Real Estate Listings

What's on paper is usually a lie, or at least not the whole story. For example, 2 BR, 1 Ba fixer upper in great location is nearly always a barely one and a half bedroom pit with a toilet you can't turn around in, a half hour from a railway line in Jersey. So Peter wasn't surprised that the file on Neal didn't have all the details. What was surprising was how much better he was in person (he was already pretty damned good on paper). The file mentioned Neal's love of the Impressionists but didn't describe the way his face lit up when talking about Bal du Moulin de la Galette, or the hush he fell into, looking at a late period Cassatt. It noted his penchant for audacious escapes, but would never include photos of him in full flight from a band of geese in Central Park, his tie flying, laughing all the way. Neal's file logged the obsessive number of hours and words Peter had put into hunting him down, but said nothing about the way that hunt had changed them both.

House Hunting

When Peter and El had bought the house, El had wisely refrained from dragging him all over the tri-state area, knowing both his patience and time were limited. She'd waited, hunted, brought back pictures for a yea or nay, ignored his "whatever you want honey," and made him tell her whether or not he wanted a breakfast nook. She had him down to a T, she knew what he needed—a place to curl up and watch the game; double-pane windows or he'd bitch about the heating; a place that played to his secret love of deep pile carpet combined with his liking of clean and comfortable natural wood. She'd tracked down a house that she fell in love with at first sight and knew he would too, and then she'd finally brought him to it on a fall afternoon, the leaves crisp on the ground. He'd fallen already—for her stories, for the tale of the hunt, for how much she cared about it. This, with her seal of approval, was the place where they belonged, that they could grow old in. When Peter brought Neal home for the first time, or rather, when Neal took his place on the couch beside her, she had that same feeling of coming home. Just, this. Peter had hunted all over the world for Neal, had compiled so much information and brought so many pieces of Neal into their house, into their bed already, it was like he was a familiar stranger: meant to be. She caught the look in Peter's eyes when he saw them on the couch and knew, even if it was going to take him some time to accept it, that Neal was here to stay.

Pre-approval or What You Can Afford

Neal knew what he was worth. In cash, he was pretty good on paper, never mind that most of his income was illegal. Emotionally, he was less certain. He'd been around the block, on the market already. After Kate and the mess with Fowler, he wasn't sure how much he had to offer; he was damaged goods. Frankly, he thought Peter and Elizabeth were a little crazy for putting themselves on the line again and again for what was clearly going to be a bad bargain for both of them. But that didn't seem to stop them. He'd been dancing around this for so long, and now it was time to figure out what is was worth to him. They knew the risks—Neal running anyway or being sent back to supermax, Peter losing his job, El feeling left out of the equation, all of them getting caught and caught up and pulled apart. At some point, he had to figure they knew what they could afford and they were willing to take the risk. And he'd never been one to back away from a challenge. Why start now?

Offer, Negotiations, Counter Offer

You want me to what?

Neal stared at Peter and Elizabeth, who were sitting calmly on the sofa looking at him like they hadn't proposed the craziest and least likely thing Neal had thought he would ever hear.

Move in with us.

After the Fowler thing, Neal had taken to—well, continued—reading Peter like tea leaves, but what he was getting made no sense. Sure, Peter had been all tight-jawed and displeased, but he hovered even more than usual. It was like he'd been when Neal had been drugged, not like Neal had nearly gone off the rails and shot someone. At first, he put it down to Peter waiting until Mozzie was out of the woods, to being preoccupied with finding their would-be murderer, but when a week went by with only a cursory lecture about getting thrown back into jail, Neal figured he must have looked pretty bad off. Except then Peter had invited him over for dinner, and now there was this.

Look, that's sweet of you, but I promise I won't try and kill anyone else.

Well that's reassuring, Peter muttered. El nailed him gently in the side. But it's not about that, he went on. Well, not all about that. I won't deny I'll feel better having you where I can see you. But that's not just because I worry about what you'll do. I like seeing you. I want to see more of you. All of you. Anybody who'd ever thought Peter Burke was stodgy just clearly hadn't felt the full intensity of his eyes. Neal flushed under his gaze.

And so do I, El said. Her eyes were no less warm. We both want you, Neal, here. And if you don't want anything more, it can just be to stay for awhile, but we're offering everything, for as long as you want it.

Neal didn't know whether he wanted to shake them or kiss them—well, he always wanted to kiss them, but it was a toss up as to which one would win right now. How can you say that? I nearly killed a man the other day. Someone killed Kate, is trying to kill me probably. Not to mention what would happen if the FBI realized what was going on. I bring nothing but danger and potential damage to your doorstep.

All the more reason for you to stay near us where we can protect you. Don't you get it, Neal? If anything happens to you I'm finished anyway. Peter scrubbed his hands through his hair and turned his eyes away. El put a hand on his arm and picked up the thread.

Neal, no matter what happens, we're all in this together anyway. You're a part of this family, and it's killing us to have you so far away. Come be with us. You don't have to be alone, whether you want us in that way or not.

Neal laughed shakily. It's not a matter of not wanting. I think you both know that. It's a matter of what I can have. What you have is good, it's great, and I don't ever want to destroy it. I've already done enough.

Peter got up and came to him. You won't, Neal. You can't, and nothing that's happened—with Kate, with Mozzie—or anything that may happen, is or will be your fault. He clasped a hand, warm and solid, over the nape of Neal's neck, and Neal felt his shoulders slide down. I can clear it with Hughes for you to stay, if I say I want to keep a closer eye on you. He doesn't have to know how close. His mouth quirked in a smile Neal couldn't help but copy.

El slid an arm around his side and Neal turned slightly to face her too. And there are a few things I've wanted to see myself. Say you'll stay, Neal?

Men with more resistance than him would have crumbled under Elizabeth's sweetly pleading look. Neal had never claimed to have a lot of self-control.

Okay, but just until this is all sorted out.

He was immediately enveloped and kissed in turns, long luxurious kisses he immediately became addicted to. Following them up the stairs shortly thereafter, Neal figured this was an offer he could never have refused.

Inspection

Despite the fact that he had an idea that it would work, all three of them together, the actual lead up freaked Peter out. He knew he and El worked; after a lot of trial and error they'd been working for years. He knew he and Neal worked, at least in a professional partnership. They'd been doing this dance in some fashion forever. But all three of them—well, that could send the whole house of cards tumbling right down. Peter walked around and around it, scared to believe even after the first encounters went OK. He'd lie awake at night thinking of everything that could go wrong, all the flaws in all of this, every one of them, until one or the other of his partners would roll him over and make him forget every objection he'd ever had. There was always something, yet nothing so big that it was a deal breaker, he would think, panting, afterward.

Closing

Getting Neal to stay after the anklet came off was the biggest issue. He treated the house key like the tracker—a talisman, a tie, a tether, a totem. Relieved of the anklet, he made short dashes this way or that, testing, but would circle back around.

With the anklet off, coming to stay had to be his choice. If you love somebody, set them free. When they had started taking romantic advice from Sting, Peter didn't know. Peter was good at holding on, bad at letting go. El was better at holding lightly; she'd had more practice and it was in her nature. Neal would have to close the door after himself either way.

They knew he was in the day he came in, tossed his fedora at the hat hook and said "Hi honeys, I'm home," mock-ironic and totally truthful. They rushed him at the door.

Move In

El loved the jumble of their lives together: the case files on the table, the paintbrushes in a vase, Neal's hat on the rack, Peter's ties on the floor (and around the bedposts, on the best nights), her lingerie crumpled in the bathroom where they left it. There were nights when she and Neal concocted some flight of fancy in the kitchen while Peter scoffed about fancy food yet never said no to seconds. There were evenings were she switched off dancing between Peter and Neal, never minding when Peter lied down on the couch to watch them dance to Cole Porter with soft eyes. There were the times when she came across Peter and Neal tangled up in the midst of some game, eyes sparkling at each other, flirtiness flashing from Neal like a flag, his smile beaming under Peter's subdued grin. There were days she didn't even know how she'd gotten this lucky, how this house had turned into a home for the three of them.