Work Text:
Being an enigma, unreadable, inscrutable, were all special skills Neal had been developing since he was a child. He never wanted anyone to know how he was feeling without him giving express permission to see it. People would see from him what he wanted them to see. That way, Neal would always understand how others saw him, what types of conclusions they would be surmising from his actions, what actions they would expect from him. If he controlled how he was perceived, he could control reality.
So, when an undercover mission goes wrong, Neal gets hit in the stomach twice with a bat, shoved in a trunk, driven to some abandoned building, dragged out, and told to forge signatures for a stack of backlog papers, only for Peter and Jones to show up two hours later, it makes sense in his mind to lie. To not let them know how his ribs ached and the stiffness that slithered its way up his spine. After such an…eventful day, if he told them any of that, they’d make him go to the hospital and he’d spend the entire evening waiting around only to be told to go home and rest, which is all he wanted to do anyway. With his mouth kept shut, he’d cut out all the fluff in the middle.
“You alright?” Peter asked as he scanned Neal over for any obvious signs of injuries.
Neal had never been more grateful to wear suits instead of more casual clothing, because all the layers could hide a lot. He smoothed out his jacket and fixed his tie, a proper show of prettying himself. “Fine, yeah. A little sore from the whole kidnapping thing, but all part of the job.” And it wasn’t a lie, he was fine. He wasn’t great, but he wasn’t going to die. “If it’s alright with you though, I might head on home while you do the arrests? I will write up my statement when I get to the office in the morning?”
Peter looked at him more seriously, eyes squinted and lips pouted. “Really? Don’t want to watch us put the bad guys away?”
Neal shrugged, then bit the inside of his cheek to hide the wince that wanted to come out at the movement. “Nah, I mean, I’ve seen enough of them, even been on the other side of it.” When Peter continued to look at him, and Neal's skin itched as he felt Peter trying to look beneath his surface. He quickly added, “Plus, the whole shoved into a trunk thing really makes someone crave a glass of wine.”
Peter’s eyes softened, and Neal knew he’d hit the bullseye on the sympathy board. “Right, yeah. Of course. I’m, we should’ve been quicker about getting in for that takedown call.”
“Eh, it all worked out in the end.” Neal walked past Peter only to turn around and walk backwards. “You can make it up to me by buying me a bottle of wine?”
Peter laughed a little and waved him off. “Fine, fine. Just…go on. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”
Neal shot a thumbs up then turned around the corner. Once he was fully out of Peter’s sight, he pulled out his phone. “Hey, Moz, was wondering if you could head over to my place early? …Yeah, we caught them already, and Peter’s letting me get out early…No, not really for my good behavior, more for the bad behavior of others. Listen, will you bring your med kit to my place too?”
____________________________________
“You’re a good friend, you know that Moz?” Neal hummed in appreciation as Mozzie fixed up the pillows on his bed. He was slightly dizzied, thoughts sluggish from whatever pain pill Mozzie had given him.
“Yes, although it would be nice to be appreciated when you’re not drugged.” Mozzie fluffed the pillows some more, making sure they would give adequate support. “I don’t know why you didn’t tell the Suit you were hurt. While I don’t condone the leash treatment, you, mon frere, are already in the system, so you might as well let your treatment be on the Suit’s time and dime.”
“Aw, Moz, you worried about me?” Neal worked on the buttons of the pajama top, minding carefully the creams and salves Mozzie had made him put on the bruising and stiff muscles. He reeked of menthol, witch hazel, and arnica. “What could a doctor have given me that you didn’t? We both know there’s no treatment for bruised ribs. Besides, if I went to the doctor, they would’ve put me on bed rest, and there’s too much work to do.”
Mozzie shrugged and flipped out the corner blankets of the bed, then stepped aside. “Maybe the doctors couldn’t have done much, but the Suit should know when you’re hurt like this, especially when it happens under his supposed watchful eye and will impact the future work you do.”
He hovered slightly as Neal climbed into bed, and Neal wanted to roll his eyes at being babied to such a nth degree, but who knew just sitting and pulling his legs into the bed could be so difficult. Then, once Neal was settled in the bed, Mozzie headed back to the table and grabbed the small tray of items he’d put together. Two bottles of water, with straws so Neal wouldn’t have to lift his arms as high, a vintage metal tin that contained the medicine, and, in true Mozzie fashion, an incentive spirometer that he’d already made Neal use for the evening.
“I’m sure Peter will get suspicious when you make me take that thing with me to work tomorrow.” Neal joked about the device, but then Mozzie’s tone in his previous statement hit him. Mozzie sounded…bitter. “Are you mad at Peter?”
“Of course I’m mad at him!” Neal jumped a little when shouted, and Mozzie reeled himself back. “Just…look at you. I hate seeing you like this, and… I mean, come on Neal, we both know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him and the entire damn Federal Bureau of Instigations, but that doesn’t mean you always have to be on the front lines. You should feel you have space to rest.”
Something about that statement didn’t sound right to Neal, but with his slightly loopy brain power, it wasn’t the part he could focus on. “I do my job Moz, I—”
“Your job is to be a civilian consultant, emphasis on civilian. They’re supposed to use your brain, your smarts, your expertise, not…” Mozzie shook his head, and gave Neal a displeased look. It was really rare for Neal that he saw Mozzie…sad. It made his ribs ache more. “You’re treated like their puppet Neal. An expendable puppet, at that. You’ve had more guns and various other weapons waved at you more often than you ever did when it was just us, and that’s not even including the treatment you’ve faced from Fowler or, or Rice or—” Mozzie stopped suddenly, letting out a long breath. When he spoke again, it was soft. “I’m just perturbed with the Suit right now because he let you get hurt, again. I’m sorry I can’t let that go as easily as you can.”
Neal sighed. He felt too much emotional conflict and too much pain for the current state of his brain to think clearly. He’d known, on some levels, that Mozzie was right. When he’d agreed to take the deal with Peter, he hardly expected for the job to be as…adventurous as it turned out to be. He had to deal with someone being killed on his second day as Peter’s CI. It was definitely a steep learning curve. Plus, Neal had known his high closure rate was part of why the FBI kept him around, and that closure rate was directly related to the fact that he was willing to put himself at so much risk. Could it really be said he went on the field willingly when sometimes the options were do it or go back to prison?
However, at the same time, Neal also knew that Peter wasn’t truly at fault. He wasn’t responsible for Rice, and Peter went out of his way, broke both his own and the FBI’s to help Neal with Fowler. And there were rules and regulations in place meant to keep him safe when he went on mission, a lot of planning went into each operation. He knew Peter never took the matter of his safety lightly. Plus, Peter had told him enough times about how much worry and anxiety he faced every time Neal did go undercover, so Neal never once doubted Peter’s desire to protect him. Even when things did go wrong, Peter did whatever needed to be done to get Neal to safety.
“Peter isn’t…” A yawn interrupted him, and Neal rubbed his eyes. Thinking so much had worn out the rest of his energy. “Peter isn’t the FBI.”
Mozzie gave him that look again, but this time it felt pitying. He didn’t say anything right away, chose to instead fuss with the pillows behind Neal’s head. When he pulled back and met Neal’s eyes again, all he said was “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”
To Neal, the conversation would be another rough patch between Mozzie and the current circumstances Neal found himself in, but they would smooth it over in the upcoming days.
However, to the man who found himself outside of Neal Caffrey’s door, the man with a semi-fancy apology wine in his hand, the man who had heard his name being argued about and couldn’t stop himself from eavesdropping, the conversation would be the start of a sleepless night.
_____________________________________________
“Oh, honey, you should just call him.”
Peter shook his head and turned from where he’d been tying his tie in the mirror to face his wife’s disapproving look. “I can’t do that El, because then he’ll know I heard them talking, and that…” Peter didn’t know exactly what it was, but he knew it was at minimum an invasion of privacy. “He’s…allowed to be conflicted about our work together, especially after a mission like that. And Mozzie’s allowed to be angry with me, especially when apparently I didn’t even realize Neal was hurt.” Peter shook his head a bit and gave up on the tie, his nerves too fried from his mind whirling all night to multitask. “Inserting myself into a conversation where I don’t belong won’t help anything. All I can do really is let Neal take it easy, see if I can figure out how he is hurt without directly questioning him.”
Elizabeth’s tsked gently, then went to take over the tying. “It just doesn’t seem fair to me, for either of them to blame you. Neal gave you the takedown signal, and you guys reacted as quickly as you could. What else could you have done, besides predict the future?”
Peter smiled softly, appreciating that his wife was always his biggest supporter, but it didn’t ease the unnerve under his skin. “We didn’t have to send Neal undercover. The case was coming together just fine, but it was just moving so slowly. Sending Neal was just supposed to be a way to speed up the process, it wasn’t…” Elizabeth looked up to meet his eyes when he stopped talking, and her heart broke a little seeing the little bit of moisture that had started to gather in her husband’s lashes. “I was selfish, and now he’s hurt. How could I not notice he was hurt?”
________________________________________
Peter arrived a little late to pick Neal up the next morning, but Neal didn’t mind the wait too much. Mozzie had stayed the night with him, sleeping in one of the guest rooms in the big house, so when Neal woke up in the morning it was to a plate of oatmeal and fruit, as well as the incentive spirometer, being pushed towards him.
Breathing exercises, breakfast, and half a pain pill later, Neal got up and got ready for his day. Him and Mozzie had coffee downstairs with June, and Neal had just been about to call Peter and check in when they saw the man approaching the front door.
“Good morning Peter! We’ve got a cup of coffee ready for you.” Mozzie shot him a look, a reminder to Neal to reign in his pain medicine induced chipperness.
“Wow, didn’t realize I was interrupting the Breakfast Club.” Peter said as he came and sat down. He shot Mozzie with a suspicious look. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you so early in the morning, Haversham. Any special occasion?”
Mozzie shrugged, taking a drink of his coffee to finish it off. “Drank a little too much. Stressful night.” Neal wanted to roll his eyes, to tell Mozzie to knock off the cold shoulder act, but he couldn’t without being obvious. He’d hoped that Peter didn’t pick up on it and just assumed Mozzie was in one of his moods, but even to him it felt like there was a clear tension brewing between him and Peter.
Luck seemed to be on Neal’s side though, because shortly after Peter sat down, Mozzie’s phone rang and he quickly stood up. “Sorry to make a sudden exit, but it seems there are problems to take care of.”
Neal really hoped Peter wouldn't ask questions about it in the car.
And Peter didn’t. In fact, Peter hardly talked the whole morning. He drank his coffee, listening to the idle chatter, mostly between Neal and June. Once Peter had finished his coffee, they walked quietly out to the car, no questions or comments from Peter, not filling Neal in on any information.
It was when Peter drove, silently, eyes focused on the road, that Neal’s curiosity got the better of him. “Did something happen last night Peter?”
Peter gave him a wide eyed look. “What do you mean? Something like what?”
“I don’t know, you’re just being weird. Did one of the guys break out and vow to kill me or something? Is Hughes upset that you let me go early so I’m going to be punished somehow?”
Peter made a soft noise that confused Neal. For some reason, Neal’s suggestions seemed to have hurt him. “No, Christ Neal, nothing like that. You’re fine, completely fine. Not in danger or trouble.”
“Ooooookay?” Neal says, long and drawn out. He leans over to adjust the car seat slightly, reclining just a little to take the pressure off his ribs. “So if I’m fine, did something happen to you? Is Elizabeth okay?”
“Everyone’s fine Neal. Nothing— nothing happened, alright? I just didn’t sleep that well.”
Neal tried to brush it off, to just chalk it up to everyone having a little bit of crappy days. He was sore, Peter was tired, and Mozzie was grumpy. What else is new? Nevertheless, his day was still weird, because throughout the morning he could feel Peter’s eyes as he watched him. Neal would work on his statement for a while, then every 15 minutes or so he’d get up to stretch out a little, repeating the deep breathing exercises that Mozzie wanted him to do. Once he was done he’d go back to his desk and resume his writing. Peter’s gaze followed him nearly the entire time.
That was until about 11, when Peter made a sudden exit, leaving Neal behind.
__________________________________________
Peter sat at the typical bench, and was about to hold up the newspaper in the cursory way, but stopped when he saw Mozzie simply walk over and sit on the bench behind him. “Your wife called me upset.” Mozzie said.
“My— Elizabeth called you?”
“Yes. She told me that, allegedly, you overheard mine and Neal’s conversation last night, and that it made you upset.”
“Damnit El…” Peter hung his head in his hands for a few seconds, feeling ratted out. “I told her I didn’t want to say anything. I shouldn’t have listened Mozzie, I know that.”
Mozzie made a soft, contemplative sound. “If you hear no evil, and speak no evil, you will never be invited to a party.”
Great, a quote Peter couldn’t really decipher the meaning out of. “...Right. Yes. But you, you have every right to be upset with me about what happened.” Peter slid to the left slightly, then turned around in his bench to look at Mozzie. “Since you know that I know, can you fill me in on what I don’t? How’s Neal hurt? How bad is it?”
Mozzie was holding his own newspaper, which gave him the perfect cover to not look at Peter. “I suspect two bruised, maybe mildly fractured, ribs from being hit by the baseball bat, as well as a lot of strained muscles from being thrown into a trunk.” Peter felt like gravity got stronger as Mozzie talked. He’d seen the bat at the location Neal had been taken from, and he really hadn’t even questioned it once he saw Neal standing there, looking as perfect as ever. Either one of those on their own would be an annoying amount of pain, but to have both only leads to one exasperating the other.”
Peter sighed heavily. “Dammit Neal. He could’ve told me.”
“That’s what I told him.”
And that was…a surprise to Peter. “You told him to tell me? I thought you were mad at me?”
“I am mad at you.” Mozzie folded up the newspaper, but didn't look over at Peter. Instead he kept his eyes ahead, and with the scowl on his face he actually looked mildly threatening. Peter realized how truly upset Mozzie was with him. “The only reason I’m here talking with you is because your wife, who I like more, asked me to talk with you. She reminded me that, at the end of the day, hopefully we want the same thing.”
_______________________________________________
When Peter returns from disappearing, he walks over to Neal’s desk and knocks on it. “You got your statement from the mission finished?”
“Yup!” Neal said, and out of reflex, went to lean back in his chair to look up at Peter, but the sharp pain reminded him to not do that. He covered up the gasp of pain with a cough, before pointing across the room. “I’ve already sent it over to Jones. I was waiting for you to get back before I pulled out any old cases to look over. You left awfully in a hurry, so I was curious if something interesting was happening that you would need me for.”
“Nope.” Peter said, with an emphatic pop of the p. “You are coming with me though, grab your stuff.”
Neal watched him curiously for a moment, but he’s in no position to really push, so he grabbed his hat and put it in before he stood up and followed Peter out.
Once they were back in Peter’s car, Neal asked “So, what’s the not interesting thing you’re taking me to do?”
“I’m taking you home, and you’re taking the rest of the week off.”
“ What?” Neal’s voice was incredulous. “ Peter, no, come on. Whatever you heard, I’m fine—”
Peter turned to look at him, a full body rotation so he was looking directly at Neal. “Listen to me, Caffrey. You can keep secrets about whatever you and Mozzie do, the little crimes and cons you two pull, but you are not going to keep secrets about your health and safety from me. That is not how this is going to work. Non-negotiable.”
“I don’t even know what’s happening right now. Where did you go? Did Mozzie talk to you?” Neal was fully befuddled in that moment, the idea of Peter and Mozzie having a one on one conversation seeming impossible to him, especially as upset Mozzie had been that morning. Was Mozzie really so concerned about Neal’s safety that he went straight to Peter to complain? It felt too…obedient to authority for Mozzie.
“Doesn’t matter. Put your seatbelt on.”
________________________________________
Neal had been able to act fine for most of the day, but Peter followed him into June’s, meaning that Peter would watch him go up the stairs. It had taken him nearly three times longer than typical for Neal the night before, and that was when Neal still had fresh adrenaline pumping through him to dull the pain. He felt fully embarrassed as he walked up the stairs only a few at a time before stopping, having to breathe through the sharp complaints that came through his abdomen and wrapped around to his back, then crawled up to the base of his neck.
Peter didn’t say anything the entire time, just kept a safe distance from Neal. Not so close that Neal felt like he was hovering, but close enough that if Neal needed his support Peter could reach him.
Once they reached Neal’s living space, Neal sat down heavily at the kitchen table. The pain tightening pain in his back eased slightly, which let Neal lean back to relieve the pressure in his ribs that made it hard to breathe. “I, thank you for walking me up Peter, but I, I’ll be good from here. Although I still don’t understand why you’re making me leave work. Was perfectly capable of doing paperwork today.”
Neal’s suspicions of Mozzie telling Peter, as ludicrous as it sounded to him, are confirmed when Peter went over to his bed and grabbed the metal tin of pills. Of course he opened them and scanned them over before bringing them back to Neal. Once he sat the tin on the table, he said, “Pull up your shirt.”
“Huh? Why?”
Peter grabbed one of the ointment bottles Mozzie had left. “I was given strict orders to give you half of one of those pills, and then to use two of these on your back for the muscles and the other on your stomach for the bruises.”
Neal just stared at Peter for a long time. “Since when exactly are you and Mozzie friends? Especially friends who gang up on me?”
For the first time that day, Peter cracked a small smile. “We just decided that there’s some…common ground between us. The foundation of which is to not let you get away with lying about your physical health.” He popped the lid open on the bottle, and the scent of the arnica wafts over Neal. “Now, shirt up. I don’t want the small one to stay angry with me.”