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A Place Called Home

Chapter 10

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Having learned from his mistakes the last time, Neal arranged the pillows to make it look like he was still in bed, before he quietly opened the door and sneaked out. He slowly made his way down the stairs, careful not to make them creak.

He had just made it to the bottom of the stairs, when suddenly the lights came on, startling Neal and making him almost trip over a sleeping Satchmo.

Neal looked around and saw Peter sitting on the couch in the living room, half of his face cast in shadows. "Going somewhere?"

Trying to act as if he hadn't been caught on his way out, Neal said lightly, "Have you been sitting there the whole night just so you could scare me like that?"

Peter ignored Neal's quip and instead asked wearily, "Didn't we just have this conversation the other day?"

"Don't think so. I'd remember if you had pulled this 'lurking in the dark' bit before. Creepy, I'll give you that."

Peter shook his head. He looked disappointed and strangely exhausted in the dim light. "Don't," he simply said, and Neal felt his insides clench. A disappointed Peter was way worse than an angry Peter could ever be.

Peter motioned for Neal to sit with him, and Neal hesitantly complied.

After a short pause in which neither of them said anything, Neal was the first to speak. "I wasn't gonna run. I just really have to take care of something," he said and lowered his eyes so that he wouldn't have to look at Peter's disappointed frown anymore.

"And what might that be?" Peter asked with a neutral inflection.

Neal avoided eye contact for a few more seconds, before he finally looked up at Peter imploringly. "Can't you just trust me?" he asked and his tone came out more desperately than intended. "I'll be back by morning."

"Yeah. That sounds real trustworthy." Peter sighed, shaking his head a little as he buried his face in his hands.

When he looked up at Neal again, his eyes bore intensely into the young boy. "Whatever it is, don't do it, Neal." He wouldn't let Neal look away, as if he wanted to make sure that whatever it was he was about to say got through to him. "I know you've had to take care of things on your own in the past, but I don't know if you've realized yet: you don't have to anymore. There are other people who can help you. There's me. And El. And we can take care of whatever it is you think you need to take care of in the middle of the night."

"I know, but . . ."

"Do you?" Peter interrupted him.

"But this is really something I need to do by myself," Neal continued urgently, willing Peter to understand.

"No you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"You don't," Peter repeated emphatically. "Ask yourself this: What good could possibly come from whatever shenanigans you're up to now? Not to mention that your way of 'taking care of things' usually makes them worse."

"Does not," Neal mumbled.

"Point is, you can always come and talk to me," Peter continued and he seemed so earnest that Neal oh-so-desperately wanted to believe him.

"Can I?" he snapped at Peter instead.

"Yes, of course," Peter said, apparently confused by Neal's harsh response.

"Oh, really?" Neal said, making his disbelief clear in his tone of voice. "'Cause I never know if I'm talking to Peter or to Agent Burke!" he spat.

Instead of reacting to Neal's angry tone, Peter's features cleared and he nodded understandingly. "So that's what this is about. Your illegal activities."

"Alleged illegal activities," Neal corrected, but the fight had gone out of him as fast as it had come.

Peter looked at him contemplatively for a moment. Then, without a word, he took out his FBI badge and put it on the table in front of Neal.

Neal eyed it suspiciously and when Peter didn't say or do anything else, he picked up the badge. He turned it around in his hands, inspecting it closely and memorizing the details just in case he'd ever have to forge an FBI badge. Once he had looked at it from every angle, he put it back down and looked up at Peter again.

"Just so we're clear . . ." he started but then trailed off, because he really needed to hear Peter say it to be sure.

"There's no agent around to arrest you right now. Whatever you want to tell me—you can."

Immunity! He was basically given carte blanche, and Neal knew that a better chance would never come along. So he took a deep breath.

"The night that you caught me near that museum . . . I was working with Keller. I helped him steal those paintings," he admitted in a rush.

A crease appeared on Peter's forehead, but he didn't seem impressed. "I already knew that."

"Yeah, but you couldn't prove it. Keller can."

"So?" The crease on Peter's forehead deepened as he was obviously trying to figure out what Neal's problem was. "What makes you think Keller would be interested in implicating himself just to get back at you?"

And there was the million dollar question— the one he really didn't want to answer. "He kinda . . . told me?"

"He what?" Peter furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Now, don't get mad. But I talked to him on the phone and . . ."

"You what?—Wait, what phone? Where did you even get his number? He ditched his old cell."

". . . and he said he'd send the painting I . . . 'took without asking' to the FBI if I didn't help him with something."

Peter just looked at him for a moment, his face turning a shade of red Neal was already all too familiar with.

"This better be a joke, because you think it's funny to see how long it will take to give me a stroke."

"You promised!" Neal warned who wasn't too fond of Peter's angry tone.

"I promised not to arrest you," Peter countered. "Do you see me arresting you?"

"Sneaky," Neal acknowledged appreciatively.

But the humor was lost on Peter. "This is not a game we're playing here, Neal!"

"That's what losers say," Neal interjected quietly, but Peter was in full lecture mode and didn't hear the comment.

"You're obviously a very bright and talented kid and you know it. But if you keep making the wrong choices, that won't be enough. I can't protect you from yourself."

"No one's asking you to," Neal replied mulishly.

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "What does Keller want your help with?"

"Just some painting stuff . . ." When Peter continued looking at him, Neal thought, in for a penny, in for a pound, and clarified, "He wants me to forge a Goya."

"Neal, my badge is still on the table," Peter pointed out, unimpressed. "The whole sense of this exercise was for a bit more honesty."

"What, you think I'm lying?" Neal asked indignantly.

And that's when the penny dropped. Neal was surprised he didn't see an actual light bulb come on over Peter's head. "Neal?" Peter asked warily. "Those forgeries I asked you about that very first day? Tell me you didn't make those!"

"I didn't make those?" Neal repeated dutifully.

"Dammit, Neal!" And then, after a moment. "Really?—I mean, they were so . . . flawless."

"Why thank you," Neal said, trying to play the compliment down, even though it made him feel all warm and giddy. He knew how good he was, and other people who had seen his forgeries had told him often enough, but somehow hearing Peter praise his work . . . it meant something in a way that it never had before, coming from someone else.

His comment seemed to bring Peter out of it again. "No! That was not meant as encouragement!" he clarified quickly.

"Noted," Neal reassured him, but the warm feeling was still there. There were no take backs on compliments.

"Wait a sec!—Did you seriously come to me to ask for supplies that you needed for forging a painting?!"

"Relax! It's not like those pencils you gave me would have gotten me very far."

"Unbelievable!"

"What would you rather have me do—come to you and ask for the supplies, or steal them?"

Peter shook his head incredulously. "None of the above!"

"That wasn't a potential answer. Hence the question what you'd rather have had me do."

"Depends. What would you rather be arrested for?"

"Touché."

After that, Peter slipped back into interrogation mode, asking tons of questions, about how Neal had communicated with Keller, what Keller had said, what the text message had said exactly. Apparently, even when Peter set his badge aside, he couldn't just turn off the agent deep inside.

They talked until the early hours of the morning, until they were both about ready to fall asleep on the spot and their voices almost gave out.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do," Peter said. "You wait for Keller to contact you again and when he asks why you didn't show up, you tell him that I caught you sneaking out . . ."

"As if I'd let myself get caught," Neal interjected.

Peter shot him a significant look.

"Point taken."

"And you tell him you have to reschedule," Peter went on. "Once you have a new place and time, I'll take my team and instead of you, he'll meet us at the rendezvous point, and instead of a Goya, he'll get a one-way ticket to prison."

That actually sounded like a better plan than his own. Neal felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He didn't have to meet up with Keller at all. Peter would take care of it. And Neal himself wouldn't be sent to prison. Immunity rocked!

"Forgeries!" Peter shook his head. "Just so you know, that one is going into the house rules!"

"Under 'chores,' as in, 'forge at least one painting every week,' right?" Neal asked, for which he finally got a chuckle out of Peter.

Neal felt his spirits lifting. Whatever anyone wanted to say about Peter Burke, at the end of the day, he was a very forgiving person, and he was great at giving second chances. He might be aggravated and exasperated by Neal more often than not, but even when he was angry with him, he couldn't seem to stay mad for long.

For more Neal-Peter goodness go to noiproksa-vids . livejournal . com (without the spaces obviously).

Also, I may continue this fic. Depends on whether you guys are interested to see more. Let me know. I had originally planned more, but this would also make for a sort of open ending. No cliffhanger this time and I tried to round it off a bit for you, since it's the middle of summer and people are apparently not as interested right now.

I would also love to hear from all those followers and silent readers who have been reading along but have never left a review before, now that the fanfiction is finished.

13 September 2015 And it's never too late to leave a review. I often realize that people who read the fanfiction weeks or months after it has been finished, never review. The hit count keeps going up, but no more reviews come in. And I just wanted to say that I am happy about every review I get no matter when I get it.