White Collar Fic - Don't Let It Bring You Down - A Wonder(ful) Years Story

[elrhiarhodan]

Title: Don't Let It Bring You Down
Author: elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, OMCs, Peter/Neal
Word Count: ~5100
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Beta Credit: miri_thompson
Summary: Set early in the Wonder(ful) Years verse, Neal's just graduated law school and is stressing out over the bar exam, while Peter's getting ready to head off to Quantico and the FBI Academy. Peter's worried that Neal's getting burned out and wants them to take a nice, relaxing vacation. But life has a way of interfering with the best of plans.

Author’s Note: Written for Fic-Can-Ukah Day 5, for my wonderful and talented friend, kanarek13, who asked for Peter/Neal - Watching someone sleep. And yes, this one is LATE, officially LATE, unless we can pretend that it's still the fifth day of Chanukah somewhere (someplace where the sun hasn't yet set on December 29th).

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Early June, 1990

Peter thought that Neal deserved a vacation. Hell, he thought they both deserved one, but Neal certainly did. The three years of non-stop classes and work deserved a reward. Over dinner after a long day of packing up their possessions, Peter suggested, "Let's go away for a couple of weeks."

Neal looked at him and sighed. "I can't. I have bar review."

Peter had forgotten about that, and kicked himself. "You just finished law school, you graduated at the top of the class, you've been working at a big firm in New York every summer, why do you need to take more classes?"

"Because there's very little you learn in law school that's relevant for the bar exam."

"Can't you take your books with you? Do you really need to go to class for another four or five hours a day?"

Neal, unfortunately, said yes. "And I need to spend at least four or five more hours transcribing my notes and taking practice exams."

Peter sighed. "I'd hoped we could get away before I have to report to Quantico."

Neal had been a little irritated that Peter's application for the FBI had been fast-tracked and he didn't need to put in two years of work in "a relevant profession". Apparently his athleticism and his GPA from Harvard were all that was needed to get the FBI to waive that requirement. Neal, however, was not old enough to apply - he was still a year shy of the minimum age requirement - and that was not something anyone could waive.

But it seemed that Neal, despite everything, was going to give into Peter's suggestion. “Where do you want to go?”

“How about Italy?” Peter knew that was a long shot.

“Can’t go to Italy, I don't have the time. Besides, we've already been there. Where do you want to go?”

“What about Hawaii?” That was as much of a long shot as Italy.

“Peter come on. How about you try for something a little closer to home.”

“Bondi?” He'd recently read about the surfing and the beaches in National Geographic.

“Now you’re being ridiculous." Neal was sounding exasperated.

"I know, I just want you to get away, to have some time without the books and the stress. Our lives are going to get ridiculous soon."

Peter was worried that Neal was going to burn out. The last year had been rough on both of them. Neal had his nose to the grindstone with his last year in law school, plus clerking part-time at the Boston branch of the New York City law firm that had hired him. Until last month, Peter had been working in a major accounting firm in Boston, putting in ridiculous hours and fighting against his bosses' desire to transfer him to New York.

And the last month had been nuts. Once Peter's acceptance letter to the FBI Academy had arrived, they knew that their time in Boston was coming to a close. Which meant that they'd needed to sell the little house in Cambridge. That actually wasn't hard at all - there were no shortage of investors looking to capitalize on the local real estate market and the property sold in three days. Once the sale closed, Neal would net a tidy profit. So, on top of everything, they needed to pack up and dispose of five years of college and grad school life. In the two weeks since Neal's law school graduation, Peter had made three trips to Brookville Falls, where they'd store their stuff until more permanent housing could be obtained.

Neal sighed and looked up from the bar review text he was studying. "I hate to tell you, but our lives are ridiculous now. I know that we promised ourselves a spectacular vacation before you started at the FBI Academy. I didn't expect that the date on your golden ticket would be just three days after I finished the bar exam.”

“I know. And it seems unfair. I finally have the time to spend a few weeks in the sun with you, and you’ve got commitments. I guess we could stay home.” Peter hoped he sounded selfless and noble.

“I know I'm being a pain. While I don't have to work, I still need to go to the bar review classes during the week. So how about someplace local for the weekends? What about Cape May?”

Peter shuddered. “The Jersey Shore? Please, no.”

Neal wasn’t sure what was wrong with the Jersey Shore - there were some really lovely communities there. And most, if not all of them, were family oriented …

Peter said, “Okay - what about Provincetown? We know that we won’t have a problem there.”

Peter’s suggestion had merit. They’d vacationed there a few times when they were living in Cambridge, and Neal had finally gotten Peter to pop his cherry during their first visit when they were freshmen. Neal said, “We could try the Sandy Inn again. And this time, maybe you won't come before I've finished.”

Peter laughed as he protested, "Hey, that only happened once. Are you going to hold that over me for the rest of our lives?"

"Yes, I am." Neal offered an alternative, “How about the Hamptons?”

“Maybe…” Peter wasn't sure that he'd particularly enjoy spending a few weeks in some snooty resort community.

“Or, you know … we could just get a rental on Fire Island. There are a couple of gay-friendly communities there.”

Peter raised an eyebrow at that. “Really?” Sometimes Peter wondered if Neal thought he lived under a rock.

Neal didn't catch Peter's sarcasm. “Yeah, really. And the ferry’s about an hour and a half from Manhattan. I could transfer to the firm's office there - since that's where they want me after the bar exam. And the bar review course is offered in the city anyway. We can rent a house for a few weeks and I'll still get out there when the day is done.”

“If you aren’t working a twenty-hour day.”

“Unlikely at this point - I'm supposed to be studying. And I can do that just as easily from a deck overlooking the ocean as I can in an apartment in Boston or Manhattan."

“So - Fire Island?” Peter was pleased. Even if Neal had to spend half the time in New York City, he'd still get a chance for some quality relaxation over the weekends.

“Yeah, Fire Island it is.”

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

Early June, 1990

The ferry ride was nice, even if it was packed with hard-bodied sun worshippers who couldn’t keep their eyes off of Peter. In the ten minutes since the ferry left the dock in Sayville, at least two men had tried to put the moves on him. They'd backed off when Neal glared.

Peter, of course, was completely oblivious. He had his nose in the latest Stephen King, one of a stack of paperbacks he was lugging with him, which shocked Neal. In all the years they’d known each other, Neal had rarely seen Peter reading fiction of any sort. He usually preferred something meaty - history or true crime.

But Peter had a good explanation, not that he'd needed to justify his reading choices. “I’m on vacation and I want to give my brain a break.”

Neal was still skeptical, but he could always stop at a bookstore and bring back something more to Peter's liking if Peter wanted. Neal's bosses had signed off on the early transfer to Manhattan and a three-week vacation, provided that Neal didn't ditch the bar review classes. He wasn't expected to report back to the office until the Monday after the exam, which happened to be the day after Peter left for Quantico.

Needing to study during every possible minute, Neal tried to concentrate on his notes on New York State criminal law, but he couldn't shut out the annoyingly nasal tones of the twink trying to chat up Peter. The big, sweaty bear sitting on Neal's other side didn't help Neal's concentration, and although Neal had ignored all of his efforts to make conversation, the man had casually draped an enormous arm across the back of the bench - a clear attempt at a pickup.

Annoyed, Neal just picked up his backpack and not-so-gently kicked Peter in the shin to get his attention. "I'm heading down - the ferry's going to dock soon. You can wait here, if you prefer."

Apparently his snark flew right over Peter's head. "Nah, I'll come with you." Then Peter smiled at him, so sweet and happy that Neal felt like a shit for even thinking that Peter could be interested in any of these muscle-bound freaks in too-tight gym shorts and mesh singlets with body hair poking through the netting. Or the twinks in their madras plaid shorts and pink Izods with the artfully popped collars.

The boat docked and Neal and Peter were swept along with the crowd of eager tourists - mostly men - off the gangplank and onto dry land. The tourists quickly scattered and Neal looked for a taxi stand - well, actually a pedi-cab stand. This far from the Causeway and the State Park, there were no private cars allowed.

Their rental was about a mile and a half from the Pines ferry terminal, and while that distance wasn't particularly far, it was hot and both he and Peter had luggage. Neal wasn't looking forward to dragging everything to the rental.

But it seemed they had no choice. There was no one at the pedi-cab stand and Neal didn't feel like hanging around. He had another hundred practice questions to answer tonight.

Peter, though, had nothing to do and seemed to relish it. "Ahhh, vacation. Rest and relaxation at last."

"Maybe for you." The annoyance Neal had felt when they were on the boat returned. "I've got about three more hours of studying tonight."

Peter didn't argue with him, he just plucked Neal's backpack off his shoulder and put it on his own. "Then let's get going."

Neal had the directions to their rental memorized - not that there was much to memorize. Just go east on the boardwalk for a mile and a half, turn right onto to Sky Walk, and they were in the third house on the ocean side.

The house was just as the real estate agent had promised, a small bungalow facing the Atlantic Ocean, a few dozen steps to the beach. There was nothing luxurious about the accommodations - this was The Fire Island Pines, after all - but it was private. No one to interrupt or interfere. Despite the hellacious commute during the week, Neal was looking forward to spending time here with Peter. He could see them kicking back with a couple of beers (or beer for Peter, wine for him) and watching the sun go down from the back deck.

Yeah, the Pines had the reputation as a party beach, but that didn't mean they had to participate.

"You doing okay?" Peter rested his hands on Neal's shoulders and gave him a massage. "You feel like you're tied up in knots."

Neal relaxed into Peter's caress. "I'm just glad to be here. To be out of Boston."

Peter kissed the spot under Neal's ear. "I know what you mean. Our lives are beginning - again."

Neal chuckled. "How many times will our lives restart? We said that when we graduated high school, and then college. Now it's law school and the FBI."

"Mmm, you've finished law school and I'm starting at the FBI. So one more time? When you graduate from the FBI at get your gold shield?"

"Probably." Neal let out a sigh. "Do you think when were old and gray, we'll look back at this and think how young and foolish we were?"

"Young, yes. Foolish, no. We are not foolish, Neal."

Neal tilted his head back and looked at Peter. "You know what I mean. Young and silly - to worry so much about the beginning of things."

Peter leaned down and kissed Neal on the tip of his nose. "Maybe that, but you know what I like about that thought?"

"No."

"I like that you are absolutely and utterly certain that we will be old and gray together. There is no doubt in your mind about that." Peter kissed him again. "I love you, Neal Caffrey. And no matter how young and silly you think we are, no matter how old and gray we'll get, I will always love you."

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

Early June, 1990 - Middle of Week One

Peter was, in a word, lonely.

Neal had, for the third night in a row, failed to come out to Fire Island. Apparently the law firm wanted him to assist in some major case and while Neal still had to go to the bar review classes in the morning, he needed to be at the firm's offices for a few hours in the afternoon. That didn't leave a lot of study time, so instead of spending a couple of hours on the train and rushing to get on the last ferry, Neal was staying in the City. And of all places, in one of the high-end apartments that his son-of-a-bitch pervert stepfather, Vincent Adler, had owned. The dead bastard had owned prime real estate all over Manhattan and had left most of the property to Neal. Peter worried about Neal being alone in someplace so closely tied to someone who'd tried to hurt him, but Neal seemed okay with it. It didn't cost anything and the building was close to the firm's offices.

Which was fine and good and convenient and far too easy for Neal to work when he was supposed to be on vacation.

"You're too handsome to be all by yourself."

Peter looked up from the dreadful novel he was trying to read.

A man, about ten years older than Peter, dropped his towel on the sand. "Mind if I join you?"

Peter shrugged. "Sure."

"I'm Nathan." He held out a hand and Peter took it.

"Peter."

"You here by yourself?"

Peter shrugged. "For the moment." He couldn't quite keep his irritation out of his answer.

"Oh?" There was a wealth of speculation in that single syllable.

"My partner's stuck in the city. This was supposed to be a relaxing vacation for him, but instead, he's working."

"And leaving such a beautiful man all by his lonesome." As pickup lines went, it wasn't all that bad. Not that Peter was in the least bit interested.

"He'll be here tomorrow." Peter was certain of it, even if he had to go to Manhattan and forcibly carry Neal back.

"But in the meantime?" Nathan raised a suggestive eyebrow, "while the cat's away, the mice …"

"This mouse isn't at all interested in playing." Peter thought it best to shut down whatever Nathan was thinking.

"Seriously? You're in the middle of man-heaven and all you want to do is read?" Nathan looked at the spine of the book Peter was still holding, "One of the worst books Stephen King has ever written?"

"Yeah, that's what I want to do. Read, relax, soak up some rays." Peter put the book down and stretched his arms, loving the feel of the sun on his body.

"Are you playing hard to get? Because that can be exciting."

"Not playing at anything. I am not hard to get, I'm impossible to get."

"Seriously?"

"I told you, my partner's stuck in the city."

"You are young and hot and … monogamous. That has got to be the saddest thing I've ever heard."

Peter had heard that before, from friends as well as strangers. "Neal is the only man - the only person - I want. There's nothing sad about that."

"How about you give me a chance to change your mind?" Nathan put a hand on Peter's thigh. "I bet I can convince you that there's a whole world waiting for you. All you have to do is reach out and grab hold."

Peter lifted Nathan's hand off his body. "Not interested. You're a nice guy, I'm sure, but you have nothing that I want." Peter smiled as he spoke. There was no need to make an enemy.

"Your partner must be something special." Nathan didn't sound at all insulted.

"He is." Peter reached for his wallet and pulled out a photo of the two of them, one that Moz during a Spring Break trip in Florida. They were shirtless and tanned, arms draped across each other's shoulders. He handed it to Nathan.

And Nathan whistled. "I see what you mean. He wasn't what I was expecting."

Peter took the picture back and returned it to his wallet. "What were you expecting?"

"Some sugar daddy - about twice your age. Takes a fair bit of cash to rent a place like this, so I thought that you'd been stashed here as boy-candy for some old man."

"Not in the least. Neal's studying for the bar exam and somehow his law firm has roped him into working when he's not studying. He was supposed to come out here at the end of the day, when he got done with his review classes."

"You've been together long?"

"Neal and I have known each other since we were kids. We've been together since high school."

Nathan looked at him like he had just grown a second head. "High school sweethearts? You have got to be kidding me."

"Nope." Peter stared off into the distance. "Neal's all I want. All I've ever wanted."

"I hope he feels the same way about you."

"Oh, I know he does."

"Then you're a lucky man, Peter. We - " Nathan gestured out at the crowded beach, "are all looking for love, for acceptance, for the perfect life that the straights have. We settle instead for casual fucking and hope we don't get the plague."

Peter nodded, because there was nothing else he could say.

"I can respect that."

"You'll have to." Peter gave Nathan a hard look. "If you can't, you can take your towel and find someone else to talk to."

Nathan laughed. "I might just do that anyway." Except he didn't move, instead, he stretched out on the sand, dropped his hat over his face and gave all the appearance of a man who was falling asleep.

Peter wasn't sure what to do. On one hand, Nathan's aggressive come-on had annoyed him, but on the other, Peter liked how Nathan respected that he was in a committed relationship and appreciated the rarity of it. Peter wouldn't mind having someone to talk to during the long, hot afternoons.

He was about to pick up his book again when some pretty young twink skipped over, straddled Peter and dramatically demanded, "Peel me a grape, darling."

Nathan didn't bother to sit up, he just said, "Peter's ABM, so leave him alone, Sammy."

Sammy pouted and with a little bit of a bump and grind, dismounted from Peter's lap and stretched out next to Nathan.

Peter was, in a word, bemused. "ABM?"

"All But Married, darling." Sammy explained.

Peter filed away the acronym, it was something he could share with Neal.

Sammy wasn't going anywhere. "Which is a pity, since you are a fine, fine piece of man-meat. I may be the biggest slut on the beach, but I don't poach. If Nate says you're taken, you're taken."

"Yeah, I am definitely taken." It was a pity Neal wasn't around; he would show Sammy and Nathan just how taken Peter was.

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

Early June, 1990 - End of Week Two

The phone rang four times before the answering machine picked up. "Hello, this is the summer residence of Peter Burke and Neal Caffrey, we're out enjoying the sun and the sea. Please leave a message and we'll call you back when we can."

"Sorry, Peter - but it looks like I'm stuck in the city again. Soak up some rays for me. See you tomorrow morning."

Neal let out a frustrated sigh. Peter might be enjoying the sun and the sea, but Neal was stuck in Manhattan, with stacks of depositions to digest, on top of yet another set of practice essays to write. This was the fourth night in a row (and the second week of long nights) that Neal missed the train that would get him into Sayville in time to catch the last ferry to Fire Island. Some vacation.

"Problems, Caffrey?" Walter Armstrong, the partner that Neal was working for, popped his head into Neal's office. "You look pissed off."

"Nothing's wrong. Just won't be able to get out to Fire Island tonight. Will have to overnight in the city and leave first thing in the morning."

"Yeah, right, you're supposed to be on vacation. Didn't expect that the Blumfeld matter would get pushed to priority on the Federal docket. You'll have plenty of other chances to relax." Armstrong laughed, the sound grating, "When you're dead."

Neal pretended to laugh. "I'm not so interested in relaxing as making sure I pass the bar. The train and the ferry ride are good for studying. If I don't pass, I'll have plenty of time to relax - on the unemployment line."

"True enough. I keep forgetting that you're still clerking." Walter grimaced. "Go - I'll give those depositions to someone else."

Neal never quite knew where he stood with Walter - on one hand, the guy seemed to relish dumping work on him with little or no guidance. And on the other hand, he could be surprisingly understanding.

"Are you sure?"

"I am. And in fact, don't come in tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's Saturday, Walter."

Walter grinned, "I know. But I'm serious, you look like crap, Caffrey, and you probably do need a bit of a break."

Neal nodded. "Thanks, Walter - I appreciate it." As soon as the man left Neal's office, Neal grabbed his bar review books, made sure he had his wallet and booked out of the office as fast as he could without actually running. He had twenty-five minutes to get to Penn Station and get his ass in a seat on the east-bound train heading to Montauk.

By the time Neal achieved that goal, he was drenched with sweat; it was never a good idea to run thirty-some-odd blocks in Manhattan in the summertime. But he made it to the train with five minutes to spare, and considered that a triumph. Of course, the train was packed and he had to stand, but Neal didn't care. He was on his way home - or at least to his vacation home. He didn't bother pulling out a text book - there was no way he could read and keep his balance, at least not until the first major stop. At Jamaica station, there was a general thinning out of the herd, as people transferred to lines heading to Brooklyn.

At each station, the number of passengers grew less and less, although there were still plenty of people, mostly heading to Montauk, from the looks of them. But they didn't bother Neal and he had a solid ninety minutes of study time before the train arrived in Sayville.

A quick - and expensive - cab ride to the ferry dock, and Neal made the very last ferry to The Pines. He took off his suit jacket and tie and let the cool breeze dry his sweat-soaked shirt. The boat wasn't a speed-demon by any stretch of the imagination. It was only a couple of miles from the dock at Sayville to the one at The Pines, but it took all of forty-five minutes to get there.

Neal relished each of those minutes. He didn't study, he didn't think about work, or about the bar exam. He just concentrated on Peter and how happy Peter would be to see him. He imagined Peter's face and let the wind and the waves lift away all the worries that he'd be carrying.

By the time the boat docked and Neal disembarked, he felt like he was floating, and making the mile and a half walk to the rental house was almost a zen-like experience.

Everything would have been perfect, except that Peter was nowhere to be found. Neal checked the answering machine, and the indicator light showed that there were no new messages - so Peter had gotten the one Neal had left and had probably gone out for dinner. Peter had met a few guys to hang out with and he was probably with them.

Neal actually liked Nathan and Sammy and Milo. Sammy and Milo didn't seem to have a brain cell to share between them, but neither of them meant any harm, and while they flirted outrageously with anyone who had a dick, they seemed extremely protective of Peter and his "ABM" relationship with Neal.

At first, Nathan troubled Neal a little - the guy was older, intense about the things that Peter cared about, like the Yankees and the Rangers. But Nathan took Neal aside and explained that while he'd have snatched Peter up in a hot second if Peter had given him the signal, Nathan didn't poach. He respected what the two of them had and hoped that they might all be friends.

Neal had spent the rest of last weekend watching Nathan when the man was around (which was most of the daylight hours), and he did nothing to make Neal doubt his words. He had a subtle way of letting the other men who inserted themselves into Peter's orbit know that Peter wasn't interested, would never be interested and that any attempt to force an interest would be met with extreme prejudice.

On Monday morning, when Neal had been walking to the ferry, Nathan joined him. "You two are lucky fucks, you know that?"

Neal had ducked his head and smiled. "Yeah. I do."

"No, I don't think you really do. You're off being a baby Master of the Universe, looking like you just stepped off the cover of GQ, and your partner doesn't blink that you're spending your nights in the city without him. Your partner is every guy's wet dream, and you don't think twice about leaving him here alone, in the middle of the most notorious gay vacation spot on the East Coast. You don't worry about him and he doesn't worry about you. That kind of trust is pretty fucking impossible. Like unicorns and a cure for AIDS." Nathan's tone had been fierce.

"Peter and I have been through a lot together. I have no reason not to trust him and he has no reason not to trust me. We're together."

Nathan had sighed and smiled a little sadly. "You make it sound so simple."

"Love is simple. It's the getting there that's sometime a little difficult."

"Truer words were never spoken."

Neal had boarded the ferry and watched Nathan from the rail. The man had stood there until the boat pulled away. Neal wondered just who had left such scars on Nathan.

Now, tonight, Neal wandered through the small house, noting signs that Peter had gone out to dinner not too long ago - his swim trunks were draped over the deck railing and were still mostly damp. Neal changed out of his suit into something more vacation friendly and grabbed a cold beer from the fridge. He thought about walking into "town" such as it was, to see if he could find Peter, but decided it wasn't really worth the effort. Peter would be home in a couple of hours and they could have a very pleasant reunion then. He took one of his bar review guides and the beer back outside and flopped down on one of the loungers.

The sea birds were noisy and so were the early evening revelers still occupying the beach. But the noise wasn't a distraction - the ocean waves had a way of muting the harsher tones. While it was still light enough to read, Neal didn't bother. Nothing was going to stick. He took a sip of his beer and thought that his life was pretty close to perfect.

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Peter had enjoyed the evening with Nathan, Sammy and Milo and the crowd that always seemed to follow those three. Pizza for dinner, a couple of hours watching the Yankees beat the Red Sox, a few beers. The trio had done a fine job of cock-blocking and Peter spent the evening unmolested. Nathan had suggested that they head back to his place - he had a case of Heineken, a VCR, and a couple of good movies. Sammy and Milo wanted to know if the movies were porn and from the glimmer in Nathan's eye, Peter knew the answer was yes.

He bade his companions goodnight and headed back to the rental. He didn't need porn to get it up, all he had to do was imagine Neal on his knees and he was instantly hard. He'd call Neal and maybe they'd have some mutual stress relief - provided that Neal wasn't stuck in the office. Which would suck.

And blow.

It was a little after nine. The last of the sun had burned itself out in ocean when Peter let himself into the house. He immediately knew that something was different. There was a breeze coming through the room; the back door was opened. He thought at first that someone had broken in - crime was low on Fire Island, but not non-existent - and then Peter noticed the backpack on the kitchen table and the pile of books spilling out of it.

He went out to the back deck and smiled. Somehow, through some miracle, Neal was here. Peter rescued the empty bottle that was resting against Neal's chest and set it on the deck. He grabbed a chair and sat down, content, for the moment, to just watch Neal sleep.

FIN