Out of Bounds-Part Four
Peter stopped in the doorway of an observation room almost exactly like the one he'd recently occupied. Across from him, wearing a pale green gown two sizes too big for him, Neal was reclining against the elevated head of the bed with his eyes closed. He hesitated, uncertain as to whether he should disturb Neal or let him be.
He'd always thought Neal's attention to his appearance, his expensive suits and meticulous grooming habits were just vanities. But seeing him now, without his usual trappings, made him wonder if there wasn't a more practical reason for his efforts. Neal, his face pale and hair disheveled, looked a decade younger than he was. Or at least a decade younger than he claimed to be; Peter wasn't sure how old Neal was. Documentation was scarce and considering Neal's skills as a forger, what Peter had been able to locate wasn't above suspicion. But there were a lot of things he didn't know about Neal: where he'd been before coming to New York, what he'd been doing before coming to New York, and most of all, who he'd been before coming to New York. He was fairly certain Neal Caffrey was as much an alias as Nick Halden. With so many unknowns, Neal's actual age was among the least of them.
"Oh, Peter," Elizabeth breathed softly at his side. "He looks so young."
Peter had seen Neal win people over with his charm, quick wit, and confident smile; as a conman, it was his bread and butter. But even uncrafted and unintended, this presentation was equally powerful. The combination of youthfulness and vulnerability was very effective. If Elizabeth wasn't already on Team Neal, she certainly would be so now.
While he was standing there marveling at Neal's ability to make allies even in an unconscious state, the young man opened his eyes.
"Hey, Neal," Peter greeted as he approached him.
"Hey, Peter." Neal's voice was hoarse. "Elizabeth. Nice look," he added after giving him a quick once over. Jeans and sweatshirts were not standard FBI attire. "I take it they're letting you go home."
"Yeah, they are," Peter confirmed. "I just wanted to check on you before I left. Plus," he continued, placing the bag of belongings on the table beside the bed. "Diana brought these by. Your phone, wallet and keys are all in there." He met Neal's eyes before listing the last item. "So are your shoes."
Peter wasn't sure what flashed in Neal's eyes, it almost looked like apprehension, but at that moment Elizabeth leaned down, blocking him from view. She kissed him lightly on the cheek. "That's for saving my hubby,"
When she rose, any expression that had been there had been replaced with embarrassment.
"It wasn't anything as heroic as that," he mumbled, his flushed face making him appear younger than he had before.
"Well, I disagree," Elizabeth countered firmly. "I think what you did was very heroic."
Surprising, Neal seemed more uncomfortable than pleased with Elizabeth's words of praise. "I just helped him out of the water."
Like Diana and Elizabeth, Peter expected Neal to jump on the opportunity to bask in what, in this instance, was well deserved praise but instead he was brushing it aside. He'd responded similarly in the back of the unit but given the circumstances, Peter had dismissed it. Yet the uncharacteristic humility prevailed. Neal did have a concussion, Peter reminded himself. Maybe that was the reason for his atypical behavior.
"You did more than just that," Elizabeth insisted. "You saved his life, Neal. He told me." At that, Neal glanced at him, the color still high in his cheeks. Elizabeth covered one of his hands with her own. "Thank you."
"Anyone would have-" Neal again started to downplay his actions but stopped when Peter sent him a look of warning. He swallowed, then directed his gaze to Elizabeth. "You're welcome, Elizabeth."
"That's better," she responded, pleased he'd finally accepted her thanks. "Now that's out of the way, how are you feeling?"
"I'm okay," Neal answered, "but I'll be a lot better when I get home."
It was his turn to receive a silent look of warning. Talk to him, Elizabeth's expression said, don't order him.
"I'm sure you'll go home tomorrow," he ventured. "I think they want to let you rest here tonight."
Neal's eyes flew to his face. As expected, he wasn't pleased.
"I can't rest here, Peter," he protested. "This place is like a madhouse. It's too loud; it's killing my head."
"That's probably more the concussion than the noise, Neal," Peter pointed out. "Your heads gonna hurt no matter where you are."
"It'll hurt less at home," Neal insisted. "Talk to them, Peter," he petitioned. "Tell them I'll be okay at my apartment; if I need anything, I'll call June."
Peter was more certain than before the knock on Neal's head was affecting his thought processes. He'd forgotten he'd told him about June's trip.
"Isn't June visiting her daughter?"
"Oh." Neal looked at a loss as he realized his error. "Yeah. But I can still call her."
"She's not going to be able to do much for you from Florida, Neal," Peter remarked dryly.
"Then I'll call Mozzie," Neal retorted defensively. "Or dial 911. Really," he pressed. "I'll be fine."
Seeing Neal's frustration beginning to rise, Peter tried to defuse it.
"I know you want to go home," he said, "but the doctor thinks you need to stay, just to be safe."
"He's making a big deal out of nothing," Neal argued. "It's just a bump on the head."
Neal wasn't making it easy. He hoped Elizabeth appreciated his patience, which, to be honest, was starting to wear thin.
"A concussion and three broken ribs is a little more than a bump on the head, Neal."
"Good grief!" Neal's frustration gave way to irritation. "I've been hurt worse than this and went to school the next day."
The statement rang in the room, catching Peter by surprise. He'd wondered about Neal's early years and what had led him into a life of crime at such a young age but he'd never gotten answers. There were no records to be found and Neal never spoke about it. And he hadn't meant to speak of it now; it had been a slip and a revealing one at that. A concussed Neal Caffrey might be a more forthcoming one but the second the words left his mouth his eyes widened in alarm.
"I'm sorry," he said, glancing quickly from one surprised face to the other and back again. "I didn't mean to say...to snap," he amended quickly, his cheeks now flaming red, "at you like that. I'm just..tired, that's all." He sank into the bed, a forlorn look on his face. "And I hate hospitals."
"It's okay," Peter answered, still processing what Neal had inadvertently revealed about his past. "It's been a long day. The doctor's just worried about you being on your own tonight and frankly so am I."
"Why can't he just stay with us?" Elizabeth asked suddenly. "We have an extra bedroom."
Peter wasn't sure who was more surprised by her suggestion, him or Neal.
He felt for Neal's situation, he hated hospitals as well, but it wasn't like Neal was an acquaintance. He wasn't even a co-worker; he was a CI. A convicted felon on work release. They couldn't just invite him to stay in their home. That would be crossing a line the Bureau would certainly frown upon.
But he understood why Elizabeth was making the offer. She had a way of seeing the best in people and she'd liked Neal from the moment she'd met him. She believed in spite of his questionable choices that he was a good person at heart. Peter agreed with her, Neal was a good person. If he hadn't been he'd never agreed to let him work out his time with the FBI. He liked Neal, he was a hard person not to like, but their relationship had to stay professional. Those up the food chain were watching them closely. He'd been warned, one bungled case, one wrong move or perceived conflict of interest and the Bureau would pull the plug on their arrangement.
He couldn't let that happened. He couldn't let them send Neal back to prison for three years. He had to make sure everything he did, every decision he made in regard to Neal Caffrey was strictly by the book and above reproach.
Of course, Neal had been injured while working for the Bureau and, as his handler, it was his responsibility to make sure he received proper care. If Neal was determined to leave, the hospital couldn't force him to stay. And at his apartment, he would be on his own. Wasn't this a better option? Better management of a valuable bureau asset?
It was a stretch, he knew, but he could make the argument if he had to.
Plus, Neal had saved his life. Elizabeth was right. He owed him.
"I think that's a good idea."
Elizabeth beamed at his words but Neal's expression was one of total disbelief. "You do?"
It clearly wasn't the response he'd expected to hear. Neal didn't want to stay in the hospital but he didn't seem thrilled with the alternate arrangement, either. Peter was surprised; Neal usually jumped at any opportunity to visit the Burke house, chat up his wife and pet his dog. But he wasn't jumping at this one. Instead, he looked rattled by the prospect. His frame had tensed and he'd pulled the blanket up just a bit higher. It was defensive posturing, indicative of someone in danger or at risk. It seemed out of place and out of character until he remembered Neal's earlier comment. The one he hadn't meant to say.
Neal had slipped up. He'd said something about his past he never would have under normal circumstances. Was that why he was reluctant to accept Elizabeth's offer? Was he afraid he might say something else? Neal's life before New York was a mystery Peter had been unable to solve and he had to admit, the thought of gleaning information about it from Neal was enticing. But taking advantage of his current mental state would be wrong, not to mention a poor way of repaying him for saving his life.
"Yeah I do," Peter confirmed, convinced he was making the right choice. "You don't want to stay here and staying by yourself isn't an option so," he gave a shrug of feinted nonchalance, "coming to the house makes sense."
Neal still looked baffled. "But it's your home, I don't think I should...I mean, I don't want to...to intrude."
Neal had intruded in his home any number of times and it hadn't bothered him in the least. But this was different. FBI handlers didn't invite their assets to their homes to convalesce; it simply wasn't done and Neal knew it. But Peter knew an asset willing to risk his life for his handler was equally out of the ordinary. Today they were both operating out of bounds, pushing boundaries and crossing lines.
"It's not intruding," Peter told him. "And it's just for the night. If everything goes okay, I'll take you home tomorrow. What do you say?"
"Well," Neal said doubtfully. "I guess..." he looked from one of them to the other. "I mean if you're both sure-"
Pleased to see his resistance crumbling, Elizabeth didn't wait for Neal to finish. "Of course we're sure!"
Her look of triumph made Peter wonder if this had been her plan all along and a moment later, after announcing her intent to secure Neal's release, Elizabeth was out the door. Peter pitied anyone who tried to dissuade her from her mission.
"I know she put you on the spot, Peter," Neal noted once she'd cleared the room. "I can tell her I've changed my mind."
It seemed a generous gesture but Peter had to wonder; was he looking for a way out?
"Have you?" Peter asked with a frown. "Changed your mind?"
Neal's look was one of uncertainly as if he wasn't sure what Peter wanted him to say.
"I can if you need me to," he hedged. "I know agents aren't allowed to you know, fraternize with me outside work."
There were rules that governed the relationship between agents and their informants. Some were written, some were implied, but he'd stressed to Neal from day one that all had to be followed to the letter. He'd cited the one prohibiting associations outside of work several times in response to Neal's request to have him or another agent accompany him to some gala opening or new exhibit outside his radius. Neal could always come up with some counter, some loophole, to circumvent the rule but Peter always held firm. It was strange that for the moment at least, they seemed to be switching roles.
"We're not catching a Broadway show, Neal," he pointed out. "This is pure practically. You don't want to stay here and I don't want to have to worry about you doing something stupid so it's a win-win."
Neal apparently accepted his reasoning and thus, Elizabeth's invitation, because he began to shift on the bed.
"I don't do stupid, Peter," Neal asserted, wincing as he righted himself in the bed. "Unconventional, sure," A grunt as he swung his blanket-covered legs over the edge of the bed, "ill-advised, maybe," he continued, "but stupid? Never. Can you check that closet?" Neal indicated where with a nod. "I think they put my clothes in there."
"I don't know," Peter remarked as he opened the door and removed the less than tidy bundle of clothes from a shelf. "Jumping into the river tonight would have been stupid."
He'd vowed not to exploit Neal's diminished capacity but he couldn't help himself. Neal's actions, or intended actions, still baffled him. It would have been reckless and foolish but Peter knew it wouldn't have impulsive. There had been a thought process involved; Neal's discarded shoes were evidence of it.
"I didn't jump into the river."
"But you were about to," Peter reminded him as he returned, clothes in hand. "That's why you took off your shoes." He placed the bundle on the bed, then looked at Neal. "What were you thinking?"
It wasn't posed critically, it was posed earnestly, and Neal seemed startled by it.
"I was thinking I didn't want to ruin a three hundred dollar pair of shoes," he said after a moment of hesitation.
Purposely misunderstanding a question was an evasive tactic and Peter responded the way he usually did when Neal employed it; he used his eyebrow to call BS and waited for the truth. Neal caved faster than he usually did.
"I don't know," he admitted, looking away. "Just that I had to find you, to get you out of the water." His voice was strained. "That you couldn't..." he looked up, a pained look on his face. "...die like that."
There was no guile, no deception, no pretense and the intensity of Neal's unfiltered emotion triggered his own. Suddenly Peter found himself choking up, much as he had earlier with Elizabeth. He placed a hand on Neal's shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze and hoped Neal could see what he couldn't trust his voice to say; he was grateful.
There was no guile, no deception, no pretense and the intensity of Neal's unfiltered emotion triggered his own. Suddenly Peter found himself choking up, much as he had earlier with Elizabeth. His throat tightened and his eyes stung. He placed a hand on Neal's shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze and hoped Neal could see what he couldn't trust his voice to say: he was grateful, not just for what Neal had done but what he'd been willing to do. Neal wasn't the only one with diminished capacities; they were both emotional, both unguarded, and the moment that passed between was profound.
Profound but brief.
Neal, cheeks flushed, was the first to break the connection and Peter, feeling the heat rising in his face, followed suit and removed his hand from Neal's shoulders. He needed a minute and figured Neal did as well. He was about to excuse himself under the guise of checking on Elizabeth when she returned.
"Technically, you weren't admitted," she said to Neal as she entered, "so you don't have to be discharged." Picking up something was amiss, she looked at him questioningly. "Everything okay?"
"Everything is fine," he stated, glancing at Neal. "We were just talking about...shoes."
Neal looked at him warily and Elizabeth, seeing his reaction and knowing what his left-behind shoes signified, quickly deduced the reason the room had been so emotionally charged when she entered
"I see," she replied. "That's good." She shifted a thoughtful gaze to Neal. "I think you two needed to talk about that."
"Yeah, we did," Peter agreed, fixing Neal's eyes with his own. "And he was just about to answer a question for me."
Peter could tell Neal was uncomfortable with both the topic and the attention. "What question?"
Both Elizabeth and Neal were staring at him intently, waiting for him to pose his question, so he did.
"How can you afford three hundred dollar shoes on the Stipend you get from the Bureau?"
The tension snapped. Neal sent him a look of relief, Elizabeth one of exasperation.
"Don't tease him about his shoes, Peter, help him get them on," she directed impatiently, moving towards the door. "They're printing off his paperwork now. As soon as he dressed, they'll go over with him and he'll be free to go." Before stepping into the hall, she turned back to Neal. "You paid three hundred dollars for a pair of shoes?"
Even she recognized the frivolity of such a purchase.
"Of course not," Neal replied with a snort. "Peter's right, I can barely stock my pantry with the pittance I get from the FBI. But," he continued, a smile playing on his lips, "I know a guy who knows a guy and he was able to get me a really sweet deal."
It was good to see some levity in Neal's eyes, even if it was coming at his expense. "I bet he did."
"Do you think he could get me a deal on a pair of Wangs?" Elizabeth asked from the door. "He makes an adorable little pump-"
"Enough!" Peter said, holding up both hands. "Do you two want to continue discussing the buying and selling of stolen goods in front of a Federal agent, or do you want to get out of here?"
"I vote for get out of here," Neal said sheepishly.
"Good choice."
The End
Square Three: Shaking and Shivering