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hybridshadeTitle: Look a little deeper
Pairing: Neal/Peter, preslash
Rating: pg13
Warnings: magical realism!AU, hurt!Neal
Word count: 1800~
Summary: Neal's still recovering, and there's more than a single threat looming over them.
A/N: A slice of the aftermath of What the eyes don't see, and probably won't make a whole lot of sense if you haven't read that first. Also, a smidgeon late, but written for Caffrey-Burke day~!
Also on AO3
"So, how long are they keeping me here?"
Peter looks up from his crossword puzzle to find Neal awake again.
It's been just a little more than twenty-four hours since they'd rescued him from that white room with all the invisibly-inked wardings on the walls, but it's only been in the last two or three that things had finally settled down. Peter admits to being largely ignorant about Cons and how they're physiologically different from the general population, but since leaving the scene and catching up to Neal at the hospital, he feels like he's been dumped into the deep end of an intensive course in Conjurer health care.
When he'd first arrived and been escorted to Neal's bedside, a woman in scrubs had had her hands hovering atop Neal's comatose body, rattling off every injury she'd sensed while a nurse jotted it all down on a clipboard. It had mostly been dehydration and bruising, plus the cracked ribs the paramedic had mentioned, and Peter had been just about heave a sigh of relief when the woman had said she'd check again in a few hours before striding off elsewhere. The nurse, having sensed his unease, had explained that the effects of a stasis could take a while to wear off and that it was possible Neal's injuries could yet prove to be more severe than they seemed. On top of that, during his captivity, Neal had apparently attempted to slip into stasis several times before he'd been successful – an aspect which only put further strain on his mind and body.
None of that, however, had proven nearly as distressing as the minutes following Peter's unintentional glimpse into Neal's memories. He'd been ushered into the hallway by a nurse while the alarms had continued to trill in the room, more nurses and a doctor rushing to Neal's side. He'd watched through the glass window that separated them as Neal had convulsed before jolting awake, his hands reaching for his side as he'd yelled that he was bleeding. The doctor had reacted immediately, but it had taken a few moments of Peter staring at Neal's blood-free body before he realised that Neal's ability had actually allowed him to see inside himself and that he could see exactly where and how badly he was injured internally.
It was all pretty shocking for Peter, and it had taken the entirety of Neal's subsequent operation and then some for him to collect himself. Since then he'd barely left his side. Neal had been waking intermittently, but this was the first time he'd looked properly alert.
"At least a day or two. They have to monitor you for any more internal damage that might pop up, and your body isn't rehydrating properly."
Neal groans and makes a face. "That bad, huh?"
"No doubt it could've been worse," Peter points out, flinching when his mind provides him with a flash of pain from what he'd experienced through Neal's eyes. So far they hadn't even touched on how Neal was holding up mentally. "They say it's from the failed stasis or whatever you call it."
"Ideally you need to drop into it as soon as possible after you've been injured. But they'd kept me awake so I was already too tired to focus properly, and then next thing I know, I'm halfway gone but they somehow pulled me back into consciousness and then started beating me all over again. That happened twice more before I finally got deep enough. Though, I'm thinking that's only because they left."
"Diana told me that one of the leads we were following somehow tipped them off."
"Oh?"
Peter slips his phone out from his pocket and holds it up. "She's been texting me updates."
"I thought you said you'd handed it over to Enigmatics?"
"We did, but apparently they're impressed with our track record and insisted we help them out."
Neal clucks his tongue. "They just want us doing all the hard work."
"Perhaps," Peter grins slyly, tossing his crossword to the side so he can lean forward and take Neal's hand in his again. It's a welcome weight on his palm, and it just feels right being there. "But as long as we get this guy, and as long as we keep his greasy mitts off of you, I don't much care who takes the credit for this one."
The ensuing silence stretches out, Neal staring somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. A few moments pass before he suddenly smiles and squeezes Peter's hand, Neal's eyes finally rising up to meet his.
~
"Peter?"
"Mm?"
"Who's that on my balcony?"
Peter's got his arm around Neal's shoulders helping him stay upright, and they're only halfway up the stairs to his apartment. He tenses for a moment before he remembers.
"Oh, Enigmatics set him over. He's a –"
"—Con, yeah I can tell," Neal cuts in, "He's got some kind of shield up around the whole house."
"You can see that, then?"
"Of course. I can probably see things like that – shields and wardings and spell residues – better than anything else. They usually appear fluorescent in colour, so it's kinda hard to miss."
They finally reach the top of the stairs and Peter gets the door open, shepherding Neal inside and over to his bed. The Con, too, is hard to miss. He's well over six-foot and has the physique and dress-sense of a nightclub bouncer. It's maybe not the most apt analogy, but as long as he gets the job done, right? Peter watches him for a minute. He's leaning against the wall, his arms and ankles crossed and looking pretty damn relaxed. But every now and then he raises a hand and makes an unfamiliar gesture with his fingers before crossing his arms again.
"He's writing sigils," Neal fills him in, "Each one represents something slightly different and he's casting them onto the shield, strengthening it. If certain things come close to it he'll know straight away."
Peter closes the curtain over the door leading from the bedroom to the balcony, thus hiding the other Con from view. He then sets about helping Neal out of his current clothes and into a fresh set of pyjamas – the cracks in his ribs make it uncomfortable for him to do anything with his left arm, but Peter is happy to play 'nurse' for as long as necessary. He only wants to help his friend out, after all. Nothing at all to do with getting a peek at Neal's impossibly toned physique – bruised and battered though it is.
"So, you can actually see magic, then?" he asks, offering a distraction.
"Not exactly. It's more like… I can see the effects of it. But not the magic itself. I don't know how else to explain it."
"No, I think I get it." Peter purses his lips. "Well, I don't think I'll ever get it get it, but you know what I mean."
Neal chuckles. "Thankfully I do. Otherwise this conversation would only lead to infinitely more confusion. It never ceases to amuse me how little you know about this stuff. It's practically common knowledge these days."
"I'm a man of science, Neal. Facts. Hard evidence. Tangible stuff."
"Magicology is a science, Peter. People go to college to study it and everything!"
Peter grumbles under his breath but Neal only laughs more. At least until it disturbs his injuries, his chest protesting harshly.
"I guess that's enough fun for one day."
He helps Neal under the covers and gives him his pills to swallow. And he's about to take himself over to the couch when Neal grabs his wrist.
"Stay?"
He must look a little lost because Neal tugs him closer and then pats the other side of the bed. Peter knows that he can't win against Neal's pleading blue eyes, so with a sigh he kicks his shoes off and rounds the bed, lying down atop the covers. Neal can't lie on his side, has to stay on his back because of his ribs, so he helps himself to one of Peter's arms and drapes it over his stomach. Neal makes sure to tuck his hands back under the sheets, though – careful to avoid any skin-to-skin contact once he falls asleep.
Peter is on the verge of dozing off himself, but he's keeping himself on this side of wakefulness until Neal falls asleep first. He's almost lost the battle when Neal's head suddenly turns, their gazes meeting through the dim light of the room.
"What aren't you telling me?"
"Huh? What do you mean?"
Neal sighs with irritation. "I can tell, okay? There's something you're holding back on and there's no way I'll be able to sleep until I know what it is."
"What? Don't tell me you can see my thoughts now, too?" Peter's words are sarcastic, but secretly wondering.
"There are times when I can see a really strong thought, like hate or love. But no, this time is just plain old intuition. So spill already."
Peter sighs yet again. When it comes to Neal, there's really nowhere to hide.
"I'm just worried about Walsh. All these Cons he's got in his pocket… We know they're gearing up for something, and we know he's got his eye on you now—"
"Peter I know all this. We've got a goddamn Bigfoot on the balcony with a shield up. Now tell me what's really got you bothered."
"Alright, alright…" Peter clenches his hands. "So, Enigmatics… The director there, he really wants you on their side."
"But my deal is with White Collar, not them. They can't—"
"I think you'll find they can," Peter says, deadly serious. "If the director is determined enough, he can make a case to the FBI bigwigs, and if they agree they can transfer your deal to their Division and we don't necessarily get any say in it. Your ability is just especially unique, and while they have people that can do some of the things you can, they recognise that you can do all of it and then some. You'd be a particular asset to their Division."
"What if…" Neal pauses, pondering a moment. "What if I offered to help this once? That is, what if we made a deal with Enigmatics that I'd help them get Walsh, but only if that's the end of my involvement with them. Would that work?"
"I don't know. It might only give them even more cause for bringing you over to their side."
"True," Neal concedes. "Don't worry, Peter. We'll work it out. We always do, right?"
Peter doesn't respond, but he gathers up the bedsheets over Neal's stomach, wraps his hand around the shape of Neal's hand lying underneath and squeezes. He's learnt his lesson well and knows skin-to-skin is obviously a bad idea, but that shouldn't stop him from holding onto Neal regardless. He figures it's answer enough.
Pairing: Neal/Peter, preslash
Rating: pg13
Warnings: magical realism!AU, hurt!Neal
Word count: 1800~
Summary: Neal's still recovering, and there's more than a single threat looming over them.
A/N: A slice of the aftermath of What the eyes don't see, and probably won't make a whole lot of sense if you haven't read that first. Also, a smidgeon late, but written for Caffrey-Burke day~!
Also on AO3
"So, how long are they keeping me here?"
Peter looks up from his crossword puzzle to find Neal awake again.
It's been just a little more than twenty-four hours since they'd rescued him from that white room with all the invisibly-inked wardings on the walls, but it's only been in the last two or three that things had finally settled down. Peter admits to being largely ignorant about Cons and how they're physiologically different from the general population, but since leaving the scene and catching up to Neal at the hospital, he feels like he's been dumped into the deep end of an intensive course in Conjurer health care.
When he'd first arrived and been escorted to Neal's bedside, a woman in scrubs had had her hands hovering atop Neal's comatose body, rattling off every injury she'd sensed while a nurse jotted it all down on a clipboard. It had mostly been dehydration and bruising, plus the cracked ribs the paramedic had mentioned, and Peter had been just about heave a sigh of relief when the woman had said she'd check again in a few hours before striding off elsewhere. The nurse, having sensed his unease, had explained that the effects of a stasis could take a while to wear off and that it was possible Neal's injuries could yet prove to be more severe than they seemed. On top of that, during his captivity, Neal had apparently attempted to slip into stasis several times before he'd been successful – an aspect which only put further strain on his mind and body.
None of that, however, had proven nearly as distressing as the minutes following Peter's unintentional glimpse into Neal's memories. He'd been ushered into the hallway by a nurse while the alarms had continued to trill in the room, more nurses and a doctor rushing to Neal's side. He'd watched through the glass window that separated them as Neal had convulsed before jolting awake, his hands reaching for his side as he'd yelled that he was bleeding. The doctor had reacted immediately, but it had taken a few moments of Peter staring at Neal's blood-free body before he realised that Neal's ability had actually allowed him to see inside himself and that he could see exactly where and how badly he was injured internally.
It was all pretty shocking for Peter, and it had taken the entirety of Neal's subsequent operation and then some for him to collect himself. Since then he'd barely left his side. Neal had been waking intermittently, but this was the first time he'd looked properly alert.
"At least a day or two. They have to monitor you for any more internal damage that might pop up, and your body isn't rehydrating properly."
Neal groans and makes a face. "That bad, huh?"
"No doubt it could've been worse," Peter points out, flinching when his mind provides him with a flash of pain from what he'd experienced through Neal's eyes. So far they hadn't even touched on how Neal was holding up mentally. "They say it's from the failed stasis or whatever you call it."
"Ideally you need to drop into it as soon as possible after you've been injured. But they'd kept me awake so I was already too tired to focus properly, and then next thing I know, I'm halfway gone but they somehow pulled me back into consciousness and then started beating me all over again. That happened twice more before I finally got deep enough. Though, I'm thinking that's only because they left."
"Diana told me that one of the leads we were following somehow tipped them off."
"Oh?"
Peter slips his phone out from his pocket and holds it up. "She's been texting me updates."
"I thought you said you'd handed it over to Enigmatics?"
"We did, but apparently they're impressed with our track record and insisted we help them out."
Neal clucks his tongue. "They just want us doing all the hard work."
"Perhaps," Peter grins slyly, tossing his crossword to the side so he can lean forward and take Neal's hand in his again. It's a welcome weight on his palm, and it just feels right being there. "But as long as we get this guy, and as long as we keep his greasy mitts off of you, I don't much care who takes the credit for this one."
The ensuing silence stretches out, Neal staring somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. A few moments pass before he suddenly smiles and squeezes Peter's hand, Neal's eyes finally rising up to meet his.
~
"Peter?"
"Mm?"
"Who's that on my balcony?"
Peter's got his arm around Neal's shoulders helping him stay upright, and they're only halfway up the stairs to his apartment. He tenses for a moment before he remembers.
"Oh, Enigmatics set him over. He's a –"
"—Con, yeah I can tell," Neal cuts in, "He's got some kind of shield up around the whole house."
"You can see that, then?"
"Of course. I can probably see things like that – shields and wardings and spell residues – better than anything else. They usually appear fluorescent in colour, so it's kinda hard to miss."
They finally reach the top of the stairs and Peter gets the door open, shepherding Neal inside and over to his bed. The Con, too, is hard to miss. He's well over six-foot and has the physique and dress-sense of a nightclub bouncer. It's maybe not the most apt analogy, but as long as he gets the job done, right? Peter watches him for a minute. He's leaning against the wall, his arms and ankles crossed and looking pretty damn relaxed. But every now and then he raises a hand and makes an unfamiliar gesture with his fingers before crossing his arms again.
"He's writing sigils," Neal fills him in, "Each one represents something slightly different and he's casting them onto the shield, strengthening it. If certain things come close to it he'll know straight away."
Peter closes the curtain over the door leading from the bedroom to the balcony, thus hiding the other Con from view. He then sets about helping Neal out of his current clothes and into a fresh set of pyjamas – the cracks in his ribs make it uncomfortable for him to do anything with his left arm, but Peter is happy to play 'nurse' for as long as necessary. He only wants to help his friend out, after all. Nothing at all to do with getting a peek at Neal's impossibly toned physique – bruised and battered though it is.
"So, you can actually see magic, then?" he asks, offering a distraction.
"Not exactly. It's more like… I can see the effects of it. But not the magic itself. I don't know how else to explain it."
"No, I think I get it." Peter purses his lips. "Well, I don't think I'll ever get it get it, but you know what I mean."
Neal chuckles. "Thankfully I do. Otherwise this conversation would only lead to infinitely more confusion. It never ceases to amuse me how little you know about this stuff. It's practically common knowledge these days."
"I'm a man of science, Neal. Facts. Hard evidence. Tangible stuff."
"Magicology is a science, Peter. People go to college to study it and everything!"
Peter grumbles under his breath but Neal only laughs more. At least until it disturbs his injuries, his chest protesting harshly.
"I guess that's enough fun for one day."
He helps Neal under the covers and gives him his pills to swallow. And he's about to take himself over to the couch when Neal grabs his wrist.
"Stay?"
He must look a little lost because Neal tugs him closer and then pats the other side of the bed. Peter knows that he can't win against Neal's pleading blue eyes, so with a sigh he kicks his shoes off and rounds the bed, lying down atop the covers. Neal can't lie on his side, has to stay on his back because of his ribs, so he helps himself to one of Peter's arms and drapes it over his stomach. Neal makes sure to tuck his hands back under the sheets, though – careful to avoid any skin-to-skin contact once he falls asleep.
Peter is on the verge of dozing off himself, but he's keeping himself on this side of wakefulness until Neal falls asleep first. He's almost lost the battle when Neal's head suddenly turns, their gazes meeting through the dim light of the room.
"What aren't you telling me?"
"Huh? What do you mean?"
Neal sighs with irritation. "I can tell, okay? There's something you're holding back on and there's no way I'll be able to sleep until I know what it is."
"What? Don't tell me you can see my thoughts now, too?" Peter's words are sarcastic, but secretly wondering.
"There are times when I can see a really strong thought, like hate or love. But no, this time is just plain old intuition. So spill already."
Peter sighs yet again. When it comes to Neal, there's really nowhere to hide.
"I'm just worried about Walsh. All these Cons he's got in his pocket… We know they're gearing up for something, and we know he's got his eye on you now—"
"Peter I know all this. We've got a goddamn Bigfoot on the balcony with a shield up. Now tell me what's really got you bothered."
"Alright, alright…" Peter clenches his hands. "So, Enigmatics… The director there, he really wants you on their side."
"But my deal is with White Collar, not them. They can't—"
"I think you'll find they can," Peter says, deadly serious. "If the director is determined enough, he can make a case to the FBI bigwigs, and if they agree they can transfer your deal to their Division and we don't necessarily get any say in it. Your ability is just especially unique, and while they have people that can do some of the things you can, they recognise that you can do all of it and then some. You'd be a particular asset to their Division."
"What if…" Neal pauses, pondering a moment. "What if I offered to help this once? That is, what if we made a deal with Enigmatics that I'd help them get Walsh, but only if that's the end of my involvement with them. Would that work?"
"I don't know. It might only give them even more cause for bringing you over to their side."
"True," Neal concedes. "Don't worry, Peter. We'll work it out. We always do, right?"
Peter doesn't respond, but he gathers up the bedsheets over Neal's stomach, wraps his hand around the shape of Neal's hand lying underneath and squeezes. He's learnt his lesson well and knows skin-to-skin is obviously a bad idea, but that shouldn't stop him from holding onto Neal regardless. He figures it's answer enough.
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Date: 2013-10-24 04:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-25 08:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-24 06:35 pm (UTC)A very well told story.
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Date: 2013-10-25 08:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-26 09:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-27 08:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-29 08:39 am (UTC)Thanks for posting \o/
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Date: 2013-10-30 04:26 am (UTC)