Title: Minefield
Artist:
marieincolourAuthor:
cookielauraWord Count: 8,392
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter, Elizabeth, Mozzie, Peter/El/Neal
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mugging/brief violence, minor injuries/blood, one curse word, angst/relationship complications
Spoilers: None
Beta:
ohcaptainSummary: Neal is determined not to ask for too much in his new relationship with Peter and El, but some situations are hard to get through without help.
Notes: Written for the White Collar Reverse Big Bang over at
wc_reverse_bb. Give
marieincolour feedback on the artwork on the community
post :)
(click to enlarge)
Neal stood opposite the hospital entrance and stared at the glass doors. Bright artificial light flooded out, illuminating an elderly woman leaning on her husband as she struggled to the entrance; inside the Emergency Room patients waited on plastic chairs, clutching the hands of their partners or parents. The entire scene was blurry and tinged red, marred by the blood that Neal had to keep blinking out of his eyes. He stood and stared for a few moments longer, knowing he should go in, knowing he couldn’t, and then he turned and walked away.
---
3 weeks earlier
‘You’re sure about this place?’ Peter asked, looking a little skeptical as he browsed the website for the Italian restaurant Neal had recommended.
‘I’m sure.’ Neal leaned back in the chair opposite Peter’s desk. ‘I went there with June last month. The ippoglosso is exceptional.’
‘The what?’
‘Ippoglosso. Halibut, Peter. They serve it with a sea urchin crema that’s -’ Neal stopped talking when he saw Peter’s face screw up a little in distaste. Peter was not a big fan of fish. ‘Elizabeth will love it there,’ he finished, changing tack.
‘Maybe you should come with us so you can translate the menu,’ Peter muttered, and Neal tensed, then carefully relaxed his muscles, one at a time, before Peter could sense any change in his posture.
‘They have an English translation underneath each dish,’ he said casually, after a moment. ‘And Elizabeth will know what they are anyway. You’ll be fine.’
Peter nodded distractedly and shut down the website. ‘Yeah, thanks Neal.’
‘Happy to help. Your wife will be impressed at your good taste.’
Peter huffed out a short laugh. ‘My wife will know exactly who recommended the place to me,’ he said, giving Neal a smile. ‘And I’m sure she’ll thank you for it later.’
‘You can both thank me for it later,’ Neal said, letting his voice slide into a lower, smoother register. He instantly regretted it.
Peter didn’t appear to mind though, and flashed him a dirty grin as he stood up from his desk. ‘I’ll see that we do.’
---
Neal glared at his reflection in the slightly smudged mirror of the FBI restroom. He’d promised himself that he would let Peter and Elizabeth enjoy their wedding anniversary completely independently of him. But then Elizabeth had asked Peter to book a restaurant, and Peter had floundered predictably, and suggested various unworthy options within Neal’s hearing, and Neal had started to worry that if he didn’t step in and help, Peter might end up taking her to a hotdog cart.
Or maybe not. Most likely Peter would have found somewhere perfectly nice, and most likely Elizabeth would have loved it even if it were a sports bar, because she’d be with Peter. Maybe Neal just couldn’t resist inserting himself into the proceedings a little.
He sighed, straightened his already perfectly straight tie, and silently swore that he would back off for the next three weeks. He wouldn’t help Peter choose a gift; he wouldn’t ask El what she was going to wear; he wouldn’t react if either of them made another offhand comment about Neal joining them for the occasion. This was their time, and Neal was determined not to trespass on it any more than he already had.
---
The day of Peter and Elizabeth’s wedding anniversary dawned bright and unseasonably warm, and Neal woke early, hot and slightly sticky, legs tangled in the sheets and one arm flung over his head uncomfortably. It had been a restless night.
He took his time getting ready, certain that Peter would be there at eight and not before. The past few weeks, since they’d been together, Peter had started to arrive earlier than necessary, stealing an extra few minutes to drink Italian roast on the terrace, or not-so-subtly admire Neal’s ass as he finished dressing. But today he’d be at home, eking out a few more precious moments with Elizabeth. They’d have had slow morning sex, they’d have showered together, they’d have eaten warm croissants whilst chatting about the day and evening ahead. They’d have done all the things that happily married people did on their anniversaries.
He’d sent a card. He’d wondered about flowers, but it seemed too showy, and Neal didn’t want to be showy today. So he’d drawn a card - a portrait of Peter and Elizabeth, walking in the park, laughing - and inside he’d written: To a beautiful couple.
Then he’d stopped and stared at the word couple. He’d carefully cut the portrait out, stuck it onto a new card, and written: To Peter and Elizabeth. Wishing you a very happy anniversary, and many more wonderful years together. Love, Neal. He’d stared at that card too, his eyes resting on the word love for too long, but he’d rationalized that it didn’t mean anything, that Peter and Elizabeth wouldn’t read anything into it, that he’d been signing notes to Peter with love for years now. It would be odder not to write it.
He ate his breakfast slowly, deliberately, waiting for the knock on the door, his heart jumping when it came. He’d left the door unlocked, and Peter didn’t wait for his knock to be answered, just came striding in like this was his home too. He grinned at Neal, his whole face lighting up, and sat down next to him at the table, before reaching over to kiss him. It was sweet and long and tasted like coffee and toothpaste and Elizabeth.
‘Mmm. Morning,’ Neal mumbled into Peter’s mouth as Peter let the kiss end but didn’t pull away.
‘Hey,’ Peter said gently, then kissed him again before sitting back. ‘Are you ready to go? We’re kinda late.’
‘Yeah, just give me a minute.’ Neal got up and dumped his plate and mug into the sink. ‘Happy anniversary, by the way,’ he said as he turned.
‘Thanks. And thanks for the card. It’s beautiful. El wants to frame it.’
Neal felt a hot rush of pleasure, which turned into lurching fear within a second. ‘It was nothing,’ he said with a dismissive smile. It had been too much; he’d done too much, again. He should have sent a store-bought card.
Peter shrugged. ‘We didn’t think so.’ He handed Neal his hat and opened the door. ‘Shall we?’
‘Sure.’ Neal angled the hat onto his head, and followed Peter out.
---
‘You got plans for tonight?’ Peter asked as he pulled up in front of June’s house after work.
‘Just the usual,’ Neal said lightly. ‘Seeing Moz. Debating the nature of existence. Possibly planning a complex art heist.’
Peter rolled his eyes. ‘A completely hypothetical complex art heist, of course.’
Neal grinned. ‘Actually, we’ll probably watch Project Runway. Mozzie’s developed a strange obsession.’
‘Mozzie has?’
‘Okay… I might enjoy it too. Only to keep him company.’
Peter’s lip quirked up into something between a smirk and a fond smile. ‘Just as long as you don’t make me watch it.’ He paused. ‘We’ll see you tomorrow? El said something about brunch at our place.’
‘I’ll be there,’ Neal replied. ‘Have a good time tonight. Give Elizabeth my -’ he stumbled slightly over the words, ‘- congratulations.’
‘Congratulations?’
‘On managing to put up with you for so many years,’ he answered quickly, with a wide smile.
‘Thanks,’ Peter snorted.
Neal let his smile relax into something more genuine. ‘She’s a lucky woman,’ he allowed himself to say, and Peter reached over and squeezed his hand. ‘See you tomorrow Peter.’
Neal got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk, watching as Peter pulled away, waiting until the Taurus disappeared into the traffic. Then he turned and walked into the house, his shoulders heavy. He wasn’t actually expecting Mozzie’s company - though it wasn’t exactly a lie, because Mozzie was apt to pop up at inopportune moments, so there was every possibility that he might see him - and the only real plans he had for the evening involved a couple glasses of wine, a blank canvas and a paintbrush.
---
Two hours later, the canvas remained mostly blank, though the wine had been drunk. He paced, twirling the paintbrush in his hand, trying to clear his brain, but his thoughts kept crowding in on him, irrational but persistent. They were the same thoughts he’d been struggling with for weeks. Five and a half weeks, to be exact.
Two months ago, Neal would have said he’d spent a lot of time considering what a relationship with Peter and Elizabeth would be like. In fact he’d thought of - dreamt about, yearned for - little else. Back then it was just an unobtainable fantasy, perfect and unmarred by reality. In his head, when the three of them were together, things were simple, easy, everything any of them could want - Neal completed Peter and El, and they fixed him, put him back together. The relationship unfolded in a glowing future where they lived in a private, impenetrable bubble, where there were no anklets, no complications, no insecurities, no pasts to overcome.
This was not that future.
This was a present where Neal had everything he’d wished for, and it wasn’t simple or easy. It was terrifying. For the first time in a long time, he had too much to lose, and too many ways to lose it.
Neal set down the paintbrush, opened the doors onto the terrace and stepped out, letting the cool air wash over him in an attempt to clear his head. The city was spread out before him, and he wondered how many couples were down there, eating in restaurants, celebrating something - an anniversary, a job offer, a pregnancy, some sort of special date that held relevance only to them. Thousands, no doubt.
How many of them had a third partner waiting alone at home?
The terrace was too small. Neal needed to get away, and whilst his instinct was always to run, tonight a walk would have to do.
---
Neal wandered aimlessly through Riverside Park, the steady rhythm of his footsteps soothing him a little. It was beautiful there at night, and peaceful despite the remaining joggers and dog walkers, and the steady hum of traffic overhead from the Henry Hudson Parkway.
Neal let his mind drift, remembering coming here in the summer with Peter and Elizabeth for one of the outdoor movies, Peter insisting they get there two hours before the movie started because if he was going to have to sit on the ground for the evening, he at least wanted to have a decent view. Elizabeth had made a picnic, and even the smell of Peter’s deviled ham sandwiches had not been bothersome, magicked away on the summer breeze. Neal had spent most of the near-two-hour runtime of The Outsiders sneaking glances at Peter and El’s profiles, the evening sun highlighting the bronze shades in El’s hair and softening the lines of Peter’s face. He could vividly recall the ache of want and need and can’t have that he’d felt, the way his heart had clenched with so close, so far when Elizabeth had spread the blanket she’d brought across the three of their laps, the rush of cold loss that he’d tried to ignore when the film was over and the blanket was gone and Peter and El were headed home in a different direction.
Maybe they’d come here again next summer, maybe he’d hold hands with them under the blanket this time, maybe - maybe he would have messed it all up by then, and he’d have nobody to come with at all.
Neal sighed and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. There were so many things to be careful of now. They’d talked about the potential minefields, the three of them sat in the Burkes’ living room the morning after Elizabeth had finally declared ‘enough’ on the unspoken attraction between them. The intervening hours had been like something from a dream, and Neal didn’t want to wake up, didn’t want to leave the bedroom, felt like he never needed to do anything other than be there in bed with the two of them. But Peter and El had concerns. So Neal had drunk coffee and eaten bagels whilst wearing Peter’s sweats, and listened to Peter discuss how wary they would need to be of arousing people’s suspicions, how important it was that Neal’s tracking data didn’t show too many overnight stays at the Burkes’, how they’d need to keep a safe distance at work. Neal agreed, of course, and there had been a frisson of excitement running through him at the thought of pulling off a con with Peter and Elizabeth, being part of a secret that was theirs alone.
But there were other issues too. Elizabeth had talked about how important it was that nobody felt left out, and she spoke so knowledgeably that Neal had wondered if she’d been researching threesome etiquette on the internet. It was important that everyone had time with each other; Peter and Neal were together all day at work, so Peter and El would need time alone as well. And, Elizabeth had suggested, she and Neal should have something that was just theirs; a class, or something. She’d suggested photography.
It was at that moment, watching El talk about the logistics of sharing herself and her husband with Neal, that he had started to realize what was on the line. This new relationship could threaten their marriage. Neal could threaten their marriage. There were so many ways this could go horribly wrong.
So Neal had determined to be careful. He’d been so, so careful every day for the past five and a half weeks. Careful not to get in the way, careful not to need too much time or attention, careful not to impose. He told himself it was to make sure their relationship didn’t harm Peter and El’s marriage, but there was a part of him - a sick, guilty part - that knew he was just as worried that the consequence of him getting in the way would be that they let him go. And the thought of going back to the way things were before was unbearable.
So he held back, and when they checked with him that things were good, that he didn’t feel left out, he told them what he knew they wanted to hear. He didn’t tell them how hard it was to leave them at the end of the evening, to find himself out in the cold looking at their closed front door and knowing they remained inside. He didn’t tell them how difficult it was to know that they had vowed to be together forever, whilst Neal was just dating them, was just - auditioning. He didn’t tell them that he loved them, because he knew it was too much, too soon, and just because he felt like he had loved them since they met, it didn’t mean they felt the same way. He didn’t tell them anything but happiness and light, because he didn’t want to add any more complications, not when their relationship itself was complication enough. It was a lot to keep inside, but it was worth it to keep Peter and El.
Neal shivered a little in the chilled air and pulled his jacket more tightly around him. He was in Riverside Park South by now, having walked further than he’d realized. He’d reached the pier at West 70th Street, had passed the café where he and Peter stopped for hotdogs whenever they were nearby. It was closed for the season now, and the area was dark and empty, the only noise coming from the West Side Highway hulking overhead.
Neal stood for a moment, resting his arms on the rails and looking out over the Hudson, watching the water ripple in the evening breeze. The rows of city lights reflected off the river, distorted echoes of other people’s lives.
The footsteps behind him didn’t register until they were almost on top of him.
---
Neal forced his eyes open. He didn’t have to wonder how long he’d lost consciousness for; it was seconds, judging by the still-present sound of sneakers thudding on the path as the men sprinted away, their indistinct figures disappearing into the shadows cast by the highway.
He dragged in a breath: slow and sharply painful. He blinked, trying to get his blurry vision to clear, and felt the panic rise up again in his throat. He tried to damp it down, telling himself it was over, it was done, they were gone, he was okay. But his heart was beating hard and fast, his hands were shaking, and the last minutes replayed jumpily in his mind.
The sudden shock of too-close footsteps, the instinctive turning, the fist his face was met with. Sparks bursting into life behind his eyes, his stomach roiling in pain and sick fear as he fell back against the railings. Two men, young but heavyset, crowding in, faces mostly shadow. Coarse laughter on beer-tainted breath from the one on the left, bright metal glinting in the hand of the one on the right. Demands for his wallet, phone, that fucking fancy watch. His own hands rising up in front of him, supplicatory, his voice coming from somewhere far away, saying okay, okay, give me a second, no need for violence. And then fast movement in the dark and the breath leaving him in a harsh rush as the punches hit his side, one, two, amid shouts of stop stalling and more laughter. His body, sliding down to the ground even as he pulled out his phone and wallet with fumbling hands and tossed them in front of him. A hard kick to his ribs, his head being yanked back by one of the men and hitting the rails as the other ripped his watch from his wrist. And then, blackness for a moment, almost welcome.
Neal clenched his hands tightly to stop the shaking, then slowly raised one of them to check the gash on his head, trying to ignore the screaming in his side as he did so. His fingers came away warm and sticky.
Around him, all was still. It felt like there should be sound, movement, sirens and people coming to his aid, but there was nothing; the world remained oblivious. He had to get up, he realized dully, had to make it to a public phone or to the road, to a cab. Had to do something.
He stumbled slowly to his feet, pulling himself up on the railings, his bloody fingers slipping on the metal. But he could stand, he could move, he was alright, he would be fine. He repeated the words to himself with each step. He would be fine.
---
Neal congratulated himself internally on getting out of the park. It had felt like miles. He slid gratefully into the backseat of the cab, legs giving way in relief as he settled back against the faux leather interior. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks that he kept some separate cash in Byron’s silver money clip in his jacket, and would actually be able to pay for the journey.
The driver glanced at him in the rear view mirror, took in his appearance and frowned. ‘You alright man?’ he asked, so redundantly that Neal huffed out an unamused laugh, then wished he hadn’t as his ribs protested sharply. The driver sighed. ‘Police or hospital?’
---
It seemed like only a minute later that the cab was pulling up in front of Lennox Hill Hospital and Neal faced the unpleasant prospect of getting out of his seat. Every movement hurt: leaning forwards to pay the driver, twisting to undo the seatbelt, reaching for the door handle, swinging his legs out of the car - they all pulled unpleasantly on his injured side whilst his head throbbed, a bass track in the background.
Neal stood opposite the hospital entrance and stared at the glass doors. Bright artificial light flooded out, illuminating an elderly woman leaning on her husband as she struggled to the entrance; inside the Emergency Room patients waited on plastic chairs, clutching the hands of their partners or parents. The entire scene was blurry and tinged red, marred by the blood that Neal had to keep blinking out of his eyes.
He started to move towards the doors, and then stopped, brought up short by the sudden realization of the obvious, the fact that must have bypassed him only because he was still dazed by the attack. If he went in, if he was examined, they would see his anklet. And they would call Peter. Peter, who was having a nice, simple anniversary dinner with his wife, who had missed too many dinners already because of Neal, who had seemingly endless patience that one day surely had to end.
He couldn’t do it, couldn’t let the hospital call them. They deserved to have a wonderful evening, and besides, it would be too glaringly obvious to both Peter and Elizabeth that now that they were with Neal, they couldn’t even celebrate their wedding date without being interrupted by some issue that needed sorting out. They’d be onto dessert by now, Peter feeding El some of his chocolate fondant, El licking the sauce from her lips, both of them looking forward to what lay beyond the journey home. And he couldn’t take it from them, for their sake or his.
He could treat himself at home. He probably just needed some ice and some rest, he probably didn’t have any major injuries, and if he did, he told himself, he’d go back to the hospital later.
He took the next available cab, and this time the driver didn’t give him a second glance, no doubt used to picking up people in all conditions from outside the hospital. He asked for the address, and for a moment, Neal yearned to say DeKalb Avenue. He said Riverside Drive instead.
---
Getting up the stairs to his apartment was a challenge. Neal had never truly noticed how many stairs June’s house had before, but now they seemed to stretch on forever, each one of them increasing his misery, causing pain to race up his side every time he raised a knee. He had to stop to catch his breath every few steps, and by the time he had reached the top he was sweating and frustrated. The desire to lie down on his bed and forget the world outside washed over him, but he knew he needed to check out the damage first.
He walked slowly to the bathroom, took a look at the mirror and tried not to flinch. It looked as bad as it felt. There was a nasty cut on his forehead, which had left blood streaked down to his eyebrow and matted in the front of his hair. A dull red bruise was blossoming around his right eye, and the eye itself was bloody. He wasn’t a pretty sight.
Neal carefully extricated himself from his jacket, then hitched up his sweater on the right side. It was easy to make out the two fist-shaped red marks on his torso, along with an angry bruise along the bottom of his ribs. He felt the ribs gingerly, testing for any lumps or dents, anything that would indicate a break, but there was nothing except pain and swelling. A relieved breath rushed out of him, which turned unexpectedly into a short, shuddering sob. The sob sent sharp splints of agony through his ribs, and he swallowed it down quickly, squeezing his eyes shut, telling himself roughly to keep it together. Now was not the time for self-pity.
He ran through the necessary actions in his mind. He needed the gauze from his first aid kit for the cut, ice for his ribs, a facecloth to wash away the blood, and an urgent look on the internet to find out whether blood in the eye needed medical attention. He was just about to reach for the facecloth when he heard the front door of his apartment slam. His heart lurched, and for a quick moment he both desperately wanted it to be Peter and El, and desperately hoped it wasn’t. But then he heard Mozzie’s voice calling out, and his body slumped. He wasn’t sure if it was in disappointment or relief.
‘Hey Moz,’ he said quietly as he headed out of the bathroom. Talking was uncomfortable; it required deeper breaths than the shallow inhalations he’d been taking.
Mozzie was bent over, examining the contents of Neal’s wine cabinet.
‘Hey, do you have -’ he stopped abruptly as he turned his head and saw Neal’s disheveled appearance. ‘What happened to you?’ he asked incredulously.
Neal began to shrug, but stopped when it pulled on his ribs. ‘Got beat up,’ he muttered, stating the obvious.
‘Was this at work? Is this the Feds’ fault? Doesn’t the Suit understand -’
Neal shut his eyes against the instant tirade. ‘No, Moz, it was -’
‘-he’s supposed to protect you during ops? And he just left you like this? What about -’
‘Mozzie. No. I just got mugged. Peter doesn’t even know.’
‘Oh.’ Mozzie calmed a little. He looked at Neal closely. ‘They did a number on you, huh? Any other injuries?’
‘Just a bruised rib or two.’ Neal sat down carefully at the dining table and rested his head in his hands. It was still throbbing dully, a persistent drum beat behind his eyes, and it felt like he’d been awake for days. He heard Mozzie open the freezer door and suddenly felt pathetically thankful that there was someone there with him. Mozzie had tended to his injuries before and he was always efficient, if not particularly comforting.
Mozzie sat down next to him and handed him a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a dish towel. Neal slipped it under his sweater and T-shirt, flinching as it touched his sore side. He murmured his thanks and then waved a hand towards his eye. ‘Got any advice on this?’
Mozzie peered more closely, then typed a couple of words into his cell and scanned a webpage.
‘It’s a subconjunctival hematoma,’ he announced.
‘That sounds serious.’
‘Actually it’s not. It’s quite common after a trauma to the face. It should clear up by itself in forty eight hours or so. You’ll be fine.’
Neal sighed. ‘Good.’ It needed to be gone by the time he got back to work; he didn’t want Peter seeing it and bombarding him with questions. He’d ask how and when it had happened, why Neal hadn’t called, why he hadn’t reported it, and a hundred other things that Neal didn’t want to tell him. The other injuries could be hidden; he could style his hair over the cut on his forehead, could keep his hat on, could put make-up over the bruises. As long as the blood was gone, he could pretend none of this had happened, and he wouldn’t need to taint Peter and El’s memory of their anniversary.
Neal forced himself to concentrate long enough to cancel his stolen credit cards on the net - thankfully most of his aliases’ cards were still in his safe - and then declared himself done for the night. He let Mozzie lead him over to the bed and help him out of his sweater, which was an awkward and painful operation. He stripped down to his boxers and tee, then settled down on his back. He gave in to the tiredness and was only vaguely aware of Mozzie tending to the cut whilst bemoaning the coarseness and unimaginative mindset of criminals who made their living by mugging. Mozzie produced another makeshift ice pack for his eye and offered to acquire various legal and not-so-legal pain medications for him, but Neal roused himself enough to say that aspirin would be fine, and to swallow a couple pills and some water. He dismissed Mozzie’s offer to stay; he just wanted to rest.
It wasn’t until after Mozzie had gone, leaving strict instructions to call him if he changed his mind on the stronger pain meds, that Neal realized he was supposed to be seeing Peter and Elizabeth for brunch tomorrow. He’d have to call them in the morning, make up some excuse. The thought of deceiving them sat heavily on him for a moment, but he figured it was justified, and he was too exhausted to examine it further. He let his eyes close again and fell into an uneasy sleep.
---
By the time the morning sun started filtering into the apartment, Neal estimated he’d had around two hours of sleep in total. Every position he lay in was uncomfortable, and whenever he took a deep breath in his sleep, he woke up abruptly from the stab of pain in his side. He’d bruised his ribs before, a heist gone wrong that he’d only just escaped from in Slovenia, and he knew the pain would dissipate soon, but for now it was deeply unpleasant. The thudding in his head was a little more muted, but he felt more exhausted now than he had done the night before.
He got up slowly, then gathered up the wet dish towels and melted bags of peas and corn, returning the bags to the freezer so he could use them again later. He headed through to the bathroom and checked out his face in the mirror. The bruise around his eye was turning purple, but Mozzie had done a good job with the cut, which was closing up. There was still blood in his hair though, and he glanced over towards the shower, imagining how good the hot water would feel on his aching side, but the thought of trying to raise his right arm to wash and dry his hair and body felt like too much effort right now. He’d shower later, he decided. For now he just brushed his teeth using his left hand, doing his best to ignore his reflection, then returned to the kitchen for coffee. Thankfully June thought that he was brunching with Peter and Elizabeth, so she wouldn’t be joining him for breakfast and Neal wouldn’t need to explain to her why he looked so worse for wear.
Neal propped himself up in bed, sipped his coffee and prepared himself to call Peter and El. He imagined them still in bed, naked and curled in each other’s arms, happily exhausted after the night before. El’s hair would be spread out over the pillow, dark waves on pale cotton, and Peter would be looking down at her with that sleepy, lucked-out expression that Neal loved but had only had the privilege of seeing a handful of times.
He steeled himself, then pressed the speed dial.
‘Hey you.’ Peter’s voice was warm and gritty with leftover sleep, and Neal closed his eyes, letting himself imagine he was there with him.
‘Hey. Did I wake you?’
‘No, we’ve been awake for a while, just thinking about getting up.’ There was a rustle of bedclothes, and then Neal heard the sound of a kiss being blown down the line, and El calling, ‘Morning sweetie.’ He grinned despite the fact that it caused the side of his face to hurt.
‘Hi Elizabeth.’
‘Neal says hey,’ he heard Peter say, his voice turned away from the phone, and then more clearly, to Neal: ‘She’s just getting in the shower. We’re looking forward to seeing you later.’
‘Ah, yeah, about that. I’m not feeling too good.’ It wasn’t a lie.
‘Oh, how come?’
‘Just a headache, muscle aches. I heard there’s a virus going around. I’m sure I’ll be better soon.’ Still not lies exactly, but nevertheless he shifted, tense and uncomfortable.
Peter sighed. ‘Sorry buddy, that sucks. You want us to bring brunch to you?’
That sounded wonderful. ‘No, don’t worry, I’m just gonna rest,’ Neal said.
‘You sure?’
‘I’m sure. I’ll have a couple quiet days and then I’ll be good to go on Monday.’
‘Okay, well let us know if you need anything.’
‘Thanks Peter. Hey, did you have a good time last night?’
‘We did. The restaurant was great. El’s already told me in detail how she’s going to show you her appreciation for the recommendation.’
Neal shifted again, for a different reason. ‘I can’t wait.’
He could hear Peter grinning. ‘Yeah, me neither. Call later, okay?’
‘Will do. Bye Peter.’
He listened to Peter say goodbye, then reluctantly hit the button to end the call. He was glad it was over, glad he’d managed to cancel brunch without receiving the third degree, but there was a part of him that felt suddenly empty and cold without the warmth of Peter’s voice on the end of the line. He raised the coffee mug to his lips and let the hot liquid soothe him. The day seemed to stretch interminably in front of him, but he told himself that had a whole bookshelf of books waiting to be read, and plenty of aspirin to get him through. He’d order in Thai for dinner and eat it in bed, and by tomorrow he’d be feeling better.
---
Neal was just a couple of chapters into his novel, struggling to concentrate through the tiredness, when he heard noises on the stairs. He tensed, straining to hear, and it was only a moment before his fears were confirmed; there were two sets of footsteps, and that light female voice was definitely Elizabeth. His heartbeat sped up, and he swiftly ran through a whole roster of false explanations in his head, but he couldn’t find anything that worked. There was nothing he could say and nowhere he could run; in a few seconds Peter and Elizabeth would be in the apartment and he’d be sat there in his underwear and a still-damp T-shirt, bruised and ugly and a liar.
He heard the door open, heard Peter call out to him, saw his and Elizabeth’s backs as they took a couple of grocery bags over to the dining table. They must have decided to bring brunch to him after all; he should have known El wouldn’t let him spend the weekend alone when she heard he was unwell.
He watched apprehensively as they both turned towards him.
There was silence for a moment, as both of them froze, and then Elizabeth was approaching the bed quickly, reaching out for him, while Peter stood still, confusion and worry flitting across his face and warring with some other emotion that Neal didn’t want to guess at.
Elizabeth sat on the bed and put her hand gently to his face. ‘Neal? Sweetie? What happened? Are you okay?’
Neal winced as her fingertips brushed across the bruise surrounding his eye. She pulled back, apologetic, but he reached for her hand, the loss of contact hurting him more than the soreness in his face.
‘I’m fine,’ he said quietly, squeezing her fingers. He looked past her to Peter, who was coming over slowly. He sat on the other side of the bed and reached up to Neal’s hair, carefully brushing it aside and looking at the cut.
‘Who did this?’ he asked, voice rough, and Neal realized that the emotion he hadn’t wanted to recognize was anger. Fortunately, it didn’t seem to be aimed at him.
Neal closed his eyes, partly to enjoy the feel of Peter’s hand on him, but mostly so he didn’t have to watch his face as he told him the truth.
‘Got mugged by a couple guys. I’m okay, really.’
‘Oh baby,’ El said, her grip on Neal’s hand tightening. ‘Did they hurt you anywhere else?’
Neal forced himself to look up, and saw her face, tight with concern, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, slight lines furrowing between her eyebrows. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
‘Just my side, a bit. Don’t worry about me.’
Peter huffed out a short breath, his hand dropping to Neal’s shoulder and squeezing. ‘Yeah, right. Like that’s gonna happen.’ He sighed and shifted further onto the bed. ‘This happened last night.’
It wasn’t a question, so Neal didn’t reply, just looked down.
‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ Elizabeth asked, bewildered. ‘You could have called. We’d have come over.’
Neal remained silent, and after a few uncomfortable seconds Peter saved him by changing the subject.
‘Have you been to the ER? That eye looks nasty.’
Neal grimaced. ‘Aren’t you supposed to tell me I look hot even when I’m beat up?’
Peter rolled his eyes. ‘You still look hot. But I think a doctor should check out that eye.’
‘Mozzie looked at it. He said it’s a subconjunctival hematoma and it’ll clear up on its own.’
‘Mozzie is not a doctor.’
‘Actually -’ Neal started, then thought better of it.
Elizabeth stroked Neal’s fingers softly. ‘Are you sure you don’t need the hospital?’
‘Positive. I Googled my injuries.’
‘Oh, well that’s alright then,’ Peter said drily, then sighed again and adjusted his position so that he was sitting next to Neal, back against the headboard. He put his arm around Neal and pulled him close before dropping a kiss on the top of his head. Neal melted into him, not caring that the position put a little extra pressure on his ribs.
‘I assume you haven’t reported it?’ Peter asked resignedly, tracing patterns on Neal’s shoulder with his fingers.
‘Not yet,’ Neal mumbled noncommittally, turning his face into Peter’s neck and taking in the mingled scents of lemon shower gel and Peter’s aftershave with shallow breaths.
Elizabeth got up. ‘Well, at least we’re here to look after you now. Have you eaten?’
‘Only coffee.’
‘Good thing we brought brunch then.’ She leaned over and very gently kissed him, then drew back and headed over to the table, where she started to pull food out from the bags.
Neal sneaked a glance up at Peter’s face. His jaw was still held tightly.
‘Are you pissed at me?’ Neal asked quietly.
Peter shook his head and reached up to brush his hand through Neal’s hair again. ‘No, of course not. I’m sad that you’re hurt, and I’m sad that you felt you couldn’t call us, or tell us this morning.’
‘I just… I didn’t want to interrupt you last night. And I thought if I told you today, you’d feel guilty that you weren’t there. I wanted you both to have a happy anniversary.’ Neal did his best to slip into an easy smile. ‘It’s nothing, anyway, just a couple of bruises.’
Peter looked at him closely, apparently not swallowing that last part at all. He didn’t say anything else though, as Elizabeth returned with plates loaded with bagels with salmon and cream cheese, pastries and fruit, and arranged them on the bed picnic-style.
Neal ate carefully, using his left hand to lift the food and taking small bites so that he could keep his breaths shallow in between. He related the night’s events slowly to Peter and El whilst they ate, keeping the story as toned down as he possibly could. Even so, every word seemed to make Elizabeth look sadder, and he felt the guilt rising in his chest, mingling with the ever-present fear that this would just be another example of why their relationship was too much hassle.
After they finished the last of the danishes, Elizabeth got up to clear the plates, but Peter stayed exactly where he was, his side still glued to Neal’s despite the difficulties they’d both had eating that way.
‘What do you need?’ Peter asked softly, dropping his head closer to Neal’s so that his breath grazed Neal’s ear.
Neal shook his head, the response quick and automatic. ‘I’m fine, I don’t need anyth-’
Peter placed a warm, rough thumb against his lips, gently quietening him. ‘Okay, you’re fine. But humor me. What can I do to help? I want to do something.’
Neal met Peter’s eyes. There was no irritation or impatience in them; nothing except genuine concern. It was hard to resist.
‘You could help me shower?’ he offered, making sure his tone was light and non-hesitant, making sure it didn’t betray how difficult it was to ask. ‘I’m a bit stiff, and I don’t think blood in the hair is one of my better looks.’
Peter grinned. ‘Well, I wasn’t going to say anything…’ He got up and held out a hand to Neal, but the smile fell from his face as he watched Neal’s awkward movements and the grimace he couldn’t hide as his body complained at the change in position.
‘Can you walk?’ Peter asked, his voice more worried than before.
‘Yeah, I’m just a little slow.’ Neal reached for Peter’s hand to steady him as he rose cautiously from the bed.
Elizabeth turned from the table. ‘You two going somewhere?’ she asked lightly.
‘Just taking a shower,’ Neal replied. ‘Want to join us?’ He did his best to give her an inviting smile, though the thought of their three bodies crammed into the small shower cubicle made him wince internally. Any other day he would love it, but today it would be agony.
El returned the smile, but hers was soft and sad. ‘Some other time, I think.’ She started filling the sink with water to wash the dishes and Neal continued his uncomfortable walk across the apartment, Peter hovering at his side.
Once in the bathroom, Neal leaned heavily against the wall and watched as Peter stripped off his own clothes, leaving his jeans and sweater in a messy pile on the floor. Peter reached over and turned the shower on, and the steady sound of water hitting tile started to calm Neal’s jumpy nerves.
‘Can you lift your arms, or do we need to cut you out of this?’ Peter asked, tugging gently at the old tee Neal was still wearing.
‘I can lift them. A little.’ He gritted his teeth against the inevitable rush of pain as he moved his arms up as much as he could and let Peter pull the shirt over his head. As the pain receded, the only sound was the stream of shower water as Peter stood still in front of him, staring at his torso in horror. Neal glanced down and sighed - the bruises were darker and angrier than they’d been last night, a mess of mottled purple and red, with what looked like the pattern of a footprint across the base of his ribs.
He looked back up and gave Peter a half smile. ‘Could have been a lot worse,’ he pointed out.
‘Yeah, well, thank God it wasn’t. That looks bad enough,’ Peter muttered. He helped Neal step out of his boxers and then followed him into the shower.
Neal felt instant relief as he stepped into the shower and felt the hot water pummel his skin. It hurt where it hit his bruises, but it was a good hurt, and he closed his eyes as his body started to warm both inside and out. He felt Peter’s arms slide carefully around him, and he left himself lean into Peter more and more heavily, until he was sagging against him, letting the water roll off him and feeling his tense muscles relax one by one. Peter rubbed firm strokes up and down his back, and Neal’s breath hitched as he found himself feeling safe for the first time since he’d heard those footsteps last night.
‘You must have been scared,’ Peter said into his wet hair, tightening his hold a little.
Neal shrugged as much as he could, his face turned down into Peter’s shoulder. ‘I’m pretty tough, y’know,’ he mumbled.
‘I know,’ Peter said, but his grip on Neal became firmer still, and Neal was grateful for it, even as his ribs touched Peter’s body and twinged. He was tough, and he’d taken worse beatings before, but the sheer unpreparedness and helplessness he’d felt last night had shaken him badly.
After they had stood under the shower long enough for Neal to become thoroughly warmed, Peter started to soap him down, his touches soft and considered as he massaged creamy shower gel over Neal. He let his fingers become feather-light as they slid over the bruised areas, and Neal barely felt it. Then Peter started on his hair and Neal closed his eyes and let the scent of green tea shampoo float around him in the steam as Peter’s hands massaged his scalp.
‘You’re good at this,’ Neal said softly, and Peter laughed.
‘We’ll have to do it more often then,’ he said, and Neal felt a brief surge of relief roll through him at the casual promise of a future that sentence held. He hummed his agreement as Peter started to rinse the shampoo from his hair.
---
A half hour later, Neal was settled on the couch, his feet propped up on a pile of cushions in front of him and Elizabeth snuggled at his side, ready to spend the afternoon watching TV. Peter had toweled off his hair after the shower, and helped him into the loosest pair of sweats he owned, and Neal felt more comfortable than he’d expected, the physical pain somehow eased by the company of Peter and El.
Peter set a bottle of beer and two glasses of wine down on the coffee table and sat down on Neal’s other side, careful not to nudge him as he did so. ‘Thought we could all use a drink,’ he said, and though his tone was light, Neal’s stomach clenched. Of course Peter and El would need a drink after having to deal with Neal’s misadventures. He gave Peter a false smile and turned to focus his attention on the blank television set, but Peter reached out and grabbed his hand.
‘Hey. I didn’t mean it like that,’ he said softly, rubbing his fingers over Neal’s knuckles. ‘I just meant…you’ve been through a lot.’
Neal stared down at their entwined hands. ‘I’m sorry I dragged you into this.’
El put her hand over the top of Neal and Peter’s. ‘You have nothing to apologize for.’ She moved her fingers up to Neal’s face and turned his chin towards her. ‘Except maybe for trying to hide it from us.’
‘I just -’ Neal started, but Elizabeth put a stop to his talking with a soft kiss.
‘I know,’ she said when she drew back. ‘But imagine if Peter or I were hurt. Wouldn’t you want to know?’
‘That’s different,’ Neal said, instantly and with certainty.
El frowned. ‘Why?’
‘Because -’ Neal stopped. Even if he could have found the words, he wouldn’t have said them out loud. Of course he would want to know if either of them were hurt, but that was because he loved them, because they were his world, because something happening to either of them would break him apart. It was different to the way they felt about him. ‘It just is,’ he finished.
Elizabeth’s face softened, as though she knew exactly what was going through Neal’s mind, and to Neal’s surprise she smiled. He felt Peter squeeze his hand.
‘No,’ El said, with equal amounts of certainty, and his heart thudded against his chest, suddenly overwhelmed with hope. ‘It’s really not.’
---
By the time two weeks had passed, the only physical reminders of the mugging were the presence of Neal’s new and much improved cell phone and a slight lingering pain in his side when he moved too quickly or breathed too deeply. Without being asked, Peter was still keeping his pace slower than normal when they walked, so Neal’s ribs barely twinged. And though Neal had been looking for it, searching for it everyday, he had yet to find any indication that Peter or Elizabeth had been having second thoughts about their relationship.
He snuck another glance at Peter now as they walked through the Upper East Side, on their way to question a suspect. Although Peter was rolling his eyes due to Neal’s monologue about the features of his new cell, Neal could see the fondness on his face and the smile he was biting down.
‘Oh, hey,’ Neal interrupted himself halfway through his description of the impressive camera lens on his phone. ‘Have you ever been there? It’s just been renovated, apparently it’s better than ever.’
Peter glanced up at the restaurant Neal was indicating, Daniel. ‘That’s one of those “jackets required” places, isn’t it?’
‘You have jackets, Peter,’ Neal pointed out drily.
‘You want to try it?’ Peter asked, stopping in the street and stepping to get a closer look.
‘It’s a little beyond my current means,’ Neal said lightly. He grinned. ‘But feel free to take me there whenever you like.’
Peter put a hand on his arm. ‘Wait here.’ Then he disappeared into the restaurant, leaving Neal standing on the sidewalk, looking after him.
He came out a couple minutes later, smiling. Neal raised his eyebrows. ‘What was that about?’
‘Made a reservation for three,’ Peter said, bumping into him lightly as they set off down the street again.
Neal laughed, a little stunned. ‘Really?
‘Yep. Not for a while though. I need time to save up, I saw the prices in there.’
‘Ah, so how long do I have to wait?’ Neal asked, expecting the answer to be a few weeks.
‘Until the fourteenth of August.’
He stopped walking in surprise. ‘You made a reservation for ten months’ time?’ He was about to ask why, and then the answer came to him in a rush of warmth and happiness, tinged with a little bit of disbelief. He felt a grin spreading across his face, impossible to contain. It would be their anniversary, one year from the day he and Peter and Elizabeth had decided to be together.
Peter grinned back at him and tugged on his sleeve to get him walking again. ‘Well, these places get booked out early.’
‘Right. Of course.’ Neal didn’t know quite what to say. The fact that Peter thought they’d have a one year anniversary was overwhelming. ‘You sure you can put up with me for that long?’ he teased.
Peter glanced over and caught his eye. ‘Yeah, Neal,’ he said quietly. ‘Pretty sure.’
Neal’s breath caught. ‘Okay then,’ he managed. ‘I’ll put it in my diary.’
He couldn’t wait.