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Peter knew Neal Caffrey.
He knew him. Maybe better than Neal knew about himself in some aspects.
It was a weird scope of knowledge, of course. For a majority of the time Peter knew Neal Caffrey, he knew nothing about him before the age of 18. It was only after a year of their working partnership that he even learned that Neal didn’t even have a high school diploma. At the same time, he didn’t know what Neal’s future held. He didn’t know if in a year from now, Neal would still be at his side, or if he’d be on another continent, or if he’d be back behind bars.
On the opposite side of the coin though, Peter knew so many intimate details of Neal Caffrey, as he currently existed.
He knew that Neal had a mild fear of storms, avoiding being out of his home during them the best he could. He knew that Neal didn’t like his coffee overly sweet, but for the first few cold days in the autumn he would add cinnamon to it before eventually switching back. He knew that he preferred tomato soup over chicken when he was sick, and that he preferred soup from a can, just with added chili oil.
He knew that Neal had a relatively rigid sleep schedule, especially for a criminal. For every night that Neal didn’t have a stake out or other break in the routine, he’d eat dinner at 8, relax until 10, then would be in bed by 11 to get up at 6 on weekdays, 7 on the weekends. Not a full eight hours every night, but it seemed to work perfectly fine for Neal Caffrey.
Peter knew this about Neal, it had been true the entire time he’d known him. Across the world, across different jobs, different upsets, Neal remained as faithful to his routine as he could afford.
That’s why the first sign something was up was when he got to Neal’s home at 7:30 to the man not being ready.
After he knocked, he heard Neal jog to the door of his little home. He threw the door open and revealed himself to be half dressed, saying “Give me five more minutes, sorry,” before he ran back to the bathroom.
“Miss your alarm?” Peter called out behind him. Peter couldn’t think of a time Neal had ever missed his alarm before, ever a punctual man, but he was still a man. Mistakes happened to even the best of them.
They had been getting into the deep of February winter, where the city turned into icy slush rather than beautiful snow, so instead of breakfast on the balcony the small tray of coffees and pastries was sat on Neal’s dining table. Looking it over, seeing everything still perfectly arranged, Peter deduced that breakfast being delivered at 7 was probably what awoke Neal.
Neal didn’t answer right away, but when he came back he had toothpaste in the corner of his lips. “Think I turned it off in my sleep,” Neal said, and walked past Peter to where his button up shirt, suit jacket, and tie were on the bed. As he pulled on the shirt, he added, “Had trouble sleeping last night, think I drank too much coffee yesterday. But, I figured you wouldn’t be upset with the extra time to drink June’s coffee.”
Peter brushed it off then, because yeah, everyone had bad mornings sometimes.
The second sign went up when Peter stayed the night at Neal’s a few days later. Elizabeth had had a big client dinner upstate, and she had decided to stay the night at a hotel rather than try to drive home afterwards. “Give you a night to sleepover at your boyfriend’s house.” She teased, as if Neal wasn’t also her boyfriend.
Most of the night had been normal. Neal cooked, Peter watched basketball with the volume on an agreed upon level, they drank wine and beer respectively, then Neal sketched while Peter filled out paperwork. It was all…very calm. Domestic. Nothing was out of the ordinary.
Up until Peter woke up at 2 a.m. alone. He felt around the bed, then sat up when he found Neal’s normal spot next to him cold. The small quarters were all dark and quiet, no sign of Neal anywhere.
Peter stood slowly, his first instinct had been to grab his gun from the safe behind the painting, where Neal made him keep it when he slept over, but he stopped himself. Instead he stepped carefully across the cold wood floor. He wanted to double check the last location Neal could possibly be before he went full federal agent mode.
And there was Neal, of course, out on the balcony. He was still in his silk pajamas but with his shoes and a coat on. He was looking out over the skyline like Peter had seen him do plenty of times when the weather was nice. Those times he’d been able to enjoy how gorgeous the man was. The city lights would bounce off him, leaving him glowing, his blue eyes literally glittering with the reflection of them. Those times, Peter could’ve watched him forever.
Tonight was not one of those nights.
This time, Peter was unnerved. Something about Neal standing outside in the cold made its way under his skin quickly. His heart started to race and a wave of something akin to desperation hit him. Whatever he was doing, Peter had to stop it.
Peter wrenched open one of the doors, and whisper-yelled, “Neal, what the hell are you doing out here?”
Neal jumped nearly a foot in the air and slipped on some of the slush around him, but caught himself on the balcony wall. “I— Peter, what are—”
“Don’t you even ask what I’m doing when you’re standing out in twenty degree weather.”
Neal at least looked a little bashful as he started walking towards the door, and Peter tried to not draw too much attention to the sketch book Neal picked up off the outdoor dining table on his way. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. I was just having trouble staying asleep, thought maybe the fresh air would help.”
“Yeah, it would help when you got hypothermia.” He slid the coat from Neal’s shoulders and carried it over to the coat rack, intentionally giving Neal space to put the sketchbook away with the others. When he turned around, Neal had toed his shoes off and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Peter to return to climb in. Peter shook his head and pointed at the far end of the bed, against the wall. “You’re taking the right side of the bed now, so I can make sure you don’t sneak out to try and become a popsicle again.”
Neal grumbled a bit about it not being his side of the bed, but he went. Once Peter had adequately pulled the blankets around him, he laid down next to him again and laced his fingers through Neal’s. They were practically ice cold. “Jesus Neal, you’re freezing. How long were you out there?”
Neal yawned slightly, and Peter couldn’t tell if it was genuine, or an act to buy a few seconds of thought. “Dunno,” Neal finally said. “I didn’t check my watch before I went out. Not that long. You’re too needy to leave alone.”
Which wasn’t entirely true, since being left alone was what woke Peter up initially. Peter thought carefully about how to approach the situation without leaving Neal spooked, didn’t want to make the man feel the need to put his walls up. Even in a relationship, sharing a bed, Peter still ran the risk of Neal hiding important information from him if Peter was too…Peter about pushing.
So, instead of pushing with his words, Peter pushed himself forward and wrapped himself around Neal. Neal tightened up under him for a moment before he relaxed into the body heat. Once he settled into Peter’s body, he whispered, “Just, just couldn’t sleep. Wanted to get up for a few minutes. Swear I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Peter believed that Neal didn’t mean to wake him.
Neal didn’t want to be caught.
Peter tried to get a glimpse of the sketchbook the next morning, but Neal never gave him a moment to be alone long enough.
So, after that, he started to watch Neal closer. Something was brewing, and he was going to figure it out.
The knowledge of Neal came in handy for catching all the little things the average person wouldn’t. He saw that Neal’s ties stopped having their perfect knots, that his hair would have less primp to it. He saw the extra cups of coffee Neal would pour himself, and the yawns Neal hid for when Peter’s back was turned.
He tried to give Neal one week, because he understood sometimes people just hit funks, before he started to truly suspect him of doing something. He didn’t want to expose himself as being so hypervigilant over Neal that the man couldn’t just have a few bad days without Peter peppering him with questions. As much of a romantic as Neal was, he was still very independent. He liked having his space from Peter and Elizabeth. He told them it was just because he didn’t want to risk getting caught and jeopardizing everything they had worked so hard to get, but Peter was sure it was because he didn’t want to risk them getting too close to him.
Whether that was because he was worried about the relationship not working out, or the fear of his own good behavior not working out, that Peter didn’t know. He didn’t particularly want to test Neal’s allegiance to each commitment either, and grilling him unnecessarily would do just that.
He finally broke about the situation to Elizabeth on Thursday night, only a few days into the self-allotted week. “He’s not sleeping El, I can just tell. He’s coming to work just slightly disheveled, but I can tell his mind is half here and half somewhere else.”
“Aww, hon.” She had been laying against his chest on the couch, but set her book aside so she could sit up. “I mean…anniversaries like this are always hard on people, but especially that. It can’t be easy on him.” Elizabeth had leaned over to pick up her tea as she talked, then looked up at Peter as she went to take a sip. However, mug halfway tipped, she stopped. She saw the confusion riddled across Peter’s face. “Oh Peter, don’t tell me you forgot it was coming up.”
Peter had, up until that moment, when a memory suddenly hit him like a truck.
Neal Caffrey, in his coat, on a cold winter day, on an airport tarmac.
That had happened in March, the month which was now only a week away.
“Oh my god,” Peter whispered. “I’m such an idiot. I’ve just— I’ve just been watching him, worrying, I didn’t even think—”
Elizabeth leaned over to kiss him gently, cutting his spiral short. “It’s okay hon. I was gonna suggest that Neal should maybe come stay with us for a little while, or maybe we could stay over there on and off more. I know he likes his space and being cautious, and maybe he’ll say no, but with the anniversary of Kate’s death coming up, I figured he wouldn’t want to be alone as much. I was just trying to wait until it was a little closer before I started pressing the issue.”
Peter shook his head, still reeling at the realization that he’d been watching Neal too closely to see the forest for the trees. All that time trying to piece new information together, telling himself he wasn’t suspecting Neal while suspecting Neal, and Neal was just…
“Come on, we need to pack an overnight bag. We’re going over there.”
______________________
Neal had been a little bleary eyed when a knock at his door woke him up a little after 9. He’d fallen asleep on his couch, the book about Italian art had spilt to the ground and now the pages were bent. He picked it up, and was smoothing out the pages a little, when the knock repeated. He called out “It’s open Moz, don’t need to knock,” Before he realized that Mozzie wouldn’t have been knocking.
He quickly stood up as the door opened, adrenaline in his system waking him up, only to immediately ease as Peter and Elizabeth walked in, holding small bags. “I— oh. Hi. You’re certainly not Mozzie.”
Peter laughed a little and went over to kiss his cheek. “Hopefully that’s not too much of a disappointment.”
Neal leaned into the hand on his cheek, closing his eyes a second. “Maybe a little. It’s an awful lot of hair to deal with in comparison. Maybe I should shave you down.”
“Oh, it’s not as sexy as you’d think. Been there, tried that,” Elizabeth said as she came over, pulling Neal into her own kiss. “Peter was telling me about how you haven’t been sleeping too well, and with…the anniversary coming up, we just couldn’t stand the idea of leaving you alone for another night. If you really want to kick us out though, we will.”
Peter almost laughed. Elizabeth could emotional con with the best of them it seems.
Neal, however, didn’t even really seem like he needed to be conned. As Elizabeth talked, he dropped his forehead to her shoulder and closed his eyes. “No, no, you don’t have to go. I just…” he went quiet for a long moment. Peter stepped closer and laid a hand gently on Neal’s back, trying to comfort. Finally, Neal breathes out, “Feels bad. I keep…dreaming of her, of…it. Don’t want to make you two deal with that, that’s not fair to you. Comforting me over her.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Elizabeth pressed a kiss to the top of his head before she started to gently pull him over to the bed. “It’s not bad for us, doesn’t hurt us, we swear that to you, don’t we hon?”
Peter nodded quickly, following his wife’s lead. “Of course, yeah.” After Neal’s pressed to sit on the edge of the bed, Peter reached down to start undoing the button of Neal’s shirt. “Neal, we…understand what your past is like. It wouldn’t be fair to you to force you to hide your past from us.”
“I— but—” Neal tried but was cut off by Peter kissing him as he slid the button down off his shoulders.
“No buts,” Elizabeth said, as she appeared back by Neal’s side with Neal’s fancy pajamas. “Neal, we know Kate existed. We know you loved her. We…know what happened. We’re not making you hide any of that from us for our comfort, and we’re certainly not going to make you hide mourning her terrible death from us.”
Neal sat quietly while they continued to kiss at him, gently pulling at his clothes and replacing them with the pajamas. The silence that filled the air wasn’t a bad one though, just a deeply contemplative one. Peter could see by the set of his jaw that he was holding himself together as he processed what Elizabeth had said combined with their gentle hands running over him.
Once he was dressed, Peter cupped his face gently with both hands and made Neal meet his eyes. “We care about you Neal, you got that? We love you. All of you. Your present, your future, and your past. That includes caring about the people you’ve loved and lost.”
Neal’s eyes start to water then, a shaky breath falling out from his lips like he couldn’t control it. “I just— But I— I love you guys but—” his mouth snapped shut and he pulled away from Peter’s hands, looking down at his own hands. “I can’t. I— …I just can’t.”
“That’s okay too Neal,” Elizabeth sat down on his left, and Peter followed her lead to sit on his right. “We’re not saying you have to talk about Kate, or explain what you’re feeling to us.” She moved a hand to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, which made Neal shiver before he leaned into it. “We’re just saying that it’s not off the table, and it’s not off the table for you to still be sad about her.”
“The only thing off the table is lying to us about nothing being wrong, yeah?” Peter pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “I could…tell something has been bothering you for the past couple days. I wish you could’ve told me about it.”
Neal made a soft, sad sound, and a few more tears dripped from his eyelashes. “Dreamt of her while you were here and I— I felt awful. How could, how could I sleep next to you when I—” Neal stood up and started to pace, but Peter understood. Neal felt like he was betraying everyone involved. Like he disrespected Kate by moving on, then disrespected Elizabeth and Peter by having one foot in the past.
Neal ran a hand through his hair, and more tears strained his voice as he talked. “I tried— I tried to draw her, and I couldn’t. I can’t— I don’t remember—” His hands went up to his eyes, scrubbing the palms against them. “I tried, I really tried. I loved her so much and I can’t remember. I’m, I’m a horrible person.”
A broken sob from Neal ripped through the room like a record scratch, one that also sucked all the air from the room. Peter and Elizabeth had been listening dutifully, hearts heavy but compassionate, until that last line. Then they both practically jumped from the bed, quick to disagree.
“No, no babe, you are not a horrible person.” Elizabeth said and wrapped herself around Neal’s back, face pressed between his shoulder blades.
“Neal, that is not true,” Peter said as he pulled Neal into his chest. “You are not horrible."
Neal couldn’t respond though as the cries that came out rocked through him harder and harder. Elizabeth and Peter held him tighter, like if they tried hard enough they could hold Neal together themselves. Elizabeth’s arms were pressed between Neal’s and Peter’s stomach, and Peter’s were wrapped around her back, fingers grabbing at her with a white knuckled grip. A full cage around Neal, keeping him standing, despite Neal’s best efforts to crumple as he cried.
It could’ve been five minutes or thirty before Neal started to calm, but once he did he drew into himself quickly. “I, shit, I’m, I’m so sorry, I’m—”
“Don’t. ” Both Peter and Elizabeth cut him off.
The room went quiet for a second, but then Neal started to… laugh.
A soft sound that built more and more. Wet and blubbery giggles that turned into genuine, whole chest laughter.
The emotional whiplash of it all made Elizabeth and Peter pull back, and Elizabeth moved to stand next to Peter in front of Neal, which only seemed to make Neal laugh harder. The husband and wife shot each other a curious look, small hesitant smiles on their own faces, but didn’t say anything, not wanting to pop the bubble of joy too soon.
Eventually Neal was able to look at them again as he wiped at his eyes for a whole new reason. “I, I’m sorry— wait I mean—” He leaned down to kiss Elizabeth, grin still on his own lips against hers. “Sorry, you just— you yelling like Peter like that, all authoritative. Is that the voice you use when you impersonate the FBI? It was really good.”
And then they were all laughing. Like a delirium had taken over, the tension having built so high before coming down hard being an intense emotional rollercoaster. They collapsed into the bed, Neal in the middle, breathless with laughter as Elizabeth did her best Peter impressions and Peter mocked offense, which only led to Elizabeth doing more impressions, and Neal laughed harder.
It wasn’t perfect. There were plenty of things that still needed to be talked about, deep problems and insecurities inside Neal that needed to be gently brought to the surface so they didn’t fester so intensely inside him. Neal still woke up around 2 a.m. and slipped outside once again, but this time Elizabeth brought him a hot cup of tea and kissed his cheek before going back inside, and Neal was back in bed within ten minutes.
There were plenty of things that couldn’t be done as well. They would never be able to write off Neal’s what-ifs and could-have-beens. They couldn’t secure the memory of the girl Neal loved in his mind, couldn’t bring back the curve of her jaw that he used to know by touch and now couldn’t draw accurately.
However, if Peter made a call to a mutual friend in the early morning, and they showed up with two bottles of wine, a fancy bottle of whiskey, and a small shoebox meant for heels, nearly full of pictures of Neal, Kate, and Mozzie, properly full of stories to be told, without the incriminating details but full of the loved-filled ones, well.
The more Peter knew about Neal, the better.
He just needed to keep in mind plausible deniability.