Fic: ...Of Course
Title: …Of Course
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Neal/Jones
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 3,500
Summary: Companion to Do Me the Honor… This is Neal’s side of the story.
A/N: For Day 11 of The Twelve Days of Ficmas. Chapter 12 in my Undeniable Chemistry series. For jrosemary, who inspired this to be written.
----
December 22
“So wait, how do you get them into the little crescent shapes?” Neal tucked his phone into the crook between his shoulder and ear as he rolled the pastry dough into a perfect square.
“You need to cut it up like a pie or a pizza, then you roll it from the big end to the tip,” Myra answered.
He looked down at the dough in front of him, perplexed. There was nothing pie-like about this. Then he realized his error. “Oh, it’s supposed to be round, isn’t it?”
“Well, of course. Whoever heard of a square pie?”
Neal glanced over at the printed-out version of Myra’s rugelach recipe. All it said was “roll the dough” and “cut the dough” with no other explanation. He shook his head and smiled.
Since their first, tense meeting on Thanksgiving - and he fully realized most of the tension was felt on his side - Neal and Myra had met a few times for lunch and were becoming fast friends. Clint had warned him against a sudden onslaught of what he called “Extreme Mothering,” but Neal hadn’t had much of that growing up and found he enjoyed her unique brand of attention - there was much pinching of cheeks and exuberant kissing. And with Clint up in Boston, it was like they were each getting something they needed from the other.
“So when is my son getting there?”
“His train gets in at 6:08,” Neal said, turning away from the pastry and leaning against his table.
“You sound excited.”
“I am. I hate being away from him, and now I get him for almost two whole weeks.”
Myra laughed but said nothing.
“What?” Neal said.
“My son is very lucky to have you, Neal.”
“I’m the lucky one, Myra.”
“Well, I didn’t like to say it…” she said archly and laughed. “You love each other so much,” she continued, and Neal didn’t miss the leading tone in her voice.
“Yeeess.”
“Well, a mother wonders…what are your intentions toward my son?”
“You know it’s complicated.”
“Yes, yes, yes, you’re still a convict, you work together, there’s an inherent power differential, yada, yada, yada,” she said dismissively.
Neal blinked, surprised at her accurate summation. “That’s, uh -“
“I have advanced degrees in Sociology, Neal, I get it. But none of it matters if you love each other.”
“We do.”
“So nothing’s standing in your way.”
Neal looked down at his anklet ruefully. “There’s a rather big something.”
“Pish-posh,” she said.
“Did you just say, ‘pish-posh’?”
“I need a married child, Neal. I’m behind in my quota.”
Neal laughed. “Well, if your son wants it, I’m the first down the aisle.”
“I’m going to write that down.”
“And I’ll sign it. Now, let me go - these rugelach aren’t going to make themselves.”
December 23
Neal smiled as the third passenger on the elevator got off on 15, then drifted next to Clint for the ride up to the 21st floor. They stood shoulder to shoulder, pinkies linked - their view obscured from the surveillance cameras by Neal’s body - until the elevator arrived.
“Thanks for the ride, Agent Jones,” Neal said as he walked through the door Clint held open for him.
“Happy to oblige, Mr. Caffrey.”
“Think we can do lunch later?”
“Maybe. I want to go talk to Peter.”
Neal deposited his coat and hat on his desk and went to pour himself a cup of coffee.
“Morning, Neal,” Blake said, standing behind him, cup in hand.
Neal turned and poured coffee for him. “Morning.”
“Last day!” Blake said, like a kid before summer holidays.
“Yep. What are your plans?”
“Going home to see the folks in Denver, then up to Aspen for skiing.”
“Sounds great.”
“What about you?”
“Keeping it local,” he replied, brandishing the anklet on his foot.
“Oh - OH! Of course! Sorry!” They both laughed. Blake glanced up at Peter’s office, where Clint and he were chatting with the door closed. “Wonder what that’s all about,” he said, an I-know-something-you-don’t tone in his voice.
Neal shrugged; though it was the most open secret going, he and Clint kept their relationship under wraps while in the office, and he suspected Blake was clueless.
“Word is the SAIC out in Chicago is being shipped to DC.”
“Huh,” Neal said, trying and failing to show interest in office politics. He sipped his coffee.
“I heard they’re looking at Jones to replace her.”
Neal coughed into his mug.
“Hey, you OK?” Blake said, whacking him between the shoulder blades.
Neal winced. “Thanks. What makes you so sure they want Jones? They just sent him to Boston.”
Blake shrugged. “You know his dad’s a big wig at the Pentagon.”
“I don’t know what that’s got to do with it.”
Blake waggled his eyebrows as if that explained everything and walked away. Neal turned and looked toward Peter’s office uneasily, then returned to his desk.
----
“Get your hat and coat, we’ve got an appointment,” Peter said, standing over Neal’s desk. Neal’s eyes were on Clint, who’d gotten a cup of coffee after his meeting with Peter and headed off to take a conference call in an empty office.
“What? Where?”
“Atkins Financials case - interview the CFO.”
“Come on, Peter, it’s the day before vacation.”
“And I want to get the guy’s statement before he jets off to Aruba.”
Neal made dolphin noises of protest that were roundly ignored, gave up, and grabbed his coat.
“Hey, do you know what I heard?” he said to Peter once they had been driving uptown for a few blocks.
“Hmm?” Peter said, distracted by traffic.
“The Chicago SAIC is headed to DC.”
Peter looked at him sideways. “Since when are you so interested in staff movements?”
Neal shrugged and inspected his nails. “Just idle water cooler talk.”
Peter grunted disinterestedly and drove on.
“Any word of who’ll get the nod to replace her?” Neal asked a few minutes later.
“I don’t pay attention to those things - it gets so political usually.”
Neal’s heart sank. “Really?”
“Yeah, usually someone designed to curry favor with someone in power. Never the person most suited to the job. Or even a talented manager.”
Even without any indication as to the truth of the rumor, Neal had to defend Clint. “Well, sometimes someone with talent must find their way into those situations?”
“Eh, I suppose - look at Hughes. But he’s of the old school - they don’t make ‘em like that much lately.”
Well, sometimes they do, Neal thought and stared broodingly out the window.
December 25
“Wake up, it’s Christmas!” Neal said, straddling Clint with his knees on either side of his hips and bouncing the bed.
Clint moaned. “Stop it, it’s too early.”
“It’s 7:00!”
“What are you, a kid expecting Santa? Let me sleep!”
“You’re so grumpy!” Neal bounced on the bed even harder, enjoying the comical expression Clint gave him as his head bobbed up and down. None of Neal’s inquiries about the SAIC job were conclusive, and he was not about to let his unfounded fears ruin his holiday. “Come on, I’m makin’ pancakes!”
Clint sat up abruptly, put his arms around Neal’s back, twisted, and brought him down onto the bed. “Oh no, you’re not,” he said, planting kisses on Neal’s collarbone, “not before I’ve had my way with you.”
----
“Neal, honey, help me with the turkey?” El said, poking her head into the Burke living room.
“Sure.”
Neal followed her into the kitchen and took the foil off the resting bird. He sighed as he cut away the butcher’s twine trussing up its drumsticks. “I know how ya feel, buddy,” he said. He hadn’t felt the presence of his tracker so keenly for a long time, but now that he was presented with the possibility of Clint's reassignment to Chicago, he resented it even more.
“What’s wrong?” El said, filling a serving bowl with potatoes.
“Nothing.”
“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”
Neal pulled an apron over his head and stepped closer to her so he could lower his voice. “Clint's being transferred to Chicago.”
“What? No, he’s not.”
“There’s an SAIC job opening up and rumor has it he’s first in line.”
“He just got promoted, Neal.”
“I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“Stop fretting. You can stop fretting. And carve that turkey.”
Neal grabbed some tongs and a carving knife and deftly separated a drumstick and thigh from the carcass. “He’s not himself.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s been distracted ever since he got home.” El smiled and then tried unsuccessfully to hide it. “What?”
“Nothing,” she said innocently and Neal gave her a look. “OK, fine. You just said ‘home.’ You consider New York home. Yours and Clint's.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“It’s just adorable, is all.”
“Something’s going on, I know it. You can’t con a con.”
“Don’t let it ruin Christmas, honey. If anything happens, you know you’d be the first person he’d tell.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“You know I am. Stop worrying.”
December 31
“Happy New Year, June,” Neal said, kissing his landlady hello.
“Don’t you look handsome in your tux!” she exclaimed, wiping the smudge of her lipstick that remained behind on his cheek.
“How are the party preparations going? Can I help?” Every year, June hosted a blowout New Years Eve bash in her home, and it was the hardest ticket to get in town. Featuring a big band, top shelf catering and buzz-worthy guests, it annually raised thousands for her favorite charity. This year, it was being run by Burke Premier Events, and Elizabeth was there making all the final arrangements with her staff and contractors.
“I’m sure Elizabeth would appreciate an extra hand. Oh, and here’s the handsome Agent Jones,” she said, kissing Clint hello.
“Call me Clinton,” he reminded her. He stood next to Neal with his hand in his pocket, watching the bartenders set up.
“Well Clinton, I wonder if I might ask you to assist with a little security matter?”
“Of course.”
“Excellent. Let me show you something…” she took Clint's arm and led him away, leaving Neal on his own. He wandered over to where El was dealing with the bar staff.
“I’m supposed to see if you need an extra hand,” Neal said to her.
“Perfect timing. I don’t suppose you could help Andy here set up?” she said, then walked away with a bright, “thanks, honey!”
“Hi, Andy, I’m Neal.”
“It’s Andrew, actually, but Elizabeth’s got like a mental break with me or something.”
“Have you guys worked together before?” Neal said, stocking a mini-fridge with imported beer.
“Yeah, for about four years.”
“Okaaay,” Neal laughed, shaking his head.
They worked quickly and soon had the bar fully stocked. “Thanks for the help, Neal, I’ve got the rest of this,” Andrew said, and began cutting up limes.
“Sure,” Neal said and took a seat at the bar. “I’ll just supervise, then, shall I?”
“Nothing else to do?”
“Well, my boyfriend the FBI agent has been conscripted to consult on the security arrangements, and until someone else gets here I know, I’ve got nothing better to do.”
“Boyfriend, huh?” Andrew said, looking disappointed.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t sound so excited.”
“Yeah!! Sorry, he’s great, actually. The absolute best and I am head over heels.”
Andrew laughed and grabbed a highball glass. “I’m sensing a ‘but’ there. Want to talk about it?” He filled the glass with ice, then added vodka and tonic water.
“It’s a long distance relationship. He works in Boston.”
Andrew squeezed a lime into the drink, added a straw and handed it to Neal. “My sister had that problem with her boyfriend - now husband - a few years ago. They alternated weekends on the train. Expensive, but they made it work.”
Neal accepted the drink with a nod and removed the straw. “Unfortunately, I can’t leave the city.” He held his left foot out for Andrew to see the tracker.
“Ah,” Andrew said, nodding in understanding. “So wait, you’ve got one of those, and your boyfriend is an FBI agent?”
“It’s a long story,” Neal said, taking a long pull from his drink.
“And an interesting one, I’ll bet.”
Neal smiled and swirled the ice in his drink. “He saved my life.”
“Yeah, a good relationship can feel like that.”
“No, I mean he literally saved my life. I was shot three times. He held me together until the paramedics got there.”
“What did you say you do again?”
“I didn’t. I consult for the FBI. I’m an ex-conman, and I advise them on criminal behavior, scams, that kind of thing. Oh, lookie there, my drink’s empty.”
Andrew poured him another vodka tonic. “A conman and an FBI agent. Now I’ve heard everything.”
Neal shrugged.
“Which one’s your guy?” Neal scanned the room and pointed him out. He and June were addressing the bandleader. “Nice work,” Andrew said appreciatively.
“Thanks. He’s the best thing that has ever happened to me. And now,” he made a dismissive gesture and downed half of his second drink.
“What?”
“I think he’s going to be transferred even farther away. “
“Ah. Man, I feel for you.”
“What are you gonna do?” Neal said bleakly and gulped down the rest of the drink. Andrew silently took the glass and refilled it. Neal shrugged. “I’ve got only another 16 months before my sentence is up, and then, maybe, we can be together all the time."
“Well, see? That’s hardly any time at all.”
“If I don’t screw it up.”
“What makes you think you’ll screw it up?”
“I have a track record.”
“Of cheating?”
“What? God, no. Of impulse control issues.”
Andrew made a dismissive noise and leaned over the bar. He pointed his chin at Clint, who was squiring June around the room as guests began to trickle in. “You tell me you’ve got that guy in your bed, and you don’t try your hardest to hang on to him. You’ll be fine.”
Neal blinked slowly and followed his gaze. Clint glanced up at that moment and gave a broad smile when he saw Neal watching him, then went back to addressing a group of guests with June. Neal’s cheeks flushed as the vodka started hitting his system. “I should marry that man,” he said musingly.
“Before someone else grabs him up,” Andrew said wryly. “Like me.”
----
Neal glanced at his watch: 11:50. He looked up as El handed him another drink and took a swig. “I don’t think there’s any vodka in my vodka tonic.”
“There hasn’t been since 9:00, Drunky,” she said with a grin.
“What?” He blinked at her owlishly.
“You were getting a little too drunk for my tastes. Had to look after you, so I asked Andy to cut you off.”
“You’re a good woman. Why do I need looking after?”
“You seemed a little mopey.”
“I am not mopey.” She raised an eyebrow. “OK, I was a little mopey.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that Clint is not going anywhere?”
“One thousand and six.”
“He’s not going anywhere. There, that had to have been at least number 800.”
“Thanks,” Neal said and leaned his shoulder against the wall. “He’s been avoiding me all night.”
“He’s been busy with June. I heard there were a lot of attempted gate crashers.”
“Really?”
“As far as you know.”
“So how are you holding up? The party seems to be a success.”
“This? I could do this in my sleep. But since I have to work on New Year’s, it’s nice to at least be with friends.”
Neal held up his glass to toast her. “To good friends,” he said and kissed her on the cheek.
A blast of horns sounded from the dais as the band began a more up-tempo song.
“Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly awaaay.”
“Love this song!” Neal said, and began swaying his hips and crooning along to Elizabeth.
”If you can use some exotic booze” He held up his drink to her.
”There's a bar in far Bombay
Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away.”
“Care to dance?” a familiar voice sounded in his ear and he was so startled by Clint's proximity, he jumped.
The sight of Clint's smiling face warmed him to his core. “With you? Of course,” he said, and knew the big sappy smile on his own face must look ridiculous. He let Clint take him to the dance floor, then led him through a brief Foxtrot as the song played on.
“Once I get you up there where the air is rarified
We'll just glide, starry-eyed
Once I get you up there I'll be holding you so near
You may hear angels cheer 'cause we're together”
“This is nice,” Neal said to Clint, mentally approving of Clint's dancing - they’d had a few ballroom dancing lessons in Boston, recommended by Neal’s physical therapist. “We should go dancing more often.”
“I’d like that,” Clint said; his voice sincere, but he was glancing nervously around the room. Neal felt his heart sink and was convinced now more than ever that Clint was about to drop a bombshell on him. He blinked back tears that he hoped Clint didn’t notice as the music stopped and the bandleader made an announcement.
“Fifteen seconds to midnight, folks,” he said, staring at the clock on the wall. The people on the dance floor stopped, and the rest of the party guests joined them all there, couples finding each other. There was an air of anticipation and excitement in the air that was palpable, but Neal felt like he wanted to puke. Clint was standing slightly behind him.
“10, 9, 8, 7…”
Neal sensed a movement behind him.
“…6, 5, 4…”
He turned as Clint took his hand got down on one knee. The guests formed a circle around them, jockeying for position, as if they’d been expecting this and wanted a good view. Neal noticed Elizabeth standing right there, Peter behind her with his arms encircling her waist, a huge grin on his face.
“…3, 2, 1.”
“Neal Caffrey,” Clint said, his voice the loudest thing in the room. Neal looked down, and Clint was holding up a ridiculously ornate gold ring as he continued, “will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
Neal felt a wave of heat overcome him and for a second, his vision tunneled, the edges turning white, his head reeling. Clint wanted to marry him. That’s what all his odd behavior had been about! His distance, his avoidance - he was probably as nervous as a cat. Of course he wasn’t going to be transferred. Of course he wasn’t hiding anything.
Of course Neal wanted to marry him.
“Of course,” Neal said, reaching out and accepting the ring, he slid it onto his left hand - it was about 2 sizes too big, which made him want to laugh - and pulled Clint to his feet. Then Neal put his hands around the dear, shining face of his fiancé and kissed him, long and deeply.
“Mazel tov!” Peter yelled, and Neal could feel him slapping him on the back. He and Clint parted and Peter shook both their hands. Then El was there, kissing them both and crying, and June came over with a knowing smile on her face she aimed at Clint. Suddenly, Neal realized how much help Clint had gotten setting this all up.
The band began to play “Come Fly with Me” from the top, but Neal was overcome with the need to be alone with Clint. He took his hand and led him to a quiet corner as almost the entire party started dancing. Neal looked down at the ring, then up at Clint, and smiled. “So this is what you’ve been stewing over the last two weeks?”
Clint nodded sheepishly.
“I thought it was another transfer, and you didn’t have the heart to tell me.”
Clint seemed surprised at that revelation. A look of apology crossed his face, and then a smile. “So I got you?”
“You got me.” Neal said, and kissed him again. “This might be the happiest moment of my life,” he whispered against Clint's mouth.
“Mine too.”
Then Neal stepped back and gestured with his head at the band. “But this is the song you choose? Because I’m not flying anywhere, you know - not for several months.” He lifted up his left pant leg to illustrate.
“But when you can, you’ll be flying with me, and only me,” Clint pointed out.
Neal liked the sound of that. He fisted Clint's jacket lapel and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “But for right now, I’d rather fly upstairs to my apartment and rip all of your clothes off.”
Clint's chuckle was a deep rumble in his chest. “Peter did say the post-engagement sex would be the best.”
“Well, let’s not prove him wrong.”
----
Thank you for your time.
Here's another story, though not the next chapter: I Look at Your Pants and I Need a Kiss
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Neal/Jones
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 3,500
Summary: Companion to Do Me the Honor… This is Neal’s side of the story.
A/N: For Day 11 of The Twelve Days of Ficmas. Chapter 12 in my Undeniable Chemistry series. For jrosemary, who inspired this to be written.
----
December 22
“So wait, how do you get them into the little crescent shapes?” Neal tucked his phone into the crook between his shoulder and ear as he rolled the pastry dough into a perfect square.
“You need to cut it up like a pie or a pizza, then you roll it from the big end to the tip,” Myra answered.
He looked down at the dough in front of him, perplexed. There was nothing pie-like about this. Then he realized his error. “Oh, it’s supposed to be round, isn’t it?”
“Well, of course. Whoever heard of a square pie?”
Neal glanced over at the printed-out version of Myra’s rugelach recipe. All it said was “roll the dough” and “cut the dough” with no other explanation. He shook his head and smiled.
Since their first, tense meeting on Thanksgiving - and he fully realized most of the tension was felt on his side - Neal and Myra had met a few times for lunch and were becoming fast friends. Clint had warned him against a sudden onslaught of what he called “Extreme Mothering,” but Neal hadn’t had much of that growing up and found he enjoyed her unique brand of attention - there was much pinching of cheeks and exuberant kissing. And with Clint up in Boston, it was like they were each getting something they needed from the other.
“So when is my son getting there?”
“His train gets in at 6:08,” Neal said, turning away from the pastry and leaning against his table.
“You sound excited.”
“I am. I hate being away from him, and now I get him for almost two whole weeks.”
Myra laughed but said nothing.
“What?” Neal said.
“My son is very lucky to have you, Neal.”
“I’m the lucky one, Myra.”
“Well, I didn’t like to say it…” she said archly and laughed. “You love each other so much,” she continued, and Neal didn’t miss the leading tone in her voice.
“Yeeess.”
“Well, a mother wonders…what are your intentions toward my son?”
“You know it’s complicated.”
“Yes, yes, yes, you’re still a convict, you work together, there’s an inherent power differential, yada, yada, yada,” she said dismissively.
Neal blinked, surprised at her accurate summation. “That’s, uh -“
“I have advanced degrees in Sociology, Neal, I get it. But none of it matters if you love each other.”
“We do.”
“So nothing’s standing in your way.”
Neal looked down at his anklet ruefully. “There’s a rather big something.”
“Pish-posh,” she said.
“Did you just say, ‘pish-posh’?”
“I need a married child, Neal. I’m behind in my quota.”
Neal laughed. “Well, if your son wants it, I’m the first down the aisle.”
“I’m going to write that down.”
“And I’ll sign it. Now, let me go - these rugelach aren’t going to make themselves.”
December 23
Neal smiled as the third passenger on the elevator got off on 15, then drifted next to Clint for the ride up to the 21st floor. They stood shoulder to shoulder, pinkies linked - their view obscured from the surveillance cameras by Neal’s body - until the elevator arrived.
“Thanks for the ride, Agent Jones,” Neal said as he walked through the door Clint held open for him.
“Happy to oblige, Mr. Caffrey.”
“Think we can do lunch later?”
“Maybe. I want to go talk to Peter.”
Neal deposited his coat and hat on his desk and went to pour himself a cup of coffee.
“Morning, Neal,” Blake said, standing behind him, cup in hand.
Neal turned and poured coffee for him. “Morning.”
“Last day!” Blake said, like a kid before summer holidays.
“Yep. What are your plans?”
“Going home to see the folks in Denver, then up to Aspen for skiing.”
“Sounds great.”
“What about you?”
“Keeping it local,” he replied, brandishing the anklet on his foot.
“Oh - OH! Of course! Sorry!” They both laughed. Blake glanced up at Peter’s office, where Clint and he were chatting with the door closed. “Wonder what that’s all about,” he said, an I-know-something-you-don’t tone in his voice.
Neal shrugged; though it was the most open secret going, he and Clint kept their relationship under wraps while in the office, and he suspected Blake was clueless.
“Word is the SAIC out in Chicago is being shipped to DC.”
“Huh,” Neal said, trying and failing to show interest in office politics. He sipped his coffee.
“I heard they’re looking at Jones to replace her.”
Neal coughed into his mug.
“Hey, you OK?” Blake said, whacking him between the shoulder blades.
Neal winced. “Thanks. What makes you so sure they want Jones? They just sent him to Boston.”
Blake shrugged. “You know his dad’s a big wig at the Pentagon.”
“I don’t know what that’s got to do with it.”
Blake waggled his eyebrows as if that explained everything and walked away. Neal turned and looked toward Peter’s office uneasily, then returned to his desk.
----
“Get your hat and coat, we’ve got an appointment,” Peter said, standing over Neal’s desk. Neal’s eyes were on Clint, who’d gotten a cup of coffee after his meeting with Peter and headed off to take a conference call in an empty office.
“What? Where?”
“Atkins Financials case - interview the CFO.”
“Come on, Peter, it’s the day before vacation.”
“And I want to get the guy’s statement before he jets off to Aruba.”
Neal made dolphin noises of protest that were roundly ignored, gave up, and grabbed his coat.
“Hey, do you know what I heard?” he said to Peter once they had been driving uptown for a few blocks.
“Hmm?” Peter said, distracted by traffic.
“The Chicago SAIC is headed to DC.”
Peter looked at him sideways. “Since when are you so interested in staff movements?”
Neal shrugged and inspected his nails. “Just idle water cooler talk.”
Peter grunted disinterestedly and drove on.
“Any word of who’ll get the nod to replace her?” Neal asked a few minutes later.
“I don’t pay attention to those things - it gets so political usually.”
Neal’s heart sank. “Really?”
“Yeah, usually someone designed to curry favor with someone in power. Never the person most suited to the job. Or even a talented manager.”
Even without any indication as to the truth of the rumor, Neal had to defend Clint. “Well, sometimes someone with talent must find their way into those situations?”
“Eh, I suppose - look at Hughes. But he’s of the old school - they don’t make ‘em like that much lately.”
Well, sometimes they do, Neal thought and stared broodingly out the window.
December 25
“Wake up, it’s Christmas!” Neal said, straddling Clint with his knees on either side of his hips and bouncing the bed.
Clint moaned. “Stop it, it’s too early.”
“It’s 7:00!”
“What are you, a kid expecting Santa? Let me sleep!”
“You’re so grumpy!” Neal bounced on the bed even harder, enjoying the comical expression Clint gave him as his head bobbed up and down. None of Neal’s inquiries about the SAIC job were conclusive, and he was not about to let his unfounded fears ruin his holiday. “Come on, I’m makin’ pancakes!”
Clint sat up abruptly, put his arms around Neal’s back, twisted, and brought him down onto the bed. “Oh no, you’re not,” he said, planting kisses on Neal’s collarbone, “not before I’ve had my way with you.”
----
“Neal, honey, help me with the turkey?” El said, poking her head into the Burke living room.
“Sure.”
Neal followed her into the kitchen and took the foil off the resting bird. He sighed as he cut away the butcher’s twine trussing up its drumsticks. “I know how ya feel, buddy,” he said. He hadn’t felt the presence of his tracker so keenly for a long time, but now that he was presented with the possibility of Clint's reassignment to Chicago, he resented it even more.
“What’s wrong?” El said, filling a serving bowl with potatoes.
“Nothing.”
“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”
Neal pulled an apron over his head and stepped closer to her so he could lower his voice. “Clint's being transferred to Chicago.”
“What? No, he’s not.”
“There’s an SAIC job opening up and rumor has it he’s first in line.”
“He just got promoted, Neal.”
“I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“Stop fretting. You can stop fretting. And carve that turkey.”
Neal grabbed some tongs and a carving knife and deftly separated a drumstick and thigh from the carcass. “He’s not himself.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s been distracted ever since he got home.” El smiled and then tried unsuccessfully to hide it. “What?”
“Nothing,” she said innocently and Neal gave her a look. “OK, fine. You just said ‘home.’ You consider New York home. Yours and Clint's.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“It’s just adorable, is all.”
“Something’s going on, I know it. You can’t con a con.”
“Don’t let it ruin Christmas, honey. If anything happens, you know you’d be the first person he’d tell.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“You know I am. Stop worrying.”
December 31
“Happy New Year, June,” Neal said, kissing his landlady hello.
“Don’t you look handsome in your tux!” she exclaimed, wiping the smudge of her lipstick that remained behind on his cheek.
“How are the party preparations going? Can I help?” Every year, June hosted a blowout New Years Eve bash in her home, and it was the hardest ticket to get in town. Featuring a big band, top shelf catering and buzz-worthy guests, it annually raised thousands for her favorite charity. This year, it was being run by Burke Premier Events, and Elizabeth was there making all the final arrangements with her staff and contractors.
“I’m sure Elizabeth would appreciate an extra hand. Oh, and here’s the handsome Agent Jones,” she said, kissing Clint hello.
“Call me Clinton,” he reminded her. He stood next to Neal with his hand in his pocket, watching the bartenders set up.
“Well Clinton, I wonder if I might ask you to assist with a little security matter?”
“Of course.”
“Excellent. Let me show you something…” she took Clint's arm and led him away, leaving Neal on his own. He wandered over to where El was dealing with the bar staff.
“I’m supposed to see if you need an extra hand,” Neal said to her.
“Perfect timing. I don’t suppose you could help Andy here set up?” she said, then walked away with a bright, “thanks, honey!”
“Hi, Andy, I’m Neal.”
“It’s Andrew, actually, but Elizabeth’s got like a mental break with me or something.”
“Have you guys worked together before?” Neal said, stocking a mini-fridge with imported beer.
“Yeah, for about four years.”
“Okaaay,” Neal laughed, shaking his head.
They worked quickly and soon had the bar fully stocked. “Thanks for the help, Neal, I’ve got the rest of this,” Andrew said, and began cutting up limes.
“Sure,” Neal said and took a seat at the bar. “I’ll just supervise, then, shall I?”
“Nothing else to do?”
“Well, my boyfriend the FBI agent has been conscripted to consult on the security arrangements, and until someone else gets here I know, I’ve got nothing better to do.”
“Boyfriend, huh?” Andrew said, looking disappointed.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t sound so excited.”
“Yeah!! Sorry, he’s great, actually. The absolute best and I am head over heels.”
Andrew laughed and grabbed a highball glass. “I’m sensing a ‘but’ there. Want to talk about it?” He filled the glass with ice, then added vodka and tonic water.
“It’s a long distance relationship. He works in Boston.”
Andrew squeezed a lime into the drink, added a straw and handed it to Neal. “My sister had that problem with her boyfriend - now husband - a few years ago. They alternated weekends on the train. Expensive, but they made it work.”
Neal accepted the drink with a nod and removed the straw. “Unfortunately, I can’t leave the city.” He held his left foot out for Andrew to see the tracker.
“Ah,” Andrew said, nodding in understanding. “So wait, you’ve got one of those, and your boyfriend is an FBI agent?”
“It’s a long story,” Neal said, taking a long pull from his drink.
“And an interesting one, I’ll bet.”
Neal smiled and swirled the ice in his drink. “He saved my life.”
“Yeah, a good relationship can feel like that.”
“No, I mean he literally saved my life. I was shot three times. He held me together until the paramedics got there.”
“What did you say you do again?”
“I didn’t. I consult for the FBI. I’m an ex-conman, and I advise them on criminal behavior, scams, that kind of thing. Oh, lookie there, my drink’s empty.”
Andrew poured him another vodka tonic. “A conman and an FBI agent. Now I’ve heard everything.”
Neal shrugged.
“Which one’s your guy?” Neal scanned the room and pointed him out. He and June were addressing the bandleader. “Nice work,” Andrew said appreciatively.
“Thanks. He’s the best thing that has ever happened to me. And now,” he made a dismissive gesture and downed half of his second drink.
“What?”
“I think he’s going to be transferred even farther away. “
“Ah. Man, I feel for you.”
“What are you gonna do?” Neal said bleakly and gulped down the rest of the drink. Andrew silently took the glass and refilled it. Neal shrugged. “I’ve got only another 16 months before my sentence is up, and then, maybe, we can be together all the time."
“Well, see? That’s hardly any time at all.”
“If I don’t screw it up.”
“What makes you think you’ll screw it up?”
“I have a track record.”
“Of cheating?”
“What? God, no. Of impulse control issues.”
Andrew made a dismissive noise and leaned over the bar. He pointed his chin at Clint, who was squiring June around the room as guests began to trickle in. “You tell me you’ve got that guy in your bed, and you don’t try your hardest to hang on to him. You’ll be fine.”
Neal blinked slowly and followed his gaze. Clint glanced up at that moment and gave a broad smile when he saw Neal watching him, then went back to addressing a group of guests with June. Neal’s cheeks flushed as the vodka started hitting his system. “I should marry that man,” he said musingly.
“Before someone else grabs him up,” Andrew said wryly. “Like me.”
----
Neal glanced at his watch: 11:50. He looked up as El handed him another drink and took a swig. “I don’t think there’s any vodka in my vodka tonic.”
“There hasn’t been since 9:00, Drunky,” she said with a grin.
“What?” He blinked at her owlishly.
“You were getting a little too drunk for my tastes. Had to look after you, so I asked Andy to cut you off.”
“You’re a good woman. Why do I need looking after?”
“You seemed a little mopey.”
“I am not mopey.” She raised an eyebrow. “OK, I was a little mopey.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that Clint is not going anywhere?”
“One thousand and six.”
“He’s not going anywhere. There, that had to have been at least number 800.”
“Thanks,” Neal said and leaned his shoulder against the wall. “He’s been avoiding me all night.”
“He’s been busy with June. I heard there were a lot of attempted gate crashers.”
“Really?”
“As far as you know.”
“So how are you holding up? The party seems to be a success.”
“This? I could do this in my sleep. But since I have to work on New Year’s, it’s nice to at least be with friends.”
Neal held up his glass to toast her. “To good friends,” he said and kissed her on the cheek.
A blast of horns sounded from the dais as the band began a more up-tempo song.
“Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly awaaay.”
“Love this song!” Neal said, and began swaying his hips and crooning along to Elizabeth.
”If you can use some exotic booze” He held up his drink to her.
”There's a bar in far Bombay
Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away.”
“Care to dance?” a familiar voice sounded in his ear and he was so startled by Clint's proximity, he jumped.
The sight of Clint's smiling face warmed him to his core. “With you? Of course,” he said, and knew the big sappy smile on his own face must look ridiculous. He let Clint take him to the dance floor, then led him through a brief Foxtrot as the song played on.
“Once I get you up there where the air is rarified
We'll just glide, starry-eyed
Once I get you up there I'll be holding you so near
You may hear angels cheer 'cause we're together”
“This is nice,” Neal said to Clint, mentally approving of Clint's dancing - they’d had a few ballroom dancing lessons in Boston, recommended by Neal’s physical therapist. “We should go dancing more often.”
“I’d like that,” Clint said; his voice sincere, but he was glancing nervously around the room. Neal felt his heart sink and was convinced now more than ever that Clint was about to drop a bombshell on him. He blinked back tears that he hoped Clint didn’t notice as the music stopped and the bandleader made an announcement.
“Fifteen seconds to midnight, folks,” he said, staring at the clock on the wall. The people on the dance floor stopped, and the rest of the party guests joined them all there, couples finding each other. There was an air of anticipation and excitement in the air that was palpable, but Neal felt like he wanted to puke. Clint was standing slightly behind him.
“10, 9, 8, 7…”
Neal sensed a movement behind him.
“…6, 5, 4…”
He turned as Clint took his hand got down on one knee. The guests formed a circle around them, jockeying for position, as if they’d been expecting this and wanted a good view. Neal noticed Elizabeth standing right there, Peter behind her with his arms encircling her waist, a huge grin on his face.
“…3, 2, 1.”
“Neal Caffrey,” Clint said, his voice the loudest thing in the room. Neal looked down, and Clint was holding up a ridiculously ornate gold ring as he continued, “will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
Neal felt a wave of heat overcome him and for a second, his vision tunneled, the edges turning white, his head reeling. Clint wanted to marry him. That’s what all his odd behavior had been about! His distance, his avoidance - he was probably as nervous as a cat. Of course he wasn’t going to be transferred. Of course he wasn’t hiding anything.
Of course Neal wanted to marry him.
“Of course,” Neal said, reaching out and accepting the ring, he slid it onto his left hand - it was about 2 sizes too big, which made him want to laugh - and pulled Clint to his feet. Then Neal put his hands around the dear, shining face of his fiancé and kissed him, long and deeply.
“Mazel tov!” Peter yelled, and Neal could feel him slapping him on the back. He and Clint parted and Peter shook both their hands. Then El was there, kissing them both and crying, and June came over with a knowing smile on her face she aimed at Clint. Suddenly, Neal realized how much help Clint had gotten setting this all up.
The band began to play “Come Fly with Me” from the top, but Neal was overcome with the need to be alone with Clint. He took his hand and led him to a quiet corner as almost the entire party started dancing. Neal looked down at the ring, then up at Clint, and smiled. “So this is what you’ve been stewing over the last two weeks?”
Clint nodded sheepishly.
“I thought it was another transfer, and you didn’t have the heart to tell me.”
Clint seemed surprised at that revelation. A look of apology crossed his face, and then a smile. “So I got you?”
“You got me.” Neal said, and kissed him again. “This might be the happiest moment of my life,” he whispered against Clint's mouth.
“Mine too.”
Then Neal stepped back and gestured with his head at the band. “But this is the song you choose? Because I’m not flying anywhere, you know - not for several months.” He lifted up his left pant leg to illustrate.
“But when you can, you’ll be flying with me, and only me,” Clint pointed out.
Neal liked the sound of that. He fisted Clint's jacket lapel and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “But for right now, I’d rather fly upstairs to my apartment and rip all of your clothes off.”
Clint's chuckle was a deep rumble in his chest. “Peter did say the post-engagement sex would be the best.”
“Well, let’s not prove him wrong.”
----
Thank you for your time.
Here's another story, though not the next chapter: I Look at Your Pants and I Need a Kiss