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“Peter. I will give you my firstborn child.”
“No.”
“I will give you my kidney.”
“I have enough kidneys.”
“I will be forever in your debt.”
Peter glares at Neal who is giving him puppydog eyes that should not be so endearing on a grown man. “Why do you want this so much?”
“Because I haven’t had real janija in years and this restaurant has the best, most authentic janija in New York.” He tugs on Peter’s sleeve. “Please please please. I will literally take your week’s worth of boring files that you don’t want if you take me.”
Peter narrows his eyes. “You know that’s not how it works.”
“Then I will be in your debt! Like I said! One ‘Make Neal Do or Stop Doing Something” card to use whenever you deem fit.”
Peter sits on the offer and sighs. “Fine. We can grab some tonight after work.”
“You are my savior, Peter.”
“Yeah yeah, whatever you say.”
Neal spends the rest of the day nearly vibrating in excitement at the thought about dinner. At least, that’s what Peter figures.
He can’t remember the last time he’s been this excited about something non-art related. Maybe ever.
Peter shoots a text to Elizabeth that he won’t be making it home, though it’s not any trouble since she’s out for an event anyways.
Neal doesn’t bother arguing about the music on the way there, just chatters excitedly about the history of the dish he’s getting but not delving into why it matters so much to him.
Peter knows not to push. Neal’s past turns conversation tense and guarded. He deflects and he hides and he maneuvers it away from anything about it, and Peter can only imagine why he’s so protective over it.
But knowing Neal’s fall into crime, he can’t imagine it’s anything good.
The restaurant is a quaint little place with delectable smells filling the air. The ambience is impeccable, but it’s nothing special. Peter is surprised at how at home Neal seems here.
“If you don’t want to get what I’m getting, I’ll still let you have a bite,” Neal says, scanning the wine list.
“Oh, thank you,” Peter says dryly. “Oh the… uh,” he continues, pronouncing poorly, “rántott csirkemell filé mosolygós burgonya sounds interesting.”
Neal stifles a snicker.
“What?” Peter questions.
“Uh, that’s… that’s chicken tenders and smiley face fries,” Neal says.
Peter’s cheeks warm, embarrassed. “Yeah. These descriptions really don’t do the dishes justice.”
“Just get what I’m getting. Trust me, it’s so worth it.”
Peter puts his menu done. “Fine.”
Neal props his chin up on his palm. “So, how’s that money laundering case going?”
Peter laughs. “Which one?”
Neal laughs too. “Good point.”
“Richie Wayne?”
Neal goes completely still, eyes widening almost comically. Quickly, his demeanor quickly shifts into something nearly unrecognizable to Peter.
“Oh my golly, Vicki Vale?!” he exclaims, voice flourished with an almost effeminate and ditzy quality. “What are you doing in New York?”
The woman — Vicki — gives him an amused frown. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“Oh, you know,” Neal shrugs, a dopey grin lighting up on his face, “seeing the sights. Eating the bites.” He giggles, actually giggles, and smiles more, his eyes crinkling boyishly.
Vicki purses her lips. “I can see that.”
“What about you? Don’t tell me that you’ve finally upgraded to the big apple.”
“Just on a hunch,” she says dryly. “But I see I’ve found a new lead to follow.”
Neal twirls his hair with his finger as he tilts his head. “What is it?”
Her brows furrow, genuinely taken aback by the question. “It’s—” she shakes her head, “why do I bother with you?” she mutters. “So,” she says, “why’d you leave Gotham?”
“Like I said,” Neal waves his hands in the air, “seeing the sights. Eating the bites.”
“So you’ve been traveling,” she pushes.
“I’ve been here and there. Did you know that there isn’t just one giant ball of twine? There’s so many.” He nods, face too serious and concentrated for what he’s talking about. “I want to see them all.”
She just stares at him. “That’s… great.” She clears her throat. “Well, is there anything else you’re looking for besides… balls of twine?”
“Myself,” Neal says with a lopsided grin. “Gotham was holding me back! You know me, traveling all of my childhood and then being stuck in one city. I couldn’t do it. I needed to spread my wings!”
“Right. I’m sure that was an adjustment, with all the traveling you did with the circus.”
Neal’s eyes dart quickly at Peter for a second. Vicki takes notice of this.
“Or maybe,” Vicki says, “maybe you’re not looking to spread your wings at all. Maybe you’re looking to settle down.”
Peter’s eyes widen. “Uh, actually—”
“Is this the scandal that the headlines have been missing all along?” she continues. “Richie Wayne runs away from Gotham and finds himself with a nice, older man.”
“Uh, actually—”
“Peter’s not my type,” Neal cuts in. “Believe me, he’s,” he eyes Peter up and down which makes Peter’s gut churn uncomfortably, “he’s got that sexy man-in-charge, DILF-y vibes,” Peter chokes at the words, “but you know me. I need something a little less… ugh.”
Vicki nods slowly. “Right. A little less ugh.”
“What about you, Vicki?” Neal leans in. “Did you finally tie the knot with that Tom guy?”
She smiles a forced toothy smile. “Divorced, actually.”
Neal pouts. “Aw. That’s so sad.”
She takes a long breath, closing her eyes, trying to settle her obvious impatience. “Well, Mr. Wayne. This conversation has been… as interesting as always.”
He grins. “It was so nice talking to you. I always love your questions. It’s like,” he sighs exaggeratedly, “it’s like someone actually cares about what I have to say.”
“That’s me,” she says monotonously, “caring about what you have to say.”
“That’s why you’re the bestest, Vicki,” Neal says.
Her jaw clenches. “Enjoy your time in New York, Mr. Wayne.”
“You too!” Neal chirps.
And with that, she turns on her heel and sashays out of the restaurant.
“What was that?” Peter questions.
Neal looks up. “Hm?”
“That,” Peter says. “What was that?”
“Oh, is that the waiter? I’m so hungry. I can’t wait to order.”
“Neal—”
“Hi, yes, I would like two glasses of the house Cabernet Sauvignon and two orders of the janija—”
“Neal!”