A/N: BRILLIANCE IS DEKAY'S! If any of you watched the Live Video Q/A a couple days ago, you know what I mean. That guy has some serious skillz when it comes to plot bunnies. Sadly, I don't think they'll ever do a live episode in which Neal and Peter get stuck in an elevator for the whole episode. Though I cannot wait to see them do laundry or bath Satchmo or themselves (that wasn't as dirty in my head, I swear). However, as I wait, nobody said anything about not writing a few of these scenes out. Inspiration has come from a few of my favorite 'stuck in an elevator' scenes, read or viewed, and, of course, Tim Dekay and his brilliant ideas. I have named this little plot bunny Timmy in dedication.
Disclaimer: I own naught. This includes TV show, characters, actors and (for once) storyline. All I did was write it out and pray for the best.
Warnings: Slight undertones of slash, which I apologize for. I can't seem to stop doing that, but I seriously didn't want it in this. Otherwise, language and a certain amount of crack.
Songs listened to: Bad Romance, Lady GaGa. Blink, Chameleon Circuit. Resistance, Muse. Undisclosed Desires, Muse.

Peter Burke's days are often boring when he's not on a case, a fact that El is rather happy about. No excitement means no danger, no danger means her husband gets home safely (with Neal intact, she prays most days) to take the dog for a walk. Unfortunately for El—or perhaps fortunately, since this way she wouldn't freak out—Peter has never gotten the guts to tell her his building is practically a minefield, something that Neal takes delight in pointing out every day.

"You know," the man drawls as they await the elevator. "One of these days, I'll just have to get transferred somewhere. Or go back to jail. I refuse to stay in a place as bad as that motel."

Briefly, Peter closed his eyes and prayed for a swift death. Sadly, he has never heard of the term 'be careful what you wish for', because if he had known what was going to happen, he never would have wished ever again.

You see, sometimes fate is out to get us. Like a trap, made thousands of years ago by the natives which had died out, hidden beneath a canvas of leaves and animal droppings. When we walk towards that trap, we are none-the-wiser, but by time we first step onto that skillfully made net, we scream. Then promptly realize we shouldn't have because there's now some sort of animal's excrement in our mouth and, holy crap, is that a snake?

So, if you want to get technical, Agent Burke was an idiot as walked into the elevator—giving Neal a pointed look that clearly said 'shut up, or I'll make you shut up' and was returned with a look that reminded him of the cat-and-mouse game they played long ago. It was Neal's 'catch me if you can' look—and dragged the charming white collar criminal after him.

The repairs on the building had started weeks ago when the A/C went on the fritz, then the lights started randomly flickering at times, computers shut down automatically, electrical outlets wouldn't work. If Peter hadn't noticed the grimace passing Neal's face every other time something went wrong, he'd say that Neal was doing it all on purpose just to annoy the agent. But alas, there was no proof for this—actually, it was quite the contrary. Neal seemed nearly upset by it as Peter.

Yet still, Peter held that one hope…that one tiny thread that he could blame this all on Caffrey. Because, honestly, he was used to blaming the ex-con. Made his day so much easier. It wasn't really fair to the man, considering all he did for them, but occasionally it was just called for. Neal was a conman—ex or no—and that didn't leave much room for change, no matter how much it appeared he was trying to. Old habits die hard. And sometimes they just won't die.

Peter huffed as he punched the button for the ground floor, eternally thankful when Neal quieted down. Something about elevators did that to Neal, thought Peter had no clue why. He thought, the first time he entered an elevator with the man, that Neal would make some comment about the terrible elevator music. But no, Neal only spoke in the cramped spaces when he felt he had to. This, clearly, was not one of those moments.

A quick, jarring sensation that had both his hands grasp at the railings pulled him out of his thoughts. His eyes flashed upwards quickly, watching with a slight groan as the lighted numbers died out to a black. He pushed himself forward, pushing the button a couple times. When nothing happened—he didn't really expect anything to, but it was worth a shot—he moved to the doors, trying to pry them open with bare hands.

Or course, fate was still out to get them so it didn't open.

Pressing his forehead against the cool metal, he groaned once more. He stayed in that position until a light whimpering met his ears and he forced himself to turn around. It was needless to say that the image he found stayed with him for many years.

Neal Caffrey was on the floor, the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes, chest heaving. Every once in a while he let out a whimper or a gasp that sounded far too much like he was in pain. Peter—against all better judgment which screamed "you're not helping him!"—moved for ward, kneeling down at Neal's side with a frown.

There was only one thing he could think of that would leave the charming, sophisticated, brilliant—yeah, not tell him that—man in this state. But it was stupid. It was unrealistic, idiotic, it was—

"Neal, are you claustrophobic?"

Neal started but didn't look at Peter as he managed to gasp out. "Panic attack."

Oh. It wasn't true. That was good… But what the hell do you do with a man who's having a panic attack? Peter thought quickly, tugging his briefcase towards them and pulling out a water bottle. He removed Neal's hands from his face, unscrewing the bottle and placing it to the man's lips.

"Drink." He commanded, tipping the bottle. Neal stared at him a few moments, lips sealed, water dribbling down his chin, and Peter wondered briefly if they were going to waste an entire bottle of water before Neal's mouth opened and he began to drink greedily.

When the water was half gone, Peter peeled the bottle away and moved towards the panel of buttons, hitting the red 'emergency' one.

"Peter?" Lauren's disembodied voice crackled over the intercom. "Listen, we know you're stuck, we're trying to get you out. Hold tight, okay?"

Peter sighed, rubbing his face. "Call El, tell her I'm stuck. And hurry up getting us out, Neal's having a panic attack."

"Had!" The man squeaked indignantly behind him—Peter made a point of ignoring this.

"Sure thing," both men could practically hear the grin in her voice.

Peter turned back around, sitting down with his back against the door. He let his legs stretch out, feet brushing against Neal's hips, as the other man did the same. He sighed lightly, turning his head to eye Neal. "Did you know this is the third time I've been stuck in an elevator?"

Neal looked up, surprise registering on his face. "You have some really bad luck, then."

Peter laughed, launching into his anecdote and praying Neal wouldn't have another panic attack.

Neal's lungs were close to bursting as he doubled over in laughter, one hand bracing himself so he wouldn't fall to the ground completely and literally start rolling in laughter. "You seriously lit fire to El's hair and lost the dog?"

Peter chuckled nervously, hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. "Well, it wasn't my fault El decided to surprise me with my mother coming over."

This time, Neal did fall to the floor.

"Wait," Peter held up a hand, an incredulous look on his face. "Kate hit you in the face…with a fish? And you still ended up with the painting?"

Neal laughed. "Word of warning? Don't go to work with El when you haven't finished a fight."

Peter was gaping, he knew it. But seriously? Of all the things Neal had ever done….

"So then, the old lady turns around and throws the fish sticks at me—and, man, did she have an arm!"

"Peter…" Neal breathed. "And I thought stalking El was bad…"

Peter groaned, burying his face in his hands. "God, don't remind me…"

"And that was how I ended up in jail on my first day of work."

"Peter, you're an FBI agent, how does this compute?"

"I have no idea."

"Which, by the by, was incredibly stupid because I ended up losing a tooth in the tea."

"What happened?"

"I don't know, they drugged the tea."

"You played strip poker because you were undercover?"

"I was young!"

"I should've made this deal years ago!"

"Oh, shut it."

"So you sang—"

"Yes, Peter."

"You? Mr. Sophisticated-Bring-Me-Mozart-And-Tea?"

"Peter…"

"Okay, okay….but Britney Spears? Really? Did you shave your head too?"

"Peter!"

By the time the elevator started moving again, both men were giggling (Note: the authoress apologizes for this term. Men do not giggle they chuckle) madly, sending amused glances at each other every other moment.

Most of the people there had no clue what the hell happened and decided to ignore it. But Lauren grinned as they walked out of the building together, pulling out her cell and quickly pushing the speed dial button.

"El? Hey, it's Lauren…the plan worked."

Sometimes, fate is out to get us. Other times, women are.