White Collar - Out on a Ledge
Title: Out on a Ledge
Rating: PG
Characters: Neal, Peter
Warnings: None
Summary: "What was that saying? A friend will bail you out of jail. A best friend will be sitting in the cell next to you."
Out on a Ledge
Neal hadn't been caught in bed with any princess, but it had become one of those stories where he was more than happy to let people - Keller especially - think what they wanted. Not for the prestige of having scored with royalty, but because the truth was humiliating.
The princess hadn't been Neal's type - at all. Take Paris Hilton with a voice like that woman from The Nanny, toss in a dash of low inhibitions reaching zero when drunk, and you had a recipe for must escape now, even if it meant crawling out onto a ledge buck naked, with only a tray between him and what was left of his dignity.
He'd been taking a shower - a damn shower in a stranger's pricey fortress of a palace - thanks to his body having a head-on collision with a tray of clams in juice, and heaven forbid that his lordship permit his guests to go around smelling of sea food.
Princess saw an opportunity and took it. Neal, with soap in his eyes and knowing full well how over-the-top protective daddy was of his darling “can do no wrong” daughter (and with his thoughts focused like a laser on Kate and only Kate) ran. And so he ended up buck naked on a ledge with a tea tray. It had told Neal so much about Keller that Keller's first thought had been interrupted sex.
But Keller had gotten him down. He had taken his sweet time about it, distracting the guys shooting at Neal, finding a ladder, then taking a moment to tease the hell out of Neal, but he had gotten Neal down.
Which was difficult to translate in terms of Keller. Maybe Keller really had liked Neal enough to save him, or maybe he had still needed him, or maybe, in a moment of weakness, had pitied the poor, naïve kid who couldn't keep it in his pants at the worst possible time. After the end of that particular con, Keller had shot the third member of their party in the head. A head that could have easily been Neal's.
But there was no Keller now. Still, Neal thought it safe to say that he had come full circle, and that history liked to repeat itself because it had a wicked sense of humor. There Neal was, out on a ledge, with only a pair of boxers between him and his dignity. There had been no frisky princess looking to feel him up this time. There had been a quick change of clothes with the intent of going from waiter with easy access to the party as part of the staff, to well-groomed guest hobnobbing among the rich, dangerous and criminal connected. Then the moment he was down to his skivvies, Murphy's Law decided to rear its ironic head.
And there was no Keller to get him down. There was, however, an indent in the wall - a deep niche - making space for a rather weathered but still nice statue of an angel Neal had somehow (skill, luck or the good sense to stay trim, fit and ambidextrous) managed to squeeze behind and crouch down for cover, with more than enough room to spare to huddle. Problem was, the only other window within reach was around the corner. To get to it he would have to stand up, squeeze back around the statue and shuffle his barefoot way across the ledge. To do that would expose him to bullets. Lots and lots of bullets.
Oh, and it was friggin' cold outside, being night and early spring and all. Neal swore he had only been out on this ledge for four minutes and already his body was locking up, wracked with painful shivering. He blamed it on the stone wall digging into his spine, the cold of it soaking into his skin faster than the cutting wind. Cold at his front, cold at his back, cold climbing up his feet into his legs; the bad guys were wasting their bullets, because two more minutes and Neal was going to be a human Popsicle.
“S-s-so a ladder m-m-might be nice any time soon, g-guys,” Neal told the cheap gold watch still on his wrist, the only other clothing besides the boxers. “A v-very t-tall ladder. Or m-maybe one of those inflatable things they s-set up f-f-for people about to jump, 'c-cause I don't think I c-c-can move.”
There was no response since it was a one-way comm. But one way or not, it was still a lifeline, and one Neal would continue to spill endless amounts of diatribe into until a flesh and blood lifeline finally showed up. There was no Keller, but there was Peter, and one thing you could always count on was Peter never leaving a man behind. You could set your watch by his tenacity. Neal figured the only reason he hadn't come sooner was because he and the team were piecing together a plan to get Neal down. So Neal continued offering suggestions.
“I m-m-might be ab-ble to g-get a harness on. If you w-w-wanted to c-come from above. B-but you n-n-need to do it n-now damn it it's cold!”
“Neal!”
Tight as every muscle in Neal's body was, some of those muscles still managed to find enough leeway to make him jump. He wedged himself deeper into the statues niche, wondering how the bad guys had found out his name. His heart was beating so fast it was making him dizzy, or maybe that was his blood turning to slush in the cold.
Or maybe he was hallucinating.
Peter was wriggling his way past the statue, inching his painful way toward Neal.
Definitely an hallucination.
“Neal!” Peter shouted.
Except it sure as hell didn't sound like a hallucination.
Then Peter was crouched awkwardly next to him, the space tight forcing them to press together, Peter's lukewarm hand on Neal's bare shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Not a hallucination, then. It was Peter, in the flesh, out on a ledge with Neal. Okay, not so much the ledge as the niche with a statue between them and the open, and even the ledge itself was comfortably wide as ledges went. But, still, that was a lot of air between them and the ground.
“P-P-eter, What the h-hell are you d-d-doing here?” Neal wanted to yell through his chattering teeth, but the cold had tightened the muscles in his throat. He was lucky he could still talk.
“Long story!” Peter shouted above the renewed pop of gunfire. Peter ducked, straightened as much as he could - which wasn't much at all - leaned over the vertically challenged statue's head and returned fire as if making a statement: I may be hunkering down behind a statue, but I'm still a force to be reckoned with.
“I th-think we h-have t-time,” Neal said.
“Not really.” Peter popped back up and fired a few more bullets. “Short version, we were made, I came to find you, bad stuff happened and here I am. But we need to move, now, while the way I came is still clear. You go first and I'll cover you.”
“C-can't,” Neal choked out, his body going so tight he thought it might snap. There followed the rustle of cloth, then something warm settling across Neal's shoulders. He recognized the slick inner lining of Peter's jacket, wonderfully warm against his back. Neal blinked up lethargically at the determined look on Peter's face.
“Yes, you can. I'll make sure of it. On three. One... two...” Peter, one hand gripping Neal's bicep, popped up like a Jack-in-the-Box unleashing a hail of return gunfire as he hauled Neal up. The squeeze around the statue verged on painful. The explosion of the guns like miniature bombs in Neal's ears. The distance between their hiding spot and the corner wasn't far but their shuffle was endless, Neal fighting the dangerous fight of keeping low while maintaining his balance. But Peter's warm hand clasped on his arm like an anchor helped, and Neal started the arduous turn around the corner.
He flinched back around in time to avoid the bullet that pinged harmlessly off the wall.
“Peter, it's not clear anymore, it's not clear!” Neal shouted, both shuffling and pushing Peter back the way they had come.
“Oh, that's just great!” Peter growled over the return fire. Then they were back in the niche, sacrificing copious amounts of personal space, which Neal was far from minding. The bullets couldn't reach them, the wind wasn't as cruel with a statue blocking a fraction of it, and Peter was warm.
“B-b-back up?” Neal said.
“They're a little busy. These people are not giving up without a fight. Looks like we're in for a wait.” Peter activated the comm in his ear to determine how long a wait. He rolled his eyes. “Preferably a short wait but I can't promise anything.”
Neal chuffed.
“What? What's so funny? That we have to wait?” Peter demanded.
Neal shook his head. “Y-you're always getting after me for pulling s-stunts like this.”
“Like what?”
Neal waved a trembling hand, encompassing their surroundings and situation.
“You u-usually d-don't end up on the ledge, either,” he said.
“Yeah, well... you're a bad influence like that.”
“You didn't have to c-come out h-here.”
Peter sighed wearily while remaining hyper vigilant. “Yeah, I did. Your exit onto the ledge is heavily occupied and I couldn't see you to wave you in from the window I'd climbed out of.” Hiding and no longer making any escape attempts, the gunfire has ceased, but in no way did that mean they were in the clear.
“C-c-could've subdued b-bad guys, first. N-n-not my first t-time getting stuck on a l-l-ledge.”
“How about getting stuck on a ledge in your underwear?”
Neal smiled. “H-had worse.”
Peter snorted. “Of course. This is you we're talking about. I doubt a ledge is the most interesting place you've been stuck. In fact, I'm thinking that rumor about you hiding in someone's luggage might not be a rumor.”
Neal shrugged a shaking shoulder. Escape routes were a dime a dozen, sometimes, and that meant taking what you could get, but like he was going to say that out loud, to an FBI agent, even one who had risked his own neck to climb out and get him.
Which, thinking about it, sent a sudden surge of temporary warmth through Neal's chest, followed immediately by frigid guilt. Peter had come for him, on a ledge, in the cold and the wind. If anything happened to him because of it...
“You sh-sh-shouldn't have c-come,” Neal said seriously.
“Too late. What's done is done. What can I say?” Now Peter was the one shrugging. “I'm impatient. I prefer getting my people to safety then subduing the bad guys if possible.”
“Even if it m-m-means crawling out on a l-ledge,” Neal stated.
Peter peered over the statue's head only to duck quickly back. Two bullets pinged off the wall. “Oh, I'm sure you would have done the same for me.”
“In a heartbeat,” Neal said, and it was true. “B-but it was s-still reckless.”
Peter shot him an annoyed look.
Neal graced him with a beatific smile. “H-hey. N-n-not often I g-get to b-b-be the one to scold-d-d.” He gritted his teeth against the cold that really was like a knife. He was barely aware of Peter's arm joining the jacket on his shoulders, and Peter's side warm against his ribs.
“Chew me out once we're both off this ledge, alive.”
“Peter!” said the wonderfully familiar voice of Jones.
Peter exhaled sharply. “About damn time. Come on, Neal. Get off this ledge and I'll let you chew me out to your heart's content.
Peter kept hold of Neal as they squeezed through the statue then shuffled around the corner to the window only two feet or so away from the turn. With Jones' help, they crawled through the window into the blessed warmth of a lush apartment bathroom.
“I was just calling in a ladder for you guys,” Jones said.
“Hey, we crawled out that far. No sense in quitting, now,” Peter said.
Neal would have snorted if his body wasn't so locked up. Peter eased him to the floor and proceeded to wrap him in soft, fluffy towels. Jones did one better with a big, fluffy duvet from the bedroom. He assured Peter that everything was under control, back up had arrived, Diana was coordinating, the bad guys were in cuffs and the paramedics should be up at any minute.
Neal was content to wait for them. Even if he'd been able to move, he had no desire to. The floor was warm, the blanket was warm, he was off that stupid ledge and Peter wasn't cracking jokes about literally getting caught with your pants down.
Keller had waited for the thugs to clear out before getting Neal down. Peter had climbed out on the ledge with him. What was that saying? A friend will bail you out of jail. A best friend will be sitting in the cell next to you.
It made Neal feel good, safe, comfortable, and it was a little overwhelming, knowing just how much Peter had his back. Keller wouldn't have crawled out onto the ledge. Peter had.
“You know,” Peter said, settling on the floor next to Neal. “This kind of reminds me of this story I heard. About a naked guy on the ledge of a palace because he'd slept with some princess.” He looked pointedly at Neal.
Neal looked at him in feigned surprise. “Yeah, I heard that one, too. Good story.”
“Neal.”
“I heard he used the bedsheets as a parachute to get away.”
“Oh, come on. It's not like sleeping with a princess is illegal. I'll even put my badge down if it'll make you feel better.”
Neal feigned wistfulness. “He's probably still out there, the bane of kings with promiscuous daughters everywhere.”
“Hey, I got out on that ledge with you.”
“Yes, and that was completely reckless of you, remember?”
“Neal--”
“And thank you for it,” Neal said soberly.
Peter sighed, and smiled. “Any time. Although I would appreciate it if it wasn't on a ledge. Except... well... it is you.”
“Yeah,” Neal chuffed, squirming deeper into his cocoon of blessed warmth. “Maybe next time I'll get to keep my clothes on.”
Peter chuckled while Jones ushered in the paramedics.
The End
Rating: PG
Characters: Neal, Peter
Warnings: None
Summary: "What was that saying? A friend will bail you out of jail. A best friend will be sitting in the cell next to you."
Out on a Ledge
Neal hadn't been caught in bed with any princess, but it had become one of those stories where he was more than happy to let people - Keller especially - think what they wanted. Not for the prestige of having scored with royalty, but because the truth was humiliating.
The princess hadn't been Neal's type - at all. Take Paris Hilton with a voice like that woman from The Nanny, toss in a dash of low inhibitions reaching zero when drunk, and you had a recipe for must escape now, even if it meant crawling out onto a ledge buck naked, with only a tray between him and what was left of his dignity.
He'd been taking a shower - a damn shower in a stranger's pricey fortress of a palace - thanks to his body having a head-on collision with a tray of clams in juice, and heaven forbid that his lordship permit his guests to go around smelling of sea food.
Princess saw an opportunity and took it. Neal, with soap in his eyes and knowing full well how over-the-top protective daddy was of his darling “can do no wrong” daughter (and with his thoughts focused like a laser on Kate and only Kate) ran. And so he ended up buck naked on a ledge with a tea tray. It had told Neal so much about Keller that Keller's first thought had been interrupted sex.
But Keller had gotten him down. He had taken his sweet time about it, distracting the guys shooting at Neal, finding a ladder, then taking a moment to tease the hell out of Neal, but he had gotten Neal down.
Which was difficult to translate in terms of Keller. Maybe Keller really had liked Neal enough to save him, or maybe he had still needed him, or maybe, in a moment of weakness, had pitied the poor, naïve kid who couldn't keep it in his pants at the worst possible time. After the end of that particular con, Keller had shot the third member of their party in the head. A head that could have easily been Neal's.
But there was no Keller now. Still, Neal thought it safe to say that he had come full circle, and that history liked to repeat itself because it had a wicked sense of humor. There Neal was, out on a ledge, with only a pair of boxers between him and his dignity. There had been no frisky princess looking to feel him up this time. There had been a quick change of clothes with the intent of going from waiter with easy access to the party as part of the staff, to well-groomed guest hobnobbing among the rich, dangerous and criminal connected. Then the moment he was down to his skivvies, Murphy's Law decided to rear its ironic head.
And there was no Keller to get him down. There was, however, an indent in the wall - a deep niche - making space for a rather weathered but still nice statue of an angel Neal had somehow (skill, luck or the good sense to stay trim, fit and ambidextrous) managed to squeeze behind and crouch down for cover, with more than enough room to spare to huddle. Problem was, the only other window within reach was around the corner. To get to it he would have to stand up, squeeze back around the statue and shuffle his barefoot way across the ledge. To do that would expose him to bullets. Lots and lots of bullets.
Oh, and it was friggin' cold outside, being night and early spring and all. Neal swore he had only been out on this ledge for four minutes and already his body was locking up, wracked with painful shivering. He blamed it on the stone wall digging into his spine, the cold of it soaking into his skin faster than the cutting wind. Cold at his front, cold at his back, cold climbing up his feet into his legs; the bad guys were wasting their bullets, because two more minutes and Neal was going to be a human Popsicle.
“S-s-so a ladder m-m-might be nice any time soon, g-guys,” Neal told the cheap gold watch still on his wrist, the only other clothing besides the boxers. “A v-very t-tall ladder. Or m-maybe one of those inflatable things they s-set up f-f-for people about to jump, 'c-cause I don't think I c-c-can move.”
There was no response since it was a one-way comm. But one way or not, it was still a lifeline, and one Neal would continue to spill endless amounts of diatribe into until a flesh and blood lifeline finally showed up. There was no Keller, but there was Peter, and one thing you could always count on was Peter never leaving a man behind. You could set your watch by his tenacity. Neal figured the only reason he hadn't come sooner was because he and the team were piecing together a plan to get Neal down. So Neal continued offering suggestions.
“I m-m-might be ab-ble to g-get a harness on. If you w-w-wanted to c-come from above. B-but you n-n-need to do it n-now damn it it's cold!”
“Neal!”
Tight as every muscle in Neal's body was, some of those muscles still managed to find enough leeway to make him jump. He wedged himself deeper into the statues niche, wondering how the bad guys had found out his name. His heart was beating so fast it was making him dizzy, or maybe that was his blood turning to slush in the cold.
Or maybe he was hallucinating.
Peter was wriggling his way past the statue, inching his painful way toward Neal.
Definitely an hallucination.
“Neal!” Peter shouted.
Except it sure as hell didn't sound like a hallucination.
Then Peter was crouched awkwardly next to him, the space tight forcing them to press together, Peter's lukewarm hand on Neal's bare shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Not a hallucination, then. It was Peter, in the flesh, out on a ledge with Neal. Okay, not so much the ledge as the niche with a statue between them and the open, and even the ledge itself was comfortably wide as ledges went. But, still, that was a lot of air between them and the ground.
“P-P-eter, What the h-hell are you d-d-doing here?” Neal wanted to yell through his chattering teeth, but the cold had tightened the muscles in his throat. He was lucky he could still talk.
“Long story!” Peter shouted above the renewed pop of gunfire. Peter ducked, straightened as much as he could - which wasn't much at all - leaned over the vertically challenged statue's head and returned fire as if making a statement: I may be hunkering down behind a statue, but I'm still a force to be reckoned with.
“I th-think we h-have t-time,” Neal said.
“Not really.” Peter popped back up and fired a few more bullets. “Short version, we were made, I came to find you, bad stuff happened and here I am. But we need to move, now, while the way I came is still clear. You go first and I'll cover you.”
“C-can't,” Neal choked out, his body going so tight he thought it might snap. There followed the rustle of cloth, then something warm settling across Neal's shoulders. He recognized the slick inner lining of Peter's jacket, wonderfully warm against his back. Neal blinked up lethargically at the determined look on Peter's face.
“Yes, you can. I'll make sure of it. On three. One... two...” Peter, one hand gripping Neal's bicep, popped up like a Jack-in-the-Box unleashing a hail of return gunfire as he hauled Neal up. The squeeze around the statue verged on painful. The explosion of the guns like miniature bombs in Neal's ears. The distance between their hiding spot and the corner wasn't far but their shuffle was endless, Neal fighting the dangerous fight of keeping low while maintaining his balance. But Peter's warm hand clasped on his arm like an anchor helped, and Neal started the arduous turn around the corner.
He flinched back around in time to avoid the bullet that pinged harmlessly off the wall.
“Peter, it's not clear anymore, it's not clear!” Neal shouted, both shuffling and pushing Peter back the way they had come.
“Oh, that's just great!” Peter growled over the return fire. Then they were back in the niche, sacrificing copious amounts of personal space, which Neal was far from minding. The bullets couldn't reach them, the wind wasn't as cruel with a statue blocking a fraction of it, and Peter was warm.
“B-b-back up?” Neal said.
“They're a little busy. These people are not giving up without a fight. Looks like we're in for a wait.” Peter activated the comm in his ear to determine how long a wait. He rolled his eyes. “Preferably a short wait but I can't promise anything.”
Neal chuffed.
“What? What's so funny? That we have to wait?” Peter demanded.
Neal shook his head. “Y-you're always getting after me for pulling s-stunts like this.”
“Like what?”
Neal waved a trembling hand, encompassing their surroundings and situation.
“You u-usually d-don't end up on the ledge, either,” he said.
“Yeah, well... you're a bad influence like that.”
“You didn't have to c-come out h-here.”
Peter sighed wearily while remaining hyper vigilant. “Yeah, I did. Your exit onto the ledge is heavily occupied and I couldn't see you to wave you in from the window I'd climbed out of.” Hiding and no longer making any escape attempts, the gunfire has ceased, but in no way did that mean they were in the clear.
“C-c-could've subdued b-bad guys, first. N-n-not my first t-time getting stuck on a l-l-ledge.”
“How about getting stuck on a ledge in your underwear?”
Neal smiled. “H-had worse.”
Peter snorted. “Of course. This is you we're talking about. I doubt a ledge is the most interesting place you've been stuck. In fact, I'm thinking that rumor about you hiding in someone's luggage might not be a rumor.”
Neal shrugged a shaking shoulder. Escape routes were a dime a dozen, sometimes, and that meant taking what you could get, but like he was going to say that out loud, to an FBI agent, even one who had risked his own neck to climb out and get him.
Which, thinking about it, sent a sudden surge of temporary warmth through Neal's chest, followed immediately by frigid guilt. Peter had come for him, on a ledge, in the cold and the wind. If anything happened to him because of it...
“You sh-sh-shouldn't have c-come,” Neal said seriously.
“Too late. What's done is done. What can I say?” Now Peter was the one shrugging. “I'm impatient. I prefer getting my people to safety then subduing the bad guys if possible.”
“Even if it m-m-means crawling out on a l-ledge,” Neal stated.
Peter peered over the statue's head only to duck quickly back. Two bullets pinged off the wall. “Oh, I'm sure you would have done the same for me.”
“In a heartbeat,” Neal said, and it was true. “B-but it was s-still reckless.”
Peter shot him an annoyed look.
Neal graced him with a beatific smile. “H-hey. N-n-not often I g-get to b-b-be the one to scold-d-d.” He gritted his teeth against the cold that really was like a knife. He was barely aware of Peter's arm joining the jacket on his shoulders, and Peter's side warm against his ribs.
“Chew me out once we're both off this ledge, alive.”
“Peter!” said the wonderfully familiar voice of Jones.
Peter exhaled sharply. “About damn time. Come on, Neal. Get off this ledge and I'll let you chew me out to your heart's content.
Peter kept hold of Neal as they squeezed through the statue then shuffled around the corner to the window only two feet or so away from the turn. With Jones' help, they crawled through the window into the blessed warmth of a lush apartment bathroom.
“I was just calling in a ladder for you guys,” Jones said.
“Hey, we crawled out that far. No sense in quitting, now,” Peter said.
Neal would have snorted if his body wasn't so locked up. Peter eased him to the floor and proceeded to wrap him in soft, fluffy towels. Jones did one better with a big, fluffy duvet from the bedroom. He assured Peter that everything was under control, back up had arrived, Diana was coordinating, the bad guys were in cuffs and the paramedics should be up at any minute.
Neal was content to wait for them. Even if he'd been able to move, he had no desire to. The floor was warm, the blanket was warm, he was off that stupid ledge and Peter wasn't cracking jokes about literally getting caught with your pants down.
Keller had waited for the thugs to clear out before getting Neal down. Peter had climbed out on the ledge with him. What was that saying? A friend will bail you out of jail. A best friend will be sitting in the cell next to you.
It made Neal feel good, safe, comfortable, and it was a little overwhelming, knowing just how much Peter had his back. Keller wouldn't have crawled out onto the ledge. Peter had.
“You know,” Peter said, settling on the floor next to Neal. “This kind of reminds me of this story I heard. About a naked guy on the ledge of a palace because he'd slept with some princess.” He looked pointedly at Neal.
Neal looked at him in feigned surprise. “Yeah, I heard that one, too. Good story.”
“Neal.”
“I heard he used the bedsheets as a parachute to get away.”
“Oh, come on. It's not like sleeping with a princess is illegal. I'll even put my badge down if it'll make you feel better.”
Neal feigned wistfulness. “He's probably still out there, the bane of kings with promiscuous daughters everywhere.”
“Hey, I got out on that ledge with you.”
“Yes, and that was completely reckless of you, remember?”
“Neal--”
“And thank you for it,” Neal said soberly.
Peter sighed, and smiled. “Any time. Although I would appreciate it if it wasn't on a ledge. Except... well... it is you.”
“Yeah,” Neal chuffed, squirming deeper into his cocoon of blessed warmth. “Maybe next time I'll get to keep my clothes on.”
Peter chuckled while Jones ushered in the paramedics.
The End