WC - Unbreakable (Part 6)
Title: Unbreakable
Part: 6/?
Author: angelita26
Rating: PG-13
Characters and/or Pairing: Gen - Neal, Diana, Peter, Elizabeth, Jones, Mozzie
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Unbetaed.
Word Count: ~2100
Summary: Neal's loss of appetite concerns his closest friends.
Notes: Written for a prompt at collarkink that can be found at the end of this chapter. Thank you all for being patient. There's at least one more part to go!
Part 1: Day 0/ Month 3
Part 2: Month 7
Part 3: Week 1
Part 4: Week 2 or so
Part 5: Month 1
Timestamp #6: Year 1
As the one year anniversary of the kidnapping approached, Peter tried to subtly pull Neal and Diana back from active investigations. They both noticed within an hour and protested that they were fine, but the tell-tale signs of sleepless nights were evident in their lines on their faces. Peter held firm and handed over a box of cold cases for them to divvy up.
The next, and probably more telling, sign that things weren't all right was Neal's sudden lack of appetite. He made excuses when anyone asked him to join them for lunch or dinner and didn't take any of the pastries or bagels that Peter started bringing in the mornings to share with the office, though more specifically his CI. He seemed to live off of coffee and the protein bars and smoothies that Diana subtly handed him whenever possible.
By the end of the week, Neal's refusal to eat was more than a little concerning for his closest friends. Without speaking of it, they each started planning their own comfort foods to share with him. Diana, who wasn't much for cooking, decided to invite herself over for the weekend instead. Her own nightmares had returned, and she wanted some mutual commiseration time with him anyway.
Around ten on Saturday morning, a knock at the door woke Neal. Diana had been up for a couple of hours and had just completed her Tai Chi routine on the terrace so she answered the door.
Neal rubbed sleep from his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows to see who it was. “Peter? It's Saturday.”
“I'm not here about work.” Peter held up a large brown paper bag and grinned. “I brought an early lunch. Elizabeth and I have plans this afternoon, but I didn't think you'd had a chance to eat yet.”
Neal climbed out of bed and padded across the floor on bare feet. His steps faltered when he smelled the food inside the bag and he veered toward the bathroom.
Diana raised an eyebrow at Peter. “You're kidding me, right?”
Peter gave her his most innocent look. “What?”
“Isn't the idea to get him to eat?” She took the bag with two fingers and set it gingerly outside the door. “None of us are ever going to like deviled ham, Peter. Just so you know.”
“I thought you guys might be in the mood to try something new,” Peter defended his favorite sandwich. “My dad used to make them for me when I was a kid. We'd sit on the porch, eat our deviled ham, and talk about baseball.”
Neal scoffed as he made his way back into the room. “What part of that made you think of me?”
Peter sighed and shrugged. “You like to sit out on the terrace.”
Glancing at the french doors, Neal sat on the far side of the dining table. He looked troubled when he turned back to his friends, but he changed the subject quickly. “Thanks, Peter, but I don't think deviled ham is for me.”
“Neal, this isn't healthy. You need to talk to someone about this and you-”
Holding up his hand, Neal motioned for Peter to stop talking. “If you would have just asked, I would have told you that I've been having sessions with Dr. Wilson all week.”
Peter looked at Diana, who confirmed with a nod. She'd had her own appointments with her own doctor just down the hall from Neal's psychiatrist.
Neal sighed and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “I'm not lying to you. I wouldn't do that. We're... working on it. For now, can I please go back to my weekend?”
“All right,” Peter replied, heading for the door. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Just go and have a good afternoon with Elizabeth. Diana and I will be fine.”
Diana opened the door for Peter and patted him on the shoulder. “He's right, Boss. We're good.”
-------
A couple of hours later, Neal was showered, dressed, and painting something in dark swirls of blue and black. Diana alternated between watching TV and fretting over Neal's subject matter. There was another knock at the door; this time it was Jones, who was carrying a large, steaming pan with two potholders. The pan was covered in foil, and he set it down and revealed the mac and cheese with an uncharacteristic flourish and a proud grin.
“This is my mother's recipe,” he said, while dishing out healthy portion sizes for Neal, Diana and himself. “And her mother's before that, and her mother's before that. I'm the first Bailey man to learn the secret ingredient.”
Diana chuckled and Neal smiled at that. “It looks delicious,” Diana said, for both of them.
“Don't try guessing it either; you'll never get it.” Jones teased gently and kept up a light conversation while they ate. He'd recently rescued a puppy from a local animal shelter that was systematically destroying his apartment and gave him no shortage of cute stories to share.
Neal managed about a fourth of his helping before he started picking at the remaining noodles and gooey cheese. He pushed it around the plate as he considered telling Jones that he'd solved the mystery.
“Neal? You finished?” Diana had already picked up his plate, knowing the answer.
He looked over at Jones and could see the concern even through the smile plastered on his friend's face. “Thanks, Jones. Tell your Mom that it was great and that her secret's safe with me.”
Jones didn't look surprised. “Ah, so you think you've figured it out?”
Neal leaned forward, stage-whispering across the table. “Smoked paprika?”
Jones grinned, but wouldn't confirm or deny Neal's speculation.
------
Around four, Neal had come to a stopping point with his painting, and Diana was napping on his bed, having spent most of the night corralling him and soothing his nightmares away while avoiding her own. He had just started in on his second glass of wine when his door knob jiggled and then twisted. The door opened to reveal Mozzie, one-handedly balancing a tray loaded with crust-less sandwich triangles and an old-fashioned glass bottle of milk.
“A little help, please,” Mozzie said, when he saw Neal standing by the dining table.
“Shhh. Diana's sleeping,” he pointed to the bed while he set down his wine glass and took the tray from his oldest friend. “Did June put you up to this?”
Mozzie pitched his voice lower now that he knew they weren't alone. “No, but she insisted on the milk, and she helped choose the peanut butters. Half are crunchy, half aren't.”
Neal raised an eyebrow.
“It's been more than ten years. Your eating habits at eighteen didn't really have a pattern or even make any logical sense.”
“That's okay.” He set the tray down on the table and poked at one of the triangles. “Grape jelly?”
Mozzie was appalled that he'd even ask. “Of course. It's the best.”
Well aware that he was being watched, Neal picked up a triangle and took a bite. Chewing slowly, he wandered away from the table toward the terrace doors. It was a nice day outside; the sun was shining, and there was a gentle breeze buffeting the pages of a book that Diana had left open outside on the table.
“So,” Mozzie said, sidling up next to him, glass of red now in hand, “I have this problem-”
“They say the first step is admitting you have one.”
“Who's they?”
Neal shrugged. “People.”
“Right. Well, this isn't that kind of problem.” He deliberately took a drink of his wine.
Frowning, Neal backed away. “Not right now, Moz. Please.”
“Okay,” Mozzie replied as he moved back to the table and started setting up a chess board beside the plate of PB&J. With any luck, Neal would nibble on the food while they played a game.
-------
By half past six, Mozzie had admitted defeat and left with one of Neal's best Merlots as a consolation prize. Diana was out on the terrace, talking to Christie on her cell, while Neal attempted to concentrate on a book he'd grabbed randomly off the shelf behind him. As sleep-deprived and distracted as he was, he hadn't been able to make it through the first page.
Yet another knock on the door startled him. “Who is it?” he called, standing and dropping the book on the coffee table. He knew his friends meant well, but he was getting tired of his apartment being Grand Central Terminal all of the sudden.
“Elizabeth,” a familiar, friendly voice responded.
He opened the door for her, and she bustled past him with two reusable cloth grocery bags that were nearly overflowing. “Um, hey Elizabeth.” He glanced back in the hallway, expecting Peter to be following her with even more bags, but there was no one there. “I thought you and Peter had plans.”
“Oh, the movies? That was this afternoon.” She started pulling things out of the bags and setting them out on his dining table. “Do you have a big pot? I knew I was forgetting something.”
He pointed to the lower cabinets to the left of the sink. “What's going on? Where's Peter?”
“He and Satchmo are at poker night.” She looked up at him with an astute smile. “You and me - we're going to make dinner. I'm modifying this chicken noodle soup recipe I discovered the first year that Peter and I were married. It usually takes all day, but I wanted to do it together, so I bought the chicken cooked and some chicken stock to make up for what I didn't already have in the freezer from last time.”
Within five minutes, Neal somehow found himself standing at the counter, chopping carrots, celery, and onion. He had watched Elizabeth move around the kitchen while she explained the recipe and cheerfully recounted the first time she'd made it when Peter had a terrible case of the flu. He hadn't had much of an appetite until he'd stuffed himself with so much soup that she was sure he was going to spring a leak.
By the time he was done with the vegetables, Elizabeth had the chicken stock and some herbs cooking in the big pot, and the apartment was starting to smell wonderful. He munched on the excess carrot morsels while she sauteed the vegetables in his one and only skillet.
“How's Diana doing?” she asked, cutting her eyes to the terrace where Diana was pacing while she talked to Christie.
His gaze dropped, and he fidgeted with the box of pasta noodles on the counter. “She's okay. Not sleeping well, but that's partly my fault.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together for a moment and blinked sympathetic tears out of her eyes. “Peter and I are here, if you need to talk or you need anything else. Anything at all. You know that, right?”
He nodded and took a step back, distancing himself from her under the guise of getting something to drink. “I know, and I appreciate that, Elizabeth.”
She smiled a sad, gentle smile before turning back to the vegetables, which she declared done and spooned into the pot. “When it starts boiling, would you add the noodles? I'm going to shred the chicken.”
Neal agreed and stood by the stove, keeping one eye on the pot and one on Elizabeth as she expertly worked the chicken breast. He couldn't stop himself from snacking more on the extra pieces of carrots and celery that she hadn't been able to fit in the skillet. The soup smelled amazing, and he was surprised when his stomach started to growl.
A few minutes later, Diana stepped inside and smiled at the two of them. Neal was dropping the pasta into the pot as Elizabeth hurried over to adjust the temperature on the stove. The cooks almost collided when he turned to toss the empty pasta box into the trash, and she reached for a stirring spoon.
“Hey, Elizabeth,” she greeted. “What smells so good?”
It was Neal who spoke up. “We're making chicken noodle soup.” He shot her a sly smile as he snuck a spoonful while Elizabeth turned her back to grab the shredded chicken. Diana chuckled at him and Elizabeth's failed attempt at her disapproving look when she caught him.
(End Scene - TBC)
Part 7: Month 9
Thank you for reading!
Original prompt at collarkink here: For some reason, Diana and Neal are kidnapped. For many weeks or months, they remain in captivity, isolated from the rest of the world. They go through a very deep trauma - brutal physical or mental torture, possibly both. The captivity creates a very strong bond between them. After they escape or are rescued, they still need each other. They often hug and touch; sometimes they hold hands, sometimes they lean together on a bench outside, maybe one strokes each other’s hair. They’re also very protective of each other; however, there is absolutely nothing sexual about their relationship.
I would really love to see even a small piece of this.
Also posted at AO3
Note 2: This chapter also fills the "Comfort Food" square on my 10_hurt_comfort DIY Prompt Table
Part: 6/?
Author: angelita26
Rating: PG-13
Characters and/or Pairing: Gen - Neal, Diana, Peter, Elizabeth, Jones, Mozzie
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Unbetaed.
Word Count: ~2100
Summary: Neal's loss of appetite concerns his closest friends.
Notes: Written for a prompt at collarkink that can be found at the end of this chapter. Thank you all for being patient. There's at least one more part to go!
Part 1: Day 0/ Month 3
Part 2: Month 7
Part 3: Week 1
Part 4: Week 2 or so
Part 5: Month 1
Timestamp #6: Year 1
As the one year anniversary of the kidnapping approached, Peter tried to subtly pull Neal and Diana back from active investigations. They both noticed within an hour and protested that they were fine, but the tell-tale signs of sleepless nights were evident in their lines on their faces. Peter held firm and handed over a box of cold cases for them to divvy up.
The next, and probably more telling, sign that things weren't all right was Neal's sudden lack of appetite. He made excuses when anyone asked him to join them for lunch or dinner and didn't take any of the pastries or bagels that Peter started bringing in the mornings to share with the office, though more specifically his CI. He seemed to live off of coffee and the protein bars and smoothies that Diana subtly handed him whenever possible.
By the end of the week, Neal's refusal to eat was more than a little concerning for his closest friends. Without speaking of it, they each started planning their own comfort foods to share with him. Diana, who wasn't much for cooking, decided to invite herself over for the weekend instead. Her own nightmares had returned, and she wanted some mutual commiseration time with him anyway.
Around ten on Saturday morning, a knock at the door woke Neal. Diana had been up for a couple of hours and had just completed her Tai Chi routine on the terrace so she answered the door.
Neal rubbed sleep from his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows to see who it was. “Peter? It's Saturday.”
“I'm not here about work.” Peter held up a large brown paper bag and grinned. “I brought an early lunch. Elizabeth and I have plans this afternoon, but I didn't think you'd had a chance to eat yet.”
Neal climbed out of bed and padded across the floor on bare feet. His steps faltered when he smelled the food inside the bag and he veered toward the bathroom.
Diana raised an eyebrow at Peter. “You're kidding me, right?”
Peter gave her his most innocent look. “What?”
“Isn't the idea to get him to eat?” She took the bag with two fingers and set it gingerly outside the door. “None of us are ever going to like deviled ham, Peter. Just so you know.”
“I thought you guys might be in the mood to try something new,” Peter defended his favorite sandwich. “My dad used to make them for me when I was a kid. We'd sit on the porch, eat our deviled ham, and talk about baseball.”
Neal scoffed as he made his way back into the room. “What part of that made you think of me?”
Peter sighed and shrugged. “You like to sit out on the terrace.”
Glancing at the french doors, Neal sat on the far side of the dining table. He looked troubled when he turned back to his friends, but he changed the subject quickly. “Thanks, Peter, but I don't think deviled ham is for me.”
“Neal, this isn't healthy. You need to talk to someone about this and you-”
Holding up his hand, Neal motioned for Peter to stop talking. “If you would have just asked, I would have told you that I've been having sessions with Dr. Wilson all week.”
Peter looked at Diana, who confirmed with a nod. She'd had her own appointments with her own doctor just down the hall from Neal's psychiatrist.
Neal sighed and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “I'm not lying to you. I wouldn't do that. We're... working on it. For now, can I please go back to my weekend?”
“All right,” Peter replied, heading for the door. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Just go and have a good afternoon with Elizabeth. Diana and I will be fine.”
Diana opened the door for Peter and patted him on the shoulder. “He's right, Boss. We're good.”
-------
A couple of hours later, Neal was showered, dressed, and painting something in dark swirls of blue and black. Diana alternated between watching TV and fretting over Neal's subject matter. There was another knock at the door; this time it was Jones, who was carrying a large, steaming pan with two potholders. The pan was covered in foil, and he set it down and revealed the mac and cheese with an uncharacteristic flourish and a proud grin.
“This is my mother's recipe,” he said, while dishing out healthy portion sizes for Neal, Diana and himself. “And her mother's before that, and her mother's before that. I'm the first Bailey man to learn the secret ingredient.”
Diana chuckled and Neal smiled at that. “It looks delicious,” Diana said, for both of them.
“Don't try guessing it either; you'll never get it.” Jones teased gently and kept up a light conversation while they ate. He'd recently rescued a puppy from a local animal shelter that was systematically destroying his apartment and gave him no shortage of cute stories to share.
Neal managed about a fourth of his helping before he started picking at the remaining noodles and gooey cheese. He pushed it around the plate as he considered telling Jones that he'd solved the mystery.
“Neal? You finished?” Diana had already picked up his plate, knowing the answer.
He looked over at Jones and could see the concern even through the smile plastered on his friend's face. “Thanks, Jones. Tell your Mom that it was great and that her secret's safe with me.”
Jones didn't look surprised. “Ah, so you think you've figured it out?”
Neal leaned forward, stage-whispering across the table. “Smoked paprika?”
Jones grinned, but wouldn't confirm or deny Neal's speculation.
------
Around four, Neal had come to a stopping point with his painting, and Diana was napping on his bed, having spent most of the night corralling him and soothing his nightmares away while avoiding her own. He had just started in on his second glass of wine when his door knob jiggled and then twisted. The door opened to reveal Mozzie, one-handedly balancing a tray loaded with crust-less sandwich triangles and an old-fashioned glass bottle of milk.
“A little help, please,” Mozzie said, when he saw Neal standing by the dining table.
“Shhh. Diana's sleeping,” he pointed to the bed while he set down his wine glass and took the tray from his oldest friend. “Did June put you up to this?”
Mozzie pitched his voice lower now that he knew they weren't alone. “No, but she insisted on the milk, and she helped choose the peanut butters. Half are crunchy, half aren't.”
Neal raised an eyebrow.
“It's been more than ten years. Your eating habits at eighteen didn't really have a pattern or even make any logical sense.”
“That's okay.” He set the tray down on the table and poked at one of the triangles. “Grape jelly?”
Mozzie was appalled that he'd even ask. “Of course. It's the best.”
Well aware that he was being watched, Neal picked up a triangle and took a bite. Chewing slowly, he wandered away from the table toward the terrace doors. It was a nice day outside; the sun was shining, and there was a gentle breeze buffeting the pages of a book that Diana had left open outside on the table.
“So,” Mozzie said, sidling up next to him, glass of red now in hand, “I have this problem-”
“They say the first step is admitting you have one.”
“Who's they?”
Neal shrugged. “People.”
“Right. Well, this isn't that kind of problem.” He deliberately took a drink of his wine.
Frowning, Neal backed away. “Not right now, Moz. Please.”
“Okay,” Mozzie replied as he moved back to the table and started setting up a chess board beside the plate of PB&J. With any luck, Neal would nibble on the food while they played a game.
-------
By half past six, Mozzie had admitted defeat and left with one of Neal's best Merlots as a consolation prize. Diana was out on the terrace, talking to Christie on her cell, while Neal attempted to concentrate on a book he'd grabbed randomly off the shelf behind him. As sleep-deprived and distracted as he was, he hadn't been able to make it through the first page.
Yet another knock on the door startled him. “Who is it?” he called, standing and dropping the book on the coffee table. He knew his friends meant well, but he was getting tired of his apartment being Grand Central Terminal all of the sudden.
“Elizabeth,” a familiar, friendly voice responded.
He opened the door for her, and she bustled past him with two reusable cloth grocery bags that were nearly overflowing. “Um, hey Elizabeth.” He glanced back in the hallway, expecting Peter to be following her with even more bags, but there was no one there. “I thought you and Peter had plans.”
“Oh, the movies? That was this afternoon.” She started pulling things out of the bags and setting them out on his dining table. “Do you have a big pot? I knew I was forgetting something.”
He pointed to the lower cabinets to the left of the sink. “What's going on? Where's Peter?”
“He and Satchmo are at poker night.” She looked up at him with an astute smile. “You and me - we're going to make dinner. I'm modifying this chicken noodle soup recipe I discovered the first year that Peter and I were married. It usually takes all day, but I wanted to do it together, so I bought the chicken cooked and some chicken stock to make up for what I didn't already have in the freezer from last time.”
Within five minutes, Neal somehow found himself standing at the counter, chopping carrots, celery, and onion. He had watched Elizabeth move around the kitchen while she explained the recipe and cheerfully recounted the first time she'd made it when Peter had a terrible case of the flu. He hadn't had much of an appetite until he'd stuffed himself with so much soup that she was sure he was going to spring a leak.
By the time he was done with the vegetables, Elizabeth had the chicken stock and some herbs cooking in the big pot, and the apartment was starting to smell wonderful. He munched on the excess carrot morsels while she sauteed the vegetables in his one and only skillet.
“How's Diana doing?” she asked, cutting her eyes to the terrace where Diana was pacing while she talked to Christie.
His gaze dropped, and he fidgeted with the box of pasta noodles on the counter. “She's okay. Not sleeping well, but that's partly my fault.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together for a moment and blinked sympathetic tears out of her eyes. “Peter and I are here, if you need to talk or you need anything else. Anything at all. You know that, right?”
He nodded and took a step back, distancing himself from her under the guise of getting something to drink. “I know, and I appreciate that, Elizabeth.”
She smiled a sad, gentle smile before turning back to the vegetables, which she declared done and spooned into the pot. “When it starts boiling, would you add the noodles? I'm going to shred the chicken.”
Neal agreed and stood by the stove, keeping one eye on the pot and one on Elizabeth as she expertly worked the chicken breast. He couldn't stop himself from snacking more on the extra pieces of carrots and celery that she hadn't been able to fit in the skillet. The soup smelled amazing, and he was surprised when his stomach started to growl.
A few minutes later, Diana stepped inside and smiled at the two of them. Neal was dropping the pasta into the pot as Elizabeth hurried over to adjust the temperature on the stove. The cooks almost collided when he turned to toss the empty pasta box into the trash, and she reached for a stirring spoon.
“Hey, Elizabeth,” she greeted. “What smells so good?”
It was Neal who spoke up. “We're making chicken noodle soup.” He shot her a sly smile as he snuck a spoonful while Elizabeth turned her back to grab the shredded chicken. Diana chuckled at him and Elizabeth's failed attempt at her disapproving look when she caught him.
(End Scene - TBC)
Part 7: Month 9
Thank you for reading!
Original prompt at collarkink here: For some reason, Diana and Neal are kidnapped. For many weeks or months, they remain in captivity, isolated from the rest of the world. They go through a very deep trauma - brutal physical or mental torture, possibly both. The captivity creates a very strong bond between them. After they escape or are rescued, they still need each other. They often hug and touch; sometimes they hold hands, sometimes they lean together on a bench outside, maybe one strokes each other’s hair. They’re also very protective of each other; however, there is absolutely nothing sexual about their relationship.
I would really love to see even a small piece of this.
Also posted at AO3
Note 2: This chapter also fills the "Comfort Food" square on my 10_hurt_comfort DIY Prompt Table