The first time.

Neal:

The first time it happened Neal didn't know what to do with his hands. The action so foreign and unexpected he completely froze up, limbs rigid at his side, mouth hanging open with nothing but air coming out. It occurred to him later, when the drama had past and he'd had time to process the trauma of the day over a nice dinner and Pinot Noir, that being hugged should not be a big deal. Should not render a person incapable of speech, thought or movement. But that's exactly what happened. And for a man whose livelihood relied upon his ability to improvise and think on his feet, it felt like a personal failure.

It wasn't until much later that same evening, during some intense drunken over analysis with Mozzie, that he realised what his main issue really was.

He just hadn't seen it coming.

Once the scary part of the sting was over, after the FBI had swarmed the building and finished shooting it out with the bad guys, Jones offered his hand and helped him up from his hiding place behind a stack of wooden crates. Neal put up a good show for anyone watching. Busied himself brushing warehouse dust off his jacket, hiding the tremors in his hands and plastering a wide yet disgruntled smile on his face. Finishing his performance by making grumblings about the FBI owing him for the dry-cleaning bill. Neal was convincing enough by the end of it even he believed a bullet sailing a bare inch from his head in spectacular fashion wasn't a big deal.

Peter however was not so easily convinced.

He'd been overseeing the take down in the van, so it had taken slightly longer to reach them. But Neal watched Peter storm down the narrow passage between the bullet damaged crates of contraband cigars and smuggled Grecian antiquities, expression tight, stride quick and purposeful. At first, he feared it was going to be another Pierce and Jade elephant debacle, where their target escaped and despite the odds being insurmountably stacked against him, it was still going to be all his fault. Peter was going to yell at him for not keeping the bad guys where the FBI could arrest them, and Neal would be forced to verbally defend himself, pointing out once again, he wasn't invincible.

Now, Neal would love nothing more than for Peter to believe him when he says he's had as many cons go south as they have been successful, that the legends of his crimes are far more fantastical than the reality. Truth be told he's had less guns pulled on him in all his years as a con artist and thief than in his few short months as an FBI C.I. Prison was actually starting to look like the safer option. The very thought made him shudder. Neal does not like guns. It's no secret, but he doesn't need anyone noticing how unsettled he is around them to actually ask why he doesn't like them, hence the playing down and misdirection he'd engage in with Jones.

Neal has no problem misleading people, or even out right lying to them if that's what the game calls for, but he never lies without purpose and not once has he lied to Peter Burke. So, with a very pissed off Peter bearing down on him, Neal didn't have a clue how to cover and make everything appear okay when it so very clearly wasn't. In fact, he was concentrating so hard on coming up with a plan to misdirect that when they locked gazes Neal just stared back, eyes watering, chest heaving, breathing deep and noisy.

He was so dazed he didn't so much see Peter's intention, as feel the arms reaching around his back, squeezing him like a cheap carnival toy. Arms splayed and hanging limp at his side, by the time his brain engaged to respond Peter had let go and was shouting at him, calling him an idiot for not using the safe word the second he saw the gun. Neal wanted to point out, like the hug, there really was very little warning, but it gets stuck on his tongue. Lecture delivered Peter moved on like nothing was out of the ordinary, dragging Neal with him out of the warehouse and to their car. Taking him home for nice dinner and a large glass of Pinot Noir.

Peter:

On edge doesn't even begin to describe how Peter feels listening in on Jones coordinating the take down from inside the warehouse. The second shots start flying he's out of the van and running towards the sound of gunfire, unable to do anything other than listen to the chaos erupt over the audio feed. It had been clear on entering the warehouse Neal was approached by two of their suspects. What wasn't known until it was too late was the gun pointed at his face. Neal didn't utter a word to communicate the danger he was in and frankly if he wasn't already collateral damage in an op gone south, Peter was going to kill him!

Storming his way through the narrow aisles filled with crates, heart thumping in his chest, fearing what he might find, Peter's starting to understand what Hughes had tried to warn him about. Until taking Caffrey's deal he'd only been responsible for himself, answerable to others, a team player sure, but all the time knowing everyone on his team had the same level of training he did. Caffrey had no training. Caffrey didn't even know how to defend himself in a fight, let alone one that involved automatic weapons. He was scrappy if pushed hard enough, but didn't have the skill set or know how to truly hold his own physically. In all the time Peter had been chasing him Neal had always relied on his charm and mouth to fight for him, and when that failed, he ran.

By the time Peter lays eyes on him Jones already has the area secure and situation under control. Having been helped off the floor Neal's none the worse for wear, brushing dust off his suit and mumbling about dry-cleaning expenses. Jones accepts his aloofness at face value and walks away, but Peter's not fooled. He notes the shaking, sees through that too bright smile and in an instant Peter's anger switches out, sympathy taking its place. Neal's deep and measured breaths, chest heaving with the effort of maintaining control is a dead giveaway that the kid had been scared, and damn straight he should be. But it's his wide wet eyes that can't break away from Peter's that melt any lingering feelings of annoyance. His own heart still pounding way too fast, Peter knocks away hands held out intended to placate and envelopes Neal in a tight hug. A quick squeeze and release to forestall any nervous chatter and still those shaking limbs. Stepping back without letting go, Peter finds Neal staring at him, speechless and bugged eyed, looking more than a little shell shocked. Bullets flying past your head can do that. Peter adds extra pressure to the arm still held within his grasp, watching the confused frown relax into a shy smile the longer the silence stretches on.

Hughes warned him. Told him having a C.I was like having a child. Someone who was his responsibility, his to look after and keep safe. Peter wasn't a father, didn't understand what a monumental responsibility it was until the first time Neal had a gun pointed at him and Peter felt that now all too familiar nauseous feeling which lingered long after the danger had passed. They may be White Collar, but they get their fair share of attempted shootings just like this one. Neal obviously didn't know what a rarity he was when they were chasing him around the world and Peter shelves any idea of enlightening him. Instead he drags the silent and surprisingly compliant Neal out to the car, taking him home to let El feed him.

He waits until dessert to deliver what is becoming his standard lecture, calmly listing all the stupid reasons for not using the safe word the second the sting was compromised. The kid sits and listens, blinking furiously into his wine and Peter makes a mental note to log what happened today. If he had known showing Neal a little kindness and affection would render him speechless and induce compliance he'd have tried it as a tactic years ago.