White Collar Fic - The Wonder(ful) Years - Chapter 4

[elrhiarhodan]

Junior Year - Rubik’s Cube

“You’re going to try out for fencing? Does the school even have a fencing team?”

Neal tried to tune out Mozzie’s slightly nasal whine. He had a European history paper to write, as well as a French test and an AP Calculus quiz to study for.

“And why would you want to learn how to kill people? I know you’re into all of the fancy stuff, but I don’t think that ‘fence’ is going to look good on your application to the police academy.”

Neal looked up, annoyed. “It’s fencer and I don’t really care.”

“But still, if you want to take up a sport that gives you the ability to murder people, why not Riflery and Marksmanship?”

“Shut up, Moz. We’re trying to study here.” Peter tossed a pillow at the little guy. It landed with typical accuracy. Neal had to smile; even when he wasn’t trying, Peter Burke was still an all–star pitcher.

Despite their differences, the three of them were pretty much inseparable; it had been that way since seventh grade.

Neal had known Mozzie longer than Peter. They had bonded over some forbidden art books in the public library when they were in first grade. To this day, Moz insisted that it was pictures of the Venus de Milo and her titties, but Neal thought it was Botticelli’s Birth of Venus and her titties. But it also could have been Edouard Manet’s Luncheon on the Grass and the titties on the naked girl. But it really didn’t matter, they were seven and they bonded over great art. And titties.

Neal looked over at Peter – they’d known each other almost as long, but they hadn’t really been friends until Peter and his dad had rescued him when he was twelve. After three of the most terrifying days of his life, his mom showed up at the Burkes’ house, with all of his stuff, including the really important things like his dad’s picture and badge and medals. Aunt Ellen and Peter’s dad arrived a few minutes later. They sat around the kitchen table and Neal listened, wide-eyed, while Peter’s dad told him what was going to happen.

His mother, all teary-eyed, said that it was okay for him to go live with Aunt Ellen, who would become his legal guardian and he’d never have see Vincent Adler again. Which meant that he’d probably never see his mom again, either.

At the time, he’d been too angry to be sad, but now, sometimes, he missed his mother. She still sent him extravagant Christmas presents and birthday cards with a lot of money and wrote to him a few times a year. About a year after he moved in with Aunt Ellen, she telephoned and said that Vincent was going to work in Tokyo for the next few years, and she was going with him. They had sold the house in Upper Brookville. To Neal’s great relief, he’d never have to go back there.

Neal told his mother to have a good time. He didn’t tell her not to go, though he could almost hear her asking him to ask her to stay.

They’d been gone for almost four years, and Neal sometimes wondered if she was happy. He certainly was, though. He and Aunt Ellen got along really well - she even said they were like forks and knives. When she wasn’t home, he stayed at Peter’s. Mr. and Mrs. Burke became Uncle Joe and Aunt Cathy, and on his thirteenth birthday, they gave him a key to the front door.

But none of this would have been possible without Peter and his friendship. Moz may have been his oldest friend, but Peter was his best friend, his very best friend. Peter didn’t know it, but he’d always be his hero. Neal thought that he’d do anything for Peter; all he had to do was ask.

There were textbooks stacked up on Peter’s bedroom floor (the second twin bed had been moved into what became his bedroom a long time ago). This was Neal’s favorite place to study, and he pulled out the book he needed for the French test. They were reading Le Misanthrope and he was going to have to write a five hundred word essay in French about the play. The test was open book, and he had already read it three times. He decided he was prepared enough, and he tossed the book back into his bag.

The European history paper was also a no-brainer. Quite coincidentally to his French exam, he was writing about the French Renaissance and the reign of the Sun King. The thing would write itself and it wasn’t due until a week from Friday.

That left the Calculus test, and since they were all in the same advanced math class, it would make sense to study for it together.

Except that Moz had given up on commenting about Neal’s extracurricular sports choices (and Neal definitely was going to try out for Riflery and Marksmanship) and was doing his best to solve the Rubik’s cube, muttering to himself, “red – white – yellow corner, blue – green side, red – yellow side”. There would be no getting through to him until he solved the puzzle, or went insane trying.

Neal looked over to Peter, who was concentrating on the English class assignment – A Tale of Two Cities. Or trying to. He was flipping the pages back and forth, but it was obvious to Neal that he wasn’t reading the book, and that he was unhappy or upset or angry.

Peter was never moody – or at least he was only rarely. He could be serious, and he was definitely not the type of guy to cut up or joke around, but he didn’t get upset over stuff. So it bothered Neal that something was bothering Peter.

Truth was, Neal spent a lot of time thinking about Peter lately. He was always looking for him in the halls when they didn’t have classes together, and he always made sure they hooked up at lunch and study period. In the mornings, Neal hoofed it the few extra blocks to wait at Peter’s bus stop and did the same thing after school on the days that he wasn’t having dinner with Peter and Aunt Cathy and Uncle Joe. But it was more than just the time they spent together and the hours they were apart. Peter was always in his head, particularly at night. He’d be in bed, Ceci curled up next to him, and he’d be wondering if Peter would like the book he was reading, or if he was still having problems with his French homework, or if he was worried about making the varsity soccer team. Or simply what he was doing at that particular moment.

It was so weird. He wanted to do whatever was needed to make Peter happy. He didn’t know why he needed to make sure that Peter was happy, happy with him, happy that he was always around. And it was so embarrassing, like they were boyfriend and girlfriend.

And of course, he couldn’t tell Peter any of that.

Neal watched Peter for another few minutes, feeling awkward and confused. And he did the only thing he could. He jumped up on the bed and made to strangle Peter, all the while declaiming,

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us...

“Ugh, get off of me, you dork.” Peter pushed him and Neal landed on the other side of the bed, on top of Moz.

Neal rolled off of Moz and into a pile of sharp plastic. The Rubik’s cube was in pieces, scattered across the carpet. “Hey – look what you did!”

“Stuff it, Mozzie – you pried it apart with a screwdriver.” Neal grinned as he saw Moz shove the tool under the bed. He helped him gather up the pieces and watched as his friend put the puzzle back together, solved.

“That doesn’t count, you know.”

Moz shrugged. “Stupid toy. Would like to see you solve it.”

Neal would have – he’d solved the little puzzle a half–dozen times already – but Mozzie’s ego didn’t need to be deflated.

He hopped back up onto Peter’s bed and plucked the book away. Peter didn’t even fight for it.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” The deep sigh made it obvious that Peter’s was lying.

“Come on – something’s wrong.” Neal kicked at Peter’s sneakered feet.

Even Mozzie, usually so self–absorbed, picked up on Peter’s distress. “Yeah, what gives? You can tell us.”

Peter sat up and looked from him to Moz and back to him. “I said, nothing’s wrong.”

Neal wasn’t going to take that for an answer. “And you’re a fucking liar. You’ve read the same page of Dickens for the last half hour. The book isn’t that bad.”

Peter dropped the book and gave Neal an indecipherable look. Neal smiled back, hoping to reassure him. “What’s going on? We won’t say anything to anyone, promise.”

Mozzie swore, “We promise. Scout’s honor!”

“You’re not a Scout.” Neal said to Moz, sourly.

“But I could be!”

Neal glared at Moz, who backed down. He turned back to Peter.

Peter sighed. “I think I’m in love.”

Neal froze. For some reason that he couldn’t understand, Peter’s announcement hit him like a punch in the stomach.

Moz jumped on the bed. “Who?” And when Peter didn’t answer right away, he kicked him. “Come on – spill!”

Neal met Peter’s gaze and something passed between them – something that Neal couldn’t, didn’t want to define. Peter dropped his eyes and muttered, “Elizabeth Mitchell.”

Moz groaned, “Ellie?”

Neal didn’t say a word. He felt like he had just been cut to pieces.

“Yeah, Ellie. She’s been … kind of smiling at me all the time and I think I want to ask her out.” Peter looked everywhere but at Neal. “Dunno, maybe go steady.”

“Wow.” Neal blinked. Steady – this was serious. He tried so hard not to be jealous, not to hate Ellie Mitchell, a friend since elementary school.

And then Peter had to ask. “Can you give me some help here?”

All Neal could say was, “Well, I think you have to ask her out for a first date before you go steady.”

Peter’s sigh was of epic proportions. “I know that - but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“She’s best friends with Diana Berrigan.”

“Oh. Shit.” Moz and Neal said at the same time. Strange, but Neal hadn’t minded when Peter went out with Diana for some reason. Ellie was different. This was different.

“She’s probably told Ellie everything.”

“Maybe not, and maybe Ellie won’t care.” Neal suggested, hoping she’d care.

“She wouldn’t care that I tried to get to second base with her best friend?”

“And got slugged in the ‘nads for your efforts?” Moz contributed.

Neal and Peter both told Moz to shut up.

“What am I going to do?”

Moz came to the rescue, voicing Neal’s own thoughts. “Wait – wait. You said that Ellie’s been smiling at you, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Come on, dude – if she’s smiling at you, that must mean either the Dreadful Diana didn’t tell her about you trying to cop a feel, or she doesn’t care.”

Peter sat up, his face brightened. “Yeah, yeah. That makes sense. So – maybe I’ll ask her out for Friday night. Do you think she’s going to want to see Raiders of the Lost Ark?”

Neal swallowed. That was their movie – he and Peter had seen it like every weekend this past summer. “Nah – it’s already been out for months.”

Moz, who had more experience with girls than either of them (he had told them that he made it to third base several times with Sara Ellis, one of the most popular girls in the class), offered his own advice. Why don’t you go take her to see ‘The French Lieutenant’s Woman’? I bet she’ll love it. Then take her out for ice cream. That’s what I would do.”

Peter seemed to consider the idea. “Hmmm, sounds good. Just as long as you and Neal don’t show up to torment us.”

Neal didn’t say anything, which was probably for the best. Maybe he’d ask Kate Moreau if she’d like to go out on Saturday night. Maybe for ice cream.

_________________

Peter didn’t know what he was doing here. Well, other than eating ice cream with Ellie Mitchell. Or “El” as she now wanted to be called. He had taken Moz’s advice. They went to see “The French Lieutenant’s Woman,” and frankly, Peter didn’t understand the movie at all. It was strange - really two stories that really didn’t make sense. He was still uncomfortable about that one scene, where Jeremy Irons had sex with Meryl Streep. Peter shifted on the chair, took a spoonful of his sundae and winced.

El looked at him. “You okay?”

He slapped a hand over his face and muttered “Brain freeze.”

El was nice – and they’d known each other forever. They’d gone to elementary school together and were always in a lot of the same classes. Peter dropped his hand and looked at her; she was really pretty, lots of long, dark hair, big blue eyes, nice lips. He let his eyes drift down, nice tits too.

“Peter?”

He looked back up at her face and hoped he wasn’t blushing.

“Didn’t you like the movie?”

He shrugged, “It was okay.”

“So – you really didn’t like it.” She sounded hurt.

“It wasn’t bad – but did you like it?” He sounded like a dork, a total dork.

“I did – it was soooo romantic. And I like Jeremy Irons, he’s really good looking.”

Peter shrugged again, “If you say so.”

El looked down at her ice cream, a disappointed frown curving her lips.

Peter felt like a worm. He couldn’t think of anything to talk about. “Um, have you been studying for the PSATs?”

She gave him a look, like what flavor of stupid are you?. “Of course I have been, the test is in less than a month. Di and I have already done five practice exams. I guess you and Neal and Mozzie have been studying, too.”

“No, not really. Moz is refusing to take any standardized tests – you should hear him go on and on about the Power Elite and the Industrial-Military Complex and how it controls everything.” Peter chuckled.

“But what about you and Neal?” El pressed him.

Peter stiffened. “What about me and Neal?”

“Aren’t you two studying together? You are like always together.”

“That’s not true – I’m here with you, aren’t I?” Peter tried not to sound defensive. “And anyway, yeah – we’ve been studying a bit. Neal took a practice exam last week and got a 240. He says he doesn’t need to study anymore.”

El blinked. “Wow. I always knew he was smart – I mean he skipped a grade and everything and he’s taking every advanced class, but that’s like genius level.”

Peter didn’t say that he was in all of the same advanced level classes too. “Yeah – he’s really smart. And he wants to be a cop.” Peter shook his head; he thought that Neal was wasting his life. He could be anything. Just because his dad – his real dad – was a cop didn’t mean that Neal shouldn’t try for something better. His own dad was a builder – in construction – and he’d take a two-by-four to Peter’s ass if Peter said he wanted to follow in his footsteps. It was bad enough that they were already arguing about Peter’s desire to try out for the minor leagues.

“Peter?” El peered at him from under her bangs. His attention had wandered.

“Sorry – you were saying?”

“How did you do on the practice test?”

Peter really didn’t want to say.

“Come on, tell me.” El tried to tease it out of him. “Do you want me to guess?”

He thought about it. “No, don’t.”

“If you want, you can study with me and Diana. We’re going to do another practice test tomorrow.”

The thought of getting within range of Diana Berrigan’s fists was terrifying, so he told El the truth. “I got a 240, too. I did three exams though. Just to make sure the first one wasn’t a fluke.”

El didn’t say anything at first. “You’re an asshole, Peter Burke.”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah, sorry.” Peter stirred the remains of his sundae; the liquefied dregs of vanilla and hot fudge were unappetizing. Sort of like this date. He had never planned on asking Ellie – El – out on a date. But he had to say something the other day.

This thing with Neal was getting too weird. He was always thinking about Neal, and when he wasn’t thinking about Neal, he was with Neal. They had six classes together, plus the bus rides, plus all the time they spent studying and hanging out. He figured that in a basic twenty-four hour day, he spent fifteen hours with Neal. If Neal’s aunt was working overtime, Neal was at their house and that would make it twenty hours. If it wasn’t for the fact that Neal was on different sports teams and taking advanced French and some art classes, they’d be together for every moment of every school day.

He didn’t mind – Neal was his best friend. But sometimes, he couldn’t control his brain. His whacked out, perverted brain.

Like the other day, when Moz was over and they were supposed to be studying. He was looking at Neal, sitting on the floor and bent over his book. He had gotten a haircut the other day – it was short in the back and Peter couldn’t stop staring at the nape of Neal’s neck, the back of his ears. His shoulders under his tee shirt. He tried to read A Tale of Two Cities, but he just kept watching Neal over the edge of the book.

At least he didn’t get a hard-on.

Not like the other night, when Neal was staying over and he walked out of the bathroom in his boxer shorts. It wasn’t that Peter could see his dick (he couldn’t) but just seeing Neal, nearly naked, made him hard as a rock in like, two seconds.

Peter never forgot about The Night: the night that Neal ran away and came to him for help and he told him and his parents about what his stepfather tried to do to him. And now Peter was doing the exact same thing. He was getting aroused by Neal, he wanted to do things to Neal – probably the same things that Vincent Adler wanted to do to him. And he was disgusted with himself.

Neal was his best friend, the best and smartest guy he knew. He was funny and loyal and you’d think that with everything he had gone through, that he’d be a mess, a head case. But Neal wasn’t. He was the head case, the freak. The faggot.

Maybe it would have been okay – or at least less terrible – if he was only fixated on Neal. But it seemed that he really was gay. He tried not to look, but seeing the guys in the shower made him excited. He tried not to, but he got a boner when he saw Clint Jones walking around the locker room without anything on but his flip-flops. It was the same with Edward Ruiz, too.

Hell, the only reason why he touched Diana Berrigan’s tits was to see if he liked girls too. And he did, sort of.

So, when Neal pounced on him, all worried, he said the first thing that came to his mind, that he wanted to date Ellie Mitchell. Neal got this weird look on his face, though, and Peter wondered if he had wanted to ask Ellie out too.

“Peter?” El touched his hand. “You okay? You look upset. I really don’t think you’re an asshole.”

But I am. “Let’s get out of here.” There was a line of people waiting for a table. Peter paid for the sundaes and they squeezed their way out of the shop. Even though it was only mid-September, the evening was chilly and El snuggled against him. He draped an arm around her shoulder as they started to walk home. Since it was Saturday, there were a lot of kids still out, most of whom Peter knew by name. He never felt like he was important or anything, even though he was the captain of the varsity baseball team and in the Honor Society, but tonight – at this moment, and despite all his conflicted feelings – he felt proud of himself. He had a date with the prettiest girl in the school and everyone could see that.

“Hey look, it’s Neal.” El pointed to two guys across the street, in front of the Whalen Drugstore. Someone was getting pushed around, and there was a girl huddled up against the wall.

“Shit – you’re right.” He looked at El – she was his date and he couldn’t just run off. But he couldn’t leave Neal. He was tangling with Andy Woods, who had been a bully and a creep since the third grade. There had been rumors floating around that he was also dealing and doing drugs, and Peter wouldn’t have been surprised that they were true.

She smiled at him. “Go – go. I’ll wait here.”

Peter looked at her standing there, shivering a little, and he was grateful. “Here, hold on to this.” Peter draped his letterman jacket over her shoulders, rolled up his sleeves and crossed the street. “What’s going on here?”

Woods had Neal dangling by the collar. “Stay out of this, Burke – this is between me and your pal Caffrey. Mr. Symmetrical here stole my girlfriend.”

“I didn’t steal your girlfriend, she dumped your ass, you psychotic ape.” Neal wasn’t helping matters, nor was Kate, who looked like she was about to bolt.

“Let him go, Woods.”

“No way – no one takes what’s mine.” He shook Neal, who was struggling. Andy Woods was big – about six inches taller than Neal and probably outweighed him by fifty pounds. Neal grabbed at Andy’s wrist and twisted the skin. Andy dropped him and Neal came up swinging. But he missed and Woods shoved him against the brick wall. Kate Moreau had run off, and she was nowhere to be seen, of course.

If Peter didn’t do something, Neal would get beaten to a pulp. He could throw himself into the fight. It would, undoubtedly, be fun, but El was waiting for him and Peter didn’t think that she’d talk to him again if he got beaten up. Instead of tossing around a few punches, Peter tried to diffuse the situation. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Woods.”

“And why not?” He had Neal in a chokehold, and he was turning blue.

“His aunt – who he lives with – is a captain in the county PD. She’ll arrest your ass and throw you in jail. She’ll make sure your paperwork gets so lost, we’ll all be at our tenth reunion before they find you.” Peter tried to sound nonchalant and deadly serious at the same time. He hoped it worked.

And it did, surprisingly. Peter had to give credence to the rumors – maybe Woods didn’t want to risk even the slightest possibility of jail. He let go of Neal, who fell to his knees, gagging and gasping for air.

“And for the record, Andy – you don’t own anyone. Lincoln freed the slaves, remember? If Kate Moreau wants to date Neal, she can. You lay a finger on her, on any girl, you’ll answer to me.”

Woods gave him a disgusted look, spat at his feet and stalked off. Peter looked back to make sure he wasn’t harassing anyone, particularly El. She was still standing there, looking like a little princess, draped in his jacket. He smiled and she ran across the street to join them.

She ran right past Peter and bent over Neal, who was still trying to get his breath back. “Are you okay?”

He nodded and got up. “Fine, just fine.” Neal turned around, apparently looking for Kate.

“She ran off. Sorry.”

Neal shrugged.

“I didn’t know you and Kate were dating,” El commented.

I didn’t know either – and I thought we were best friends. Peter swallowed his jealousy.

“We aren’t – I saw her on Friday and just asked her if she wanted to go out - nothing serious. We were going to go get some ice cream when we ran into that asshole.”

“Oh.” The relief he felt left Peter inarticulate.

El tucked her hand through his arm and smiled up at him. “You are my hero.”

“Mine too.” Neal gave him an odd look that he couldn’t decipher. There was gratitude there, and something else. Bitterness? Sadness? “Enjoy the rest of your date, guys.” He turned off of Main Street, much in the same direction that Woods had gone.

El bit her lip and made a worried sound.

“Neal!” Peter called out. “Wait up.”

He stopped, turned around and shoved his hands in his pockets. “What now?”

El took matters into her own hands. “We’ll walk home with you, okay?”

Neal looked at her and then gave Peter a disgusted look. He saw right through her ploy. Peter silently begged him to understand. “Okay, fine.”

El reached out and tucked her hand through Neal’s arm. “This is nice, I feel a little like Dorothy walking down the Yellow Brick Road with her heroes.”

Neal met his eyes, and sort of smiled. Peter smiled back and Neal’s half-smile turned into a full one. Under the streetlights and the blue-green neon from the drugstore sign, Neal’s eyes blazed. Peter’s stomach did a little flip, and then a bigger one.

He was some fucked-up kind of hero.

Go to Chapter Three <- ::: -> Go to Chapter Five, Part 1

Comments

[joy2190.livejournal.com]

I think it is to clever how you are weaving in the characters from WC while making it so believeable to the times. I was a child of the seventies so am enjoying the movie references. Also love that Moz is the one who gets most dates!