Title: Room for two
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing: Peter/Neal or Peter/El/Neal, UST
AN: So this is preslash where Peter and Neal have to spend the night in the same room, but this is at a point where neither of them really know how to categorize their feelings, so the kinks are on that borderline where a character kind of finds something sexy but doesn't want to be the one to say "hey, that's hot," so no one ever really acknowledges the latent kink in the room.

It turned out they argued a lot when they were forced to be roommates.

Neal kept telling the nurses that they should keep giving Peter morphine until he stops complaining. Peter kept telling the medical staff who seemed charmed by Neal that he was a con artist in the custody of law enforcement.

"Really, Peter? I was just going to ask them to sneak us some better food. It would have benefitted both of us."

"You were trying to get let out of here early, Neal," Peter grumbled, not mentioning Neal's consistent dislike for being confined in institutions.

"How would I do that?"

Peter shot him a look. "You didn't ask the pretty doctor to reconsider your release date while I was in the bathroom?"

Neal sighed. "Show off."

"Yeah, don't even think about it. Your shoulder is worse off than my leg, so forget getting out of here before I do."

"Is that what this is about? Is this a contest for you, Peter?" Neal said, a bare hint of criticism in his voice.

"This is about you risking serious injury because you're bored and want to leave. And it's not the first time your being bored has-"

"Okay, okay, save the lecture for when I'm not recovering from something."

"Neal!"

"Having fun, you two?" El said as she walked into the room carrying two bouquets of flowers and a bag. No amount of mutual smiles could hide the relief in her voice at seeing them whole, alive, and well enough to bicker.

"El," Peter said, his voice suddenly relaxed as she went to kiss him. She also went over to Neal, gently patted his knee and then leaned over to kiss his forehead. Neal was surprised -at the gesture, and by how easy it felt - but Peter didn't seem to think anything of it since he was eyeing her Macy's bag. Which meant, Neal knew, that the bag was being used to carry something not bought at Macy's.

She set the bud vases down on the table between the two beds; daisies for Peter and irises for Neal, and they were tasteful and small so they didn't take up too much room or fill the room with pollen. She then pulled out from her bag a deviled ham sandwich and a turkey and sottocenere roll, to the vocal appreciation of the room.

Peter complained again about Neal as they happily ate the non-hospital-food.

"Maybe you can convince them to give me a different roommate for the night," Peter said.

"Oh, honey," she said, "I think it's adorable that you believe someone other than Neal or me could live with you."

Neal hid his laugh with a cough.

She turned to Neal and smiled, "Watch out, Peter is a very grumpy patient."

"I noticed," Neal said, trying to curry her empathy, "Every time I try to help with anything he threatens to put me in wrist restraints so I can't leave the bed."

She raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's the appropriate response if being helpful is your way of ignoring the doctor's orders to rest."

Peter laughed too, and didn't bother to hide it. "Believe me, El, if I thought restraints would do any good..."

Neal grinned, unashamed of his skills, as El laughed. He savored it a little - Peter and El, sweet and loving and wholesome, joking about how they'd like to tie Neal to a bed. With just that hint of playfulness in the Burkes' eyes that let Neal know that he wasn't perverting their innocent comment into something erotic; he was just noticing a layer that they had put there.

"And you!" El said to Peter, tapping lightly on the cast and making Peter wince just a little (much to Neal's surprise). "You listen to the doctor's too. Or else."

"Understood," Peter said with a smile, and again, Neal thought of how much he enjoyed the two of them together. Especially when she topped him. Not that Peter and El thought about it like that. Well, probably not.

They talked then, not about what happened, but about the people El had called already to keep them informed, and how crazy it was getting here in rush hour. They all acted as if nothing were wrong, and she emptied out the bag to reveal cards from the team, June, and Dante Havisham, Esq. She also brought magazines and books - the manual on the latest surveillance technology systems for Peter and an art magazine for Neal - and she tried not to giggle as they switched magazines. She should have realized that Peter knew the new systems before they could ever be published in a manual, and that Neal felt that the news in a stuffy journal would be months behind at least; besides, they were both the type that found it relaxing to learn something new.

When she got up to leave their room (when they reminded her four times that visiting hours were over) she hugged Neal and kissed Peter. "Thanks for everything, El," Peter said, and Neal added, "Yes, thank you. Especially for saving us from hospital food."

El's laugh almost - almost - broke into something else. But she smiled and said, "Thank me by never getting hurt like this again. Either of you." And beneath the anger there was something hard as rock, and they both just nodded.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said as she walked out, "And don't even THINK about arguing your way into early release."

After she was gone, Peter looked at Neal and said, "She was talking to you."

"No. She said 'arguing' your way, not cleverly persuading your way."

Peter just grunted and went back to reading about galleries that might become targets.

At eleven, the staff turned the lights out and suggested they get some sleep, or at least make sure the other patients didn't have to hear them argue. They each lay in bed quietly.

After a long while, Neal sighed very loudly.

"Yes, you're bored," Peter responded, "Funny how that works."

"Come on, Peter, I could break us out of here. Think how easy."

Peter paused. It really would be good to go home. Or maybe head to the office, start on the paperwork they'd have to do. Or look into that suspicious -

No.

"No."

"Peter, it's a couple of casts. We can still get around- "

"No. They say we need to be kept for observation overnight, and you are going to actually follow a-"

"Peter, do you feel concussive?"

"Neal, we're not-"

"But I could-"

"We're not-"

"But it would be-"

"Forget it -"

"Are you-"

"Yes."

"Fine."

Neal was silent. So long that Peter thought he might be asleep.

Peter got out of bed to carefully head toward the bathroom.

He heard Neal sit up and say, "Let me help."

"Not a chance."

"Help you walk. It's dark."

"It's not that dark. When I get back you can explain to me why all the art galleries like the same two dozen sculptors," Peter said, hoping that the offer to alleviate Neal's boredom would keep him from being 'helpful.'

Neal continued to watch Peter use the walker to slowly head toward the bathroom, guided by the low hum of light that was constant in the hospital room. He would be on a cane soon, and with neither a few weeks later, but they wanted to make sure he didn't lose his balance while still in their facility and had insisted he used the thing even though Neal looked nauseous every time he did. Not that he didn't get it - looking at Neal's shoulder sling made him feel a little twist too.

"Peter-" Neal started.

Peter curtly responded, "Lie down, Neal."

Neal did. Quickly.

Peter knew he shouldn't like it quite that much. Seeing Neal jump on command. But then without it, Neal would be impossible.

Or maybe, if El's to be believed, Peter would be impossible.

He closed the bathroom door behind him and turned on the light. He stared at the face in the mirror for just a second before doing his business. El always said he looked different after spending the day with Neal. More blood in the face, she said, and he responded that it was just residual rage. She hadn't laughed. Or said anything, really.

He tried to see if he looked different. If Caffrey really did make him seem more... whatever it was El saw. He wondered if Neal stood next to him, if there would be a difference, and for a moment he thought of their two faces together in the mirror, staring back at him. Making some suggestion. Peter saw Neal all day, but rarely saw images of the two of them together; usually, when Neal would check a mirror, Peter would drag him away with a comment about Neal looking Rat-Pack ready and to stop fussing.

Peter stared at his face. He didn't think of himself as attractive. Especially not in a hospital gown.

But he imagined Neal standing next to him again, both looking into a mirror.

Neal turning toward him. Leaning over to say something in his ear. Peter seeing his own expression change as Neal's hot breath told him all his kept secrets.

Peter shook off the image. He knew that if he lingered, Neal would wonder what he was doing, and so he did what he came for.

When he came out, Neal was gone.

"Neal!" he yelled, not caring who woke.

No answer.

He covered his face with his hand. Tried to calm down.

He didn't think Neal ran. Not ran in the sense that he had spent the last year terrified of Neal running.

Peter resisted the urge to find and yell at the staff for their incompetence, since technically it was his own incompetence that made him think he could leave Neal alone during the quiet shift.

Neal had probably gotten a cab already and was on his way to June's. Or he had somehow found a way to tell Moz to pick him up.

Actually it was probably a standing arrangement. Neal didn't like places like this, so he probably assumed that Moz would be waiting outside for him.

Peter really hoped Mozzie didn't get an online degree in medicine to get in.

And he really, really, really hoped no part of their standing arrangements involved 'borrowing' an ambulance.

Peter was just about to throw his walker in anger when he saw Neal's outline appear in the doorway, dark against the hallway backlighting.

"Neal," Peter said, trying to show more anger than relief. It didn't work.

"Peter." It was Neal's pretending-not-to-have-done-anything voice.

"What's behind your back?" Peter asked, trying not to smile that he wouldn't have to struggle to chase Neal after everything that happened.

"Full immunity?" Neal asked, and though Peter couldn't see Neal's face in the shadow, he knew Neal was smiling too.

"Depends."

"Come on, you have to promise full immuni-"

"Neal!"

"Okay, okay," Neal said, walking in proudly.

Peter hated it when Neal was proud of himself. It almost never meant anything he should be proud of.

"Show me."

"You should be in bed."

"Neal!"

"Get back in bed and I'll show you."

Peter glared but Neal just said, "I promise."

Peter carefully climbed into his bed and moved the angle so he was nearly sitting up. Neal walked over and showed his secret. The empty shopping bag El had left. Though probably not still empty.

"Vending machines are, and I mean this completely hypothetically, very easy to open without leaving damage."

Peter nodded and tried not to smile. It would be very, very wrong to be amused by theft. Especially at the notorious Neal Caffrey being reduced to such a small, petty version of it.

"Couldn't just use your wallet?" Peter said, head gesturing at the drawer where their clothes and belongings were being kept.

"You didn't notice Elizabeth lifting them?"

"What?"

"She took our wallets. Apparently, she was serious about not sneaking out."

"That's - but - " Peter stopped and sighed, "Okay, that does sound like her."

Neal held out some peanut butter candies, which Peter took.

"You opened a vending machine and closed it gain with the use of one arm?" Neal gave him a look, like he was offended that Peter even feigned surprise.

Peter opened it, and then opened Neal's bag of pretzels so he wouldn't have to struggle with it - not that Neal would have struggled too much, Peter knew. But Neal thanked him and slowly sat down on the side of Peter's bed, careful not to move Peter's leg.

They tapped their open junk food bags together and said, "Cheers."

"Pretzels?" Peter asked, and even in the semi-dark, Neal knew an eyebrow raise when he heard one.

"I'm not a snob, " Neal said, as he ate, before they both laughed. "Fine, fine, I like pretzels. And Mars bars. I eat them together to cut the sweetness." He took a Mars bar

"How much exactly did you get?"

Neal smiled and held open the shopping bag, which was now full of every kind of junk food available to anyone with 95 cents in change. Or master thiefs.

Peter laughed.

"I can't believe you're okay with this, Peter." Neal sounded pleased if suspicious.

Peter shrugged. "What's the alternative? Ask for extra hospital food?" he said as he picked out a bag of chips and some cookies.

Neal eyed him for a second and then said, "You're going to go put a bunch of money in the vending machine in the morning, aren't you?"

"As soon as El brings my wallet back."

Neal smiled as he chomped on a pretzel. Peter was amused to realize he had never heard Neal eat so loudly.

Maybe the dark made sounds more noticeable.

Maybe Peter was concentrating too hard on Neal's mouth.

They sat there for a while, like kids on Halloween, trying to resist a bag full of candy, until they reached the mutual decision to hide the bag in the drawer across the room.

Neal put it away and then went back to sit at Peter's side.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Neal said. He just sat there.

"How's the shoulder?" Peter asked.

"Great, how's the leg?"

"It's been better."

"Yeah."

Silence. The crickets outside the window getting their turn.

"Neal-"

"I'm sorry this happened."

Peter paused. Neal was turned away partly and Peter could barely see his face. He couldn't even grab Neal to spin him back around without hurting Neal's shoulder.

"You're sorry?"

"You fell because of me."

"I knocked you off a fire escape, Neal," Peter said, and something wrenched as he said it for the first time. Fine, it was one floor up. It was still Neal hitting concrete. The kid could jump several stories without injury and aim for the perfect landing spot, but with Peter there pushing him, it was cracks and pain and not even knowing if Neal would be okay until the MRI came back several hours later.

"You pushed me out of the way of a bullet, Peter. I would have been shot, but you saved me."

"And you fell!"

"We fell because I broke into an arms dealer's apartment and you had to break cover to help me get out. Peter, how many cases that don't involve me end with you running down a fire escape getting shot at?"

Peter was quiet.

"I thought so," Neal continued. "Peter, I know that - I mean - " Neal exhaled. "Peter, I swear, I never in a million years thought doing something like that would get someone besides me killed. Especially not you. I am so sorry."

Even in the dim light, Peter could see the moist of Neal's eyes, the guilt and pain and desperation.

But Peter was stuck on that last sentence. He was starting to have trouble keeping track of how many things were so incomprehensibly wrong with it.

"Neal. I pushed you. With good intentions. But we fell over the railing, and that's on me."

"Peter, you don't have to-"

"But what do you mean you don't care if you get yourself killed? Do you know how selfish that is?"

Neal paused. "What?" he said, now genuinely annoyed with where the conversation was going.

"Of all the immature-"

"Excuse me? You're the one who-"

"And how could you possibly think that I'm going to blame you for me making you fall?"

"I didn't even notice the gunman-"

"And you-"

"But you wouldn't have had to do that if-"

"But you're injured because-"

"I broke your leg!"

"I dislocated your shoulder!"

"Well, make up for it by not patronizing me and admit that you're mad at me!"

"I'm mad because you don't feel even remotely guilty when you risk your own life but suddenly when -"

"You're totally misinterpreting because you think I'm some kind of -"

"No, you're-"

"I SAID, IS EVERYTHING OKAY?" the nurse yelled. He was standing at the foot of Peter's bed, crossing his arms, apparently none too pleased with the volume of their conversation.

"Fine!" Neal and Peter said in unison.

"It's quiet hours," the nurse said.

"What is this, summer camp?" Peter said, annoyed at someone and possibly taking it out on the nurse, "I'm a Federal agent, not a -"

"Your wife called and said you would try to use being a federal agent as an excuse not to get your rest," the nurse answered. "Do you want to know what she said I should do if that happens?"

Peter leaned back and said, honestly, "Not really."

"Then get some rest. You - back in bed," he gestured to Neal, who shared a Can you believe this look with Peter before getting in his own bed.

"Good night," the nurse said meaningfully as he left.

A pause.

Then: "Peter," whispered from Neal's side of the room.

"Neal, I don't think you have to whisper."

"Okay. We'll just not yell as loud."

Peter sighed. "Neal, I'm sorry I knocked you off the fire escape."

"That's okay. Thanks for not letting me get shot. And sorry for messing up the case. And for your leg."

"The leg's not your fault. But yeah, for breaking in and ruining the case, you're on mortgage fraud for a month."

Silence. "Aren't you also sorry for being so unforgiving?"

"Aren't you also sorry for every crime you've committed?"

"Those must be some good drugs, Peter."

"I didn't let them give me drugs."

"So I couldn't get anything past you?"

"That's right. Same reason you didn't let them give you drugs either."

"Touche."

"I really am sorry we ended up here."

"In the same room?"

"No, I mean hurt. I told you if you worked for me, you'd be safer."

"You told me if I followed procedure, I'd be safer."

"That's true, I did say that."

"Don't be smug. Besides, it's not your job to make the whole world totally safe for everyone."

"Of course it is. Haven't you paid attention to anything I -"

"I'm sorry, too, Peter."

"What?"

"That we got hurt. It's on both of us, I guess. But I really am sorry."

"Me too."

"I know."

"Good distraction, Neal, I almost forgot that I was about to tell you about why our job makes a difference and how we're way past the point of you pretending you don't know that."

"Maybe I'm pretending to be pretending that I don't know that."

"No. I would know."

Neal let out a laugh, followed by Peter's low chuckle.

After a moment, Peter said, "Neal?"

"Yeah?" Neal said, just a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

"I think I still have room for half a Snickers bar."

Neal smiled and ran to the drawer to bring the bag to Peter's bed, sitting by him once again.

"Tell me about the manual you were reading," Peter said as he split the candy bar in half, pulling its stickiness apart.

Neal accepted his half, tugging until the long strand of caramel broke in two. "You know, if I had access to this material when I was at the top of my game -"

"Do tell," Peter invited.

Neal just grinned. They both knew that he wasn't about to give up all his secrets.