Work Text:
Peter can’t do this.
Math he could do. Quantico training he could definitely do. He could (and did) spend three years meticulously and tirelessly tracking the world’s best conman before catching him.
But dealing with drunk and emotional criminal informants? Peter Burke was very much out of his depth.
It had started with Peter’s good mood. Great mood, actually. Basking in the glow of vacation he and Elizabeth had worked lazily around the house to put their luggage away most of Saturday, glad for the extra day or two of the weekend to relax before going back to the grind of work.
Peter was feeling happy and generous, despite coming back to the freezing city, and figured the whole world probably felt the same way.
He wondered absently how Neal was doing. The reports on Neal’s behavior from Jones had been wonderfully uninterested, his CI seemed to be amiable, easy to get along with, and keeping his nose more or less clean.
Perhaps the novelty of having Neal Caffrey as his CI hadn’t really worn off yet, whatever it was, it led to Peter Burke standing outside his new CI’s loft door that evening with a four-pack of beer.
“Peter, hey!” There was an odd quality to Neal’s voice, open and warm as he grinned brightly.
“Hey, Neal. Hope you’re not busy, I was hoping we could have a drink.” Peter held up the beers. Neal’s expression turned complicated, maybe embarrassed, but he held the door open with an odd laugh.
“I started without you.” He jerked his head toward the table before his gaze fell to his feet. Stepping into the room Peter could see an empty wine bottle on the table and another just a quarter full. He looked sharply back at Neal.
“Did you have someone over?”
“Nope,” Neal said. “Just me.” Peter frowned,
“Are you all right? That’s a lot of wine to drink alone.”
“Fine.” Neal loosely waved away the words as Peter studied him. He didn’t look too drunk at first glance, but now Peter could see the flush of his cheeks, the heavy lidded eyes, and, of course, the unusually open demeanor. From the moment of open joy at seeing Peter at the door to the embarrassment he’d showed when Peter found the empty bottles— Neal was far too easy to read to be sober.
“Did something happen, Neal?” Peter pushed a little further because he knows Neal well enough that finding him indulging in so much alcohol is surprising.
“Can’t a guy have some wine when he wants to?” Neal tossed back with a grin that faded after a few seconds.
He reached for the half-full wineglass on the table and studied it before putting it down without a sip and looking up. This time there was something like a plea in his eyes.
“I don’t want you to think that I’m like this, I’m not Peter, I swear. I don’t— I don’t usually drink this much, I didn’t do this most of the time while you were away.” His speech was only a little slurred, but it was mostly just the uncharacteristic earnestness of his words that let Peter know he’s really drunk. “It’s just, really hard, you know?”
“Sure,” Peter said, even though he didn’t and was honestly rather worried. Neal nodded a bit sloppily.
“It’s just funny because I can go places now, but I’m just staying here. And drinking.” He gave a little huff of a laugh that sounded less cheerful than it was supposed to. “And I can eat what I want now but I keep eating the same things. It’s not— easy.”
Peter was taken aback by this for a second and then was feeling really, really bad a second later, practically kicking himself because, of course, Neal had spent four years in prison and—
“Are you having trouble adjusting to being out of prison, Neal?” he asked head on, hoping the alcohol would let him get a straight answer. Neal narrowed his eyes and stared at him for about seven and a half seconds.
“I don’t know,” he finally said. “It’s just hard to decide things. And there’s no one to talk to.” He looked melancholy for a moment then brightened, looking at Peter. “But now you’re back. I missed you.” He grinned, wide and charming, and reached for his glass, almost dropping it.
Peter steadied the glass absently, busy absorbing the bombshells Neal just dropped on him.
First of all, his CI was having trouble adjusting to life outside of prison, which was a major oversight on Peter’s part because Neal Caffrey might give the impression that he could handle any and everything that life threw at him, but even he couldn’t come out of four years of being told what to do every second of every day without some side effects. And secondly— Neal was lonely. He was lonely and had no one to talk to.
At first Peter almost rolled his eyes at this because if there was anyone who could talk to everyone it was Neal Caffrey, but he stopped himself a second later. Neal could chat with anyone, but how many people could he really talk to? Kate, Peter guessed, and he was about 97% sure Neal had another close criminal contact, but who else?
Peter.
Of course Neal had been lonely. A week spent without a friendly face, closer to enemy faces really, struggling to adjust to the outside world after four years, with no one to lean on for support—
Peter blinked back to the present, his stomach twisting with discomfort, only to have it twist further at the sight of Neal, sitting now, shoulders slumped in a sort of dejection.
“Okay,” Peter breathed, more to himself than anyone else. Because this emotional mess really wasn’t what he signed up for when he’d come over tonight and it wasn’t really what he’d imagined when he’d decided to accept Caffrey’s deal.
Burke and Caffrey solving crime and making wisecracks— had more or less been the picture in his mind, not... this.
Peter Burke was definitely not a feelings type of person and he was feeling incredibly awkward right now, with the smoothest, cockiest, coolest guy he knew kind-of-sort-of falling apart in front of his eyes.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Caffrey’s slick mask drop before— he had. Once. After Caffrey had been convicted to spend four years at a maximum security facility and he’d found the kid trembling in the cell before his transfer.
But that was different. That was a visceral terror that Peter had known how to mitigate with truth and reassurance. This was...drunk emotions.
Okay.
It was okay.
Peter could manage it. He was an FBI agent after all, this wasn’t beyond his capabilities. And then he spotted the tears that had filled his CI’s eyes and was pretty sure that it was definitely beyond his capabilities.
“Hey, hey what’s the matter, Caffrey?” It was meant to sound comforting but Peter suspected it sounded more uncomfortable than anything else. “You okay, Neal?”
“Kate,” Neal said as if it explained everything. Maybe it did. “I really want to find her before the holidays. I haven’t celebrated them without her in years. Even in prison we—“ his voice choked off. Peter’s discomfort raised an order of magnitude higher as he saw the slight hitching of his CI’s shoulders.
This was Elizabeth’s territory, not Peter’s. El would know how to deal with a drunk, heartbroken young conman, a lot better than Peter would and for a few brief seconds the agent desperately wished his wife was there.
But then Peter remembered the way Neal’s face had brightened those first few seconds at the sight of him at the door, and he remembered Neal’s words only a few minutes before, I missed you.
Maybe, just maybe, Neal would prefer to have Peter here right now, rather than, even, someone who was a little more emotionally skilled.
The thought heartened Peter a little bit. Maybe he was the right man for the job.
Peter found himself awkwardly lowering his hand to Neal’s shoulder, some protective instinct overcoming his discomfort. As soon as he’d placed it there, instinctively rubbing with his thumb as his palm cupped over Neal’s shoulder, it felt almost... natural.
Neal looked startled at the gesture, his head twisting to look at Peter, eyes wide and mouth slightly open and Peter almost removed his hand before a sort of a look came over Neal’s face. Longing, Peter thought, and gratefulness. He felt Neal push into the touch, almost burrowing into it, and felt the heavier breathing in the CI’s shoulders.
Peter’s forehead wrinkled at this, the corners of his mouth turning down in an unhappy frown. What kind of life did someone have to have to be so moved by a pat on the shoulder?
Four years in prison, something whispered inside of Peter, and three years on the run. And who knows what kind of childhood, because kids who grow up in well-adjusted, happy families don’t usually have a need to smile through anything and everything and steal billions of dollars worth of gems and art.
They were quiet for a few minutes as Peter struggled not to think too hard into exactly what he was doing because then it might become awkward and just stood, growing more comfortable with the gentle pattern he rubbed into Neal’s shoulder.
Neal broke the silence after a while with a moan, wrapping an arm around his middle, his other hand hovering close to his mouth. He looked very unwell which was frankly the least surprising thing to happen that entire evening.
Predicting what was about to happen, Peter helped him up and hauled him to the bathroom, pushing him gently down in front of the toilet. Neal had the wherewithal to look embarrassed as he choked up a good amount of the wine he’d drunk while Peter let his hand stroke up and down his CI’s back, unbothered by the illness but still adjusting to the vulnerability.
They stayed in the bathroom for a while until Neal stopped heaving up everything in his stomach and his eyes began to slip shut, his head drooping with exhaustion as Peter caught him and pulled him up.
It only occurred to Peter after he had gotten his inebriated CI into bed and found himself sitting on the edge of the mattress absently brushing the hair away from Neal’s face, that this might be the type of situation he should avoid.
Hughes had eyed him skeptically when he’d proposed the deal to the ASAC, voicing aloud his concerns that Peter was too “emotionally involved” when it came to Neal Caffrey. Peter had been quick to reassure him that their relationship would be purely professional and had meant it...at the time. Because this wasn’t what he’d signed up for... was it?
Was it?
Are you sure, Peter Burke?
He found himself rethinking that assumption. After all, he’d know that Caffrey wasn’t all smiles and cons. Peter had known that for a very long time.
There was a vulnerability to the teasing letters and late night phone calls and maybe Peter hadn’t spelled it out to himself before but... he knew. He’d always known. He liked the kid, that’s why he’d taken the deal; because of Neal’s intelligence and sense of humor and all that, but not just because of that. There was something... lost about Neal. As if he was a young child desperately looking for something. Kate, maybe, but Peter wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the same type of instinct that any member of law enforcement had when seeing a lost child. Either way, Peter was rapidly realizing there was a lot more to his own feelings regarding Neal Caffrey than he had consciously realized.
Had he imagined he’d be tucking a plastered Neal Caffrey into bed two weeks after accepting his deal? Not exactly. But then again, it wasn’t something that he found he really minded doing. And maybe he kind of had signed up for it.
“I’d hoped it might take you a little longer to turn my life upside down,” Peter murmured. But even he couldn’t pretend there wasn’t a note of fondness in his voice, even if there was no one else around to hear it.
He stood up, quietly searching through the apartment until he found a lined trash can and a towel, placing the first by the side of the bed and spreading the second over Neal’s pillow just in case the wine continued to have adverse affects. He filled a glass with water and placed it on the bedside table along with an open bottle of ibprophen because Neal would definitely need it in the morning.
If all went as Peter hoped, Neal wouldn’t remember much, if any, of this in the morning. They could begin again, start the week anew— the second week of this unconventional partnership.
Only this time Peter knew a little more. This time he’d be a bit more careful to make certain Neal had direction, support, and was really settling in; to ensure Neal didn’t spend too many evenings alone.
Because Neal might be an expert at hiding it, but if there was one thing Peter learned tonight, it was that Neal Caffrey could use a little more compassion than everyday life would hand out.
Just an extra cup or so of kindness.
And Peter can do that.