with coping strategies for issues he couldn’t handle yet , not deliberate lies that the other man was trying to cover up.

“I am being honest. I’m dealing fine.”

“I don’t consider dealing by roaming the streets or hanging out at some warehouse until the early hours ‘fine,’” he shot back, frustrated at how best to handle the situation. Taking a breath, he forced himself to be calm, knowing that the younger man would simply dig in his heels if cornered. “What about you coming back to our place for awhile? Say, a couple of weeks. This way, if you want to go roaming around, I can go with you, keep you company.”

Neal looked out the window, watching the city pass outside and slowly shook his head. “I’m fine, but thanks.” He turned slightly and gave Peter one of his smiles that screamed ‘Trust me!’ and had the exact opposite reaction with the agent. “I won’t get hurt, I’m careful.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, Neal,” he said, pulling into the parking garage. “There’s not time now, but give it some thought. But in the mean time, don’t think we’re through talking about this.”

“Of course not.”

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

The next week went quickly and provided much-needed relief for Neal. The Jenning’s case was one he could easily get lost in – the play acting, the con, bringing down a crooked politician and the satisfaction of seeing the guy’s face when he finally realized that he wasn’t as smart as he thought he was. It was always interesting seeing that realization coming over someone who deserved it. The knowledge that Peter was closely and firmly watching his actions, now on the alert for anything that looked suspicious, relieved some of the pressure as well. With little wiggle room, there was no frustration over his lack of planning. That, combined with the juggling of moving con pieces, gave him something to focus on at night and he was able to fall asleep and stay asleep.

“What are you looking at, honey?”

Peter glanced up from the computer screen Saturday afternoon and smiled at his wife. “Just Neal’s tracking data for the last month or so.” He shook his head. “I think whatever is going on has been going on longer than I thought. I didn’t catch it before, but now that I’m looking closer at it, it’s clear. Plus, when I was at his apartment this week with Moz, I saw two addresses written on a piece of paper. They were important enough for him to jot down, but not secret enough to hide – they were just stuck on his fridge.”

She reached for the paper and read the two addresses and shrugged. “Did you look them up?”

“Yeah, both with a search in our system and I actually drove by and they don’t appear to be anything. The first one is a low rise apartment building and the second is another abandoned shipping area.” He shook his head, puzzled. “The only hit was on the shipping area, some report of trespassing by a group of kids about six months ago. Because it’s by the water, NYPD sent us and Homeland Security copies, but that’s it.”

“Different from where he was last week?”

He nodded. “Yeah but similar.” Moving the mouse, he hit several buttons and leaned back. “Watch this. This is his data from almost a month ago; it’s a Friday night.”

“OK,” she said, sitting down in a chair next to him and leaning closer to watch the screen. She had used the system before and was familiar with what she was seeing. “So that’s him getting home,” she muttered, watching the glowing dot arrive at a location marked with a red H. The dot shifted slightly around in fast time as the system recorded slight movements around the studio for the next three hours.

“This new system tracks within about 5 ft so he’s just moving around his apartment,” Peter explained. “Normal pattern of what you’d expect.”

She nodded, seeing the dot go still around 10:30. “And he’s gone to bed,” she said. Glancing at Peter, she shrugged. “I’m lost.”

“Wait for it, I missed it too the first few times,” he said, keeping an eye on the clock. “Before, I was just looking at the physical location on a spreadsheet, not the real time tracking of the dot’s movement.”

“He’s moving again,” she said, surprised. Glancing at the report again, she said, “It’s just after midnight. Why is he up again?”

“I have no idea,” he said, shaking his head. “And I have no idea what he’s doing.” Together, they watched the dot bounce around, always staying at the physical location of June’s, but all around it, actively twitching for almost 90 minutes before once again going still just before 2 am. “I called June this morning when I saw the actual dot movement and she has no idea either. I gave her the dates and she had guests at the house one of the nights and they never saw Neal, so at least that night, he wasn’t just roaming around the house. She said nothing in the garage looks out of place, nothing outside in the garden and nothing in the basement either.” He glanced at his wife, “Any ideas?”

She shook her head. “Not a one. How often is he doing this?”

“In six weeks, he’s done this at least nine times around the house. Last week was the first time he took this act on the road. If he hadn’t done that, I don’t know when I would have noticed.” He glanced at the scrap of paper. “And now these two addresses tell me he’s going to continue to go off the property, or at least has locations in mind.”

“You have to do something,” Elizabeth said firmly.

He sighed. “Yes, but I don’t know what.”

“Make him stop.”

Peter laughed. “If anything with Neal was that simple, honey, don’t you think I would have just made him stop a long time ago?”

Elizabeth glared at him. “Do you have a better idea, then?”

Shaking his head, Peter stared at the screen. “Obviously we’ll talk about it tomorrow.” The blinking dot seemed to mock him and his inability to figure it out. He knew he needed to respect Neal’s private life, but at the same time not give him so much space that it blew up in all their faces. As always, it was a very delicate and thin line he was balanced on.

She stood up and kissed him on the head. “Good. I’ve an event tomorrow afternoon, so that will give you boys plenty of time to work it out.”

Folding his hands, he rested his chin on them, staring at the screen as he thought about the younger man. This new, complicated relationship between them had started several months ago with a simple premise and as long as he stayed focus on that basic truth, that Neal did best when he was working within firm boundaries and slightly off balance, things went OK. Nodding, he picked up the phone and dialed the other man’s number.

“Hey Peter, what’s up?” Neal asked, picking up on the second ring. There was traffic noise behind him and Peter could see the dot blinking about four blocks from June’s, near the small grocery store that the younger man usually visited.

“What are you up to this afternoon?”

The other man hesitated for a second before saying, “I was picking up some food for the week. Why?”

“Why don’t you come over today instead of waiting until tomorrow,” he said evenly. “We need to talk.”

Neal hesitated again, “About what?”

“I’m not exactly sure what you’re doing at night, either at June’s or the last time you went out, but the fact that you’re being evasive about it tells me I wouldn’t approve.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “Something is bothering you; I can tell you’re struggling with something and you need to trust me enough to let me in on the secret.”

“I’m fine, Peter,” the other man said automatically.

The agent bit back a groan, knowing that if the other man were in front of him, his eyes would have just tightened just a fraction, his main tell that he had mentally cut himself off. “Don’t give me that crap, Neal. I’m not buying it.”

“I’m fine. I’m handling everything just fine,” he said. “Look, I need to go; my waffles are going to defrost.”

“Come over tonight,” Peter said again. “You’ll feel better if you tell me what’s going on and don’t try to deal with whatever it is alone.”

“Are you asking, or are you telling me?”

Peter hesitated, wanting to say it was an order, but also knowing that pushing could destroy the fragile bonds that had started to bind them personally and not just professionally. The line was already being blurred, but he didn’t think it could take that much strain at this point. If it broke, he knew Neal would be gone. “I’m asking,” he said quietly. “I’m asking as a trusted friend for you to think about coming over. I need you to be honest with me here, Neal. That’s the only way this will work, this is why we have Rule #4.” When the other man didn’t say anything, he said, “Will you think about it?”

“Yeah, OK,” the other man said and quickly hung up.

“Do you think he’ll come over?” Elizabeth asked from her position in the kitchen doorway.

Peter glanced up at her and slowly shook his head. “I’m just hoping he still comes over tomorrow.”

Walking over, she leaned over and hugged him from behind, resting her head on top of his head. “Well, if he doesn’t, you can go fetch him.”

He laughed. “And drag him back here and see if I can beat some sense into him?”

Elizabeth laughed back. “I was thinking more like cookies, but beating might work better.”

That evening, he moved the laptop into the living room and split his concentration between the blinking dot, stationary at June’s, and the movie playing on the TV. He hoped the door bell would ring, but wasn’t surprised when he followed Elizabeth upstairs at 11 and it hadn’t.

The bell didn’t ring, but his recharging phone chirped on the nightstand at 3:30 am. Instantly awake, fearing that it was the Marshals, he grabbed the phone and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Neal’s name on the display. “It’s 3:30 in the morning,” he said, annoyance replacing the fear and relief in a second.

“I know, but I thought you’d appreciate me calling you and not ringing the bell,” Neal said. “Or worse, letting myself in.” He hesitated and then added in a quieter voice, “You said to come over, remember?”

“That I did,” the other man said, biting back any further comments. Neal showing up at 3:30 was better than not showing up at all and the myriad of possible outcomes that would mean. “Where are you?”

“The cab dropped me off at the corner; I’m standing on your front stairs now.”

Sliding out of bed, he said, “Don’t move, I’m coming down to get you.” Clicking down the phone, he shook his head silently.

“Was that Neal?” Elizabeth asked, blinking up at him in the dark room.

He leaned down and kissed her. “Yeah honey, he’s downstairs. I’m going to go let him in and we’re going to talk. Go back to sleep.” Slipping on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, unwilling to have this conversation with Neal in a robe, he padded downstairs a minute later. Flipping on the front porch light, he saw Neal sitting on the stairs. He unlocked the door and motioned him inside. “Come on.” The young man looked tired and was moving slowly and gingerly as he smiled and carefully walked into the house. As he passed, Peter patted him on the back. “Good call.”

“About ….?” he asked, allowing his voice to trail off.

“Several things – not ringing the bell and waking up Elizabeth and the dog, definitely a good call on not breaking in.”

Neal smiled at that. “Yeah, I figured that had a better than even chance of getting me shot.” He chuckled, “You probably wouldn’t even have gotten into trouble if you shot me.”

“Let’s see … felon breaking into my house in the middle of the night with my wife upstairs?” Peter pretended to think for a minute and then shook his head, “I think I might have gotten a commendation out of that, actually.”

“Well, thank you for giving up a lovely certificate in lieu of my life,” he said with a small smile.

“And an even better call on coming over,” Peter said honestly, looking at him. “Come on, kitchen, so we can talk.” Leading the way through the dark living and dining rooms, he pushed open the door and held it for Neal. The night light cast a warm glow in the small room and he felt himself relax. Neal had come on his own and seemed willing to talk. It was going to be OK.

“Is there ice cream?” Walking toward the refrigerator, his hand paused, hovering over the freezer handle.

Peter mentally reviewed how best to deal with this and fell back on a joke. “Have you been good?”

The other man looked at him for a second and then slowly smiled. “You said I made several very good calls tonight. So I think I deserve ice cream.”

“That you did,” he agreed and nodded. “Pick out what you want. But don’t take the last of the Peanut Butter Swirl, that’s Elizabeth’s favorite. And don’t take the last of the Mint Chocolate, because that’s mine.”

“Duly noted,” he said, studying the cartoons stacked in the door. Five minutes later, he swirled a spoon through the dark chocolate, studying the dessert and avoiding Peter’s gaze.

“What’s your favorite kind?” Peter asked, sensing that the younger man wasn’t ready to open up yet.

Neal laughed. “I don’t know. I like a lot of flavors.” He scooped up a small bit and savored it. “This is really good. But that blueberry stuff from last week was good, too.” He shrugged and took another small bite. “I don’t know.” Staring back into the bowl sitting on the dining room table, he grew quiet.

Bumping the other man’s leg with his foot, causing him to look up, Peter smiled at him. “Well if you decide you really like one or two, let Elizabeth know and she’ll make sure we have it.”

The younger man smiled. “Really?”

“Just consider it a good bribe to keep you on your best behavior,” Peter shot back.

Neal grinned. “That should work. I usually don’t care about bribes, but this one …”

Sensing the opening, Peter scooped up a small bit of his own dessert and said casually, “Is this desire to be good in order to get ice cream what got you over here tonight?” He saw the other man jerk slightly, jolted back to reality. Staying quiet and simply watching Neal out of the corner of his eye, he concentrated on his own dish and let the other man struggle with an answer.

“No,” he said finally in a low voice.

Peter nodded. “Good.”

Pushing his bowl away, Neal sighed, folding his arms on the wooden table and laying his head down on them. “I did something stupid tonight,” he said in a rush of words, “and I got hurt. But I didn’t do something that would have been really stupid, but if I had done that I probably wouldn’t have gotten hurt, but you would have killed me and I couldn’t deal with that.” Turning his face deeper into his folded arms, he said quietly, “It was just fun and helped and right now, I’m willing to do pretty much anything that helps.”

Struggling to catch up, the older man stayed quiet for a second, replaying what Neal had just said. He moved his chair closer and patted the younger man’s back, trying hard not to panic or jump to conclusions over what “stupid” might be in Neal’s mind. “OK, let’s take this one thing at a time and we’ll work through it.”

Head still buried, he nodded but didn’t say anything.

He eyed his friend, not seeing any blood or difficultly breathing, so however he was hurt couldn’t be too serious and they could deal with that second. Moving down the list, Peter asked, “When you say you did something stupid, what did you do?”

Finally looking up, Neal eyed him. “You’re going to get mad, I’m sure.”

“Spit it out,” he ordered firmly.

“I’ve been doing some climbing,” he said in a rush, eying Peter. “At June’s and I did most of the easy walls and areas already so I tackled an area that I really didn’t think would work.” He made a back and forth motion with his hand several times before flipping it over and miming falling, “It was iffy, but I should have trusted my gut.”

“And you fell?” Peter asked, interrupting. “How far? What did you land on?”

“Not that far, maybe fifteen feet,” he said, unconcerned. “I didn’t think I’d be able to get around that ledge part and I was right.” He smiled. “I’ve always had a good instinct for stuff like that.”

Peter eyed him. “You’re brilliant, congratulations. Where did you get hurt?”

“Oh, it’s fine, just scrapes mostly. I banged my elbow too, but it’s OK,” he said, moving his arm back and forth as proof.

Feeling relieved, Peter nodded. “OK, we’ll deal with that later.” He took a breath, then asked, “So why were you climbing June’s walls? This is what you’ve been doing at night?” Realization slowly dawned on him. “And what you were doing at that warehouse last week?”

Neal watched him warily, trying to judge the reaction. “I got hurt tonight because I knew you’d kill me if I went off her property again. Especially so soon after …” He hesitated, struggling to describe last weekend before finally giving up. “Especially so soon after you expressed your extreme displeasure last weekend.”

Hiding a smile at Neal’s description, Peter reached out and shook his shoulder gently, giving it a squeeze. “That wasn’t extreme displeasure last weekend, that was just simple displeasure. Extreme would have been if you had pulled that stunt again tonight.”

“So good call?”

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “A very good call.” He eyed the younger man for a moment. “OK, let’s back up for a second. Start at the beginning for me. About a month ago, you started climbing ….?” Sliding his chair slightly closer, he kept his hand on the other man’s back. “Why?”

With a tired sigh, Neal laid his head back down on his arms. “That’s a hard question, Peter.”

“Give it your best shot.”

Not lifting his head, he started to talk. He told Peter about the pigeon and the first climb and how happy it made him, how free it made him feel. “It was just such a great feeling, so many good memories,” he said. “I hadn’t done it in so long, but it was like my muscles remembered everything.”

Biting back a comment about how those memories had been made, Peter just nodded. “I’m sure.”

“So then about a week later, that ass from Accounting was giving me a hard time and I couldn’t sleep and my mind was just spinning over everything …” His voice trailed off as he replayed the events in his mind. “It was a great solution. I could concentrate on that, finding the right hand hold, the right approach.” He glanced up and smiled. “Except for the few cases since I’ve been back, it’s the first thing that I’ve been able to really concentrate on.”

“What do you mean?”

“I use to be able to plan moves ahead, I could see how all the pieces were going to fall into place ages before it actually happened.” He shook his head, “Now, unless I’m working, it seems like I can barely plan far enough ahead to have food in the apartment. I try, but I just can’t hold on to anything, I can’t focus.” He gave another smile. “But it’s better after I do this. It’s like I remind my mind how to focus and things are better, sharper, I feel more relaxed. I did a great sketch last week, first one since Kate.”

Peter smiled, squeezing his shoulder. “Excellent.” He remembered bringing supplies to Neal in prison after the plane explosion and them going untouched. Even afterward, when he had suggested drawing, the idea had been quickly and completely rebuffed. Debating for a moment, he added, “Let’s just make sure that everything is signed with your name, OK?”

Neal laughed, giving his friend an honest smile. “If you remember correctly, I do sign things. Might not be big, might not be flashing, but I do sign things.”

“Yes, yes,” he corrected, gently cuffing the younger man on the back of the head before turning it into a familiar stroke. “Let’s aim for big and legible then, OK?”

“You can’t tell an artist how to work, Peter,” he said with another smile. Then, seeing the frown, added, “But I’ll be sure to keep your suggestions in mind.”

He nodded, then refocused, wanting to get back to the matter at hand. “So you’ve been playing Spiderman at June’s for a month, but ....”

Sitting up, Neal nodded. “But I did all the easy spots and then tackled a few of the harder ones.” He flashed a quick smile before turning his attention to the salt shaker, gently bouncing it between his two hands. “I think that’s how I might maybe have scraped my knuckles a few weeks ago.”

Peter saw Neal watching, waiting, for a reaction to this bit of information hidden between a host of maybes, thinks and might haves. He nodded. “I would say that’s a good guess.” There was no sense getting upset or angry when he had known all along that the planter story wasn’t right.

“There are some great websites that deal with urban climbing,” he said, continuing the story. “Locations with their ratings, avoidance tips, schedules and whatnot. So I found a highly recommended location well within my two mile radius and checked it out that night.”

“You mean, you went onto private property in the middle of the night to go climbing by yourself,” Peter clarified. “Based on a website that you found that included guard schedules and tips on how to avoid them?”

Neal looked at him and shrugged. “You could put it that way if you insist on being negative.”

“I’m putting the spin on it,” he countered, struggling not to raise his voice, “that any prosecutor would if you had been caught.”

The other man shrugged again and tried to look as if he understood and agreed with Peter’s concerns.

“Don’t even give me that look,” the other man said sharply, shaking his head. “Thank god you weren’t caught.” Glancing off into the distance, he once again thanked whatever gods or angels seemed to watch over stupid young men and thieves. Turning his attention back to his friend, he replayed the confession earlier. There was little doubt that the tired and slightly lost feeling young man was still there, just under the surface and being protected as usual by the quick to smile and charming con man.

“I just don’t know what else to do, Peter,” he said, softly. “I have to get back what I lost or I’m not me. It was just so fun and easy and ….” His voice trailed off again as he picked up the pepper shaker and began a complicated pattern, juggling and shuffling it with the salt. “It felt really good and it’s been awhile since I’ve felt that.”

“I know,” Peter said honestly, thinking over how best to handle this situation. He glanced at the clock and saw it was almost 4:30. “Let me give this some thought and we’ll come up with a solution.” Reaching out, he gently shook him, “I’m telling you right now though, you’re not going back to June’s alone until we have a solution. Agreed?”

Neal nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“How are you feeling now?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“Take a stab at it,” the other man said firmly.

“Better than I did when I first got here, better than earlier,” he said after a moment. He glanced at the older man. “Are you mad?”

Peter thought for a minute, knowing that Neal was actually asking a host of questions: Was Peter mad at him personally, was he mad at the situation, was he disappointed, and if the answer was yes to any of those, what was he going to do about it? “I’m not mad; I’m just very glad you told me,” he said, looking at him. “I’m very glad that you trusted me enough to tell me what was going on.”

Neal nodded, looking away and back to the two shakers.

“Hey,” Peter said, reaching out and touching his hand. “Look at me.”

The other man glanced over and gave a quick smile. “What?”

“I mean it,” he said firmly. “I’m not mad and I’m very glad that you told me, that you trusted me with this.” He watched a host of emotions flash across the other man’s face as he glanced between the shakers, Peter’s hand and back to Peter’s face.

“Me too,” he said finally.

Peter watched him struggle to say something else, but it was too much and finally he nodded, standing up. “Come on. I want to see these ‘not too bad’ scratches of yours before you go to bed.”

“They’re really not bad, it’s …” Seeing Peter’s face, Neal rolled his eyes, holding up his hands. “Fine, whatever makes you happy but we’re not cleaning them with anything that stings.”

“No promises.” He glanced at him, “I’m assuming you’ve had a tetanus shot in the last few years?”

“Of course,” Neal said automatically.

Peter eyed him and made a mental note to look it up on Monday.

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

“So what do you think,” the middle aged instructor asked after the quick tour late Wednesday afternoon. “Will this work?”

Standing in the massive, brightly lit room, Peter glanced at Neal. “Neal?”

The younger man smiled and nodded. “Yeah. It’s great.”

The instructor qua tour guide smiled . “Excellent! Let me go grab the forms and you can fill them out. As soon as you send them back in, you’re good to go.”

Neal glanced around as he and Peter walked out of “Manhattan Rocks,” home – or at least proud claimant of – the largest indoor climbing structures on the east coast, forms in hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever climbed where it’s so bright. Or used hand holds that are colored. It’s going to be interesting.”

The other man laughed at the layers of truth in that statement. “Just think of it as a new challenge.”

He thought for a second, “Oh wait, there was this one time when I was allegedly doing something and the wall I allegedly used was covered in mosaics. Those are brightly colored.” Glancing at Peter, he smiled. “Think that counts?”

Peter laughed. “Since you just allegedly did it, I’d say no. Now, if you want to own up to something …”

Neal laughed, holding up his hands as they reached the car. “No, I’m good. Thanks though.” As he slipped inside, he turned to Peter, saying in a more serious voice, “Thank you, this is perfect.”

He smiled back, “Just use your climbing skills for good, Spiderman, and I’m fine with this.” Pulling out into traffic, Peter started the drive back to Brooklyn. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Neal close his mouth, cutting off the question. “Any idea what’s for dinner tonight?” he asked a moment later.

Neal relaxed into the seat and smiled slightly. “Something with chicken?”

The End