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Peter had never said as much to Neal, but early in their relationship it became apparent to him that Neal was wasting his intelligence and talents on the New Jersey Transit Authority. He understood that Neal had accepted the position to get out of DC and out of uniform, and he didn’t want to be the kind of man who would demean his partner’s occupation. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help wanting to see Neal have the opportunity to shine somewhere brighter. They’d been together for a couple of years when Neal brought up the issue one day.
“What do you think my chances would be if I wanted to apply to the FBI?” When Peter had taken too long to reply, Neal added. “I know it’s a long shot.”
“It’s not a sure thing for anybody, but I think you’d have a good chance. You’d have a good personal reference from me.”
Neal smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Several months later, when Neal received his official acceptance to the new agent training program at Quantico, Peter pulled him close and kissed him in congratulations. Then he thought about Neal spending months in Virginia, and he held on a little tighter.
After a moment, Neal drew away. “So, twenty weeks is a long time.”
“It will go by faster than you’ll believe. Well, for you at least.” Peter wasn’t in love with the idea of spending a few months apart from Neal, but they’d have occasional weekend visits, and it would be worth it in the end. They had been open about their relationship during Neal’s application and vetting process, and while Peter wouldn’t be able to bring Neal in to work in his department Neal would be assigned to a posting within commuting distance from New York.
They had made the most of their time together in the weeks leading up to Neal’s departure for Quantico, but a month in to Neal’s training Peter found himself missing Neal even more than he had expected. Neal had come home for a visit after the third week, but other than that they only had time for brief phone conversations most evenings. Peter understood that for Neal the days were going by in a challenging, exhausting blur, but after a slow week in the office with endless, boring fraud cases Peter was itching for an excuse to drive down and drop in on Neal’s training.
Their phone calls were usually around 8 or 9 in the evening, just before Neal crashed in his bunk to sleep until the next early morning came along, so Peter was surprised to see Neal calling in the late afternoon. “Neal? What’s going on?”
“I’m okay,” he said, but he didn’t precisely sound right. “Okey dokey,” Neal added, and then Peter was able to place the odd tone in Neal’s voice—he was drugged.
“Are you hurt? What happened?” Peter was imagining a firing range mishap, a tactical driving crash. “Are you in the hospital?”
“Hey, hey, no,” Neal said, his voice a soft drawl. “Just a little bit knocked around.”
“Is this anything like when you were ‘just slightly’ shot in the arm?”
“Never gonna let me forget that.” Shuffling sounds came from Neal’s side before he continued. “Dislocated my shoulder. It hurt. They put it back in. Doesn’t hurt so much anymore.”
“Damn it. I guess the drugs have something to do with that?”
“Mmm-hmm. ‘m so used to calling you when I get in bed—forgot it’s only…I dunno what time it is.”
“It’s just after four. You want me to come down there? I can get a room, and they’ll give you leave for a day or two.”
“No. No. God, no.”
Peter tried not to let his feelings be hurt. “It was just an idea.”
“No, I mean—“ There was a sound of something brushing against the phone, and Peter imaged Neal rubbing his hand over his face. “I wish you were here. I wish I could go to sleep and know that you’re there behind me, but I can’t.”
“You could,” Peter argued quietly.
“Just got my ass kicked by a woman, Peter. Don’t need my boyfriend coming to hold my hand.”
“Boyfriend,” Peter muttered. He hated using that word for their relationship when they were grown men, and they’d be married if it were legal in New York. ‘Partner’ sounded too much like a work relationship, and ‘husband’ was inaccurate. ‘Lover’ was more intimate than Peter preferred to advertise in public, but it was his pick of the bad options. He loved Neal more than he had ever imagined he could love a person.
“I know, I just mean—I dunno. I’m sorry.”
Peter cursed himself for giving Neal a hard time when he knew well how emotionally labile Neal could be under the influence of painkillers. “It’s okay. I get it. You need to stand on your own.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“I have an idea. Are you comfortable? Ready to go to sleep?”
“So tired.”
“I know, sweetheart. Put your phone on speaker and put it on your pillow then get under the covers and close your eyes.” Peter listened to the squeak of bedsprings. “Now go to sleep.” Peter closed his eyes and imagined holding Neal in bed as he pitched his voice low. “Sleep like my arms are around you, and in the morning you’ll feel better.”
“Mmm,” Neal mumbled, and Peter listened until he heard Neal’s breathing even out into sleep. He was tempting to leave the line open, to monitor Neal right through to the evening, but he reminded himself that Neal could take care of himself. Plus, Peter didn’t know how much of a charge Neal’s phone had, and he didn’t want to kill the battery in case Neal needed to call him later.
“Love you,” Peter whispered, and then he hung up. It would be a long few weeks until he could see Neal again, but Peter told himself that this is what happens when you get what you want. This is what happens when you’re lucky.