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When Neal saw the gorgeous Rebecca Vidal in the auto showroom, he understood why Franklin had been willing to jeopardize his career for her. He must have said something to that effect because he heard Peter say, “There's a reason El prefers my working with a male CI.”
Neal's own mind hadn't got there yet, but he was always willing to follow Peter's lead. He fell back on his trademark brilliant grin, flashing it at Peter as he said, “Yeah, this way she can get in on the action.” He winked and walked over to Rebecca with a jaunty step. Peter had just enough time to shoot Neal a narrow-eyed glare before trailing along.
Neal struck his confident, open, and (as he thought modestly to himself) truly sexy posture for Rebecca, introducing Peter as having recently come into a windfall.
By the time Peter has returned from the “test” drive (“Interrogation” drive was more like it, he thought, knowing Peter's methods), Neal had made a sale (an apology to Rebecca for subjecting her to Peter -- CIs have to look out for each other) and figured out where Rebecca had been yesterday. Tally so far: teased Peter; pulled an “everybody wins” con; and obtained a lead for their case. Even by Neal's standard this was turning out to be a very productive morning.
After exchanging information collected (Neal: 1, Peter: 0, as Neal had suspected), they headed back to the office to follow up on Neal's lead. Peter was edgy, unsurprising with a fellow agent on the run; those dour, mood-killing Marshalls after him.
But then Peter burst out with: “Are you sleeping with my wife?!”
“No!” Neal exclaimed. “What?” he added, momentarily confused. He'd forgotten the mild (he thought it had been mild) tease he'd poked at Peter. “That was just a joke, Peter; forget it.”
Peter squinted a glare back at him.
“No, really, Peter,” said Neal, at his most convincing. “Look, even if you don't believe me, think about it: El would never lie to you about something like that.” Worst part of being a known (and excellent) liar – so hard to convey truthful sincerity when you needed to.
Peter, still suspicious, wasn't letting it go. “Do you want to sleep with her?”
The man was worse than Satchmo with a bone. Neal grinned. “Would you blame me if I did? El's amazing.”
“Yeah, and she's mine. Don't forget that.”
Neal became serious again. “No one's forgetting anything here, Peter. No one's trying to take her away from you.”
Peter finally seemed satisfied. “Good. Let's keep it that way.”
~o~o~o~
By Monday morning Peter’d had his date night with El, Neal had been to the Powell with Bancroft (an illuminating experience), and everyone had got plenty of rest after the 24-hour ordeal of Saturday’s manhunt.
After clearing a fellow agent’s name and taking down a dirty US Marshall, nothing currently on the White Collar team’s plate seemed particularly pressing. Peter and Neal took the opportunity to enjoy a stroll for a mid-morning coffee break.
Neal asked after Peter and El’s weekend, what had remained of it. “Great!” said Peter. “It was great. Yeah. Uh, great. Thanks.” Neal rolled his eyes a bit at the utter lack of eloquence, but smiled fondly at Peter. “So, uh, did your White Canvas exhibit live up to expectations?”
“White Bored, Peter, Bored.” Peter rolled his eyes. “Yes, it certainly did,” continued Neal. “Kyle - that is, Agent Bancroft - was excellent company. He had numerous insightful, and surprisingly witty, observations to make - really opened my eyes to the interpretation of art by and its emotional impact on office-bound law enforcement officials. Quite remarkable, really.” Neal went on to narrate his experience even though he knew he’d lost his audience’s attention. You never knew what would sink into Peter’s brain even while he was cogitating about something else.
In the middle of Neal’s explication of the spatial effect created by the use of stark four-color prints against a plain background, Peter interrupted. “Do you think El wants to sleep with you?”
Neal blinked, taken aback by the return to a subject he thought had been put to bed (hee hee, ‘bed’, giggled Neal’s inner twelve-year-old). If the Burkes’ weekend had been great, why was Peter still niggling at this? Frowning, Neal said, “This is really eating at you, isn't it?”
Peter kept staring at him, awaiting an answer.
At a loss, Neal fell back again on his strength: a confident grin and teasing deflection. “Would you blame her if she did? C'mon…” He spread his arms, tilted his head, inviting Peter to share the humor.
Peter didn’t appear interested in the humor. “Why would she want you – or anyone else – when she's got me?” A slight whine edged into his tone.
Neal smiled and relaxed. The Burkes were fine; this was just Peter’s irrational insecurity poking its head up. “You know, just because you've got apple pie at home, doesn't mean you don't like a bit of tiramisu when you go out.” He winked.
“Apple pie, huh?” said Peter. He finally seemed to be relaxing into the humor himself, but there was still a slight edge.
“Hey, nothing against apple pie. Apple pie is excellent. Top notch,” assured Neal.
“And you're tiramisu.”
Neal nodded. “Complex, multiple layers, a bit intoxicating…”
“I'm complex – I've got layers!” protested Peter.
“Yeah, sure. You're crusty on the outside and sweet underneath.” Neal smiled affectionately.
Peter side-eyed him in return. “And you're a pile of sweetened mush.”
Neal laughed. “An excellent tiramisu is hard to do right, but sure, I'll grant you mushy if you like. I'm romantic and sentimental – I won't apologize for that. And I'm sweet all the way through.”
“Uh-huh,” said Peter, a bit skeptical. “Anyway, speaking of food, El wanted me to invite you for dinner tonight.”
Ah, thought Neal, as he accepted the invitation gladly, he’s been thinking about El thinking about me. That’s where that nudge of insecurity came from. No problem. Neal smiled through the rest of the day.
~o~o~o~
Dinner at the Burkes’ was as enjoyable as always. Needling Peter was even more fun under El’s mellowing (and enabling) influence, and the food was delicious.
Neal was toying with the remains of his quail with wild mushrooms when a thought occurred to him. “What do you know about that?” he said, grinning, “It wasn't my fault after all when Peter went on the run.”
“I’m sorry?” asked El, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Didn’t Peter tell you?”
“I give El the highlights of my day, Neal,” said Peter. “I don’t feel the need to recite every little thing.”
“Did you even tell her I won the CI-off?”
“CI-what?”
Peter slumped his head into his hands, while Neal explained. “CI-off. Peter needed to use a Lamborghini as a getaway vehicle--”
“Yes, I heard about that,” said El. “It had to be a Lambi? Why?”
“That’s all that was available - two Murciélagos,” said Peter.
El raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“We were at this lawyer’s office. That’s what he drove.”
“Wow, some successful lawyer!”
“Yeah, it helps when you off the witnesses for the other side,” said Neal. “Anyway, Franklin called his CI, Rebecca, to help him get one of the Lambis started, and Peter called me.”
“And you helped Peter get his going first. So… CI-off? Oh, like a bake-off, I get it.” El chuckled. “Well, congratulations, Neal.” She toasted him with the Bandol red that Neal had brought to dinner.
“Thank you, Elizabeth,” said Neal solemnly, raising his own glass and tipping his head.
Peter shook his head and took a gulp from his own glass.
“Speaking of bake-offs,” said Neal, with a sly smile at Peter, “I was wondering, Elizabeth, which do you prefer: apple pie or tiramisu?”
“Oooh, difficult choice… um, whose pie and whose tiramisu? Because in the wrong hands either one can end up a mess of squishy sweetness.”
Neal started to list some of the best bakeries and pastry chefs in town, when Peter interrupted. “My mom’s apple pie.”
“Oh,” said El, her eyes widening, “Peter's mom's pie vs Bay Ridge’s tiramisu – wow, both of them are fabulous - a contrast of textures, their inherent sweetness elevated with the right touch of tart and savoury flavors…” she paused, then said, a little plaintively, “Can't I have both?”
Neal grinned triumphantly at Peter, who rolled his eyes.
El looked from each to the other slowly. “Did I say the wrong thing? Oh, did you have a bet on this?”
Peter interjected hurriedly, “No, there's no bet, it's not a competition.”
“Right. My point exactly,” agreed Neal with a smile. “A woman can have her pie and tiramisu too.”
Peter narrowed his eyes at Neal.
“I'm still missing something here,” said El.
“Yes, and I know exactly what it is,” said Neal
Peter tried to stop him. “Oh, no you don’t--”
El, still confused, looked with anticipation at Neal, but also sent a concerned glance towards Peter.
“You're missing tiramisu!” said Neal.
“So true!” said El, smiling and clasping hands her hands together. “Now you've given me a craving for it.”
Neal sat back, looking smugly at Peter.
Peter raised a brow and asked El, “Yeah? What about apple pie?”
“What about it? Oh – you've given me a craving for apple pie too – mmm, fresh and hot, biting through the flaky crust into the firm flesh of the apple…”
Peter looked a little discomposed and Neal tried hard not to laugh.
“So which are you craving more?” asked Peter.
“Do you think we should go out?” asked El. “We could hit that little bakery…”
Peter seemed a little crushed at that. “Uh, sure, if you want, hon…”
Neal grinned. “One afternoon with a Lambi and you're already spoiled for quotidian methods of getting around town? Is that it, Peter?”
Peter shot a suspicious look at Neal. “More like just tired of getting around town altogether. I was thinking of a cozy night in.” He took the opportunity to snuggle up to El.
Neal’s grin widened. “Cozy night in sounds perfect to me.” He leaned back in his chair. Peter gave a subtle headshake, looking significantly at Neal. “Or rather I should get out of your hair and have a cozy night in at my own cozy apartment,” said Neal, standing up. “Thanks so much for dinner, Elizabeth, it was delicious.” He leant down to kiss her briefly on the cheek.
El looked at Peter quizzically, then said to Neal, “You don't have to run off – we didn't invite you over just to kick you out.”
“That's all right, I should be going. Thanks again for a lovely evening, both of you.” He smiled warmly at each of them and took his leave.
Outside Neal strolled along the sidewalk, the crisp air clearing his head. He loved teasing Peter - getting under his skin was just too much fun. Had numerous beneficial side-effects, too. He loved what the Burkes had together, and he enjoyed time spent with Elizabeth - with or without her husband, he thought, smirking. But he didn’t want to be a part of them, not like that. He loved them, sure, like he loved Moz and June. But that was all, right? Teasing and fun and friendship.
At the end of the block Neal turned to look back at the Burke’s house, lit up and glowing. Fun and friendship, right? That was good. What he had was good. Absolutely.
He turned the corner and walked alone into the darkening New York evening.