Fowler Intentions (Handcuffs Series)

[jet44]

Author: Jet44
Genres: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Humor, Friendship, Gen
Relationships: Peter and Neal bromance, canon pairings
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Collection of one-shots, each based on a time Neal has been handcuffed (usually by Peter). Less kinky than it sounds, these aren't slash - although if you ship the two I'm sure you'll enjoy them ;). Lots of hurt/comfort/angst/adorableness.
# Clickable Series Index with Summaries #
NEAL

Whatever he'd expected today, it hadn't been for Fowler to walk in and arrest him.


When Peter took responsibility for it instead and hauled Neal out of his seat, he knew he was being given a chance. A tiny, tenuous chance. Neal gulped, and hoped his trepidation wasn't visible to Peter as he tried, desperately, to use any seconds he might have to convince his handler of his innocence.

He held his wrists together to be cuffed, and Peter did it as a matter of routine, and it wasn't until they were on that it felt like he'd been punched in the gut. If he was one to whimper, he'd have done it then.

Peter's expression was stern, interrogating, but he caught the almost-hidden, split-second waver in Neal's pleading gaze when the cuffs went on. When Peter grabbed his jacket and draped it over his wrists to make the march through the FBI office a little less humiliating, Neal knew he was walking beside a friend.

It felt like walking beside a friend to the gallows.

He was used to being guilty when arrested. Not a little guilty, but running out of room on the charge sheet guilty. The concept of playing by the rules, giving this "being on the right side of the law" routine a sincere chance, and yet winding up in prison framed for theft sobered him.

He didn't get a chance to talk to Peter alone or do anything but show a blank face and keep his mouth shut until he was in the booking room at the jail, about to be handed over.

"Let me have your ankle." Peter's order was crisp and impersonal.

Neal put his foot up on a plastic chair, and Peter removed the anklet while Neal tried not to show how much the simple act hurt. He didn't want the thing off, not now.

"You can leave it on," Neal suggested. "You know, in case someone tries to claim I stole the Hope Diamond while I was in my cell."

"Not now, Neal." Cold. Humorless. Treating Neal like a suspect. A suspect he didn't like at all.

Neal was trying not to tremble. The panic when he'd learned he wasn't going to a Federal white collar prison, but to Sing Sing Penitentiary, was never going to leave a certain place in his heart.

Not because the prison had been that bad. In reality, it hadn't. But because it'd shown him the terrifying ease with which the criminal justice system could leave him shattered.

Peter had been there at his sentencing, had seen his panic and followed him back to the holding cell. Held his shoulders while he hyperventilated and tried not to throw up. When he could actually hear again, talked to him in a gentle voice, reassured him, told him he was a phone call away if Neal needed help. Refused to leave until Neal truly believed that he was going to be okay.

The guy he was being handed over to removed Peter's handcuffs and tossed them back to the agent, and Peter turned away to leave without a word.

The guard threw Neal off-balance, wrenched his arms behind his back, cuffed him, and let his upper body fall forward, kicking the insides of his ankles lightly to get him to spread his legs.

It wasn't as harsh as it looked, and after you'd been through it enough times, not particularly stressful. It was just a technique to keep violent and cagey people off-balance and shaken. Not a lot of fun if you had no intention of hurting the guy doing it to you, but not really abusive either.

But the absolute opposite of Peter's respectful treatment. Even though he was pissed-off and feeling betrayed, Peter had done nothing but touch him gently when he needed to and give plain, clear orders.

Neal struggled to brace his head and upper body against the wall while he was searched. With his arms locked behind his back, it was difficult, and he wished fiercely that he'd ignored his damn pride and talked to Peter when he'd had the chance, company or no company.

PETER

It hit Peter in the gut, too. Not the actual cuffing him, but seeing that flash of fear and pain. Neal Caffrey was nothing if not complex, and part of that complexity was a sensitive nature not well concealed in a shell as resilient as rubber.

That scared, hurt waver hadn't been there the first time he'd arrested Neal. Hadn't been there the second time he'd arrested Neal.

Regret, sure. Not so grudging admiration, sure. Depression, sure. Nobody liked to be caught, but Caffrey took it better than most, with straightforward grace and humor.

Fear. Pain. Desperate, pleading denial. Easy to write off from a con man, except that Neal had never done that. Accusing him got you a sly grin, a twinkle in his eye, and a playful toss of the head as he said, "Allegedly."

If Neal actually was innocent, this could be one of the worst things anyone could do to him. If he was innocent, he'd been sincerely trying.

And he'd just been thrown up against the wall in cuffs for it. Peter gritted his teeth against the flash of anger he was tempted to unleash against the officer searching Neal. It wasn't painful, wasn't excessive force, just hard to watch when it was a friend. A friend who didn't deserve to be manhandled without so much as being given an order and a chance to cooperate.

A friend who might well not have deserved to be arrested in the first place.

NEAL

The official finished and pulled Neal back upright, turning him around. Neal's breath caught. Peter was still there, looking grim and hard.

"He's not violent," said Peter, focusing that hard look at the man holding Neal's elbow. Seems it might have distressed him to watch Neal being shoved around.

"This is my CI. I know him. He's an escape risk, and a con artist, but he is not a bad guy or a dangerous one. He may even be innocent. I need you to take good care of him for me."

The grip on Neal's elbow loosened, and Neal struggled to keep the wash of emotion and gratitude and love off his face. He got the idea he didn't manage too well.

"You got it, Agent Burke."

Peter stepped forward and hooked his hand around the elbow the guard wasn't holding. Tugged him lightly forward and across the room to a more private corner. The agent's face was if anything harder than before.

"I didn't do this," said Neal. He'd said it before and he would keep saying it, because it was the most important message in the world to get across.

"I'm listening to evidence. Not you. Evidence."

The agent's voice was tight, his body rigid, jaw set. Peter was hurting, and for the first time it occurred to Neal to be touched instead of scared. If all this upset him so much, it could only be because their friendship meant a great deal to Peter as well. I didn't do it wasn't the most important message to convey.

"Peter."

Peter looked him in the eyes. Neal held the gaze as intensely as he possibly could. It was con artist territory, but he didn't know any other way to show his sincerity. "I didn't betray you. I'll never betray you."

And that was going to be a hard promise to live up to. Irredeemable if broken. He modified it, reluctantly. "I'll try not to betray you. With all I've got, I'll try."

Peter's gaze softened. "You've got no idea how much I want to believe that."

Peter pulled Neal forward and wrapped his arms around him in a hug. Neal stood ramrod straight, frozen. He was a felon, a veteran of the prison system, being checked into jail. He could handle it, he didn't need to be coddled.

But dear God, did he want to be.

He let his head fall forward against Peter's chest. Let himself be hugged and comforted before he walked into an uncaring and harsh environment, his life no longer his own.

Peter patted him gently on the back. Gave each of his cuffed hands a reassuring squeeze, slipped a finger under each of the metal restraints to make sure they hadn't been applied too tightly, then just held him.

"It's okay for it to hurt," Peter said softly into his ear. "Just don't be afraid."

Footsteps approached and Neal pulled away, gritting his teeth.

"Agent." The voice was pleasant. It wasn't a surprise, the guards in these places could be quite friendly with the right approach. Be nice to them, don't hate them for existing, don't countermand their inbred entitlement to push you around, and have a sense of humor. How most criminals found that so genetically impossible, he didn't know.

"I'm sorry if you thought we were too rough on your CI."

Neal tried not to flinch. Being a baby about procedure was decidedly not how you made friends in jail.

"I didn't," said Peter bluntly.

Thank God. He should stop forgetting that Peter was smart.

"Cafferty, do you feel like you were mistreated?"

Neal looked at the guy. A Sergeant. Probably called in by the man who'd searched him, after Peter snatched Neal from the guy's clutches. Pleasant face to go with the voice.

"Not at all. I've been through this before," Neal answered. "I'm just - saying goodbye to a friend."

There was understanding on the Sergeant's face. Compassion even. "Ready to go back, son?"

"Yes, sir," said Neal quietly. He brought his gaze back to Peter. "I am now."