elrhiarhodan

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Don't know why, but I just have a feeling that this is going to be a day full of suck. I'm getting that twinge in the back of my neck that's telling me I should have stayed in bed.

Current Mood: anxious

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From:

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(Because, as I learned yesterday, nothing can suck with the addition of fic. Also, even if your day IS sucking, Neal is having a worse day than you! Take comfort in that, if there is no comfort to be had elsewhere :D)

--

"You really thought this was a good idea," Peter sighed, looking at Neal. Neal smiled up at him reflexively; it was scared and a little rueful, but it was a smile. Peter could only be relieved for that.

"It made sense at the time," Neal murmured, looking at the fire with his lips twisting into a strange, desolate mask. "I just thought I'd-- "

"Run into a flaming building," Peter finished, dryly. "Makes perfect sense. You know they wouldn't have cared if you'd been burned alive."

Neal sighed. "I know," he said. "I thought--I'm pretty fast, and all that evidence, and all that art--"

Diana, surveying the disaster with them, laughed. "It's always about the art with you, Caffrey," she teased, and Neal tossed her a wan, tired grin.

"Fatal flaw," he said, and Diana walked off, still chuckling. He turned to Peter, his eyes pleading.

"I saved four of those paintings," he said, "and I could have gotten a few more, if you hadn't--"

"If I hadn't shown up and tackled you? Yeah, shame on me, wanting you to live." Peter was aware that he sounded a little bitter, but it couldn't be helped--Neal had fought him when they went down, screaming something about Manet, for fuck's sake. Having to hold Neal back from running into certain, crispy death wasn't an experience he'd wanted to have more than once.

Well, it wasn't an experience he'd wanted to have at all, truth be told, but circumstance was circumstance.

"I'm sorry," Neal said. "I shouldn't have--I don't know what I was thinking, I--"

Peter glanced around to make sure no one was looking. Then he sighed, reached up and touched the thin burn crossing the side of Neal's cheek.

"You can't do this again," he said, firmly. "I don't care if the bastards we're after blow up the Louvre, you are not pulling this shit on me anymore. Okay?"

Neal took a deep breath. Then he smiled, his eyes sparkling. "The Louvre," he said, "contains some very important works of--"

"Shut up," Peter growled. "You're going to the medic, and I'm going to go talk to the suspects, and then we're going home. If you try to run from the ambulance, it will go very hard for you."

"Yes, sir," Neal said, still smiling. Peter pulled his hand away from Neal's cheek, because it was high time he did; he almost didn't notice when Neal dropped his eyes to the ground and whispered "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Peter said, "and you're an idiot. Go get cleaned up. I'll be back for you in a minute."

Neal did; Peter had to fight the urge to follow him, to make sure he wasn't doing anything unutterably stupid for the sake of something he loved, to keep him safe at any goddamn cost.