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Peter has had a long day. Getting a mountain of paperwork dropped on your desk by the CIA filled with case files that all take precedence over your current cases is bound to be frustrating.
With the urgent information that he needed to sift through, he was basically working to the bone from the moment he stepped foot into the office.
He had a brief consultation with a representative from the CIA, Charles Carmichael, but he really was too vague and elusive to give clear answers about the contents of the files.
Or maybe he just didn’t know anything and was simply the messenger.
Still. They’re the CIA. Send someone qualified for Christ’s sake.
To top it off, Neal has been spacey all day. It was the ditzy, daydreaming way that is so unlike him that Peter was genuinely concerned that he was having dissociative episodes.
He would’ve checked in with Neal if he wasn’t drowning in a mountain of paperwork from the CIA. Though Neal is somewhat a priority of his being his CI, he trusts he can handle himself fine for a day.
Well, maybe he shouldn’t.
Neal practically booked it out of the office the moment he was released which is very suspicious for the conman.
So, being as on edge as he is, Peter went to pay Neal a visit at June’s.
He couldn’t go right away — see, AGAIN: mountain of paperwork from the CIA — and that was making Peter’s nerves spike, not knowing what Neal could be up to. It’s been an hour. Neal can do a lot of damage in just an hour.
His tracker says he hasn’t left his apartment at all, but Peter never knows.
June lets him in, makes a quip about him working Neal too hard and encouraging him to take a night off for once.
Peter smiles and nods politely before creeping up the stairs.
Without so much as a knock (because he doesn’t want Neal to have time to hide whatever schemes and shenanigans he has behind that door) he enters his apartment.
Peter’s surprised to see a fairly standard sight. The smell of carry out is wafting through the clean apartment along with freshly popped microwave popcorn.
The door to Neal’s room is open and Peter tiptoes to get a better look.
“Booo!!!!” Neal shouts. “Jatlh, Hu’tegh blHunch!”
Peter staggers back slightly. It’s a language that Peter doesn’t recognize at all. He knows Neal can speak eight languages, but this doesn’t sound like one he’s bragged about or used before.
“C’mon, give ‘em a break,” Peter hears another voice say.
Peter goes still. Someone else is here.
“They are the thickest skulled, stubborn, infuriating—” Neal groans loudly. “Why can’t that just talk? For once in Star Trek cinema history, can things not be convoluted due to miscommunication?”
The other person chuckles. “Don’t think they can.”
Peter sneaks a peek in the room and is shocked to see Neal cuddled up to the consultant from earlier, his face buried into his t-shirt. Neal’s wearing an oversized hoodie and sweatpants, his arm wrapped around Carmichael’s torso as he nuzzles deeper into his neck.
Carmichael laughs again. “You are a drama queen.”
“I am suffering, Chuck. Suffering!” Neal wails, sitting up and glaring at the man. “How can they be so… so… ugh!”
“Do we need a breather?” Carmichael asks, teasingly. “Do you need a break?” He grabs Neal by the shoulders, turning him to face him. “Let’s just take some mindful balloon breaths.” He sucks in an over-exaggerated breath. “Imagine you have a balloon. What’s the color of your balloon?”
Neal smacks him with a pillow. “I do not need balloon breaths.”
“They’re good for you,” Carmichael says, grinning wider. “Helps you really visualize your breathing. Morgan does them all the time.”
“Oh, so you’re taking meditation advice from Morgan now?”
“Hey!” Carmichael exclaims. “Morgan knows his stuff. Awesome told me he’s got this soothing brain bath tea and apparently it’s amazing.”
“You’re an idiot.” Neal looks to him with a lovesick smile.
Carmichael taps his chin. “Hm, yeah. I am. Must be why I got kicked out of Stanford.”
Neal narrows his eyes. “Low blow. Low. Blow, Bartowski.”
Carmichael just laughs again. He cups Neal’s cheek and pulls him in for a tender kiss.
At this point, Peter realizes he’s invading Neal’s privacy and pulls his gaze away from them.
Peter is hit with a rush of conflicting thoughts. He should warn Neal to be careful. He should vet and subtly interrogate this CIA agent. He should… well, what should he do?
Him and Neal are getting closer, but obviously not close enough for Neal to mention his relationship with a CIA agent. Seriously. He’s not over that. You realize he’s a CIA agent, right Neal?
What about Kate? Did this man come before or after Kate? It seems like the prior considering how cozy and familiar they seem with each other.
Then, is this CIA agent dirty? Because, Neal doesn’t really mention a past beside his days of crime.
There’s too many questions and too many answers that Peter knows he’s not going to get.
And it’s like an itch that he can’t quite reach, incessant and demanding to finally be satiated. But Neal is a conman for a reason and he has more secrets than Peter will ever comprehend. Peter knows that if Neal doesn’t want Peter to know about something, then he won’t.
And this secret? It’s harmless. In fact, it’s doing a lot of good for Neal.
He was smiling in such an unbridled, bright way. Laughing like there wasn’t a care in the world. Happy in ways that Peter doesn’t get to see enough.
Peter has so many questions, but at the cost of what? Losing Neal’s trust? Showing Neal that he didn’t trust him?
He has questions. But he knows he won’t get answers.
So. He doesn’t ask them.
He leaves Neal’s apartment, closing the door quietly behind him. He goes about his night. He crashes in bed with exhaustion and gets damn good sleep.
And if the next day, when Neal comes into work with a hickey poking out from beneath his collar, Peter doesn’t say anything about it.