Title: Take Me Home
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: PG
Length: ~1450 words
Content notes: Neal/Peter/Elizabeth. Spoilers for 3.16.
Author notes: Many thanks to dragonfly and mergatrude for beta. <3 <3 <3
Summary: Peter finds him in the Gold Room at the National Historical Museum. (Episode tag for 3.16.)

Take Me Home

They go to Sweden, to Stockholm. Mozzie doesn't know why, and he maintains a continuous commentary on their location vis-à-vis the syndrome for nearly a week until Neal sends him to Paris to liaise with Gordon Taylor. Neal stays in Sweden and spends another week thinking he's made a mistake, Peter won't come. That when they had that conversation—Where would you go? Anywhere in the world?—it had been idle chat, not a contingency plan.

Then on the fourteenth day, a Friday, Peter finds him in the Gold Room at the National Historical Museum. He doesn't land a heavy hand on Neal's shoulder or make a scene. He just appears quietly at Neal's side. He's alone.

Something in Neal unclenches, leaving him speechless. It's like they were never apart.

"I can't stay," says Peter, his voice low. "I'm officially on sick leave. El's covering for me."

"Ferris Bueller," says Neal, finding his voice. They move to stand in front of a display of reliquaries, and Neal admires the gold craftsmanship again, even though he'd memorized every one of the museum's exhibits by the end of his third day here. "How long?"

"Two or three days. I have the 'flu." Peter's hands are in his pockets. His reflection in the glass looks tired—the last two weeks have been hell for him too. "Look, I want to bring you back with me, give you your life back, but you have to give me something to work with. Loot or a person. It has to look like we made a deal."

"It has to look like we made one or we have to make one?" says Neal, anger welling up. "Peter, you told me to run."

"I know. And now I'm telling you to come home."

"What about Kramer?"

"Bancroft's dealt with it," says Peter. "It's taken time—that's why I couldn't come sooner—but Kramer's not our problem anymore."

Neal moves away, leads Peter through the halls to the Vikings exhibit. He goes over to the runes, and Peter follows.

"The anklet?" says Neal.

"Two more years. It's the best I can do." Peter sounds regretful at least, but it's not much compensation for losing the possibility of real freedom. The commutation hearing raised Neal's hopes, and he's had two weeks to get used to being bare-ankled, even if those weeks have been spent in exile. Two weeks to hope that Peter could find a way to enforce the commutation board's decision, if it fell in Neal's favor, regardless of Neal's flight.

Neal will say yes to the anklet, he knows he will, but it feels like a loss. He tries to convince himself it'll be worth it—the familiar streets, his apartment at June's, the Bureau. A home doubling as a prison.

"Satchmo misses you," says Peter, breaking the long silence. "El—"

"What about El?"

"She's angry at Kramer. And she won't say so, but I know she thinks there must have been a better way. That it's my fault." Peter rubs his hand over his face. "I don't think she'll really forgive me until—"

Neal laughs, more out of surprise than amusement. "So, you've decided I'm the balm to your troubled marriage."

Peter turns to face him, meets his gaze for the first time. "Yes."

"Oh." Neal can feel that yes in his hands, tingling down his spine, in the deepest corner of his heart. Peter and Elizabeth are depending on him. He swallows and sways closer, unable to help himself: Peter's always been a magnet. But Peter had said no, not as long as Neal was wearing the anklet, El would never. He'd said all that years ago, and Neal had believed him, had tucked away those feelings, that longing, and made the best of his situation. "You said—"

"That was a long time ago," says Peter softly. His face is vulnerable, his gaze intent. "You've proven yourself since then. You deserve the chance to live your life."

"And you?" Neal looks up at him. It's hard to believe they're having this conversation, after all this time. What if their friendship has overwritten the passion? What if this is all they have now, this bedrock that Neal's world is built on. "What do you deserve?"

"Whatever you're still prepared to give, I'll take it," says Peter. He sounds quiet, sure. He's got his desire—if any—well in check. But Neal believes him, and his bedrock starts to fracture, long buried emotions threatening to well up to the surface.

"Peter—"

Peter shakes his head, moves over to the Viking helmets. When Neal follows, Peter's back to business. "You got anything I can give them? A token gesture?"

Neal swallows and braces himself. "How does half a u-boat of treasure sound? Is that enough?"

"What?" Peter's surprise is loud, but Neal jerks his head at the other museum visitors, over by a display of ancient toys, and Peter gets a grip. "What are you talking about?"

"Moz gave his half for Elizabeth. I'll give my half for—for both of you. For New York. My life," says Neal. He remembers that night in the empty warehouse, Peter's desperation. "I didn't know he'd already sent my half to Europe. I would have told you."

Peter nods, accepting that. None of it matters now El is safe. "That's a lot to pay," he says, focusing on here and now, their current situation.

"It's a lot to get back." Neal shrugs impatiently. "Hell, Peter, it was never mine to begin with. Do we have a deal?"

A smile tugs at the corner of Peter's mouth, and he holds out his hand, but when Neal starts to shake it, that firm, dry grip, Peter hauls him close and envelops him in a fierce bear hug. Neal hugs back just as hard; his heart is breaking open, and there are so many feelings spilling out of it, he doesn't know what to do with them all. They're in his hands, his mouth. There are a thousand corny things he wants to say, but he pulls back and breathes a laugh—at himself, at the situation—and looks away from Peter to the exhibits. Vikings. Pillage and plunder. How apt.

"Mozzie's going to kill me."

"He can have your apartment," says Peter. "June won't mind. I asked."

"What about me?" Neal turns back to him, eyebrows raised.

Peter looks nervous and determined. "You already have a home, if you want it. I know it's not what you're used to, but—Satchmo really misses you."

Neal presses a finger to his lips to stop him. The real import of what Peter and Elizabeth are offering flushes hotly across Neal's skin. "You already said that."

Peter takes Neal's hand, the finger that silenced him and holds it in both of his. His voice shakes. "Neal, these have been the longest two weeks of my life."

Neal steps forward and cups Peter's neck with his free hand, draws his head down and kisses him softly, testing, and it's as if Neal's a bell that's been heavy and silent for years until the kiss resonates through him. He opens his mouth against Peter's lips and the sound of love fills him, bringing him to life. His life. Peter feels it too, he can tell. Peter wants him. Enough to fly here in secret. Enough to risk everything. Elizabeth has demanded his return.

They kiss for a long time, there in the Viking exhibition, surrounded by the evidence of ancient thieves, and when the kiss is over, Neal is a different man. He has a place now, lovers who love him, a real family. He feels unfamiliar and unsteady in this new landscape, as if gravity's loosened its hold on him.

Luckily, having finally kissed Neal, Peter seems unable to let him go entirely. He grips Neal's shoulder, ever the anchor. It's a casual pose, but after that kiss, they're not fooling anyone. Neal pries Peter's fingers off his sweater and takes his hand, holds it palm to palm. They have time.

"Where are you staying?" asks Peter.

"With you," says Neal, without thinking. He blinks and smiles up at Peter. That's not what he was asking. "A few blocks from here. Want to see?"

Peter swallows and nods.

As they head to the exit, Neal murmurs, "You sure you don't want me to pick you up a Viking helmet before we go?" Peter sends him a sharp look, and Neal laughs. "From the gift shop, Peter."

Peter grins too, his expression saying more clearly than words that he understands everything and he loves Neal for it. "No," he says. "I don't need anything else."


END