[Fic: White Collar] Know Me (Not) 3/6?
Fandom: White Collar
Title: Know Me (Not) [3/6?]
Rating: PG
Genre: Drama, H/C, Gen
Characters: Neal, Peter, Elizabeth
Word Count: ~1500
Spoilers: Takes place soon after 3.10 “Countdown.” Not 3.11 “Checkmate” compliant.
Summary: There’s nothing like a crisis to bring out the truth. Five hints, and one time the Burkes didn’t realize they figured it out. [AU in which Peter is Neal’s father, but only Neal knows the truth]
Blood is Thicker
"…car accident and suffered from heavy internal bleeding. We had to take you in for surgery."
Still trying to shake the fog out of his head, Peter nodded, just now noticing the muted ache throbbing throughout his mid-section to each beat of his heart. He must be coming off the good stuff.
"…concussion and whiplash, so you're probably experiencing headaches, neck pain, and possibly some short-term memory loss. Nothing to worry about, it's very common after..."
Peter pinched his face in concentration, trying to remember if he had forgotten anything. He was in a car. Right. Neal was there. What were they doing? It was raining. There was rain. Hurricane. They were evacuating from the city and meeting El in Jersey. He-
El!
"El! Is my wife okay?"
"Peter, I'm right here."
El materialized by his side, holding his hand in hers. Maybe she had been there the whole time. "It's fine, everything's fine. You're going to be fine."
Suddenly sober and alert, Peter took a moment to let the wash of comfort and relief warm him before fear seized him again: "Where's Neal? We were together-"
"He's fine, hon," El explained, brushing at the hair on his brow. "Just a little banged up. I sent him home for some clean clothes and proper rest." An image of Neal in scrubs (Damn it-Did Neal impersonate a surgeon?) sleeping uncomfortably in a hospital chair floated up from Peter's memory. "He stayed with you until the storm passed and I could get back into the city."
Peter nodded and let his head sink back into the pillow, suddenly feeling very, very tired.
The doctor gave them a moment before continuing.
"Peter, Mrs. Burke, as a matter of full disclosure, I need to inform you that Peter had a close call during surgery."
El attention turned laser sharp on the doctor. "What do you mean?" Peter squeezed her hand, reminding her that he's alright.
"As part of standard procedure for excessive internal bleeding, Peter received a transfusion during surgery, but his body rejected the blood. Typically using O negative-"
"The universally compatible blood type," El stated impatiently, and Peter could tell she was holding back from being prematurely angry at the hospital.
"Yes. It usually is. Peter has a rare blood type - AB Lan negative - which is perfectly healthy," he quickly reassured the Burkes, "but on it also means there's a risk the hospital won't have compatible blood in emergency situations. This normally would never be an issue, but the storm made it impossible for us to get supplies in time to treat Peter."
"Okay, so what happened?" The Burkes waited for the doctor to continue.
The doctor - Roberts, by his name tag - gathered himself. "We put out a call over the PA. And, someone in the waiting room was a match and volunteered for the emergency transfusion. It was, well…" Dr. Roberts shook his head, "miraculous, really; the chances for a match even in the normal population are next to nothing. But we got to Peter in time and testing shows no additional complications or risks as a result of the transfusion."
Peter didn't realize how dry his mouth was until he tried to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. El turned to him and smiled. "An angel was sent down to watch over my husband."
She squeezed Peter's hand and, lapsed Catholic though he was, Peter kept quiet and didn't say anything to undermine her sentiment. His own chest tightened, filled with...something; the something that came with realizing he could have died and was on the receiving end of a miracle.
"Is there...um..." Peter's voice was rough and he cleared his throat, "Is there a way we could say thank you?"
The doctor smiled. "Our volunteer asked to remain anonymous," he said, "but I think it was thank you enough knowing that you pulled through."
Feeling uncomfortably in debt, Peter nodded.
The next time Peter woke, Neal was sitting in the same spot he saw him last, only now in a suit and his right arm in a sling, fiddling with his silly hat like a security blanket. He looked terrible.
"You look terrible," Peter said.
Neal huffed out a laugh. "Look who's talking." He gave Peter a long, searching look before turning his attention back to the brim of his fedora. "You gave us a scare, Peter."
"So I heard," Peter replied, groaning as he raised himself into a sitting position, "but a Good Samaritan saved my life."
"So I heard."
Peter studied Neal. His knee was bouncing slightly in a rare show of unfocused energy, his mouth pulled in an unhappy line.
"You okay?"
Neal whipped his head back up in attention.
"What? Me?" He smiled and there was the Neal Caffrey he knew. "Yeah. Yeah, this is nothing." He gestured vaguely at himself, drawing Peter's eyes to the butterfly bandage on Neal's brow, and took a breath. "You?"
That wasn't the question Peter was asking, but he let it go and grew quiet as he reflected on his close call.
"I was...really lucky. Really lucky, you know?" Peter might be on the mend, but his defenses were still down, the whole ordeal leaving him vulnerable and bewildered. "That that impossible someone was there at the right place at the right time and would go through all that, you know? For a stranger."
Neal scratched at the crook of his good arm and looked a little wistful.
"Nothing any decent human being wouldn't have done."
"Still."
They lapsed back into silence.
Peter looked at Neal and frowned. They've been on the outs since the Keller incident, Neal barely two weeks out of his crutches, their relationship still tenuous and strained. Yet despite still wanting to be mad at Neal, is still mad at Neal, Peter's heart warmed a little knowing that his CI - his partner - had stayed with him through storm. Literally and figuratively.
"Hey," a thought occurred to Peter, "did you meet him?"
"Excuse me?" Neal asked, pulled back into the present.
"The Good Samaritan, did you meet him?"
Neal looked at Peter suspiciously. "He - or she," he canted his head for emphasis, "was pretty insistent about staying anonymous." Neal answered with that smile that meant he's telling the truth but not answering the question. He probably does it without even thinking. "Guess some people don't like being recognized."
"But you could make a positive ID?"
"Agent Burke, are you asking me to help you breach a person's right to privacy?" Neal made a show of his mock affront.
"Fine, smart-ass," Peter responded without much heat. The moment almost felt normal between them. He let out a frustrated breath through his nose. "I guess we all have our secrets."
Peter thought he saw Neal still out of the corner of his eyes. He was referring to the Good Samaritan. Sort of. Neal folded his arms across his chest and settled in his seat, and another uneasy silence fell between them.
Distracted by Neal worrying at an itch inside his elbow, Peter suddenly had an odd thought cross his mind.
Impossible. The idea really gave new meaning to "two of a kind," or "two sides of the same coin," or whatever people had said about their cop-and-robber partnership. Peter Burke had met his match, they teased, back when Caffrey was Bonds. What are the chances that Neal and he were a match match?
He'd say something, right? If it were the case? In gentleman-thief accounting it balanced out: Yes, I put El in danger, but I saved your life, so we're square.
But then again, Neal wasn't the type of person who'd use saving Peter's life as a bargaining chip or to excuse his past actions. And whatever they were, they weren't just business partners. Neal probably wouldn't want Peter to be burdened with a debt he could never repay. Besides, it wasn't really something to boast about - it wasn't clever or elegant or anything that required knowledge or skill. It was just blood.
Peter didn't know how much stock he wanted to put on this errant thought. Maybe this strange pressing need to express gratitude for his new lease on life was overriding his good sense.
"Why does it matter?" Neal asked, picking up the conversation long after Peter thought it ended.
Peter shrugged.
Statistically, he's probably wrong, but he's willing to hedge his bets. Just in case.
"If you ever bump into the guy, tell him thank you. I owe him my life."
"Yeah," Neal nodded, his voice a little rough, "Of course."
-'-
Author's Note: The hurricane refers to Hurricane Sandy. Yes, that's how long this has been sitting in my drafts folder *is shamefaced*. This part follows directly after the chapter "Leverage" and several weeks after episode 3.10 "Countdown." Not canon-compliant episode 3.11 "Checkmate" and beyond.
Previous Parts:
Freudian Slip
Leverage
Title: Know Me (Not) [3/6?]
Rating: PG
Genre: Drama, H/C, Gen
Characters: Neal, Peter, Elizabeth
Word Count: ~1500
Spoilers: Takes place soon after 3.10 “Countdown.” Not 3.11 “Checkmate” compliant.
Summary: There’s nothing like a crisis to bring out the truth. Five hints, and one time the Burkes didn’t realize they figured it out. [AU in which Peter is Neal’s father, but only Neal knows the truth]
Blood is Thicker
"…car accident and suffered from heavy internal bleeding. We had to take you in for surgery."
Still trying to shake the fog out of his head, Peter nodded, just now noticing the muted ache throbbing throughout his mid-section to each beat of his heart. He must be coming off the good stuff.
"…concussion and whiplash, so you're probably experiencing headaches, neck pain, and possibly some short-term memory loss. Nothing to worry about, it's very common after..."
Peter pinched his face in concentration, trying to remember if he had forgotten anything. He was in a car. Right. Neal was there. What were they doing? It was raining. There was rain. Hurricane. They were evacuating from the city and meeting El in Jersey. He-
El!
"El! Is my wife okay?"
"Peter, I'm right here."
El materialized by his side, holding his hand in hers. Maybe she had been there the whole time. "It's fine, everything's fine. You're going to be fine."
Suddenly sober and alert, Peter took a moment to let the wash of comfort and relief warm him before fear seized him again: "Where's Neal? We were together-"
"He's fine, hon," El explained, brushing at the hair on his brow. "Just a little banged up. I sent him home for some clean clothes and proper rest." An image of Neal in scrubs (Damn it-Did Neal impersonate a surgeon?) sleeping uncomfortably in a hospital chair floated up from Peter's memory. "He stayed with you until the storm passed and I could get back into the city."
Peter nodded and let his head sink back into the pillow, suddenly feeling very, very tired.
The doctor gave them a moment before continuing.
"Peter, Mrs. Burke, as a matter of full disclosure, I need to inform you that Peter had a close call during surgery."
El attention turned laser sharp on the doctor. "What do you mean?" Peter squeezed her hand, reminding her that he's alright.
"As part of standard procedure for excessive internal bleeding, Peter received a transfusion during surgery, but his body rejected the blood. Typically using O negative-"
"The universally compatible blood type," El stated impatiently, and Peter could tell she was holding back from being prematurely angry at the hospital.
"Yes. It usually is. Peter has a rare blood type - AB Lan negative - which is perfectly healthy," he quickly reassured the Burkes, "but on it also means there's a risk the hospital won't have compatible blood in emergency situations. This normally would never be an issue, but the storm made it impossible for us to get supplies in time to treat Peter."
"Okay, so what happened?" The Burkes waited for the doctor to continue.
The doctor - Roberts, by his name tag - gathered himself. "We put out a call over the PA. And, someone in the waiting room was a match and volunteered for the emergency transfusion. It was, well…" Dr. Roberts shook his head, "miraculous, really; the chances for a match even in the normal population are next to nothing. But we got to Peter in time and testing shows no additional complications or risks as a result of the transfusion."
Peter didn't realize how dry his mouth was until he tried to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. El turned to him and smiled. "An angel was sent down to watch over my husband."
She squeezed Peter's hand and, lapsed Catholic though he was, Peter kept quiet and didn't say anything to undermine her sentiment. His own chest tightened, filled with...something; the something that came with realizing he could have died and was on the receiving end of a miracle.
"Is there...um..." Peter's voice was rough and he cleared his throat, "Is there a way we could say thank you?"
The doctor smiled. "Our volunteer asked to remain anonymous," he said, "but I think it was thank you enough knowing that you pulled through."
Feeling uncomfortably in debt, Peter nodded.
The next time Peter woke, Neal was sitting in the same spot he saw him last, only now in a suit and his right arm in a sling, fiddling with his silly hat like a security blanket. He looked terrible.
"You look terrible," Peter said.
Neal huffed out a laugh. "Look who's talking." He gave Peter a long, searching look before turning his attention back to the brim of his fedora. "You gave us a scare, Peter."
"So I heard," Peter replied, groaning as he raised himself into a sitting position, "but a Good Samaritan saved my life."
"So I heard."
Peter studied Neal. His knee was bouncing slightly in a rare show of unfocused energy, his mouth pulled in an unhappy line.
"You okay?"
Neal whipped his head back up in attention.
"What? Me?" He smiled and there was the Neal Caffrey he knew. "Yeah. Yeah, this is nothing." He gestured vaguely at himself, drawing Peter's eyes to the butterfly bandage on Neal's brow, and took a breath. "You?"
That wasn't the question Peter was asking, but he let it go and grew quiet as he reflected on his close call.
"I was...really lucky. Really lucky, you know?" Peter might be on the mend, but his defenses were still down, the whole ordeal leaving him vulnerable and bewildered. "That that impossible someone was there at the right place at the right time and would go through all that, you know? For a stranger."
Neal scratched at the crook of his good arm and looked a little wistful.
"Nothing any decent human being wouldn't have done."
"Still."
They lapsed back into silence.
Peter looked at Neal and frowned. They've been on the outs since the Keller incident, Neal barely two weeks out of his crutches, their relationship still tenuous and strained. Yet despite still wanting to be mad at Neal, is still mad at Neal, Peter's heart warmed a little knowing that his CI - his partner - had stayed with him through storm. Literally and figuratively.
"Hey," a thought occurred to Peter, "did you meet him?"
"Excuse me?" Neal asked, pulled back into the present.
"The Good Samaritan, did you meet him?"
Neal looked at Peter suspiciously. "He - or she," he canted his head for emphasis, "was pretty insistent about staying anonymous." Neal answered with that smile that meant he's telling the truth but not answering the question. He probably does it without even thinking. "Guess some people don't like being recognized."
"But you could make a positive ID?"
"Agent Burke, are you asking me to help you breach a person's right to privacy?" Neal made a show of his mock affront.
"Fine, smart-ass," Peter responded without much heat. The moment almost felt normal between them. He let out a frustrated breath through his nose. "I guess we all have our secrets."
Peter thought he saw Neal still out of the corner of his eyes. He was referring to the Good Samaritan. Sort of. Neal folded his arms across his chest and settled in his seat, and another uneasy silence fell between them.
Distracted by Neal worrying at an itch inside his elbow, Peter suddenly had an odd thought cross his mind.
Impossible. The idea really gave new meaning to "two of a kind," or "two sides of the same coin," or whatever people had said about their cop-and-robber partnership. Peter Burke had met his match, they teased, back when Caffrey was Bonds. What are the chances that Neal and he were a match match?
He'd say something, right? If it were the case? In gentleman-thief accounting it balanced out: Yes, I put El in danger, but I saved your life, so we're square.
But then again, Neal wasn't the type of person who'd use saving Peter's life as a bargaining chip or to excuse his past actions. And whatever they were, they weren't just business partners. Neal probably wouldn't want Peter to be burdened with a debt he could never repay. Besides, it wasn't really something to boast about - it wasn't clever or elegant or anything that required knowledge or skill. It was just blood.
Peter didn't know how much stock he wanted to put on this errant thought. Maybe this strange pressing need to express gratitude for his new lease on life was overriding his good sense.
"Why does it matter?" Neal asked, picking up the conversation long after Peter thought it ended.
Peter shrugged.
Statistically, he's probably wrong, but he's willing to hedge his bets. Just in case.
"If you ever bump into the guy, tell him thank you. I owe him my life."
"Yeah," Neal nodded, his voice a little rough, "Of course."
-'-
Author's Note: The hurricane refers to Hurricane Sandy. Yes, that's how long this has been sitting in my drafts folder *is shamefaced*. This part follows directly after the chapter "Leverage" and several weeks after episode 3.10 "Countdown." Not canon-compliant episode 3.11 "Checkmate" and beyond.
Previous Parts:
Freudian Slip
Leverage