FIC: Confidence (Part 1 of 2); Fandom: White Collar
Title: Confidence (Part 1 of 2)
Author: Esmeralda (laesmeralda)
Fandom: White Collar
Dramatis Personae: Neal/Peter (with Elizabeth cheering from the sidelines)
Thread: Follows Fire and Flowers
Warning for those preferring undiluted slash: a bit of Peter/Elizabeth
Rating: R to NC-17
Disclaimer: This is a work of impure fiction.
Feedback: Responses, including constructive criticism, are welcome.
Original Date: Written April 2012
*******
Wistful. That was the word Peter thought best described his mood as he hunted for a parking space. Framing his mental state, finding a word for it (and consciously reframing it if necessary), had become a ritual when driving home alone.
It had taken a few days, but Neal had actually followed his advice. He had to admit, in fairness, that Neal frequently did as he suggested, just not reliably. And sometimes (in order to compensate it seemed), the man behaved in absolute opposition to sensibility. But this felt like a breakthrough.
Today, as Neal’s agent-in-charge, Peter had been offered access to the notes from Neal’s first session with Dr. Chandra. “Seal them,” he had declared from behind his desk to the doc, perhaps a bit too firmly.
“CI’s aren’t entitled to standard confidentiality.”
Peter sat up straighter. This was news. “Did you tell him that?”
“Really, Agent Burke?” Dr. Chandra had sounded insulted. “I explained that the notes would be eyes-only for you but that if you come under investigation for any reason, my files could be accessed by others as well.”
Peter was more than mildly surprised that Neal had gone ahead under those terms. “I don’t want to see notes. I don’t want to hear about the sessions. The man’s entitled to his privacy somewhere along the line and I draw the line here.”
Dr. Chandra had smiled at him, warmly and perhaps a bit sadly. “I can help him, and quickly,” she said. “I already know that. He’s resilient.”
“There might be more for him to clear than Kate’s death,” Peter replied after a careful pause to consider his words. It really wasn’t his place to give her anything of Neal’s past.
“When isn’t there? Speaking of, you seem to be doing just fine.”
He had liked Dr. Chandra. Right after he had stopped hating her. And stonewalling. So he smiled at her. “Thanks in no small part to your unconventional techniques.”
“You’ve thanked me enough, Agent. You know that I’ll guide the process without tapping secrets that need keeping. Mr. Caffrey is safe with me, regardless of who might gain access to my records.” She patted Peter’s arm and walked out.
So, that aspect of Neal’s struggle was in good hands and he could stop worrying. There were so many things Neal hadn’t shared with him, but that would be a problem for another day. Or night.
His team had gone on to open and wrap a case in just a few hours. The file Peter had chosen had passed around the table. The perp was compositing photos and aging them to bolster false claims of missing children found and birth parents identified, collecting fees to investigate, only to vanish before the dead-end, or worse yet, dead-wrong outcome. He or she was strictly small time in terms of dollars, but talented and cruel enough for the case to have moved up the chain. Or, Peter thought, somewhat cynically, bilked the wrong friend-of-a-friend.
Before the meeting, Jones had narrowed down the zone of operation, mapped the pattern of marks (victims, he reminded himself). While they talked through the facts, Diana reorganized the fakes and authentic photos according to Jones’ map before passing the file down the line to Neal. She caught Peter’s eye and nodded so that he could watch Neal’s face as he flipped through both sets of photos.
After a few minutes, Neal passed the folder on without comment, slipped out to his desk, and came back with an address. “This is the guy who sold the paper used for all but one mark,” he said. “Try not to hurt him. He supplies mostly legitimate artists. Tell him the scam and he’ll give you the culprit without hesitation.” He didn’t ask to ride along, and Peter didn’t push. He told Neal to go home but keep the phone close. Ninety minutes later, they had made the arrest. The team had been sharp, no guns necessary. Peter phoned Neal.
“You were right.”
“Aren’t I always?” Neal replied archly.
They both chuckled. Peter looked around the makeshift shop. The team bustled, nobody was listening.
“Don’t,” Neal warned.
“How do you know-“
“Don’t,” he repeated, more warmly. “I know because I want to. Just say goodnight and go home. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow, say, eight-ish.”
Musing on the exchange, Peter was starting his third circle of the block when he remembered that the Petersons were in the Hamptons. They lived around the corner and had a rare, if scarily narrow, parking space behind their gate. He whistled as he plugged in the code. There were a few personal perks to working for the FBI, for example, that your rich neighbors liked you to poke around when they were gone.
Elizabeth was just coming down the stairs when he walked through the door. Even in yoga pants and a t-shirt, she made his breath catch. He dumped his briefcase and caught her as she jumped the last two stairs at him. All thoughts of poring over cases during dinner vanished. He kissed her like he meant to do every day after hours apart, the way he would if their many responsibilities didn’t intrude.
He stroked her neck through the kiss and finally let his hands graze down her back to slide under her waistband. Having secured a generous grasp on her ass, he shifted the kiss to more of an inquiry. Her enthusiastic response sealed the deal and he practically carried her back up the stairs.
Peter always marveled at how plush Elizabeth felt against him in contrast with her formidable energy. He relished the secret softness. “Hardbodies are vastly overrated,” he had told her once when she unhappily regarded her midsection in the mirror and mumbled about maybe taking up pilates instead of yoga.
The suppleness that welcomed and surrounded him, that shuddered against his mouth, magically transformed into Amazonian strength when she levered astride him. He gave over to the swirl of her hips, the way her body consumed him, the brush and press of her breasts against him, until his atoms scattered across the universe.
Later, downstairs, they elbowed each other through the process of assembling no-brainer food, soup and salad and cheese, filling each other in on the day. Peter praised his team while El had reason to grumble about hers, so he listened with extra care.
Because they ate at the corner of the table so their bodies could keep touching, it wasn’t until Peter was downing his second bowl of soup that he noticed the very specific bouquet.
“Those are… not from me,” he said, surprised, mouth half-full.
Elizabeth smiled, mischievously. She didn’t stop cramming salad into her mouth.
Peter reached for the card, hesitated, read it when she didn’t intervene. He put down his spoon. “Holy shit.”
“Ye-ah.” She gave it two syllables.
“Um. You know… I didn’t know. Neal didn’t share it with me.”
“I gathered. I’m pretty sure he knew I would.”
Emotions were stirring to which he couldn’t put a name. Neal’s eloquence once again moved him. The effort he put into learning about someone in depth was both admirable and suspect, depending upon motive. But then, the protectiveness Neal expressed toward Peter was a surprise, more so than the tenderness shown toward Elizabeth. “What have I gotten myself into…”
Elizabeth laughed. “Are you complaining? Because if you are, so help me-“
Peter held up a hand in surrender.
“I’m the one who should be worried that your wavelengths are merging,” she teased.
Peter regarded her with a sober face. “I didn’t remember what you said and decide to act on it. I don’t pay attention like he does,” he said, feeling a little sheepish, perhaps even upstaged.
El sighed and shook her head at him. “No. You’re motivated by real love, not a need to please me, to make me like you. Tonight was spontaneous and so much hotter than if you’d engineered it.” She reached out and touched a petal. “This is flattering and endearing.” She scrunched her nose. “He tries so hard, it’s like having a puppy again.”
“Oh, yeah,” Peter grumbled, picking up his spoon again. “A chiseled, bright-eyed, stylish, good-smelling, talented, earnest, handsome, artistic puppy fetching you your favorite flowers with poetic notes while I’m at work. Because he hangs on your every word from weeks ago.” Peter mostly had to act the disgruntled part, seeing as he had to think about Neal in particular to describe him, and that led to pleasant feelings.
“Sending.”
“What?”
“Sending me my favorite flowers. He had them delivered. By a very cute girl who didn’t want a tip.”
“You’re deflecting.”
“I’m correcting the record. But feel free to continue with your description. Lots of accurate adjectives there, but you forgot ‘shockingly smart,” and ‘devious.’” She looked altogether too delighted, and then leaned in, as if anyone else in the world could hear them with the house fresh from a bug-sweep. “Saying all that out loud, did you make yourself hard?”
Not quite, but her voice got him all the way there.
She reached over, slowly, giving him time to stop her, and confirmed it with a soft squeeze.
He let out a slow breath. “You know I want you in on all this-whatever the hell it is I’m doing. But is it selfish that I’m not sure that I want Neal actually having sex with you? Which this note implies-rather plainly-that he has thought about.” Part of Peter, not just the hard part, was fully on board with the concept. The rest of him was fairly confident it would be a bad idea, but was wavering, not wanting to be the limiting factor.
Elizabeth huffed. “You’re presuming way too much. Thinking that I want that? Or thinking that he would dare, given how much he wants to make you happy, how much he fears screwing it all up?”
Peter felt incredulity set in. “How could you not want that?”
Elizabeth started to laugh, and then checked herself when she saw he was serious. “To quote you, ‘Explain.’”
“Okay.” He struggled for the right words, started and stopped. He could feel his face heat and he never blushed. “Let’s just put it this way. He’s so irresistible that I want him.” That did make her laugh. “Really, you’re not making this very easy,” he complained.
“No, I’m not,” she grinned. “Go on.”
“He’s everything I’m not, which isn’t self-deprecating, it’s just true. Women, especially the monogamous ones, fantasize about men different than the ones they’re with.”
“Oh, really. You read that in GQ or something.”
Peter shrugged. “You’ve seen Neal in all his flawless glory.” Elizabeth had not removed her hand, and it was driving him crazy. Thinking of Neal naked was something he worked very hard to confine to narrow and safe moments.
“Ah, the male version of ‘Your basic nightmare,’ she said, quoting one of their favorite films. “There are flaws having nothing to do with the physical and I’m aware of many. But I won’t lie, I do fantasize about him.”
The parts of him at odds with each other suddenly ran in different directions inside his chest and belly. He waited, afraid to say anything. Her eyes were wide and dark blue, so deep, so mesmerizing. He knew how aroused she was. The fact of the matter was, he would try-no do-almost anything he could think of to please her. And she might not ask. He couldn’t bear to think she would ever have settled to be with him or make him happy.
“Okay, enough of that kind of torture,” El said. “To be necessarily specific, I daydream about him kissing you, stroking your chest, sucking you off. I imagine you begging him to take you on your desk at work, even though I know that’s never going to happen. I see him hanging onto the sheets of our bed for dear life while you fuck him, so afraid to hurt him and yet compelled to get as deep inside him as you can.”
Peter almost groaned at the strength of pleasure that stabbed through him.
“I even fantasize about your conversations, your voices.” She paused and watched his face. “When I think about Neal, I think about your effect on each other. What either of you really wants out in the real world doesn’t much enter into the scenarios. I think I know what you like, but I don’t have to stick to it. So tell me, aside from the thrill of novelty, has he turned out to be a good lover?” Her fingers rolled against him. “For what you need?”
He couldn’t answer her right away, he was trying not to come in his sweats. “Yes,” he finally husked.
“Be clear with yourself about that,” she said, mercifully sitting back in her chair and letting him cool a little. “Because from where I sit, he sent me those to define a connection, to communicate that I’m important to him, and to say that you’re the treasure he can’t lose. It demonstrates respect. He’s hinting that he’s attracted to me, which he’s probably saying so I won’t feel slighted. He wants to strengthen our teamwork to support you. He doesn’t want me to worry about your safety. He’s thankful that I’m sharing.” She smiled. “The upshot is that Neal rolled over and showed me his fuzzy tummy to do with as I will. Puppy.”
The extent of her insight and her raw power was a little intimidating. He had to challenge it. “We’re talking about the guy who made you wet with just a few ballroom moves.”
“Oh, no fair bringing that up.” She folded her arms.
“It’s a fact in stark contradiction to your analogy.”
She bit her lip. “So… Neal is also a wild animal. Like a jungle cat that lures you in and awes you with its beauty and then eats you for dinner without a moment’s regret and goes to lie in the sun. People are complicated.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “Yes, Peter, the note turned me on, I admit it. But I’m not on the menu, you are.”
His mouth was suddenly dry. Peter drained his water glass. “All of that, what you just described, those are his survival skills. When we’re together, he lets me behind those roles. Even when he’s playing, like at the beginning of that movie we made for you, it isn’t for stakes, he gives. He pays attention to what gets me, what doesn’t, and he pushes my boundaries just a little. But he doesn’t vie for control like he does at work, he seems to want to be laid bare. I didn’t mean that as a joke, I’m serious.”
“Where did you park?” she suddenly asked, looking at the clock.
The abrupt change of topic threw him. “Petersons.”
“Good.” She got up and hurried into her office. “I have an idea. Grab your briefcase and come in here. Stay away from the windows, turn off the light, and be quiet.” He collected his things and followed her in, receiving a clipped series of instructions. “Use my laptop and headphones. When you hear the front door, you’d better be tuned in to the Satch cam. Make sure you’re on the right wifi.” She left and shut the door. He could hear her clearing away dishes.
He was completely baffled. “What the hell are you up to?” he called.
She stuck her head back in. “Shh. You’re now on a stakeout, Agent Burke, just follow my lead. No questions. All will be answered. Whatever happens, stay put until I signal you.”
He did as she asked, amused, apprehensive, confused. He turned off the light and settled into her big chair. The laptop framed a nanny cam view of their dining room, from beyond the table looking toward the sitting area. They had used the camera to intervene in sneaky dog behaviors, and then most recently, to protect against home intrusion. Thanks to an auction from a RICOH seizure, they even had hi def.
El appeared and waved at him with a giggle before going to the mirror and smoothing down her hair. The doorbell rang and she disappeared around the corner.
*******
Confidence: Part 2
Author: Esmeralda (laesmeralda)
Fandom: White Collar
Dramatis Personae: Neal/Peter (with Elizabeth cheering from the sidelines)
Thread: Follows Fire and Flowers
Warning for those preferring undiluted slash: a bit of Peter/Elizabeth
Rating: R to NC-17
Disclaimer: This is a work of impure fiction.
Feedback: Responses, including constructive criticism, are welcome.
Original Date: Written April 2012
*******
Wistful. That was the word Peter thought best described his mood as he hunted for a parking space. Framing his mental state, finding a word for it (and consciously reframing it if necessary), had become a ritual when driving home alone.
It had taken a few days, but Neal had actually followed his advice. He had to admit, in fairness, that Neal frequently did as he suggested, just not reliably. And sometimes (in order to compensate it seemed), the man behaved in absolute opposition to sensibility. But this felt like a breakthrough.
Today, as Neal’s agent-in-charge, Peter had been offered access to the notes from Neal’s first session with Dr. Chandra. “Seal them,” he had declared from behind his desk to the doc, perhaps a bit too firmly.
“CI’s aren’t entitled to standard confidentiality.”
Peter sat up straighter. This was news. “Did you tell him that?”
“Really, Agent Burke?” Dr. Chandra had sounded insulted. “I explained that the notes would be eyes-only for you but that if you come under investigation for any reason, my files could be accessed by others as well.”
Peter was more than mildly surprised that Neal had gone ahead under those terms. “I don’t want to see notes. I don’t want to hear about the sessions. The man’s entitled to his privacy somewhere along the line and I draw the line here.”
Dr. Chandra had smiled at him, warmly and perhaps a bit sadly. “I can help him, and quickly,” she said. “I already know that. He’s resilient.”
“There might be more for him to clear than Kate’s death,” Peter replied after a careful pause to consider his words. It really wasn’t his place to give her anything of Neal’s past.
“When isn’t there? Speaking of, you seem to be doing just fine.”
He had liked Dr. Chandra. Right after he had stopped hating her. And stonewalling. So he smiled at her. “Thanks in no small part to your unconventional techniques.”
“You’ve thanked me enough, Agent. You know that I’ll guide the process without tapping secrets that need keeping. Mr. Caffrey is safe with me, regardless of who might gain access to my records.” She patted Peter’s arm and walked out.
So, that aspect of Neal’s struggle was in good hands and he could stop worrying. There were so many things Neal hadn’t shared with him, but that would be a problem for another day. Or night.
His team had gone on to open and wrap a case in just a few hours. The file Peter had chosen had passed around the table. The perp was compositing photos and aging them to bolster false claims of missing children found and birth parents identified, collecting fees to investigate, only to vanish before the dead-end, or worse yet, dead-wrong outcome. He or she was strictly small time in terms of dollars, but talented and cruel enough for the case to have moved up the chain. Or, Peter thought, somewhat cynically, bilked the wrong friend-of-a-friend.
Before the meeting, Jones had narrowed down the zone of operation, mapped the pattern of marks (victims, he reminded himself). While they talked through the facts, Diana reorganized the fakes and authentic photos according to Jones’ map before passing the file down the line to Neal. She caught Peter’s eye and nodded so that he could watch Neal’s face as he flipped through both sets of photos.
After a few minutes, Neal passed the folder on without comment, slipped out to his desk, and came back with an address. “This is the guy who sold the paper used for all but one mark,” he said. “Try not to hurt him. He supplies mostly legitimate artists. Tell him the scam and he’ll give you the culprit without hesitation.” He didn’t ask to ride along, and Peter didn’t push. He told Neal to go home but keep the phone close. Ninety minutes later, they had made the arrest. The team had been sharp, no guns necessary. Peter phoned Neal.
“You were right.”
“Aren’t I always?” Neal replied archly.
They both chuckled. Peter looked around the makeshift shop. The team bustled, nobody was listening.
“Don’t,” Neal warned.
“How do you know-“
“Don’t,” he repeated, more warmly. “I know because I want to. Just say goodnight and go home. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow, say, eight-ish.”
Musing on the exchange, Peter was starting his third circle of the block when he remembered that the Petersons were in the Hamptons. They lived around the corner and had a rare, if scarily narrow, parking space behind their gate. He whistled as he plugged in the code. There were a few personal perks to working for the FBI, for example, that your rich neighbors liked you to poke around when they were gone.
Elizabeth was just coming down the stairs when he walked through the door. Even in yoga pants and a t-shirt, she made his breath catch. He dumped his briefcase and caught her as she jumped the last two stairs at him. All thoughts of poring over cases during dinner vanished. He kissed her like he meant to do every day after hours apart, the way he would if their many responsibilities didn’t intrude.
He stroked her neck through the kiss and finally let his hands graze down her back to slide under her waistband. Having secured a generous grasp on her ass, he shifted the kiss to more of an inquiry. Her enthusiastic response sealed the deal and he practically carried her back up the stairs.
Peter always marveled at how plush Elizabeth felt against him in contrast with her formidable energy. He relished the secret softness. “Hardbodies are vastly overrated,” he had told her once when she unhappily regarded her midsection in the mirror and mumbled about maybe taking up pilates instead of yoga.
The suppleness that welcomed and surrounded him, that shuddered against his mouth, magically transformed into Amazonian strength when she levered astride him. He gave over to the swirl of her hips, the way her body consumed him, the brush and press of her breasts against him, until his atoms scattered across the universe.
Later, downstairs, they elbowed each other through the process of assembling no-brainer food, soup and salad and cheese, filling each other in on the day. Peter praised his team while El had reason to grumble about hers, so he listened with extra care.
Because they ate at the corner of the table so their bodies could keep touching, it wasn’t until Peter was downing his second bowl of soup that he noticed the very specific bouquet.
“Those are… not from me,” he said, surprised, mouth half-full.
Elizabeth smiled, mischievously. She didn’t stop cramming salad into her mouth.
Peter reached for the card, hesitated, read it when she didn’t intervene. He put down his spoon. “Holy shit.”
“Ye-ah.” She gave it two syllables.
“Um. You know… I didn’t know. Neal didn’t share it with me.”
“I gathered. I’m pretty sure he knew I would.”
Emotions were stirring to which he couldn’t put a name. Neal’s eloquence once again moved him. The effort he put into learning about someone in depth was both admirable and suspect, depending upon motive. But then, the protectiveness Neal expressed toward Peter was a surprise, more so than the tenderness shown toward Elizabeth. “What have I gotten myself into…”
Elizabeth laughed. “Are you complaining? Because if you are, so help me-“
Peter held up a hand in surrender.
“I’m the one who should be worried that your wavelengths are merging,” she teased.
Peter regarded her with a sober face. “I didn’t remember what you said and decide to act on it. I don’t pay attention like he does,” he said, feeling a little sheepish, perhaps even upstaged.
El sighed and shook her head at him. “No. You’re motivated by real love, not a need to please me, to make me like you. Tonight was spontaneous and so much hotter than if you’d engineered it.” She reached out and touched a petal. “This is flattering and endearing.” She scrunched her nose. “He tries so hard, it’s like having a puppy again.”
“Oh, yeah,” Peter grumbled, picking up his spoon again. “A chiseled, bright-eyed, stylish, good-smelling, talented, earnest, handsome, artistic puppy fetching you your favorite flowers with poetic notes while I’m at work. Because he hangs on your every word from weeks ago.” Peter mostly had to act the disgruntled part, seeing as he had to think about Neal in particular to describe him, and that led to pleasant feelings.
“Sending.”
“What?”
“Sending me my favorite flowers. He had them delivered. By a very cute girl who didn’t want a tip.”
“You’re deflecting.”
“I’m correcting the record. But feel free to continue with your description. Lots of accurate adjectives there, but you forgot ‘shockingly smart,” and ‘devious.’” She looked altogether too delighted, and then leaned in, as if anyone else in the world could hear them with the house fresh from a bug-sweep. “Saying all that out loud, did you make yourself hard?”
Not quite, but her voice got him all the way there.
She reached over, slowly, giving him time to stop her, and confirmed it with a soft squeeze.
He let out a slow breath. “You know I want you in on all this-whatever the hell it is I’m doing. But is it selfish that I’m not sure that I want Neal actually having sex with you? Which this note implies-rather plainly-that he has thought about.” Part of Peter, not just the hard part, was fully on board with the concept. The rest of him was fairly confident it would be a bad idea, but was wavering, not wanting to be the limiting factor.
Elizabeth huffed. “You’re presuming way too much. Thinking that I want that? Or thinking that he would dare, given how much he wants to make you happy, how much he fears screwing it all up?”
Peter felt incredulity set in. “How could you not want that?”
Elizabeth started to laugh, and then checked herself when she saw he was serious. “To quote you, ‘Explain.’”
“Okay.” He struggled for the right words, started and stopped. He could feel his face heat and he never blushed. “Let’s just put it this way. He’s so irresistible that I want him.” That did make her laugh. “Really, you’re not making this very easy,” he complained.
“No, I’m not,” she grinned. “Go on.”
“He’s everything I’m not, which isn’t self-deprecating, it’s just true. Women, especially the monogamous ones, fantasize about men different than the ones they’re with.”
“Oh, really. You read that in GQ or something.”
Peter shrugged. “You’ve seen Neal in all his flawless glory.” Elizabeth had not removed her hand, and it was driving him crazy. Thinking of Neal naked was something he worked very hard to confine to narrow and safe moments.
“Ah, the male version of ‘Your basic nightmare,’ she said, quoting one of their favorite films. “There are flaws having nothing to do with the physical and I’m aware of many. But I won’t lie, I do fantasize about him.”
The parts of him at odds with each other suddenly ran in different directions inside his chest and belly. He waited, afraid to say anything. Her eyes were wide and dark blue, so deep, so mesmerizing. He knew how aroused she was. The fact of the matter was, he would try-no do-almost anything he could think of to please her. And she might not ask. He couldn’t bear to think she would ever have settled to be with him or make him happy.
“Okay, enough of that kind of torture,” El said. “To be necessarily specific, I daydream about him kissing you, stroking your chest, sucking you off. I imagine you begging him to take you on your desk at work, even though I know that’s never going to happen. I see him hanging onto the sheets of our bed for dear life while you fuck him, so afraid to hurt him and yet compelled to get as deep inside him as you can.”
Peter almost groaned at the strength of pleasure that stabbed through him.
“I even fantasize about your conversations, your voices.” She paused and watched his face. “When I think about Neal, I think about your effect on each other. What either of you really wants out in the real world doesn’t much enter into the scenarios. I think I know what you like, but I don’t have to stick to it. So tell me, aside from the thrill of novelty, has he turned out to be a good lover?” Her fingers rolled against him. “For what you need?”
He couldn’t answer her right away, he was trying not to come in his sweats. “Yes,” he finally husked.
“Be clear with yourself about that,” she said, mercifully sitting back in her chair and letting him cool a little. “Because from where I sit, he sent me those to define a connection, to communicate that I’m important to him, and to say that you’re the treasure he can’t lose. It demonstrates respect. He’s hinting that he’s attracted to me, which he’s probably saying so I won’t feel slighted. He wants to strengthen our teamwork to support you. He doesn’t want me to worry about your safety. He’s thankful that I’m sharing.” She smiled. “The upshot is that Neal rolled over and showed me his fuzzy tummy to do with as I will. Puppy.”
The extent of her insight and her raw power was a little intimidating. He had to challenge it. “We’re talking about the guy who made you wet with just a few ballroom moves.”
“Oh, no fair bringing that up.” She folded her arms.
“It’s a fact in stark contradiction to your analogy.”
She bit her lip. “So… Neal is also a wild animal. Like a jungle cat that lures you in and awes you with its beauty and then eats you for dinner without a moment’s regret and goes to lie in the sun. People are complicated.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “Yes, Peter, the note turned me on, I admit it. But I’m not on the menu, you are.”
His mouth was suddenly dry. Peter drained his water glass. “All of that, what you just described, those are his survival skills. When we’re together, he lets me behind those roles. Even when he’s playing, like at the beginning of that movie we made for you, it isn’t for stakes, he gives. He pays attention to what gets me, what doesn’t, and he pushes my boundaries just a little. But he doesn’t vie for control like he does at work, he seems to want to be laid bare. I didn’t mean that as a joke, I’m serious.”
“Where did you park?” she suddenly asked, looking at the clock.
The abrupt change of topic threw him. “Petersons.”
“Good.” She got up and hurried into her office. “I have an idea. Grab your briefcase and come in here. Stay away from the windows, turn off the light, and be quiet.” He collected his things and followed her in, receiving a clipped series of instructions. “Use my laptop and headphones. When you hear the front door, you’d better be tuned in to the Satch cam. Make sure you’re on the right wifi.” She left and shut the door. He could hear her clearing away dishes.
He was completely baffled. “What the hell are you up to?” he called.
She stuck her head back in. “Shh. You’re now on a stakeout, Agent Burke, just follow my lead. No questions. All will be answered. Whatever happens, stay put until I signal you.”
He did as she asked, amused, apprehensive, confused. He turned off the light and settled into her big chair. The laptop framed a nanny cam view of their dining room, from beyond the table looking toward the sitting area. They had used the camera to intervene in sneaky dog behaviors, and then most recently, to protect against home intrusion. Thanks to an auction from a RICOH seizure, they even had hi def.
El appeared and waved at him with a giggle before going to the mirror and smoothing down her hair. The doorbell rang and she disappeared around the corner.
*******
Confidence: Part 2