White Collar Fic - A Life Less Ordinary - Part One

[elrhiarhodan]

“You’re sure you’re feeling up to this, hon? Yvonne can take my three o’clock appointment.”

“No – this is an important client for you; you’ve been prepping for the meeting for over a week. There’s nothing to worry about. I’m just taking Satchmo to the vet, not running the New York Marathon.” Peter looked down at the six-month old puppy chewing on his sneakers.

“I know, but …”

“But nothing, El. The doctors said I’ve made terrific progress. I think I can walk the three and a half blocks to Dr. Parker’ office. Sit and wait an hour, read a two-year old copy of National Geographic, and then walk home.”

Elizabeth sighed.

“Don’t sigh at me. I’m fine. I will be fine.” Peter wanted to erase that look of skeptical concern off her face. The past year had been rough, too rough for both of them. But things were on the upswing now, and like he said, he was going to be just fine.

He hoped.

“I worry. I’m your wife, and after everything you’ve been through, I’m allowed to worry.”

“El, please.” He needed to do this; he needed to be able to get his life back.

She kissed him; it was light and sweet, a gift of affection. “Okay. Just call me when you get home.”

“I’ll text – I don’t want to interrupt your day.”

“No – call me. I want to hear your voice.”

Peter knew he didn’t dare disobey – not for something this trivial. “Okay, hon.” El gave him another kiss, grabbed her purse and a stylish briefcase filled with samples and brochures and left.

The house was unbearably quiet in the wake of his wife’s departure. Peter looked down at the puppy, still worrying at his shoes. “Do those taste good?” The dog looked up and barked at the sound of his master’s voice. Peter had to smile – having a puppy in the house was good for him. They had rescued Satch when he was just a few weeks old – almost too young to be separated from his mother. Peter had just gotten out of the hospital when they found him in a box under the front steps, but neither he nor El would have ever considered turning him over to a shelter. This little fellow did a good job, he kept him from falling into black depression, and Peter was looking forward to taking him for long walks as he got his own strength back.

The vet appointment wasn’t for another few hours and Peter resisted the urge to nap. His physical therapy appointment this morning was grueling. They worked him over like a piece of meat, but it was worth it. Being able to walk still seemed like a miracle. He should have been dead. Six hollow-point bullets at close range should have killed him.

He definitely should have been dead.

Peter pushed that thought out of his mind and went for a fresh cup of coffee. Satch whined and chased after him, a bit upset at the disappearance of his favorite chew toy. Peter moved slowly, but at least he was no longer careening from stable piece of furniture to wall to chair. The puppy underfoot didn’t help matters. Back when he was first regaining his mobility, El insisted that Satch go into his crate while Peter hobbled around – as much for his protection as the dog’s. He was steadier now, so Peter left him loose. He didn’t like to box his boy up like a felon simply because he didn’t have complete control of his movements. Peter knew he would just have to be careful.

He made it to the kitchen without incident or accident and poured himself a cup of coffee. The crossword puzzle beckoned and he spent a pleasant hour filling it out. Soon enough it was time for their little adventure.

Leash on Satch, sunglasses, phone, wallet, keys, a few treats to reward good behavior, poop bags. Cane – a hickory one with silver trim, not the ugly aluminum four-pointer that the hospital gave him. No gun, no badge. Not today, not for a while. But not as long of a while as it could have been, and definitely not forever.

They set out, man and dog, for a slow walk on a warm June day.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Peter looked down at his dog.

Satchmo didn’t answer, he was more interested in the hydrants and trees and the other dogs out and about. They were halfway to the vet’s office and Peter needed to sit. He could claim a stoop, but he was afraid if he did sit down, he wouldn’t be able to get back up. So he kept going, wondering if it would be too embarrassing to get a cab for the three and a half block trip home.

Shaking and more than a little sweat-soaked, Peter made it to the veterinarian’s office; it seemed like Satchmo pulled him along for the last half a block. The office was in a ground-floor storefront, and Peter gratefully pushed the door open. The waiting room was deserted except for a young man leaning over the receptionist’s desk.

Peter blinked, his eyes adjusting to the comparatively dim interior light. And then he blinked again. The man at the desk wasn’t as young as he first thought, but he was one of the most beautiful human beings he had ever seen: a head of dark, wavy hair, strong brows, cheekbones, nose and chin kissed by the gods, and bright blue eyes, a shade lighter than El’s. Peter had to laugh at himself. Forty-six years old, and he still had a type.

“You must be Satchmo Burke and family, right?”

Peter chuckled. “This,” and he pulled gently on the dog’s straining leash, “is Satchmo. I’m Peter – Peter Burke. You are?” Peter completely forgot his exhaustion.

The man walked out from behind the counter and held out a hand. “Neal Caffrey. I’ve just bought the practice. You two are my last appointment on my very first day here.”

“What happened to Dr. Parker?”

“Ellen retired – she’s raising alpacas and golden retrievers in California by now.”

“Ellen?” Peter wondered at the familiarity.

“She’s an old family friend – the reason why I became a vet.” Neal – Dr. Caffrey – knelt on the floor to greet his patient. “Hello there, Satchmo. How are you today?”

Satch wiggled his whole body, tail going like a windmill in a hurricane. He put his paws on Dr. Caffrey’s shoulders and licked the vet’s face.

“I was going to warn you that my dog is atypical of his breed and a little standoffish, but he seems to like you.”

“All dogs like me. Even the mean ones.”

“A nice talent to have, especially for a vet.” Peter said, dryly.

The doctor smiled and Peter forgot to breathe. “Yeah – but cats make me work for it.” He took Satchmo’s leash from Peter’s unresisting fingers and went to the examining rooms. Peter followed helplessly, keeping his jaw tightly shut, least his tongue start to drag. It had been so long since he felt this way, and he wasn’t even sure he should.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Neal bought the practice from Ellen hoping to make a fresh start, have a new life – clean and stainless and full of purpose. She was and old and dear friend of his mother, and two months ago, had called him as a last resort. Not that there wasn’t lack any affection between them – far from it – but she hadn’t been expecting to sell the practice to him. She was just eager to sell out and retire and wanted to know if he would step into the practice while she still shopped around for a buyer.

He was so damn tired of the peripatetic life, never settling down in any place for too long. His life was measured in limited term contracts: six months in a consulting position in DC, five months in the Hamptons, two months in Boston. Living in extended stay hotels, constantly leaving everyone behind, like a fugitive on the run. He was tired of living in fear.

Neal almost couldn’t believe his own ears when he asked Ellen if she’d sell it to him for market price.

It had been eight years since he walked away from the ruins of his life. Eight years of looking over his shoulder, eight years wondering if his life was going to be his own, and so many more than eight years since he felt completely safe. His great mistake was almost a decade ago, and he wondered if he’d ever get out from under that.

Neal knew that putting down roots was a risk, but when Ellen got in touch with him, he had a gut feeling that it was time to stop wandering, that it was safe now. The down payment on the practice was steep. It took almost all his reserves, but it also included a year’s rent on Ellen’s Cobble Hill townhouse, just a few blocks from the park and from the office, plus the option to buy.

Opening the front door this morning, breathing in the scent of small animals, cleaning products and disinfectant – a smell sweeter than the finest perfume – was one of the best moments of his life. This was his – and he’d make it a success. No more running for Neal George Caffrey, DVM.

For first days, everything went surprisingly well. The small staff was staying on, none of the patients seemed inclined to take their business elsewhere, and he didn’t get clawed by any cats. That Donna, the receptionist, needed to take off before his last patient arrived – she only worked until four, and Mike, the intern/assistant, had late afternoon classes – didn’t seem to be a problem for him.

Neal was never inclined to be a hard ass, and since the last patient was a six month old puppy coming in for a routine checkup, he saw no need to keep either of them hanging around. What he wasn’t expecting was the puppy’s owner to be so, well, gorgeous.

Peter Burke wasn’t attractive in the conventional sort of way. Tall and on the thin side, he looked like a man recovering his health after a long illness. But there was something about him – a bone-deep kindness, intelligence, and a sexy confidence that made him feel things that he hadn’t felt in years.

Everything about this man said “trust me” and Neal wanted to. It was crazy – thirty seconds after meeting this man, all he wanted to do was find a place at his side, like a dog. It was way too dangerous. Way too tempting.

And Peter Burke was clearly a very married man. He didn’t even need to see the well-worn wedding band on his left hand to figure that out. Men like this weren’t left loose for long – he was as married and as faithful as the dog his puppy would become.

But then he smiled at him and there was something there, something that said he was interested?.

No, life didn’t work like that.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Peter had to smile as Satchmo kept trying to wash Dr. Caffrey’s face. The puppy had never shown so much enthusiasm for anyone but him and El – which suited the two of them just fine. They didn’t want a guard dog, but having a dog that would all but let a stranger in and serve him coffee and cake wasn’t a good thing either.

Satch; however, seemed to adore this new vet. “Tell me, do you use bacon scented cologne?” Peter couldn’t help himself from asking.

Dr. Caffrey chuckled. “Nope – like I said, dogs really like me.” He pressed Satchmo’s head out of the way and listened to his heart and lungs. “Everything seems to be fine with your guy. Let’s check the microchip.” The scanner beeped and Satchmo barked.

“You are going to have him neutered, right?” Despite the phrasing, it really wasn’t posed as a question. Peter fought the urge to drop a protective hand over his groin.

“Probably.”

“No – not probably. You are going to have Satchmo neutered.”

Peter stepped back, a little put out at the other man’s insistence. “That’s really not your decision.”

Caffrey glared at him and Peter was reminded of an angry, determined bird of prey. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who projects their masculinity onto everything? I bet you probably have a few guns – big ones. They’re not substitutes for a small penis.”

Peter blinked. “Excuse me?” This aggression was bizarre and unexpected.

“Your dog’s health, long life and safety are important, right?”

He elected to forget that crack about guns and penis size. “Yes, of course.”

“Unless you are planning to show and breed Mr. Satchmo here, you really need to have him neutered. He’ll live longer, be happier, and have fewer behavioral issues.”

Peter sighed. The vet was right. But still, the thought of neutering …

“If Satchmo was female, would you have this issue?” Caffrey dialed down the aggression with this very reasonable question.

“No – and you’re right.” Peter scrubbed at his face. “It’s just …”

“Yeah – I know. If you want, I can put in a pair of neuticles.”

“Huh?” That wasn’t a term he was familiar with.

“Fake testicles. Will give the boy here something to lick when he gets bored.”

Peter nodded slowly – it was either that or burst out in hysterical laughter.

Caffrey smiled at him. “I’m sorry if I came off as an asshole before – but I’ve seen beautiful dogs ruined because their owners refused to have them neutered. Men usually – they measure themselves by the size of their dog’s balls.”

“That’s okay. El would have taken Satch in if I refused to.” That was definitely true – she had put her foot down when they decided to keep the puppy. She wasn’t going to put up with spraying and marking and having to deal with him chasing after every bitch in heat.

“El?”

“Elizabeth, my wife. She’ll probably be the one to bring him in.”

The vet nodded. “Will you want the prosthetics?”

Peter looked at Satch, who was wearing his biggest doggie grin. “What do you say, boy? You want plastic balls?”

Satchmo barked, jumped up and started licking his face.

Caffrey wryly commented, “I take it that means yes.”

Peter held the puppy as the vet took blood. He must have been extremely gentle. The little guy didn’t even whimper as the needle went in.

“We’re done.” Caffrey gave Satch a treat and took him off the table. “We’ll make the appointment for the procedure today.” His tone brooked no contradiction. Peter found the doctor’s passionate commitment intriguing, and it more than made up for the aggressively insulting comment about guns.

“Fine, fine.” Peter maneuvered himself around carefully; his leg had stiffened during the examination. He followed the vet back out to the waiting room.

The doctor looked around the desk and frowned. “I have no idea how to take your money.”

Peter pulled out his wallet. “Do you want me to write a check?”

Caffrey looked at the file, at the desk again with its darkened computer screen, then back to the file. He finally looked up at Peter, a rueful smile twisted his lips. “I don’t know what to charge you. And everything was going so smoothly.”

Peter couldn’t help himself. “And I’d bet that you don’t know how to make appointments, either.”

The other man threw up his hands, Satchmo barked at the abrupt gesture. “It’s my first day! Give me a break.” He chuckled at his own mock-whine.

“I don’t live far – and I’m supposed to walk every afternoon. I could come back tomorrow, Dr. Caffrey.”

“Oh, call me Neal. And that would be perfect.” He checked something on the desk. “We’re opened until three, and I think Donna will be here until closing.”

“Neal it is. And I’ll be here before three.” Peter stuck out his hand, Neal took it. He always learned a lot from another person’s handshake. Neal Caffrey’s was firm, his palm hard but not rough, warm and dry and above all, confident.

Maybe he’d come with El when they brought Satch in for his operation. And maybe if he was lucky, he’d see Neal tomorrow, too.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

He watched his patient – and his patient’s owner – leave. The late afternoon sun was like a knife as it poured into the darkened waiting room when they opened to door.

Peter Burke moved slowly and Neal couldn’t help but wonder about that, about the cane. And about the comment about walking every day. So his initial impression was probably right – the man was recovering from something.

The office’s resident cat jumped on the desk and hissed at him. “I know why Ellen left you behind – she didn’t want you scaring the alpacas.” But like a magpie’s urge to steal shiny things, Neal couldn’t keep from petting the animal. It was an irresistible temptation, and he got clawed for his efforts.

“Evil thing.”

The cat hissed at him again and stalked away, tail high in the air.

But Neal wasn’t wholly distracted from the memory of Mr. Peter Burke. Who was much married, highly responsible and sexy as hell. And despite that moment when he thought he sensed just a hint of interest, probably as straight as an arrow.

He left fresh water for the demon creature, a note for Donna about the Burkes’ to-be-paid bill and to-be-scheduled appointment, set the alarm and left. All in all, a very good first day.

The townhouse he was renting from Ellen was a few blocks away and Neal was looking forward to going home – if just for the fact that he had a place to call home now. He walked briskly, his thoughts flitting from satisfaction to satisfaction – dwelling a bit on Peter Burke, if truth be told – when he was interrupted by a familiar high-pitched bark.

“Satchmo?”

It was the puppy, straining at his leash, happy to see him. His owner; however, didn’t seem to notice. Peter Burke was sitting on a stoop, massaging his thigh and groaning in pain.

“Are you okay?”

The man looked up, his face gray.

“Cramp – just give me a sec.” He dug his finger into the muscle and bit his lip.

Neal stood there, helpless to do anything. He didn’t think an offer to help massage his leg – at least here on the street – would be a good idea. But as the dog’s leash got tangled, he realized that was something he could do.

“I’ve got him.” He extricated the leash and the puppy from between Peter’s legs and sat down. Satchmo climbed up and joined them, indiscriminately licking first his owner’s face, then Neal’s.

The cramp seemed to pass. Peter had stopped massaging his thigh.

“Ahhh. I think … I’m okay now.” Peter stretched his leg. “Yeah. It’s all right. You’ve got good timing, Doc.” His color was improving.

“Just heading home.” Neal stood, and held out a hand to Peter. “Can I get you a cab? Anyone you want me to call?”

“No – no. I’m a half-block from my house. Just overdid it today.”

Neal really wanted to ask what happened, but it didn’t seem too polite. Ah, fuck politeness. “What’s wrong with your leg?”

Peter looked up sharply. “I was shot ten months ago.”

Shit. And I made that dumb crack about guns. “Robbery?”

“No – in the line of duty.”

“You’re a cop?” That was the last profession he figured for the enticing Mr. Peter Burke.

“Not a cop, an FBI agent.”

Neal grimaced, very bad memories surfacing. He took a step back.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Just nothing.” He swallowed his nausea and fought against the urge to turn his back and walk away.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

He would have made it home fine, but his goddamned leg seized up. He’d been warned about that: overworking the debilitated muscles. While his therapist wanted him to walk, he needed to do it in moderation. Apparently, three city blocks was excessive for his still healing body.

And to cap his humiliation, that perfect specimen of humanity – Neal Caffrey – had to find him writhing in pain.

Not for the first time since getting out of the hospital, Peter felt old and used up. And then he noticed Caffrey’s look of disgust when he said he was an FBI agent. That was just more than he could take right now. Peter used the cane to lever himself upright, ignoring Caffrey’s outstretched hand offering assistance. “My dog, please.”

Neal handed over the leash, a tight expression on his face. Peter didn’t care. He limped home slowly, tugging at Satchmo as the puppy trailed behind, looking back at the man standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

Peter wasn’t sure how he managed the front steps, but he got inside, got the leash off the dog and collapsed onto the couch, sweating and exhausted. El – he needed to call Elizabeth. It was an effort to fish the phone out from his pocket, and almost too much to dial. The thought of conversation was exhausting.

El answered on the first ring. “Hey, hon. How did it go?”

“Not going to lie – I think I overdid it.”

His wife’s sigh was too audible. “I’ll be home in an hour. Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, just going to take a nap. If you want to get Chinese …” He knew he sounded pathetic. Hopefully El wouldn’t realize just how pathetic he was.

“Hot and sour soup, chicken in XO sauce, cold sesame noodles.” El knew exactly what he wanted; he was such a creature of habit.

“Thanks, hon.” He just wanted to close his eyes and nap.

“Peter – ” There was a deep note of worry in his wife’s voice.

“El – I’m fine, really. Just overdid it.”

“Okay.” She didn’t believe him; that was clear. “I’ll see you in an hour or so. Rest, mister.”

“Your wish is my command.” The call ended and Peter shifted so he could stretch out on the couch. Closing his eyes, he drifted off; he didn’t even register the cushions bouncing when Satchmo jumped on the couch.

But the thoughts and images that bubbled up from his tired brain were disruptive. Neal Caffrey – it had been a long time since he was so instantly attracted to someone. It was like that with El – he was smitten in a heartbeat. But the man obviously had a problem with his career. Well, fuck him.

That’s the problem – you’d like to do just that.

He dozed until El got home, and had not Satchmo walked all over him to get to the door, he might have slept longer.

There was plenty of lingering stiffness in his leg, but Peter felt surprisingly good. Maybe the worst was behind him. The food smelled delicious and his stomach rumbled. Yes – he was definitely on the mend.

“Hey, hon.” He kissed Elizabeth, and another appetite sparked. “Mmm.” She tasted of wine and mint and love. He kissed her again, and her mouth opened to him, her lips pliant, but not passive as she kissed him back. It deepened, tongues touching, chasing, retreating and coming back to something so familiar, so wonderful. I have missed this, I have missed you. I love you words spoken in gesture, in the constant contact. I am alive, I am here. Arousal, long unfamiliar, but as welcome as the dawn spread through his body and he pulled her along, back to the couch, need riding him.

If it wasn’t for the dog, the Chinese food and the open curtains, they’d have made love for the first time since the shooting, right there on the living room couch.

Not that it would have been a bad thing, and they had certainly made love on the couch many times. But not with the curtains open, not with a puppy trying to get into a bag of very-bad-for-him food. And if Peter was honest with himself, he didn’t think he could do Elizabeth or his desire justice on the couch, and it would definitely be a buzz-kill if his leg seized up again.

“Mmmm. Peter.” El kissed him, slipping her tongue between his lips, a little flickering tease. “Where did this come from?” She rubbed herself against him.

“Dunno – but I don’t care.” They necked like teenagers for a little while longer and Peter’s good intentions almost flew out the window, until they heard the sound of a paper bag tearing.

“Better get the food away from Satch.” El got up and shooed the dog. “It’s still hot – do you want to eat now?”

He weighed the options, and was about to suggest they just go upstairs when El’s stomach rumbled. And then his did as well. “You have your answer.”

El pulled out two sets of chopsticks. “Want to not bother with plates?”

He set the cartons on the table, fetched some napkins and they dined like college students – straight from the carton.

“Hon?”

El looked up from fishing out the last remnants of the sesame noodles. “Hmmm?”

“Would you mind if I went up to take a shower?”

The smile she gave him went right to his groin. “You better hurry. I may just join you there.”

He smiled back just as lasciviously, refusing to let any worry about being able to perform in the shower bother him. “See you upstairs, Mrs. Burke. Don’t be too long.” He couldn’t believe himself, but he actually wagged his eyebrows at his wife.

The trip upstairs was slow – but not tentative. It was as if the cramp that afternoon had worked something out. He didn’t feel fit, but he certainly felt alive, vital. The bathroom quickly steamed up and he stripped and stepped into the spray of hot water. He tried to be efficient – but his hands lingered at the scars. Two on his chest, one at his hip. A deep furrow on his right bicep, another one on his left shoulder.

And the fist-sized indentation on his left leg with the snaking scars from hip to knee where he had been cut, and cut, and cut again. His femur was a modern medical miracle – an amalgam of bone and metal and epoxy. Ten years ago, he would have died from an infection, if the blood loss hadn’t killed him first. Five years ago, amputation may have been a foregone conclusion. But today, he was walking and very soon, he’d be making love to his wife for the first time in ten months.

His dick, for so long a thing of little use and less pleasure, was chubbing up, flushing bright red. He gave it a stroke. “Hey, guy.” It bobbed, as if to acknowledge Peter’s greeting. “Good to see you, too.”

He put on a robe, shaved and brushed his teeth. Hobbling into the bedroom, he passed El – she gave him a quick kiss as she ducked into the bathroom. She had done her thing, turning down the covers, lighting a few strategically placed candles. This felt good – it felt better than good.

He tossed the robe on the chair and studiously avoided looking in the mirror. He wasn’t ashamed of the scars, and god knew, El had seen them plenty of times, but still, he didn’t like to look.

Peter sat on the edge of the bed and opened the nightstand drawer. There was a box of condoms there, he pushed those aside. They didn’t need to worry about birth control, but he did want the lube. Or maybe not – not tonight.

“Hey, hon.”

Peter looked up. El was standing in the doorway, wearing his favorite blue silk robe – the short one that matched her eyes and barely covered her ass.

“Hey, hon.” The reply – though second nature – was heartfelt. Hello there, I love you so very much. “What are you doing so far away?”

El sashayed across the room, her breasts gently swaying. Definitely naked under the robe. She sat down next to him.

“You know, this feels a little like our wedding night.”

She was right. “Yeah – it does.”

“Except neither of us is drunk, and there’s no chance of your sister playing nasty tricks on us.”

Peter grinned at the memory and then let it fade. He threaded his fingers through his wife’s lush, dark hair. “Come here.”

She leaned in and they fell back onto the bed, kissing without restraint, devouring each other like they hadn’t eaten in months. And in truth, they hadn’t. Peter pulled Elizabeth on top of him and she straddled his hips. A swift tug on the sash and her robe fell open.

His wife’s body wasn’t strange to him, nor was it unremembered. But tonight, it like coming back to a place long absent, a temple for a rediscovered faith. Her breasts were perfect apples, and he brushed his thumbs across her nipples, they tightened like flowers in the night. She swayed over him, and he pulled her down so he could taste that sweet skin, savor the silk and satin and the utter strength.

El hissed in pleasure and he whispered, “I love you” between kisses. A verbal tattoo against her skin. “I need you forever.” Thank you for loving me, thank you for waiting, thank you for being.

His body, an enemy for so long, was brimming with power; it flowed out over his skin, electric, vibrant. His cock was a pulse beat, a drumbeat, a second heart, hot and eager.

El reared back, and his hand slid down her body. Peter’s fingers found slick skin, hot and wet beneath silken curls. She bore down with graceful pressure, her taking her time, taking her own pleasure.

“Yes, oh yes.” The words were uttered in grateful desire. Her body wrapped itself around three, then four hard fingers, the first release and then the second swiftly following.

Her body reluctantly released his fingers, and Elizabeth looked at him from behind that curtain of hair, her blue eyes glowing like some jungle creature, her grin just as feral. A movement, a shift in posture and she positioned herself like a dancer, sinking down on his steel-hard cock.

Peter thought he could pass out from the perfection of this pleasure, it had always been so good between them – but this was a whole universe beyond good. Elizabeth rode him; she kept perfect control, teasing him until he thought he’d go blind. When the end finally came, when he came, there was nothing except the perfect heat of his wife’s cunt and arms and thighs and breasts. The drape of her hair across his face, her lips against his ear, her words echoing his.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Her satisfaction was bone deep. Her happiness, soul deep. There were days when she had silently despaired of having her husband back. Having Peter back. Her lover, her best friend, the man she wanted to grow old with.

And by all rights, she should have been a widow. No, no – don’t think that, ever. Six shots. Of course she hadn't been there, but she could hear them in her sleep – six seconds that nearly destroyed her. But as strong as she was, she had to be stronger still.

Endless days and nights in the hospital, waiting, hoping, trusting that science would keep her husband alive just another day. As the days accumulated into weeks and then months, she suffered. A lonely house missing its heartbeat, colleagues and friends who never seemed to have the time to sit down and share a cup of coffee with her. Her husband, Peter, once so strong, reduced to relying on others for the most basic bodily functions.

It hadn’t been easy – and there were times that she just wanted to … what? Leave? No, never. But escape, yes. A week, maybe. A day, perhaps. And as the thought occurred, guilt and concern chased it away.

“El – you have to. For both our sakes.” Peter himself pleaded with her.

“No.” She tried to be adamant, but it was hard.

“I’m on the mend, hon. It’s just a week in the Bahamas. It takes longer to get to the Hamptons than to fly to the Caribbean.”

“Peter, I’m not going anywhere while you’re trying to learn how to walk again.”

He looked at her – that narrow-eyed gaze that probably had been responsible for dozens, if not hundreds of criminal confessions. “You need a break, El. Don’t think I can’t see how exhausted you are. You’ve been at my side for three months – when was the last time you did a damn thing for yourself?” Peter had picked up her hand and showed her her own fingernails – ragged and uneven, complete with cracked cuticles.

“Hon … ”

“Don’t ‘hon’ me, Elizabeth Burke. I need you strong and healthy. I need you to be the woman I married. Not an exhausted shell.”

She hated him at that moment – how easily he could turn on her weaknesses.

“Three days – the Jersey shore.” She bargained.

“No. Six days, the Bahamas.”

“Damn it, Peter – I don’t want to be that far away.” She was weakening.

“And getting stuck in traffic on the Turnpike will make a difference?”

She scowled.

“El – go. Find some beautiful young thing, fuck his brains out and come home to me.”

A flush darkened her cheeks. “No – that I won’t do.”

“We have an agreement, hon.”

“And that’s set aside for now. I’m not indulging until you can, too.”

“El – it could be months…”

“And I don’t care. I’ll go to the Bahamas. I’ll eat, drink and be merry. But I’m not fucking anyone. Not until you can, too.”

Peter had swallowed audibly – always a precursor to his hard-fought tears. “Hon.”

She ran a hand down Peter’s chest, her fingers lingering on the one of the scars. His vest had slowed the progress of the two bullets aimed at his heart, but they had been fired at such close range that they punctured the Kevlar and had to be cut out of him.

“Your thoughts are noisy.”

“Sorry.”

Peter shifted and pressed a kiss on her head. “I’m all right now.”

There was nothing to say to that. Tonight had been an unexpected milestone – and so much more than that. “I love you.” She pressed a kiss on his shoulder, above another scar.

“What are you thinking about? Other than the obvious?”

“The obvious.”

Peter chuckled and she smiled, sweeping her hand down his belly, nails just brushing the top of his pubes. “Welcome home, Peter Burke.”

“It’s good to be home, Elizabeth Burke.” He tilted his hips up to meet her questing hand, and stifled a groan. Unfortunately, it wasn’t one of pleasure.

“You okay?”

Peter moved a bit, resettling himself. “I’m okay – I’m fine.”

“But let’s not push it?”

“Hmmm, I can think of a few things I’d like to push.”

“But in a little while?”

“Hmm, yeah.” Peter sounded sleepy. “Love you, El. You have no idea how much.”

Oh, I do, hon. I do.

They slept for a little while, a dreamless, wordless state until the bright summer moon filled the darkened room. El rolled over and remembered the dog. Satch was still a puppy and wouldn’t last until morning. She put on Peter’s robe and her own slippers and hurried downstairs, hoping it wasn’t too late.

The dog was actually sleeping in front of the back door and El had to smile when he lifted his head, hope in his eyes.

“Yeah, boy – sorry. Almost forgot.” She let him out and stood on the small patio, breathing in the scents and sounds of a city never quite asleep. Satch did his business; she gave him his tiny late night treat and went back upstairs.

Peter’s bedside light was on and he was reading the latest Grisham bestseller. Elizabeth paused at the doorway and wished she was an artist or a photographer. The light pooled down, gilding his sleep-mussed hair, sparkling on the metal frames of his reading glasses, making his skin glow. The rest of the room was all soft, velvety darkness now that the moon had moved behind the trees. He was so beautiful, he made her heart ache.

Maybe she sighed. Peter looked up, a smile on his lips. “Hi, hon. Everything all right?”

“Yeah – just needed to let Satch out. Did I wake you?”

“Not really – had to get up.” Peter set the book aside and took off his glasses. “You good?”

She grinned and considered the question. The look he gave her made her nipples tighten. “Yeah, really good. You?”

“Very – come back to bed.”

She dropped the robe and was rewarded with a hiss of indrawn breath.

“Mrs. Burke, you are one very sexy woman.”

Their coupling this time was slower, each gesture savored. The gentleness magnified the sensations and when they both came, they didn’t so much as collapse in delicious exhaustion as glide down into welcome satiation.

This was their marriage as she remembered best. More than sex, it was the closeness of moments like this that helped her through endless lonely nights and frustrating, frightening days.

“Hmmm, never asked. How did your meeting go?”

“She’s going to be the client from hell, but I’m charging accordingly.”

They chatted a bit about the client’s crazy requirements for her daughter’s wedding, and other less interesting things. Peter was about to turn off the light when she remembered something.

“How did Satch do at the vet today? He didn’t nip at Dr. Parker, I hope.” And something else. “Did you remember to make the appointment for his surgery?” Talking about getting their dog neutered just after sex made her want to giggle.

But Peter froze and got a funny look on his face.

“Hon – what’s the matter.”

He sighed and gave her a twisted smile. “Dr. Parker retired – there’s a new vet.”

“You know, I think I saw a card from the office a few weeks ago that she was retiring – it slipped my mind. Don’t tell me, Satchmo bit the new doctor?”

“No. He definitely did not. I’ve never seen him so enamored with a stranger.”

She picked something up in Peter’s voice. “Tell me about him.”

“Who?”

“The new vet – what’s his name? What’s he like?”

“Neal – Neal Caffrey. He’s …”

“What?”

“Very … symmetrical.”

Elizabeth leaned up on one elbow and looked at Peter. “Symmetrical?”

“Okay, he’s gorgeous. Reminds me of you. But with an expertly cut five o’clock shadow. And no tits.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Anyone tell you that you have a type?”

“Yeah, smart, leggy blue-eyed brunettes. I know – old joke.”

“So, you think he’d be interested?” They hadn’t shared a partner in a long time – even before Peter’s shooting.

“Don’t know. Could be. I didn’t get the sense that he was attached. He’s a little strange, though.”

“How?”

“Well, he was most insistent about having Satch neutered.”

“That’s not strange, that’s smart – and he should be.” They had had this argument more than a few times.

“And he didn’t seem to like the idea that I’m an FBI agent.” Peter explained how the man found him – sitting on a stoop, working a cramp out. “He didn’t have that reaction when he asked if I was a cop.”

“Oh, well – that sort of sucks.”

“Yeah. Why would a veterinarian have a dislike of FBI agents?” Peter wondered.

“Don’t know. You’re not thinking of having Diana run his name.”

Peter blinked.

“Let me rephrase the question. You are not having Diana run his name. You have no reason to.”

“Other than vulgar curiosity. The PATRIOT Act has to be good for something.”

“Peter …”

“Okay, hon. I won’t ask Diana to run his name.”

“You won’t ask anyone to run his name. You won’t tell anyone to run his name. You will respect the man’s privacy – got it?”

“You know me too well.” He kissed her. “Anyway – I’ve got to go back tomorrow afternoon.” Peter told her about needing to pay the bill and schedule Satchmo’s surgery.

“You can’t, you’ve got appointments all day – PT, the session with Dr. Briggs. And the consultation with the plastic surgeon.”

“Yeah, damn.”

“I’m working from home tomorrow, so I’ll go. I’d like to meet this symmetrical wonder.”

“El – whatever you’re thinking about doing, don’t.”

“Hon, I just want to meet him.” And see what’s got my husband so interested.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

His second day wasn’t going as well as his first. It started with a cat and projectile vomit. Then the pair of rats that got loose from a faulty travel cage. That was more high comedy than tragedy, particularly since they cornered the Demon Creature and made it howl. But tragedy came anyway and Neal’s heart broke. A five year old black Lab with advanced leukemia that had to be put to sleep.

Neal wanted to close himself in his tiny, cramped office and cry. Instead, he washed his face, looked in the mirror in and told himself to cowboy up.

It was three o’clock and no more patients. Neal went to see Donna, who promised to show him the patient billing and payment system and how to book appointments. As he approached, he couldn’t help but notice the gorgeous brunette chatting with his receptionist and he happened to catch the word “Satchmo.”

Pasting his friendliest smile on, Neal waded in. “Elizabeth Burke?”

“Why, yes. How did you know?”

“I could profess to being a great detective, but I heard you mention your dog’s name. And your husband had mentioned yours when he was here yesterday”

“Ah.” Her smile was bright and intelligence shone from her eyes. “You must be Dr. Caffrey.” She held out her hand.

“Guilty as charged.” Now, why did he say that? “You’ve got Satchmo down for his little surgery?” Neal looked over Donna’s shoulder and saw that Satch would be coming back in about four weeks.

“Yes – and paid the bill.” She was still smiling at him. He was accustomed to the appreciative gazes of men and women – but there was definitely something in the look she was giving him. As if she was sizing him up – but for what?

Donna cleared her throat. “Doc – I’m going to take off. I need to pick my son up from daycare. How about I show you the system tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure.” He replied, still distracted by Mrs. Burke. Her smile widened a fraction and it sent a frisson up his spine. He stepped out of the way as Donna retrieved her purse, maneuvering around the small reception area.

Neal cleared his throat. “Umm – your husband – is he okay?”

“Peter’s just fine – doing much better. Thank you for asking.”

There was definitely something there, in the slight huskiness of her voice. “Good, good – I was a little worried about him.”

Mrs. Burke made no attempt to leave. She just kept smiling at him. It was unnerving and a little arousing. He licked his lips and her eyes widened. The moment; however, was lost when the Demon Creature jumped onto the counter.

“What a beautiful cat.” She held out her hand.

“Be careful – she may be beautiful, but she’s treacherous.” And as the words left his mouth, the ornery animal butted her head against the woman’s hand and started purring. He shook his head. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

The Demon Creature looked up at him, orange eyes glowing, and gave him a half-hearted hiss and went back to its insane purring under Elizabeth Burke’s hand. “That cat hates everyone. She regularly bites Donna’s ankles and tries to gut my assistant Mike with her ninja claws when he feeds her. I almost lost a hand to her this morning.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

Neal chuckled. “Yeah, well just a little. But she’s not a nice cat. Even Ellen didn’t like her. ”

“Well, maybe I have the touch.” She stroked the cat’s head, and the purring went into fifth gear.

Neal couldn’t take his eyes off of Mrs. Burke’s hand. He had this very naughty image of that hand stroking other things. He was going mad. Only a week back in Brooklyn, and he was going stark raving mad.

“Ummm, I was going to close up now.”

“Oh, oh – sorry!” She stopped petting the cat, who gave them both baleful looks before stalking off. “I should get home, too. Do you and your family live in the neighborhood?”

“No family.” Neal found himself telling her about the townhouse he was leasing. “I was on my way home when I found your husband yesterday – he was in a lot pain.” Good – remind her of her injured spouse. That didn’t work. Her grin only got wider.

“Then you can walk me home and tell me why you don’t like FBI agents.”

Neal swallowed. “I have no problem with the FBI.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

“Really.” Nothing like lying through your teeth to a beautiful woman with too-knowing eyes.

“Hmmm.”

Neal smiled – the full-wattage one. “But I can still walk home with you. Just let me lock up.”

The walk was brief, he asked her how long she and her husband had lived in the neighborhood, and she asked him about why he became a vet. By the time he finished explaining they had stopped in front of a small townhouse – not that dissimilar from his own.

“Would you like to come in? Cold drink, cup of coffee?”

Neal blinked. He had the feeling he was being set up. “Umm – I’ve – uh – I… Mrs. Burke.” He was sure he was blushing bright red.

“Call me Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth. I don’t …”

“Peter’s probably home – I’m sure he’d love to see you.” There was a thread of steel in that statement.

Neal no longer reacted well to coercion, even this gentle type. “Thanks – but no. I’ve still got a lot of things to sort out – with my move, starting a new job, everything.” Even to his own ears, the excuses sounded lame.” He started to walk away.

“Maybe you’d like to come for dinner on Friday?” Elizabeth called after him.

He stopped and turned around. There was a surprising touch of hope in that invitation. “Why?”

She shrugged. “You seem nice – my husband likes you, my dog likes you. Why not?”

Neal relaxed. He was probably reading too much into things. “I’ve got to go out of town very early Saturday morning, so Friday night wouldn’t work. Maybe Sunday?”

Elizabeth smiled like it was Christmas morning. “Sunday is good – probably better than Friday. Seven o’clock?”

“Sounds perfect.”

She fished something out of her purse – a business card. “Take this – if you have to cancel, just call my cell.”

“I could always check Satchmo’s file for your home number.”

“Isn’t this easier?” She held out the card and he took it.

“Okay – thanks.” He started to walk away but didn’t get very far.

“Neal?”

He turned back.

“You like meat, right?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Now, there was something unmistakable lascivious about Elizabeth Burke’s smile. “Good, see you on Sunday.” She turned and just about bounded up her front steps.

Neal was left standing there. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Go To Part Two: On DW | On LJ

Comments

[lauracollared.livejournal.com]

Ooooooo this is great!
I can't wait to hear about Neal's past (although I'm sure it'll be difficult to read). I love him as a vet. I can easily picture it because Neal (and Matt Bomer) is so great with dogs.
El is such a minx! lol.

Love it. Love it. Can't wait to read the rest.

[elrhiarhodan]

Thank you! I hadn't thought about Matt and his dog...just Neal and Satch!

Hope you enjoy the rest.

[iamhere23.livejournal.com]

I'm already loving this!!
YEY for Neal as a Vet! I'm about a year away from graduating as a DVM, and I love it :D
*goes off eagerly to read the rest*

[elrhiarhodan]

Thank you so very much!

And how thrilling for you. What will you specialize in?

[iamhere23.livejournal.com]

Actually, I don't know yet. I love all of it, working with domestic, farm, or wild animals are all wonderful and have their own special attraction for me, so we'll see. I still have some time to decide ;)

[cookiegirl]

Great first part! I can totally see Neal as an adorable vet. And now I want Chinese food and sex with Peter. On to the next chapter!

[ladyrose42.livejournal.com]

You know I totally in concert with Peter and PT. Stairs are the final frontier,especially down!. Nice start for the AU. Like Neal as licensed professional (no High School dropout), but curious as to his background.

[joy2190.livejournal.com]

"Peter followed helplessly, keeping his jaw tightly shut, least his tongue start to drag." I love how you pepper your stories with these wonderful wise cracks!

Is it really a year since I read this? Now you've posted the new fic I thought I would go back and refresh my memory. So I guess I'm going to be delighted and heartbroken all over again. And looks like I didn't post a comment before, so rude of me (hangs head in shame), I will be more appreciative this time around.

[elrhiarhodan]

Awww, hugs you!

No worries about not commenting - but thank you for letting me know how much you've enjoyed it.