White Collar Fanfic: Adventures in Neal-Sitting(1/?)
Title: Adventures in Neal-Sitting
Author:
Rating: PG
Characters: El, Neal, and a little bit of Peter
Summary: "But Elizabeth." It's half a horrified gasp, half a whine, and Elizabeth is amazed to hear it come out of a grown man's mouth. She takes it in stride, though, because if Peter can handle Neal, Elizabeth can handle Neal. Not that it's a competition, it's just truth. Fact. Elizabeth is perfectly capable of doing this, and doing it right.
Author's Note: A story to satisfy a desire I have for Neal and El bonding.
Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4|
Peter takes Neal by the arm, takes him to the side, pulls him away from Elizabeth and points an authoritative finger in his face.
"You listen to her."
"Of course I'll listen to her."
"I mean it."
"I know you do, Peter, and of course I will." Neal's voice is smooth and not at all patronizing. He looks soft and genuine, eager to please, and Elizabeth rolls her eyes at her husband. She knows, you see. She knows Neal thinks he means it. And she knows Peter is merely making sure things go smoothly while he's away, but she's been babysitting since she was a pop-star-obsessed junior high schooler, reading Bop! Magazine in a pink room, her hair a mass of curls, her mouth blowing a bubble as big as her child-sized face. Neal-sitting will be admittedly different, but she knows. She knows Neal and she knows her husband and she can enforce the set rules with a smile and a nudge, no matter Neal's blue-eyed sad looks or his conman's charm. She knows Neal like she knows the back of Peter's hand, because he's not quite hers, but she's known him since the night Peter came home with that boy's name like a code he couldn't crack, and she watched his face for nights on end, his brows knit, his eyes growing tired, trying to fit that last piece to make the picture, take that last swing of the net to catch that kid so like a clever fish, quick and slippery to the touch. He's not cold, though. Neal's a lot of things, manipulative and impulsive, and a yes, a little vain, but never cold. And he's had Peter by the other hand since before he's even been aware, but Elizabeth has been sharing since she was a three-year-old in preschool and she knew someday, marriage wouldn't be just the two of them anymore.
She knew someday she might forget a pill, or Peter might turn over his awkward leaf and pose the question, ask if it was in the cards, and she always knew, still knows, that he would make a terrific one if they were those types of people.
"I'm trusting you to behave, Neal," Peter says, and there's something gentler in his tone. It's not an order, it's an admission, and Neal looks to the ground like his facade has momentarily crumbled and nods his head.
"Thank you for keeping me out of the supermax for the week," he says quietly.
"You thank El," Peter replies, and nudges Neal's chin with a good-natured knuckle before moving away from his CI and towards Elizabeth, leans down and kisses her with lips even softer than that fist. "You sure this is okay?"
"It's fine," she says with a smirk. "You need to stop worrying."
"It's just-"
"Stop worrying," Elizabeth says, putting a finger to his lips. "I've known him for just as long as you have, hon. Longer than he's known us. I can handle him."
"If he brings any of his shenanigans into this house-"
"I won't," Neal says, eyes wide and hurt. "I would never-"
"He won't, Peter," Elizabeth says. "Look at that face." Peter forgets himself, looks at her like she's crazy, and she snorts. "Really?"
He shakes his head with a smile. "Smart."
"Always. Smarter than you seem to think, even. Think I would be fooled by that face?"
Neal protests. Neal continues to protest for quite a while, as Peter hands them both a carefully laid out list of rules, printed in a clean font-face, and proceeds to go over them so as avoid any loopholes, to disambiguate anything that Neal might argue after Peter returns home from his week-long venture to Washington D.C. and doles out whatever FBI-mandated discipline the conman might require.
The gist of the rules goes something like this:
1) Listen to El.
2) No shenigans, tomfoolery, monkey business, or other.
3) Anklet stays on at all times, no exceptions.
4) Curfew at 10 o'clock sharp.
"What?" Neal breaks in, then shakes his head as if trying to clear it of a rather thick fog, clears his throat as if to excuse himself. "Peter, with all due respect, I'm of an age where a curfew is a little demeaning and-"
"Necessary," Peter says. "Anything you would be doing past that hour is something you probably shouldn't be doing at all. You're not at work this week, you're here. With my wife. Being, hopefully, a good boy."
"I'm not Satchmo!" Neal exclaims. "Peter, honestly, you know you can't expect me to follow a curfew like a teenager or a Liberty University student. I'm not going to-"
"I know you're not," Peter says. "Because you have a curfew. This isn't up for negotiation. It's standard protocol. June could give you a curfew, too, if she felt the need."
"She doesn't."
"And she's not in charge of you this week, El is."
"Then Elizabeth should be the one to decide, shouldn't she?" Neal shoots back, and abruptly turns to Elizabeth with eyes wide and full of good intentions. "You know I would never get up to anything under your care, right, Elizabeth?"
And it's already started. Elizabeth remembers being fourteen and on the receiving end of ten dollars simply for putting an obstinate child to bed at the correct hour. Granted she lured him there with the promises of stories and a hidden stash of candy (what self-respecting fourteen-year-old performs her babysitting duties with the same air of responsibility as an actual parental unit, anyway?) but it got the job done, and her the money. Neal-sitting is a different story. Ten bucks is ten bucks, but this is her husband's reputation, and Neal's freedom, however limited, on the line. This situation is far more precarious.
"Sorry, Neal," she says with a smile, and pats his arm with a soft hand. "Rule stands."
"But Elizabeth." It's half a horrified gasp, half a whine, and Elizabeth is amazed to hear it come out of a grown man's mouth. She takes it in stride, though, because if Peter can handle Neal, Elizabeth can handle Neal. Not that it's a competition, it's just truth. Fact. Elizabeth is perfectly capable of doing this, and doing it right.
"Rule number one," she replies, sticking her index finger up in the air.
Peter grins. Neal blinks.
"Rule number one." Peter nods. "What is it, Neal?"
"Uh..."
They simply stare, both at a loss for words, as he quickly references his rule sheet. "Listen to El."
It's then that Elizabeth gets it. It's not that she didn't get it before, either, it's just that now she really gets it. Neal, funny, charming, Mensa-levels of smart Neal, has no regard for rules. She knows he can memorize on sight. He's helped her make dinner before and managed not to look at the recipe but once throughout the duration of the cook. That was more than four ingredients, too, the first of which was harder to remember than a simple "Listen to El." But a list of rules? Four rules, which they've stripped to the bare bones? Neal actually needs the reference sheet like a thirsty dog needs water.
"I'm, um..." Elizabeth holds up her own list. "I'm just going to put this up on the refrigerator."
And maybe she could use several more copies for all the doors of the house. And all the mirrors. And a small one to tuck into Neal's hat, because this is going to be a long week and, not for the first time since he's been in their lives, Neal has twisted her head all the way around, skewed her perspective because she's no longer looking after a man - suave nuisance that he may be. No, she's looking after a very tall, very troublesome child who has only recently grasped that the reason you look both ways before crossing is so you don't end up a splatter of flesh and blood on the city street.
He has to get it, she thinks. Because if he doesn't get it, doesn't get that he has to listen to her, that he can't engage in all sorts of unlawful mischief, that his anklet stays on his ankle, that a curfew exists so he doesn't succumb to the temptations alive after nightfall - then he'll end up back in a place that's too cold for someone as warm as Neal.
She pins the list to the refrigerator with a magnet, confidence sinking to the soles of her shoes.
Next
Author:
Rating: PG
Characters: El, Neal, and a little bit of Peter
Summary: "But Elizabeth." It's half a horrified gasp, half a whine, and Elizabeth is amazed to hear it come out of a grown man's mouth. She takes it in stride, though, because if Peter can handle Neal, Elizabeth can handle Neal. Not that it's a competition, it's just truth. Fact. Elizabeth is perfectly capable of doing this, and doing it right.
Author's Note: A story to satisfy a desire I have for Neal and El bonding.
Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4|
Peter takes Neal by the arm, takes him to the side, pulls him away from Elizabeth and points an authoritative finger in his face.
"You listen to her."
"Of course I'll listen to her."
"I mean it."
"I know you do, Peter, and of course I will." Neal's voice is smooth and not at all patronizing. He looks soft and genuine, eager to please, and Elizabeth rolls her eyes at her husband. She knows, you see. She knows Neal thinks he means it. And she knows Peter is merely making sure things go smoothly while he's away, but she's been babysitting since she was a pop-star-obsessed junior high schooler, reading Bop! Magazine in a pink room, her hair a mass of curls, her mouth blowing a bubble as big as her child-sized face. Neal-sitting will be admittedly different, but she knows. She knows Neal and she knows her husband and she can enforce the set rules with a smile and a nudge, no matter Neal's blue-eyed sad looks or his conman's charm. She knows Neal like she knows the back of Peter's hand, because he's not quite hers, but she's known him since the night Peter came home with that boy's name like a code he couldn't crack, and she watched his face for nights on end, his brows knit, his eyes growing tired, trying to fit that last piece to make the picture, take that last swing of the net to catch that kid so like a clever fish, quick and slippery to the touch. He's not cold, though. Neal's a lot of things, manipulative and impulsive, and a yes, a little vain, but never cold. And he's had Peter by the other hand since before he's even been aware, but Elizabeth has been sharing since she was a three-year-old in preschool and she knew someday, marriage wouldn't be just the two of them anymore.
She knew someday she might forget a pill, or Peter might turn over his awkward leaf and pose the question, ask if it was in the cards, and she always knew, still knows, that he would make a terrific one if they were those types of people.
"I'm trusting you to behave, Neal," Peter says, and there's something gentler in his tone. It's not an order, it's an admission, and Neal looks to the ground like his facade has momentarily crumbled and nods his head.
"Thank you for keeping me out of the supermax for the week," he says quietly.
"You thank El," Peter replies, and nudges Neal's chin with a good-natured knuckle before moving away from his CI and towards Elizabeth, leans down and kisses her with lips even softer than that fist. "You sure this is okay?"
"It's fine," she says with a smirk. "You need to stop worrying."
"It's just-"
"Stop worrying," Elizabeth says, putting a finger to his lips. "I've known him for just as long as you have, hon. Longer than he's known us. I can handle him."
"If he brings any of his shenanigans into this house-"
"I won't," Neal says, eyes wide and hurt. "I would never-"
"He won't, Peter," Elizabeth says. "Look at that face." Peter forgets himself, looks at her like she's crazy, and she snorts. "Really?"
He shakes his head with a smile. "Smart."
"Always. Smarter than you seem to think, even. Think I would be fooled by that face?"
Neal protests. Neal continues to protest for quite a while, as Peter hands them both a carefully laid out list of rules, printed in a clean font-face, and proceeds to go over them so as avoid any loopholes, to disambiguate anything that Neal might argue after Peter returns home from his week-long venture to Washington D.C. and doles out whatever FBI-mandated discipline the conman might require.
The gist of the rules goes something like this:
1) Listen to El.
2) No shenigans, tomfoolery, monkey business, or other.
3) Anklet stays on at all times, no exceptions.
4) Curfew at 10 o'clock sharp.
"What?" Neal breaks in, then shakes his head as if trying to clear it of a rather thick fog, clears his throat as if to excuse himself. "Peter, with all due respect, I'm of an age where a curfew is a little demeaning and-"
"Necessary," Peter says. "Anything you would be doing past that hour is something you probably shouldn't be doing at all. You're not at work this week, you're here. With my wife. Being, hopefully, a good boy."
"I'm not Satchmo!" Neal exclaims. "Peter, honestly, you know you can't expect me to follow a curfew like a teenager or a Liberty University student. I'm not going to-"
"I know you're not," Peter says. "Because you have a curfew. This isn't up for negotiation. It's standard protocol. June could give you a curfew, too, if she felt the need."
"She doesn't."
"And she's not in charge of you this week, El is."
"Then Elizabeth should be the one to decide, shouldn't she?" Neal shoots back, and abruptly turns to Elizabeth with eyes wide and full of good intentions. "You know I would never get up to anything under your care, right, Elizabeth?"
And it's already started. Elizabeth remembers being fourteen and on the receiving end of ten dollars simply for putting an obstinate child to bed at the correct hour. Granted she lured him there with the promises of stories and a hidden stash of candy (what self-respecting fourteen-year-old performs her babysitting duties with the same air of responsibility as an actual parental unit, anyway?) but it got the job done, and her the money. Neal-sitting is a different story. Ten bucks is ten bucks, but this is her husband's reputation, and Neal's freedom, however limited, on the line. This situation is far more precarious.
"Sorry, Neal," she says with a smile, and pats his arm with a soft hand. "Rule stands."
"But Elizabeth." It's half a horrified gasp, half a whine, and Elizabeth is amazed to hear it come out of a grown man's mouth. She takes it in stride, though, because if Peter can handle Neal, Elizabeth can handle Neal. Not that it's a competition, it's just truth. Fact. Elizabeth is perfectly capable of doing this, and doing it right.
"Rule number one," she replies, sticking her index finger up in the air.
Peter grins. Neal blinks.
"Rule number one." Peter nods. "What is it, Neal?"
"Uh..."
They simply stare, both at a loss for words, as he quickly references his rule sheet. "Listen to El."
It's then that Elizabeth gets it. It's not that she didn't get it before, either, it's just that now she really gets it. Neal, funny, charming, Mensa-levels of smart Neal, has no regard for rules. She knows he can memorize on sight. He's helped her make dinner before and managed not to look at the recipe but once throughout the duration of the cook. That was more than four ingredients, too, the first of which was harder to remember than a simple "Listen to El." But a list of rules? Four rules, which they've stripped to the bare bones? Neal actually needs the reference sheet like a thirsty dog needs water.
"I'm, um..." Elizabeth holds up her own list. "I'm just going to put this up on the refrigerator."
And maybe she could use several more copies for all the doors of the house. And all the mirrors. And a small one to tuck into Neal's hat, because this is going to be a long week and, not for the first time since he's been in their lives, Neal has twisted her head all the way around, skewed her perspective because she's no longer looking after a man - suave nuisance that he may be. No, she's looking after a very tall, very troublesome child who has only recently grasped that the reason you look both ways before crossing is so you don't end up a splatter of flesh and blood on the city street.
He has to get it, she thinks. Because if he doesn't get it, doesn't get that he has to listen to her, that he can't engage in all sorts of unlawful mischief, that his anklet stays on his ankle, that a curfew exists so he doesn't succumb to the temptations alive after nightfall - then he'll end up back in a place that's too cold for someone as warm as Neal.
She pins the list to the refrigerator with a magnet, confidence sinking to the soles of her shoes.
Next