White Collar Fic - Wisdom Lies in Wait

[elrhiarhodan]

Title: Wisdom Lies in Wait
Author: elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke, Peter/Neal, Peter/Elizabeth, eventual Peter/Elizabeth/Neal
Spoilers: None. This story takes place in a universe where Season 6 never happened.
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~5500
Beta Credit: sinfulslasher
Summary: Nearly four years have passed since Peter told the Powers that Be that if they didn't release Neal Caffrey from his sentence, he was quitting the FBI. They took him at his word and Neal was freed. Although Neal no longer works for the FBI, Peter remains his closest friend and more than that, he's the one person Neal wants but believes he can never have. For his part, Peter is almost unbearably proud of Neal, who has embraced the life of a solid and productive citizen. He loves Neal but won't even allow himself to dream of anything more than friendship It's a good thing that Elizabeth is the sensible one in this relationship.

A/N: A gift for my very dearest friend, kanarek13, because she deserves every wonderful thing in the universe. This was not supposed to be a story about love and longing. It was not supposed to be filled with angst and pain. It was supposed to be a silly riff on a newly acquired tool for Peter's household chores. Something happened along the way.

__________________



Peter and Neal were all but out the door when they heard El call down from upstairs. “Hon, if you're going to the hardware store, don't forget we need a stud finder.”

Neal looked at his former handler, former partner, still best friend, and frequent subject of his dreams (as well some very explicit masturbatory fantasies), and smirked. "You and Elizabeth are having some problems?"

Peter swatted at him. "Get your mind out of the gutter. El wants to hang the new painting you gave us. The last time I hung your artwork, I kept putting holes in the wrong places. The stud finder will help me find the studs in the bedroom walls."

Neal covered his mouth but he couldn't stifle a laugh.

Peter gave him that familiar look of exasperated amusement, "You …"

"Come on, stud. Let's go to the hardware store. Or the doctor. Maybe you need some professional help. Or a little blue pill."

"Another word and I'll drop you off at Sing-Sing. I understand they're having a special on orange jumpsuits."

"That threat was old eight years ago." Neal tucked his hands in his pockets and grinned.

"What can I say, I like the classics. They never go out of style."

"Come on, Jack Benny, let's get to the hardware store."

Neal loved these domestic outings with Peter. He could pretend that he was really part of the Burke family, something he never stopped longing for through so many years of ups and downs, through countless fuck-ups - both his and Peter's - through grief and anger and heartbreak. Four years ago, Peter unlocked his anklet for the last time and he'd walked out of the FBI Building a free man, intent on putting New York behind him. Six months after that day, like a bad penny, he'd found himself on Peter and Elizabeth's doorstep, lonely and weary of the footloose existence he'd dreamed of for so long, clueless on how to spend the rest of his life as a man, not a con.

Peter had immediately offered him his old desk back, complete with a real salary, real benefits and the type of job security only the Federal Government could offer. It was tempting. He missed the challenge and the chase, but Neal also knew that it would be too easy to fall back into old patterns.

Elizabeth had suggested, "Why not go back to school? Get your degree? For real, this time."

Peter had looked at him, a question in his eye - clearly remembering that nugget of information he'd once dropped about his past. "Can you do that?"

It was like a light going on inside his soul, or the missing piece of the puzzle slipping into place. "Yeah, I can. And I think I want to."

It hadn't taken much to get the ball rolling. Neal got copies of his GED from the prison system. Peter called in favors from everyone he could think of, from Reese Hughes to Kyle Bancroft, to every FBI agent Neal had helped, every U.S. Attorney who had relied on Neal's expertise to make their cases, to all the people who had thought that Neal would never be more than a career criminal, but had been proven wrong. Before he'd finished his application to Columbia, Neal had a stack of recommendations an inch thick. It didn't hurt that Stuart Gless, whose bonds he'd once forged and whose daughter's life he'd saved at risk to his own, was a trustee at the school.

Right now, Neal was one semester shy of graduating with a degree in Art History and a minor in accounting. The first made him happy, the second pleased Peter to no end.

His last paper had been turned in, his final accounting exam taken, and he had five weeks to do nothing but please himself, and if that meant helping Peter with the household chores, that was just fine.

They got into the car and Peter asked, "So, where are we going? The Home Depot is close - but it's probably a madhouse today. Feel like heading over to the True Value in Clinton Hill?"

Neal shrugged. "Honestly, I really don't have an opinion about either, but there's that great Italian bakery in Clinton Hill on Myrtle Avenue, and I think it's a few blocks from a hardware store."

"So, that settles it, I'll get the plumbing supplies and you get the biscotti and cannoli."

"Don't forget the stud finder." Neal couldn't help but snicker.

Peter, to Neal's chagrin, didn't rise to the bait. At least this time.

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

Finished at the hardware store, Peter spotted Neal sauntering down Myrtle Avenue, carrying two boxes of pastries. His fedora, once a stylish trademark, was nowhere to be seen these days. It seemed to have disappeared when he took off tracker. But Neal's distinctive saunter was still very much in evidence. He walked like a man who owned the world.

And these days, maybe he did.

On the surface, the Neal Caffrey who'd turned up on his doorstep three and a half years ago, looking lost and a little desperate, wasn't that much different from the delightful and infuriating con man he'd come to know and love. But this man - the one walking towards him with a bright smile and threads of silver in his hair – was confident and happy. Not that the Neal he'd worked with for four years had been anything but that (even in the darkest of times). This was different in ways that were hard to quantify. Maybe it had to do with the fact (yes, fact – not supposition) that he wasn't playing the ends against the middle for some great con. Or maybe it was spending time with people who didn't carry badges, but still thought he was brilliant (he had seen the comment left by a professor on one of Neal's papers, congratulating him on his stunning insight on Degas' "Entrance of the Masked Dancers").

Peter liked to think that this iteration of Neal Caffrey was the real one – the man he might have been had fate and someone else's bad choices not destroyed his future.

Neal met him halfway up the block. "Get everything you need?"

Peter held up the bag. "And please don't ask me about the stud finder."

Neal smirked. "Wouldn't dream of it. Stud."

"What are you, a twelve-year old boy?"

At that, Neal tipped his head back and laughed. The sound was one of pure pleasure and it went through him like a knife. He kept walking and hoped that Neal wouldn't notice the bulge. It would be far too hard to explain.

Sometimes Peter thought that Neal knew about his feelings but was too much of a friend to mention them. And other times, he was certain that Neal was oblivious.

He'd always had these inchoate longings, as far back as the time he'd been chasing the elusive "James Bonds". When he'd taken Neal's hand, that moment in the storage facility, before Jones slapped the cuffs on him, Peter's whole world went slightly askew. It wasn't just desire. It was the need to truly know this man.

Nearly a dozen years later, Peter was bemused by his own naiveté. He'd might never truly know every aspect of Neal Caffrey, but he'd never stop trying.

They walked back to the car and as they were heading home, Peter asked, "You're sure you don't have anything you'd rather be doing on a Saturday afternoon a week before Christmas?"

Neal shook his head. "Nah. School work's done for the semester. Moz is in Detroit, working on the new group home with Mr. Jeffries. June's someplace warm and sunny. I can't think of anything I'd rather be doing than helping you locate some studs. In your bedroom."

Peter grinned. "You're going to keep milking that, aren't you?"

"All the way to the dairy."

At a stop light, Peter glanced over at Neal. The fading afternoon light was kind to the other man, gilding the silver threads at his temples and smoothing the fine lines at the corner of his eyes. It was hard to believe that Neal was on the cusp of forty – the age he'd been when he'd snagged a bond forgery case from a stack of new files.

Neal must have felt his stare, and asked, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"You say 'nothing' but there's something going on in your head."

"Isn't being inordinately suspicious my job?"

"Ha! Your job is to find studs. And apparently you need help."

"Neal…" Peter had the strong feeling that Neal was deflecting about something. "What's going on?"

"Huh?"

"You don't normally ... indulge … in such sarcastic humor. Is everything all right?"

"Hmm, I seem to recall a very similar conversation, only it was me asking you."

"True enough." Peter let out a small sigh. If there was anything he'd learned after all these years, pushing at Neal was going to result in something very messy and very uncomfortable. He left it at that and continued to slowly navigate through local traffic. There was one week left until Christmas and the whole world was out shopping.

"What, you're not going to keep pressing at me?"

Peter fought to keep the annoyance out of his tone. "You're really something, aren't you? I've finally learned not to poke my nose into your business and you're hurt when I don't?"

Neal didn't say anything for a minute or two and Peter wondered if he'd been too harsh.

"You're right, I'm sorry."

"Is there a problem? You know you can talk to me."

Neal started to say something and Peter figured it was another quip, but then he stopped, rethought and finally said, "I never thought I'd make it to forty."

It was a good thing they were at another stop light. "What?"

"I'll be forty in March. Never thought I'd get there."

"What do you mean?" Peter knew what Neal meant but he had a hard time wrapping his brain around it.

"I figured I'd be back in prison, or dead, or someone else altogether. I never figured I'd still be Neal Caffrey at forty."

Peter kept his eyes on the road, but he blinked hard against the sudden rush of emotion. "I'm glad you're still Neal Caffrey. I wouldn't want you to be anyone else, or anywhere else."

All Neal said was, "Thank you."

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

He wasn't sure what had just happened.

Neal had never, ever planned to tell Peter his deepest fear. Not that Peter would use it against him, but he knew it would reveal far too much.

But intentions and plans had a way of going out the window when it came to Peter Burke. Neal had never intended to permanently settle in New York. Once the anklet was off, he had been gone like a shot – first Paris, then London, then Macau. Six months of frantic travel, trying to outrun the demons of memory and love. When he boarded that first plane out of JFK, he had told himself that the best thing would be to let all the connections fade away, and he'd done a good job for the first few weeks. Sending just a single email to Peter with a selfie from the Louvre, standing in front of the Nike of Samothrace; a few weeks later, another selfie at the Lions in Trafalgar Square, then nothing. He'd let Peter's own emails and texts go unanswered.

But the loneliness had been unbearable. Moz had been unbearable. The lack of a radius had been unbearable. This wasn't the life he wanted anymore but he didn't know how to get back the one he had left behind.

Then Moz handed him a plane ticket back to New York, told him to go home, and suddenly nothing was unbearable anymore.

It was hard to believe that it had been almost four years since he'd rescued himself from the kidnapping Rachel had arranged, and Peter had gone to the Justice Department and threatened to quit if they didn't release him from his servitude. Neal still couldn't believe that that gamble had paid off. Peter was still ASAC of the White Collar unit and Elizabeth spent about half her time in New York, the other half in D.C.

And Neal couldn't help but feel a little guilty when he came over on the weekends and interrupted the Burkes' precious together time. But since neither Peter nor Elizabeth ever sent him packing, he continued to visit.

Despite the bombshell he'd just dropped, the silence between him and Peter was comfortable and easy. Much like their relationship these days. Sometimes, though, Neal wondered if Peter knew how he felt. How he'd always felt. Ever since that moment when they'd shaken hands, just before Clinton put the cuffs on him.

Some things might change. He was growing up, growing older. He actually wanted to be a solid citizen who had something meaningful to do with his days. He could change his name, his address, and with a little effort, even his eye color. But he'd never be able to change how he felt about Peter Burke.

Maybe it was time to stop trying.

"Looks like someone's watching out for us." Peter tilted his head towards a space at the curb. "Can't believe my parking spot's still here."

Neal chuckled. Peter's never-ending complaints about all the newcomers to the neighborhood with their multi-car households were a source of never-ending amusement. "Maybe they knew you were urgently needed at home. You and your stud finder."

Peter laughed and the sound went through him like a knife. He shifted in his seat, squirming a little. Thankfully, Peter was intent on parallel parking and didn't notice.

Elizabeth was sitting on the couch with her laptop and some files, and smiled when they entered. He watched, with a tiny pang, as Peter leaned over and kissed her and she made a face at his cold, beard-bristled cheeks. That was something he was never going to have.

"Get the stud finder?"

Neal coughed into his fist to cover the chuckle, and Peter mock-glared at him and explained, "Yes, I did and Wonder Boy here may be turning forty in a few months, but he has the sense of humor of a nine year old."

"Hey - I resent that. An hour ago, I had the sense of humor of a twelve year old boy."

Elizabeth laughed and looked at both of them. Not for the first time in the past few months did Neal think that she was holding some sort of secret to herself. "Well, I don't think your new stud finder going to have to work too hard."

"Hate to be a killjoy, but I have to fix the bathroom sink first." Peter turned to him. "Up to doing some hard work for a change?"

Neal didn't bother to pretend outrage. "I think I can show you a few tricks with a propane torch and braising rod." Peter smirked and Neal realized that he'd been played. "I'm guessing that you have the tools all set up?"

"And waiting for you."

"Lead on, MacDuff."

He followed Peter upstairs to the home's single bathroom, past the collection of photos - including the one that once had been so damning. There were a few photos of him and Peter, and him with Peter and Elizabeth, on the wall now. He stopped to look and Peter must have noticed. "When you graduate, we'll put one of you in your cap and gown up here, too. Add that to this rogues' gallery."

Neal shook his head, pleased beyond words.

Once in the small bathroom, he pushed Peter aside, examined the leaking pipework below the sink and started issuing orders, "I'll need a bucket to drain everything. Did you turn off the water? Where are my goggles? I'm not using a torch without eye protection."

Peter affirmed that he'd turned the water off, but Neal checked anyway. Peter handed him a bucket, some towels and then the goggles. After the last of the water drained from the sink, Neal started working on the leaking pipe, which had corroded at the joint.

"You do some work on this?"

"Why?"

"Any plumber with the least bit of experience would have done a better job. Too much flux, it doesn't look like the fittings were cleaned before they were soldered, too much solder to fill the gaps."

"Well, I'm an FBI agent, not a plumber."

"Yes, you are. And there are some jobs that really should be left to the professionals."

Neal finished up the work quickly and cleanly, enjoying the smell of burning propane and melted solder. He and Moz had done a lot of work like this, back in the day. At that thought, the odors made him a little queasy. He shut off the torch and slid out from under the sink. "Okay - you can turn the water back on."

Peter helped him to his feet and reached into the cabinet to do just that. "Turn on the cold tap slowly."

Neal did. "Any leaks?"

"None so far. Now try the hot tap."

He did, and asked again.

"Job looks good. Thanks."

"And am I getting dinner out of this?" Neal wanted to bite back the words - this was Saturday night. Date night. There was no Neal on date night.

"We can negotiate. El and I were thinking about getting delivery from the new Thai fusion place a few blocks over, but if you'd prefer meatloaf, I'm sure we can manage that."

Neal grinned, fully understanding that he was being teased. "No, Thai sounds good." He brushed the dust off his pants. "Now, what about finding some studs, Stud?"

This time, Peter didn't rise to the bait. But he did smile and Neal again felt that almost desperate surge of arousal. And he silently cursed himself. Elizabeth, who was as dear to him as anyone, was downstairs, just a few yards away. Not that Peter would ever be tempted. How could he? The love he shared with his wife was beautiful, perfect and exclusive.

"You okay?"

Neal pulled down his sweater, as if it could cover the developing bulge. It didn't so he shoved his hands in his pockets and said, "Just eager to go forth and find some studs."

"I bet you are."

Neal followed Peter into the master bedroom. He'd only been in here once before – and of course Peter was never, ever going to find out about that. Or maybe he should. After all this time, maybe he should come clean.

Or maybe not. What was the point in it?

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

"So, what do you think, over the headboard?"

Peter tried not to think of the fact that Neal was in his bedroom. This was, to the best of his knowledge, only the second time he'd been in here. Neal had no clue that he'd been monitoring him from a set of webcams and audio transmitters when he snuck in, opened the safe and photographed the copy of the U-boat's manifest page. Neal had no idea that Peter had been listening in as he lied to Mozzie.

He'd kept silent because of that lie, because of everything that happened afterward. There was no point in opening up that wound.

And yet, he was almost consumed by the urge to tell Neal that he knew.

But he didn't. Their relationship was strong, but even iron could shatter with the right blow.

"Over the headboard? You sure? The scale might be off."

Neal's comment distracted him from his musings. "I think so. I've always found it kind of weird to have a mirror there."

"Hmm, it is kind of odd. Unless you're into that sort of thing?"

Peter felt himself blushing.

"You are, aren't you?"

Goaded, he blurted out, "Shut up – and no, I'm not. And neither is El."

Neal just rocked back on his heels and smiled.

Digging an even deeper trench, he muttered. "Besides, the angle is wrong, it's up too high."

El commented from the doorway, "I like the mirror there. And the angle is just fine."

Neal, thankfully, either didn't notice his blush or chose to ignore it. "So, where do you want to hang it?"

"How about over here?" El pointed to the small recessed niche where the safe was."

Peter didn't want it there, and Neal seemed to agree. "It wouldn't fit."

"Then what about next to the bed?" El started to clear away the lamp and the books that had piled up on the nightstand by his side of the bed. The wall space was empty.

"That might work." Neal tilted his head, considering the location. "But are you sure you really want this in your bedroom?"

Before Peter could answer, El chimed in, "I think it's beautiful and perfect. I told you that when I picked it up." She retrieved the painting that had been sitting on a chair for the best part of two months and brought it over to them.

"You practically stole it off my easel before the paint dried." Neal turned to him. "Peter, are you sure you want this in your bedroom?"

Peter didn't hesitate. "Yes. I don't want it anywhere else. It doesn't belong anywhere else." He loved this painting – it was truly an original "Caffrey" and maybe the first of its kind. Neal had taken a basic Victorian genre scene – two shepherds and a maiden – and filtered it through modernist eyes. There was a touch of Chagall, a bit of Klimpt, even some Cubist influence. But it was wholly Neal Caffrey. Peter also thought that the shepherds looked like him and Neal and the maiden could be Elizabeth, but that was probably just wishful thinking.

"Okay, then." Neal still seemed a bit skeptical.

He left El and Neal to discuss the exact placement and went to retrieve some tools from the basement. Then he had trouble locating the picture hooks, which El kept – for some unknown reason - in a box on a bookshelf in the living room. Peter then remembered that the stud finder required batteries. That took him another few minutes rummaging through the kitchen junk drawer.

Back upstairs, the atmosphere in the bedroom seemed odd. There was a definite tension between El and Neal, who wouldn't look him in the eye. His wife, though, was wearing an expression that might best be called "cat, canary consumed".

"Everything okay?"

Neal nodded and then seemed utterly consumed by figuring out the exact placement of the painting.

"El?"

She smiled, a touch more broadly. "Everything's fine. Go help Neal. Deploy your stud finder. Stud."

Something had happened in the ten minutes he was out of the room, because as soon as he got close to Neal, Neal scooted away. Twice. Which wasn't like him, at all. Peter knew that he, himself, had no respect for personal space, but in all the years they'd known each other, Neal always seemed to relish their physical closeness.

Instead of commenting, Peter started measuring. The distance from the edge of the headboard. The center of the night table. The height of the lamp. The drop from the top of the painting's frame to the picture wire. It was simple math, but the calculations occupied his brain and kept him from worrying about what was going on. Finally, he picked up a pencil, measured again and marked the wall, pronouncing, "There. The picture goes right there."


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

Neal was freaking out. In the ten minutes it took for Peter to get what he needed to hang that goddamned picture, Elizabeth very cheerfully destroyed him.

"He loves you, you know."

"Huh?"

"He loves you. He always has, he always will."

Neal looked at his best friend's wife – his own very dear friend – and was thoroughly confused. "Who loves me?"

"Peter, you idiot."

Pretty much at a loss for words, Neal just said, "That's … nice."

"Nice?"

"I know he cares about me. He wouldn't have risked everything time after time if he didn't. We're family."

"Oh, sweetie. You're a hell of a lot more than 'family' to him." She made air quotes around the word. "How is it that you're so blind?"

"Elizabeth…"

She shook her head, clearly exasperated with him. "You're blind and you're stupid and I'm getting really bored watching you pretend you don't love him, too."

Neal felt a little sick. Had he been that obvious? He started to back out of the room, desperately trying to think up an excuse that would get him out of the house, maybe out of the country. But Elizabeth didn't let him leave. She dragged him over to the bed and pushed him down so he was sitting on the edge. Instead of sitting next to him, Elizabeth stood there, blocking his escape.

"Listen to me, Neal. Peter loves you. You love Peter. Don't you think it's time you did something about it?"

There was no mistaking her meaning and he wasn't going to insult her by pretending ignorance. "He loves you. He's married to you. I wouldn't dare…"

"No, of course you wouldn't. And I know Peter wouldn't dream of acting on his own feelings, unless he knew they'd be reciprocated."

"Feelings? What feelings?" Neal could hear the rising panic in his own voice.

"He loves you, he wants you. He always has."

"He told you?"

"Not in so many words, but he hasn't hidden it."

Taking Elizabeth's words at face value, Neal had to ask, "And it doesn't bother you?"

"It did, at first. I felt a little threatened by his fascination. But that lasted for about a week. I know he loves me, so there was no point in being jealous. Love is infinite, the more you love, the bigger your heart is."

"Why are you telling me now?" Why are you destroying my world now?

"He wouldn't ever dream of doing anything or saying anything while you were under his supervision. That would be a million kinds of wrong for a man like Peter."

"I've been off the tracker, on my own, for four years. So again, why now?"

"Because I finally know I can trust you with Peter's heart. You're not going to do something stupid and break it."

Neal whispered, "Elizabeth, please. Don't do this."

"Do what?"

"Don't give me hope for something that can never happen."

"Why not?"

"I'll only end up destroying Peter, destroying you. Destroying the best thing in my life."

"Why do you think that will happen?"

"Look at my track record. Everyone I've ever loved has been killed or nearly killed. I'm poison."

Elizabeth finally sat down next to him and wrapped her arm around his waist. "You're not. You're a good and loving man who has the good fortune to have a good and loving man love you back. And a good and loving woman, too."

He turned and stared at Elizabeth, his mouth opening in shock.

This time, her smile was gentle. "Maybe not with the same depth that Peter does, but I do love you. And I am invested in your happiness. As much as I am in Peter's. You need to tell him. You need to let him know that you love him, too. Nothing's going to go wrong, I promise."

Over the pounding of his heart, he heard Peter's heavy tread on the steps, and he got off the bed. What the hell was he going to do?

Twice now, he forced himself to step away from Peter as he got close. It was like he was ripping away bits of his soul. But he didn't know what to do. It wasn't like he really could just do what Elizabeth suggested and tell Peter what he felt.

"There. The picture goes right there." Peter had marked the spot with a small pencil line.

In an attempt to break the tension, Neal snarked, "Time to deploy the stud finder."

Peter gave him an odd look – maybe his humor was too forced – and presented him with the new tool. "I guess you know how to use this?"

"Probably better than you do."

"Useful for finding hidden safes?"

Neal shrugged. "Maybe." He turned it on and waited as it let out a series of annoying beeps and the light on the front went from red to green to yellow. He ran it along the wall and the lights didn't change and it didn't make a sound. He tried three times.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Neal glared at Peter and handed the tool back to him. "You try."

He watched as Peter did just what he had done, running the instrument flat against the wall. He watched as Peter turned the thing off and back on again, and still have the same results. Peter even popped the batteries out and tried for a third time. "How the hell is this possible?"

Elizabeth, who had been watching their performance, grabbed the thing out of her husband's hands. "You men …" She pressed it against Peter's head and it lit up like a Christmas tree, chiming like mad. "Stud here." She then pressed it against his forehead, and it chimed again. "And stud here." She tossed the tool onto the bed. "I have two studs in my bedroom who can't seem to figure out the most basic principle of the universe."

"El?"

Neal closed his eyes, waiting for the bullet.

"The most basic principle in the universe is love, Peter. It's been staring you in the face for the last eight years. I've been waiting for you to recognize it for the last four."

Neal opened his eyes and looked at Peter. Whenever he allowed himself to think of a moment like this, his brain always conjured up an appalled expression on Peter's face, words of denial falling from Peter's lips. And despite Elizabeth's clumsy effort to make something happen between them, he expected to see that horror, to hear those denials.

Except he didn’t. Peter looked from his wife to him, love and desire and worry etched into his face.

"Neal."

His name, such a simple syllable. No one had ever said it with such hope, such love. Not Kate, not Alex, not Sara, not even Rachel in any of her guises. And certainly none of the men he'd been with. Vincent couldn't care less about love, Matthew would sooner pull his tongue out than given him even the hint of deeper emotion.

Watching Peter, who gazed at him with all the desperate longing that he felt himself, Neal knew that he had to make the first move. Here. Now. Otherwise this moment would never come again.

He stepped close, deep into Peter's personal space. So close that they were all but touching from knee to groin to chest. He reached out to touch Peter's face, and it felt like he was a child, reaching for the moon. But the moon was never this close, or this warm, or this alive.

Then the words came, as unstoppable as sunrise. "I love you, Peter."

Peter kissed his palm, and the warmth from his lips healed all of the torn and ragged places in his soul.

"Good, because I love you too. I have, for a very long time."

Standing there, Neal relived so many moments – their first encounter on a New York City sidewalk, their next meeting in a storage locker in Queens, the courtroom where Peter testified and a judge pronounced his sentence, an empty apartment in Lower Manhattan, a jail cell, a roof-top terrace, a hanger in a small local airport when Peter looked at him with so much hope. They were crouching atop a salvaged U-boat and Peter understanding everything he didn't say. Then the aftermath of its explosion and the scalding rage. Another storage locker – empty this time – and Peter's face clouded with rage and fear. There were so many more moments – love and fear and anger and always love.

And Neal would never forget a single one of them. Because they led him here, to this moment.

When Peter kissed him.

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

Elizabeth watched her husband kiss Neal and it was even more beautiful than she'd imagined. People might think she was crazy, pushing her husband into someone else's arms. But she knew Peter's soul. His capacity for love was infinite and just because he loved and desired Neal didn't mean he loved and desired her any less.

And even if people didn't think she was crazy for sharing her husband, they might be appalled that she would let them use her marital bed. But to her, it seemed that there was no other place for them. Neal had been a part of their marriage for so long that he deserved the sanctity of that space.

And someday, very soon, she would join them and close the circle.

Peter lifted his head and looked at her, a question in his eyes. Neal turned to look at her too, his own eyes still filled with worry. Elizabeth smiled and blew them both a kiss before leaving them to explore their joy.

FIN

Additional author's note: The stud finder wasn't malfunctioning. The Burke home is an old and rehabilitated row house, probably built in the 1910s. The walls were originally constructed with plaster and lathe, not modern drywall. And there are no studs, as such, with this type of construction.

Comments

[sahiya]

I love the domesticity of this - and now I have context for the NYC geography!

[riverotter1951.livejournal.com]

This is marvelous. I can see the story going this way without season 6. I like the additional note about the construction of the Burke house.

[elrhiarhodan]

Thank you so much. I always loved the scene in Upper West Side Story where Neal talks about going back to school. Just think what he might have been if things hadn't gone to terribly wrong for him.

[pooh-collector.livejournal.com]

Oh my! So sweet and sorrowful and beautiful. Those boys and communication issues. How would they ever have managed without El?

And this right here - "He stepped close, deep into Peter's personal space. So close that they were all but touching from knee to groin to chest. He reached out to touch Peter's face, and it felt like he was a child, reaching for the moon. But the moon was never this close, or this warm, or this alive." Perfect!

Stud finder, indeed! *CHORTLE*

Thank you for this wonderful Saturday morning treat.

[elrhiarhodan]

Thank you so very much! Yes, the boys and their communication issues. If only they'd just TALK to each other.

And El - brava for being the emotional adult here.

[deej1957.livejournal.com]

Great peak into the future. I love that you have Neal going to college and earning his degree... Yeah, love that Neal! And really: Stud Finder, LOLOL.

[elrhiarhodan]

Thank you!

This was really supposed to be a cracky story about a magical stud finder, but plot got in the way.

[dennih23.livejournal.com]

This is so sweet – I love when El takes charge. She understands Neal and Peter and knows how to take charge. LOL on the “stud finder”

[elrhiarhodan]

Since Pilot, I've always thought that El was the emotional adult in the relationship (although there were moments when that faith was shaken).

Thank you so very much for reading and commenting.

[leonie-alastair.livejournal.com]

Awwww! Sweet and funny.

[elrhiarhodan]

Thank you! It was a blast to write.

[riverotter1951.livejournal.com]

That's why I like alternate universes. Change one thing and watch the difference it makes. I can see a major party to celebrate his graduation.

[elrhiarhodan]

Thank you! I may write that some day.

files idea away

[riverotter1951.livejournal.com]

And now my work is done.

[palombaggia.livejournal.com]

Afskfsk
Its been a long time since I read something from you.
You are still awesome.
I miss them like crazy.

[elrhiarhodan]

Awwww, I've been concentrating on the bigger stories of late but now I can write for fun.

I miss them too, so very much.

[kanarek13]

Awwwwww ♥ So much love and perfection ♥ Thank you, my friend, it's the perfect gift to make my day - our boys finally admitting their true feeling for each other... and that first sweet kiss with a promise of so much more to come ♥

And what an epic idea with the stud finder, heeeeeeee :D

*tacklehugs* Thank you ♥♥♥

[sherylyn]

I love this sooooo insanely much!! It's beautiful and perfect and amazing, and the best thing is that it's just sooooo *them*, all of them. And El's thought at the end about "closing the circle" -- oh, that's so perfectly perfect!! I love every bit of it!!

[joy2190.livejournal.com]

Neal taking a minor in accountancy? If that's not a declaration of his love for Peter I don't know what is!

[maiac.livejournal.com]

I like how the story went from snark to angst to happy resolution.

The house doesn't need studs. It has Elizabeth to keep things from falling apart!

[caseyf123.livejournal.com]

I don't know how I managed to miss this story, but I'm sure glad I found it now. Warm and witty, a simple delight to read.