"These peanuts are so good. You want some?"

Peter refused to look up from the book he was reading. "No, Neal. I do not want any peanuts. Or soda. Or a little bottle of vodka."

"Oh honey, just let him read your book or something. He's probably afraid of flying."

"I am not!" The level of indignation in Neal's voice was worth a small smile. A smile that faded when he glanced to the side and saw Elizabeth patting Neal's shoulder.

He tried to tune them out, their "I haven't been out of the country in years" (because he was in jail) and "The villa's right on the beach" (Neal already knew that, El) and all their god damn excitement and didn't they understand that Neal was ruining what was going to be a perfect vacation?

"Peter. Hey, Peter, you're not really reading that book, I can tell." He turned a page anyway. "Switch seats with me?"

He looked up at that. There was no way he was switching seats. He got the window seat on the flight there, Elizabeth got the window seat on the flight back, and Neal could just stay on the aisle. "No."

The stupid smile on Neal's face dropped away. "Come on man, it's not fair that you get it. You get to fly all the time, and I've been in jail. For years."

He was going to say no again, but Elizabeth was looking at him like he was being mean on purpose. So he sighed, and they shuffled around in the cramped row. At least he could stretch his legs out in the aisle a little.

He could feel his frown deepening every time El laughed at something Neal said, and every time Neal laughed at something she said. It was his vacation, and his wife, and Neal shouldn't have even been there, and if the fucking FBI hadn't screwed up he wouldn't have been there and why was he getting her a drink from the flight attendant?

"Excuse me, ma'am," the flight attendant was saying. "Is your father all right?"

"Oh, he's not—" El said. "We're not—"

"I'm her husband," Peter growled.

"Oh gosh, I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean— Oh geez. I'm so sorry. I thought— I'm sorry." She scampered away, and Peter glared at Neal.

"Stop flirting with my wife," he said.

"I'm not flirting!" Neal looked honestly shocked that Peter would accuse him of something like that, but Peter wasn't fooled. No way. "She said she was thirsty, and—"

"Really, Peter. He was just being nice." Elizabeth was looking at him with that look again. He wasn't the bad guy here! He wasn't the convicted felon!

Fifteen minutes later, he found himself yelling, "He's a criminal you know. A criminal!" at the retreating back of another flight attendant Neal had charmed into going to see if there were any open seats in first class.

The woman looked back for a second, and Neal just smiled broadly at her, saying, "I play a criminal in my newest movie. My bodyguard likes to make sure everyone knows, thinks it's gonna be real popular."

"I'm not his— I am not your bodyguard."

"Relax." Neal leaned back in his seat. "I'm getting us into first class."

Peter could feel his blood pressure skyrocketing. Elizabeth patting his arm didn't help, either, when she was essentially siding with Neal. They were supposed to go on vacation together. Not together plus Neal.

"I'm fine right here," he said when the flight attendant came back, all smiles and laughter for Neal, to tell them there were three seats up in first class that were free for the movie star, his girlfriend, and their bodyguard.

But Elizabeth was going with him and he couldn't just leave the two of them alone together. He knows El is too smart to be taken in by Neal's roguish charms — not that Neal had roguish charm — but it still gave him a bad feeling in his stomach. He might not rely on rumors as much as Neal, but he knew when to listen to his instincts.

###

More and more often, Neal found himself wandering down to the bus station while Peter and Elizabeth did couple-y things. It would have been so easy to just get on a bus, go to the nearest airport, and disappear. He heard that Madagascar was lovely. And also without an extradition treaty to the US.

He liked Elizabeth and Peter, he really did. A lot. An amount which he should have learned with Kate was a bad idea. If it weren't for them, he'd be halfway around the world by now, looking for Kate.

But then Peter would have to start looking for him again, and as wonderful as their relationship looked, he wasn't sure it could handle another few years of Peter obsessing over him. And that would make Elizabeth sad, and—

Except… Kate.

So instead he was standing in front of the bus terminal, staring at the bus schedule for the hundredth time that week, like it would suddenly give him the answer he was looking for.

And that was when he felt a heavy hand drop on his shoulder.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He turned around, a story already on the tip of his tongue about how he was buying bus tickets to San Pedro so he could show them a night on the town as thanks for bringing him along, except, wow. Peter was looking angrier than he’d ever seen him in his entire life (and that included the time when he was on the run and left a cake with “Happy Anniversary” on it for Peter to find) and the words died on his lips.

“Nothing?” he said. Oh, real smooth, that was why he was such a brilliant confidence man right there. And Elizabeth was standing behind Peter, and even she looked a little disappointed in him. But he was a conman. What did they expect?

“Really?” Peter asked. “Because, to me, it looks like you’re about to fuck me over and buy a bus ticket out of here.”

“Actually—“ he started.

“No, I don’t want to hear it,” Peter said over him. “I don’t want to hear whatever flimsy excuse you’ve come up with. We all know you’re going to go on another little jailbreak and chase Kate halfway across the world in hopes that maybe she still loves you. Even though if she did, she’d have waited for you.”

That was pretty harsh. And patently untrue. “I’m technically not in jail anymore, so it wouldn’t be a jailbreak. Not technically.”

When he glanced over at Elizabeth, she was smirking slightly. At least someone wasn’t believing the worst of him. And he’d really almost decided to stay. If Peter had left him alone for another few minutes, he probably would have gone and found them anyway.

Probably.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Peter said, and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

“Really? You brought handcuffs on your vacation?”

“I thought maybe I could trust you to come on this vacation and just enjoy yourself and not try to escape,” Peter was saying. “Maybe this wouldn’t be such a disaster. So I’m not letting you ruin it for me, even if it means you have to be handcuffed the entire rest of the trip. Even if I have to duct tape you to a wall.”

Peter turned away to say something to Elizabeth, whose face was softening into forgiveness and what Neal had already come to recognize as her “Yeah, my husband is kind of nuts but I still love him” face, and that was all it took.

“You know I can get out of these in under thirty seconds, right?” he asked conversationally, dangling the cuffs from his fingertips.

Elizabeth tried to hide a smirk, but not before Peter saw it, and Peter turned back on Neal with surprising ferocity.

“Back to the villa,” he hissed, pointing down the street, and Neal didn’t have the heart to tell him he was pointing in the wrong direction.

###

“You know,” Neal said, dangling his arms over the back of a wicker chair on the deck, his wrists crossed and encircled with silver tape, “I didn’t think you were serious about the duct tape. Bravo.”

“Stop talking,” Peter growled from behind a book.

“I knew this guy once, in Ireland. He used duct tape for everything. He tried to convince me he was a spy, but yeah, right. Can’t con a con artist.”

“I said stop talking.”

“Anyway, there was this really hot IRA chick that I slept with, and that why I can’t go back to Ireland, because duct tape guy will kill me for sleeping with his girlfriend.”

“If you don’t stop talking I will duct tape your mouth shut.”

“That’s pretty kinky. Isn’t that pretty kinky, Elizabeth?”

“Don’t talk to my wife like that.”

Elizabeth looked up from the book she was pretending to read, but really was just using to cover her smiles. “It is pretty kinky, honey.”

"Don't side with him," Peter snapped. At her pointed look, he added, "I mean— He's— It isn't—"

Neal mimed a whip-crack with his bound arms. "Wpshh."

"Stop winding up Peter," Elizabeth said mildly. Peter looked triumphant, and Neal looked contrite, and she felt a sudden swell of love for both of them. Loved Peter with all her heart, but for years it had felt like there was a third person in their marriage. As much as she joked about competing with him, it wasn't much of a competition. Peter would always love her, but Neal was… was…

She didn't think she'd ever be able to forget the look that flickered in his eyes when she answered the door, Satchmo wagging his tail behind her. And after years of Neal being all Peter could talk about, well…

"You know," she said, standing up and going over to put a hand on Neal's shoulder. "Maybe what we need to do is give him a reason to stay."

Neal froze for an instant, blinked, and a slow smile spread across his face. Peter looked at her, looked at Neal, looked at her hand on Neal, and frowned for a minute.

"Oh, no," he said. "No. I am not— No."

"Come on," Neal said. "Isn't this every man's dream? His wife and the other woman? Well, man in this case, but the principle—"

"No," Peter said.

"Look, I'll even let you duct tape my mouth. Or," and he waggled his eyebrows, "you can shut it other ways."

While Peter's mouth gaped open and closed, Elizabeth laughed a little and ran her hand down Neal's arm to grab the duct tape around his wrists and pull him after her. She straddled Peter's lap, Neal snug against the back of her.

"It's not a competition anymore," she said.

"And I'm excellent in bed," Neal added.

"Not helping," she hissed shot over her shoulder at him.

"But it's true," he hissed back.

She finally felt Peter's hands come up to rest on her hips. "I'm better."

"Then prove it."