conning | I've been here, I've been there // Honey, I been somehow everywhere

Norton packed a small leather suit-case for the trip, which he holds in the hand that isn't holding Neal's hand. A few spare outfits and a gun hidden in a holster under his suit jacket is all he brought with him. Everything else, he expected to obtain in New York. But when, between one blink and the next, they're suddenly in a bright, airy room full of glass, Norton glances around curiously, taking in the room and the small crowd of people piling in.

"Going out on a limb, but I don't think this is your flat," Norton whispers to Neal before he steps forward with his hand delicately outstretched.

"How do you do, I'm Norton Folgate. You must be Agent Burke. I've heard ever so much about you."

Neal loves him for the way he adapts without a blink. Peter takes Norton’s hand and shakes it slowly, still looking between Neal and Norton.

“Friend of yours, Neal?” Peter sounds wary, but not outright accusing, which is nice.

Seeing him, Neal remembers their last conversation. The tension, the rage. He looks at Norton instead of Peter, giving him silent permission to answer the question however he feels comfortable.

“Yes. But I don’t like to speak for my friends when I don’t have to.”

Mozzie beelines for Neal and throws himself into a hug, which Neal accepts, slightly startled. “Mozzie, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Trying to convince these fascists that you didn’t run!”

“Cool it with the hyperbole,” Neal says, glancing at Norton again when Mozzie says fascists. He smiles to soften the reprimand. “But thanks.”

Norton raises his eyebrows slightly at the word fascists. He'd hoped to have more time to acclimate himself to twenty-first century America, plan a cover more thoroughly before meeting Agent Burke and the others. But since he's dropped right in the deep end, and Neal has given him silent permission to answer, he'll start splashing.

"Close friend," he says with enough innuendo in his voice to invite speculation. "I'm sure it doesn't surprise you that Neal has friends around the world. I came here to help him with a sticky situation involving a former agent of ours."

Nothing Norton said was a lie, strictly speaking. Neal probably does have friends around the world, Norton did come to New York with Neal to help him, and he did work for British security services, sort of.

Neal looks at Norton with the same kind of enchantment he had on his face when the other man started scheming about how to hoodwink the Admiral over the bathrooms. It's a lot more sensible and coherent than that plan, maybe, but the place it comes from is the same, and just as delightful.

Peter glances at Neal, sees him giving Norton that look over Mozzie's head, and frowns a little. "An agent of yours. So you're with the government? Do you have ID, contacts I can reach out to in order to verify?"

To Neal, he adds, "And what the hell happened with your ankle monitor?"

"Someone cut it off when they tried to kidnap me."

"Cute that you think the British government officially acknowledges all its intelligence agencies. I work for a department you won't have heard of and no one in the British government is going to talk to you about. Needless to say, I don't carry a badge."

He flicks his hand loosely in dismissal of the whole topic. "Anyhoo, it hardly matters to me whether you believe me or not. I came here to help Neal, not the FBI. He was the one who insisted we come here." He'll try to steer Burke to believing that Neal loyally returned when he could have fled. "I suppose you could have me deported if you really wanted to get in a snit about it, but that wouldn't do anyone any good."

Peter doesn't buy it. Neal can see it on his face. It's that I'm not sure which part of this is bullshit, but I know there's something face. But Neal and Norton are tag-teaming well enough that he has to put a pin in that for the moment and address Neal again.

"Someone tried to kidnap you?"

"Someone who was standing in the back of Rebecca's helicopter when it flew off without her."

"Curiouser and curiouser." That comes from Mozzie, who is staring at Norton with the feverish delight of a conspiracy theorist being handed a batch of photos from Area 51.

"Look, Peter, I got grabbed, I got away, I met Norton, I came here."

"You couldn't have called and let us know where you were?"

"You think the kidnappers--there were five of them, by the way--let me keep my phone?"

Norton just smiles at Agent Burke's suspicious expression. The beauty of the semi-bollocks he spouted is that it's so much less bollocks than the actual truth. He didn't mention aliens, time travel, or interdimensional spaceships at all. He doesn't need to worry about Agent Burke discovering the truth, just give him some explanation to hold onto, regardless of how much Burke distrusts it.

"We came here first thing so Neal could let you know what happened." Norton raises his suit-case slightly. "I haven't even had a change to drop off my luggage."

Peter is unconvinced, but it's true--there's nothing specific he can question that he hasn't already.

"All right. Neal, we need a rundown of exactly what happened and anything you can give us on the guy who did it."

"And then I can let Norton unpack?" Neal is sliding back into the comfortable crossness he had the last time he and Peter spoke. Peter frowns.

"Yeah. Then Diana can escort you to let Norton unpack."

Neal makes an irritated noise at that, gives Norton a genuinely apologetic look, and lays out the afternoon's events as best he can remember, having been back to the Barge in-between.

They have to wait an extra half hour, almost, for a new anklet, but Neal is at least able to convince Peter that he doesn't need a direct chaperone during the elapsed time. When the marshals arrive, Neal watches the anklet go on with a resentment that makes his chest tight.

As soon as the two of them are in the elevator headed down--Neal convinced Mozzie to go home after Neal gave his statement--Neal grabs Norton's hand and gives it a squeeze. "Sorry about all that."

He glances at Norton with a wicked little smile. "Very well handled, though. I'm impressed."

Norton watches with a small frown between his brows as the anklet is put on. He'd heard Neal talk about it before, but he'd never seen one, and the idea of it--monitoring Neal at all times--makes him uneasy. But at least it's over quickly and once the cuff of Neal's trouser is back down and they're riding the lift down, Norton can (almost) forget it's there.

He suspects Neal never forgets it's there. He squeezes Neal's hand back and returns Neal's smile with a mischievous grin of his own.

"I did enjoy aggravating Agent Burke. Like teensy bit of revenge on your behalf."

Neal grins at his feet, then leans sideways to steal a quick kiss before the elevator dings. He’ll let go of Norton’s hand if the other man is inclined to pull away. This might be New York in 2014, they might have the security of the Barge’s general attitudes to dilute some of that sense of danger, but Norton is still from 1955. Neal doesn’t want to assume.

“Want to get a taxi to my place or walk? It’s only a few miles, but I’m not the one with a suitcase.”

The Barge is another world. Norton categorizes it in his head as something between his public school experience and a Soho club. A place where he can earn alliances through courtships and zhoosh himself up like Mae West for fun and get only compliments.

This is different. This is a real city. So just before the lift opens, Norton instinctively drops Neal's hand. He knows there's no risk of arrest, but he also knows there's still other sorts of risk. It's one thing to drop a bit of innuendo in front of the FBI agents. That was almost a form of power play. But out in the city there's no telling how strangers may react.

He brightens in excitement when Neal mentions a taxi, though.

"Are the taxis yellow, like in the films?" Norton's ridden in cabs plenty of times, but a London cab isn't a New York taxi.

The excitement about the taxi sweeps away the pang of sadness he feels when Norton lets go—not for himself. He wishes he could say them holding hands on a New York street wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. That he can’t breaks his heart a little bit.

“All the good ones are.” He gives a little flourish of a gesture out of the elevator and toward the glass wall that couches the clear front doors. “After you. There’s nothing in the world like that first breath of real city air.”

He’s joking. He’s also not.

"Honey, I lived through the Great Smog of 1952. That air," he points to the outside with a flick of his wrist, "looks positively bucolic."

Which is all for the best, because it means that when he steps outside he can properly see the New York skyline.

"Gosh," he whispers, gaping at it. "Look at the size. Puts Big Ben and St. Paul's to shame."

They step outside, and the heat and garbage and gasoline musk of downtown swirls over them like a benediction. The noise, the crowds, the cars—it’s all a little overwhelming after how quiet the Barge is, on a general noise level.

It’s perfect.

Neal breathes in deep, his eyes lighting up, the tension from upstairs dropping away. New York, New York. A hell of a town.

“God I miss this city every time I leave.” He grins at Norton. “Wait until you see the Empire State Building.”

"It's amazing. London seems downright shabby by comparison. We're still morosely clearing out bombed wreckage, but this city is so ebullient."

He turns to face Neal and half raises his hand. He was going to rest his palm on Neal's chest, but stops himself just in time. This is still much too public.

"Neal, darling, I know people are trying to kidnap you and that's terrible important and we're in great danger, but can we find the time to go to a club while we're here? I'm aching to go to a proper club, with actual people around laughing and dancing and all the rest."

Neal’s heart gives another little ache at that aborted gesture, but the question makes him grin.

“Absolutely. There are more than a few that also make sure the atmosphere stays friendly.”

He’s sure Norton knows what he means, since outright saying there are gay bars all over the city seems like it would spit on Norton’s caution. Neal flags a cab at the curb, the yellow checkered vehicle careening to a stop in front of them.

Norton gets his suitcase and himself settled into the cab, and once Neal's in as well he'll silently take Neal's hand, keeping it low against the seat where he thinks the driver won't see.

"I really don't like that tracking thing when we know there's someone with bad intentions trying to find you. What if they intercept the signal?" He doesn't know much about how the anklet works, just deducing based on what he knows about things like radar and radio signals combined with his experience with alien technology. But if it gives away Neal's location, it's inherently a point of weakness when trying to hide from ne'er-do-wells.

It’s funny how much more something can mean if its context changes. When Norton takes Neal’s hand in the relative safety off the cab, Neal straightens a little, giving the other man’s fingers a little squeeze. The question gives him that particular warm chest pressure he associates with an all-encompassing hug.

“It’s surprisingly secure. The technology is a lot more targeted than what… was available before.” At least he caught himself before he said anything about the 1950s. “Which isn’t to say it’s entirely outside the realm of possibility, but it’s a lot less likely than being physically followed or having someone track my phone.”

Still, Neal scowls down at his ankle. “At least I don’t have to foot the bill to wear it. A lot of those who opt for this instead of prison have to pay for the privilege on top of everything else. And the scar was finally starting to fade again on the Barge.”

Edited 2023-07-25 02:55 (UTC)

Norton's mind starts to weave around the two opposing groups causing Neal problems right now--the people who tried to kidnap him and the FBI--and wonders if he can arrange mutual extermination. But before he goes too far down that rabbit hole, he reminds himself of all the ways a plan like that could go wrong, not the least of which is that Neal probably wouldn't want the entire New York FBI office killed.

"I want to tear the thing off you and toss it under the wheels of the nearest bus." He can't do that, either, but it's probably a more acceptable fantasy than chess mastering a two-sided mass murder.

God Neal wants to kiss him right now. He winks instead. "Maybe we can make that our last little New York excursion before we go back to the Barge."

He points out the window across Norton, not so much because there's something notable, but because he wants to draw Norton's attention away from the unpleasantness and back to the city itself. "Once we're another couple of blocks north you'll be able to see a peek of Madison Square Park."

Norton looks where Neal's pointing, although he doesn't see anything yet. "Is that near were you live? I love a good park. Something else for the list before we go, nighttime stroll in the park." He doesn't think about any possible safety concerns. He simply thinks of parks at night as one the places where liaisons happen. At night they could walk arm-in-arm and he wouldn't feel so nervous about it.

The park at night is an interesting prospect, if not a safe one. He can’t bring himself to shoot the idea down when they just got here.

“There’s a lot that’s close, but Central Park is better.” Which is a good thing, he realizes abruptly. “Shit.”

He looks down at his ankle. “I forgot. With this thing on I’ve only got two square miles.”

How could he forget? There’s a surreality to it that makes him feel dizzy for a moment.

He wrinkles his nose at that. "They do keep you on a short leash."

It makes him ponder the sticky situation Neal is in. Even though he's graduated and not dead, he's not free if he comes home.

"What do you plan to do after...long term, I mean? What with your home being rather unwelcoming to you?"

"Yeah they do." There's a quiet bitterness in it. He hasn't let that particular beast out of its cage a lot around Norton, but it's not a new sentiment. It's just more potent at this particular moment than usual.

He breathes in deep, biting the corner of his lip. "That's what I thought I'd use my deal for. Not the one that Malcolm gave me. The one that, hopefully, I'll be able to get myself. Get free and clear of all of this, the FBI's control."

"You'll get your deal. I know you will." The thought is bittersweet. Neal deserves to be free, but once he gets his deal he'll have no reason to remain on the Barge. He'll be able to come back home for good and start a new life here. Norton doesn't dwell on it, however, and focuses instead on enjoying the present, despite tracking anklets, FBI, and kidnappers.

"Can I get a smart phone while I'm here? I'd like to be able to send you electronic text messages." He may not understand emojis terribly well, but he'd have a fun time sending them to Neal from across the room of his flat anyway. And, if they have to split up, it would give him a way to stay in contact, or for Neal to contact him if an emergency should arise.

Neal's thoughts go there, too. To the fact that at some point, if he sticks it out long enough, if he manages to help someone else get their life back, he'll get his, too. He'll get his, and he can come back here, and live it. He looks down at their linked hands, then up at Norton's face, trying to sort out how he feels about that prospect. It's not the pure and simple victory it might have been six months ago.

The question, though, makes Neal grin. He loves Norton's fascination with technology, and the assiduously correct way he refers to it. "Absolutely. It's a matter of practicality if nothing else. Maybe we can ask the Admiral to keep them functional when we go home."

"I've never had one of my own before. Only borrowed one once when I was briefly in..." He glances at the cab driver. He's sure that cabbies in New York are as used to bizarre conversations as cabbies in London are, but all the same he maybe shouldn't talk about running around in 2018 when it's currently 2014. "...Cardiff. That was right before I came to the Barge."

“If I remember correctly I’ve got at least two burners just at my apartment.”

Two ‘burners’ of an acceptable quality, anyway. Neal almost kisses Norton, almost moves to do it, but catches himself before he does more than lean in a little. This time when he points, it’s at the Flatiron building. “Madison Square Park is right across from that, it’s where they put the Christmas tree every year.”

He tries to spend the rest of the ride, short as it is, playing tour guide, pointing out the things that can be seen from their route and talking about the things that can’t. When they climb out of the cab at June’s house, Neal takes a moment to study the building and orient himself to where they are.

He tweaks one of the buttons on Norton’s jacket, a brief and subtle touch. “We can trust June. Not with time travel and aliens immediately, maybe, but with the important things.”

A little teasing, a little true.

Norton puts aside all thoughts of the future and delightedly takes in the sights of New York. And when they reach Neal's home, Norton ogles the building at well. He knew from Neal's cabin that he had nice digs, but the cabin on the Barge doesn't do justice to the full force of the exterior. It's like a posh Kensington property.

And best of all, from what Neal says, it's a proper home where they can be their proper selves (mostly). He grins.

"God bless understanding landladies."

"Understanding landladies who regularly played cards with the Rat Pack." He grins at Norton. "So sooner or later I do want to introduce her to the idea that you're very familiar with the world of her 20s. If anyone other than Mozzie would believe it... I think it would be her."

He draws in a deep breath and leads the way up to the front door, palming his key and letting them both inside when he gets there. It feels almost strange to do it, like he should still be knocking or ringing the bell to let June know he's back. Except for her, he was never gone.

"June?" He takes Norton's hand as soon as they're safely over the threshold and the door is closed behind them. "June, are you home?"

"Upstairs, dear," she calls, her voice slightly muffled by the distance.

Neal gives Norton's hand a squeeze. "Mind if I bring a guest up to introduce him?"

"Oh! Hang on, let me make myself presentable for company."

Norton sets his suitcase down in the entrance hall for now, until he knows where he'll be carrying it.

"Feels almost as if I'm being introduced to the family. Never had that happen before," he murmurs to Neal. "Being a bit nervous about making a good first impression is part of the experience, right?"

Neal smiles. “She’s definitely family, and she will definitely love you.”

He almost says as much as I do, but catches himself. Just in case that would be too much. Just in case it would scare Norton off. Just in case.

He picks up the suitcase himself with his free hand as he hears June starting down the stairs, drawing Norton forward to meet her at their base. She’s dressed for an evening in, but flawlessly polished, right down to the present but understated touches of makeup and the little flashes of gold on her fingers and earlobes.

Neal lets go of Norton’s hand for a moment when she’s in reach, hugging her tight with one arm. “You look lovely as always, and I’m sure you did when we walked in, too. June Ellington, may I introduce Norton Folgate?”

He looks at Norton, gesturing him over. “We’re…”

It occurs to him that from June’s perspective Neal himself has barely had time to even process Rebecca’s betrayal, never mind find someone new.

“We met when I was abroad, and Norton is in the States to help me with some work for the FBI.” If Norton allows it, Neal will slip his arm around the other man’s waist. “He… We… were involved, and I’m very glad to say the change in scenery hasn’t changed any of our personal feelings.”

As Norton hears footsteps on the stairs, he cocks his head in curiosity, eager to see this woman who played cards with Frank Sinatra and is like family to Neal. He's not disappointed. June is elegant and the warmth she has for Neal is obvious and she has an air of mischief about her, such that he can easily imagine letting her know that they might break a few teensy unimportant laws and she'd be perfectly sanguine about it.

So when Neal wraps an arm around his waist, he doesn't pull away or tense. Neal said she's family and that she's understanding, and Norton trusts Neal's judgement.

"Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Ellington. Neal speaks very fondly of you."

"I'm glad to hear it," she says, that air of mischief very strong as she takes in the sight of the two of them standing together. "And I'm very glad to meet you, Norton."

She takes one of Norton's hands between both of her own and gives it a little squeeze. "I don't know if Neal has told you much of what he's been dealing with lately, and it's not my business to share if he hasn't, but I'm very, very glad he has someone close here on his side."

Neal smiles down at his feet, pleased and embarrassed at the same time. "He'll be with us for a little while, if that's all right? With me, upstairs."

June turns her attention to Neal, giving him a kiss and a pat on the cheek. "Absolutely."

She looks between the two of them. "If there's anything at all you need, Norton, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you, Mrs. Ellington, very generous of you." He replies with the upper-middle class manners drilled into him by his mother. The he pauses, hesitating to say what else he's thinking, but June is clearly concerned about Neal. He glances at Neal and then back at June.

"I'll take good care of him."

Neal smiles at Norton, feeling warm from his chest to his stomach. Reassured. It’s nice.

June gives Norton’s hand a little squeeze before letting go. “I’m glad to hear it. I won’t keep you, but I would love it if the three of us did breakfast tomorrow.”

"Not too early I hope." He's always preferred late nights and late mornings, although it'd probably be rude to say so. So instead he invents an excuse.

"Still recovering from the trip. Such a beastly flight." A twelve hour trip in 1955, with two refueling stops along the way, and it doesn't quite occur to him that it might have improved in the last sixty years. "It was worth it to be here now, but I have an absolute horror for aeroplanes and I'm completely knackered."

She chuckles. "Wouldn't dream of serving anything before eleven. Breakfast is when you make it."

He knows she has no idea that it's been a couple of months for him, but he can't resist hugging her one more time before they go upstairs. She returns the embrace warmly, though there's a little worry on her face when she lets go.

When they get to Neal's apartment, it's very, very much like his space on the Barge. Almost identical, in fact, except that the veranda isn't backed by a painted cityscape. It's backed by the real thing.

Neal gestures at the space as he closes and then locks the door behind them. "Welcome to the original. Accept no substitutions. Or forgeries."

Norton flashes Neal a grin but then gazes out at the New York skyline out past the veranda.

"Gosh, that view... You know, if it weren't for the leash and the kidnappers, I'd say you have a perfect home here. Of course, a leash and kidnappers are fairly significant drawbacks."

He turns away from the skyline and slides his arms around Neal's waist. "Thank you. For inviting me home with you. I'd offer to return the favour sometime...but it's probably not a good idea for me to return home, I think. And anyway, a slummy two-up-two-down doesn't make for nearly as nice a holiday as this. Is that a Château L'Angélus?" His attention is distracted by the wine collection.

Neal wants to ask why it's not a good idea for Norton to go home. Whether it's truly a danger, a desire, or something else. The moment passes when Norton spots the wine. "2012 Château L'Angélus Grand Cru Classe, specifically."

He goes over to select the bottle, holding it up. "Should I crack it open? This seems suitably worth celebrating. You and me, here."

"I wasn't going to presume, but since you offered I wouldn't dream of saying no. I haven't had a good wine since my Cambridge days. Is 2012 a good year? It absolutely tickles me to say that. 2012. I never tried the wine during my brief trips to the future."

"2012 was a great year, actually, for this particular vineyard. The best they've had in a while." He opens his cupboards, fetches down two wine glasses, pausing as he does to check that everything is in its place. There's no reason it wouldn't be, no time has actually passed, but he still feels the need to make sure. It will itch at him if he doesn't.

Neal pops the cork and pours them both a generous serving. "We should toast."

"Wine this fabulosa deserves a toast."

Norton takes the wine glass and raises it. "What shall we toast to? The future? Freedom? I'm on a roll with words that begin with 'F,' so maybe throw in 'fortune' and 'flirtation' as suggestions too."

Neal grins, wrapping one arm around Norton’s waist to pull them closer against each other. “I drink to myself and another, and may that other be he who drinks to himself and another, and may that other be me. Here’s to New York and time travel and impossible places to meet.”

Norton leans against Neal and smirks. "Hmmmm, that's definitely flirtation." He swirls the wine in the glass. "Here's to us, and our amazing adventures." But before he takes a sip of the wine, he tilts his head up and gives Neal a gentle kiss.

Neal leans in to the kiss, glances sideways to make sure he threw the chain on the door, and lifts his own glass briefly to his lips for a sip of the very good wine before he sets it aside on the kitchen table. “Ever wanted to make love on the city view veranda of a millionaire’s mansion? Because there are some surprisingly comfortable lounge chairs out there and it’s a beautiful evening.”

He doesn’t draw attention to his word choice, but it’s intentional. Shy, and sideways, and ultimately deniable, but intentional.

When they go to sleep, Neal actually smiles a little as he drifts off. His cabin on the Barge is great, as close as it’s possible to be to the real thing, but it’s still different. The quality of the air, the smells that linger most prominently in his mind. Falling asleep in his apartment, his real apartment, with the man he would drink to that he hopes will drink to him, is a gift and a strange kind of joy.

He’s still very deeply asleep, curled around Norton, when the veranda doors open quietly in the middle of the night. A narrow-faced man in a leather jacket stands just inside the apartment, watching the two of them in bed. When he speaks it’s with an unapologetic Jersey drawl.

“You know, he only ever sleeps that deep when he trusts somebody. Really trusts them. I’m amazed he managed to keep you so quiet that I don’t even know who you are.”

Norton's awake, but relaxed, drifting, blissful, when it's all shattered by the sound of a man's voice. In an instant, he's fully alert, heart pounding in fear. His first wild thought is that they're about to be arrested, but he replays the man's words in his head and his brain catches up to the adrenaline rush of his body, and he comes to a few conclusions. First: this man knows Neal well enough to comment on his sleeping habits. Second: he tracks Neal closely enough that he expects to know all of Neal's associates. Third: he's not a friend, a friend would come in through the front door. With those pieces of information, and remembering what Neal said about his murderous ex, Norton has a suspicion who the intruder is.

But since his pistol is somewhere scattered along with his clothes, he decides that the safest approach for now is to play harmless. He puts on an expression of wide-eyed nervous confusion and pulls the blanket up higher for modesty.

"Why would you know who I am? Are you a stalker? Oh my God, of course he has a stalker."

Neal breathes in deep, letting it out as a soft sigh when Norton moves. It’s the soft, panicked words that wake him, blinking at Norton, still slightly sleep-drunk.

“Norton? S’matter.”

“First name’s a start.”

Neal wakes up after that, very, very fast. He sits up, hand going to Norton’s shoulder both protectively and for support. He starts to ask who’s there but the words shrivel up half-way to being said.

“No,” is what he says instead. “That’s impossible. You’re in a Russian prison on the other side of the world.”

Keller saunters a little further in, going to open the fridge and give what’s inside a once-over. “Clearly I am not.”

"Clearly you're interrupting what had been a lovely evening." Norton says to Keller in a peevish tone. As Keller's back is turned, Norton's eyes dart around the room looking for his pistol. He's sure Keller's armed and he'd like to even the score.

He doesn't get up from the bed yet, though. Keller hasn't killed them, so he must want something (although it's possible that "something" might just be some time to play with his prey before he murders them), but Neal knows him better than Norton does, so he'll follow Neal's lead.

Neal is a lot more in shock than he's showing. He might not be the best lead to follow in the next thirty seconds, at least. His voice is a tight whisper. "How are you here?"

Keller snorts, drawing one of the beers that Neal keeps on hand for Peter out of the fridge and knocking the cap off with the edge of the kitchen table. "Plains, trains, and automobiles, sweetheart."

Norton is rarely possessive, but this man using endearments at Neal makes it surge up inside him. He suddenly wishes he hadn't pulled the covers up high a few seconds ago because he'd very much like to do something petty and demonstrative, such as running his hand over Neal's chest, just to show Keller what's what. On the other hand, he doesn't have to keep holding this blanket up.

"Funny, I didn't think Neal's veranda was a stop on the train line, petal. And there's definitely not a road through it."

He lets go of the blanket, kisses Neal's cheek (and adds in a wholly unnecessary caress over his chest), and then starts to move to slide out of the bed.

He blinks, snapped out of the shock by the kiss and the touch. As Norton gets up, Neal does too, looking like nothing so much as a half-feral cat as he retrieves his silk robe from near the end of the bed.

“Did you send that guy after me?”

Keller raises an eyebrow, taking a pull from the beer as he keeps a peripheral eye on Norton. “Nah, Caffrey. You know I do my best work hands-on.”

That last part is said with a tiny smile and a wink at Norton.

Neal goes to Norton’s side, protective and defensive at once. “So why are you here?”

“I’ve got a proposition for you. The same proposition your friend with the panel van had, but I at least respect you enough to be up front about it.”

“This is up front, huh.” Neal mutters that, still all-too-clearly shaken. “Norton, may I introduce Matthew Keller, the end result when sentience is given to pond scum.”

Keller chuckles and takes another drink.

Norton probably could find another robe, but opts not to. He's not uncomfortable being naked and although Keller's probably not the type to be terrible put off by it, Norton hopes there's a chance it will make him at least slightly ruffled or distracted or something. It may not work, but he'll manoeuvre for any possible advantage he can get no matter how small.

"Can't say it's a pleasure to meet you. Sorry."

The information that Keller's involved, but not with the kidnapping attempt--assuming he's not lying--is interesting, however.

"Do you know the man who tried to kidnap Neal?" He can't set the kidnappers and the FBI against each other in mutual destruction, but if the kidnappers and Keller are on opposite sides...there might be possibilities there.

Far from seeming intimidated, he raises an eyebrow and smirks a little and clearly decides to take in the view. "Not personally. He didn't have much of a reputation, either, but he was angling for one."

This time Neal's the one who gets possessive. He steps slightly in front of Norton, scowling.

"Spit it out."

Keller sighs, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table and slumping comfortably into it. "The Pink Panthers."

Neal doesn't know if it means anything to Norton, but it clearly means something to him. "...What, he was kidnapping me as his audition? That's--"

"No, he was kidnapping you because he knew he wasn't good enough to pull off the audition without someone who knows what they're doing. He was gonna use you to get what he needed to impress, since you screwed up his plans to take Turner's diamond."

Keller's appraising look is putting him off balance, torn between his vanity (he is a pleasure to look at if he does say so himself) and his dislike of Keller. But he focuses on the information they're receiving. It may not be a trustworthy source, but it's something.

Norton's never heard of the Pink Panthers, or anything like it, but he can follow the gist of it all the same. Some sort of gang initiation. "So he was trying to kidnap you to force you to help him cheat on his entrance exam?"

And Keller's words earlier, about having a proposition, the same proposition as the kidnapper, snap into place.

"And I'm guessing you want Neal to help you cheat on your exam too, only you'll conduct your business like a normal cheat and pay for the service, is that right?"

The other man gives a quiet snort. "Try again, limey. I'm already in."

That's when it clicks for Neal. "You want me to join them? You. Want me. To join a crew that you're on."

"There you go. You got there in the end." Another swig from the beer before he sets the half-empty bottle on the table. "Come on, boys. Come sit down, have a drink, Caffrey can make us some breakfast, we'll hash it out."

Edited 2023-08-01 18:55 (UTC)

Since Keller appears to be here to woo Neal and not murder him, at least right now, Norton starts looking around for his clothes rather than his pistol. Although if he finds his pistol along the way, that would be dolly.

"You've not mentioned why Neal should want to join your club in the first place."

“I’m not making you anything,” Neal mutters. He cinches his robe a little tighter before helping Norton get his clothes together.

Keller watches them move through the apartment, eyes sharp and quietly predatory. “You been together a while? You move like you have been. Gotta say, I’m a little surprised, given that Rachel Turner’s not even cold in the ground.”

Neal stills in the middle of picking up Norton’s pants. “…What?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear? FBI brought her in this afternoon, maybe to ask about the guy who grabbed you. She committed very messy suicide by cop out front of the Federal Building. Sorry, honey. Figured your keeper would have told you.”

Neal puts a hand out to balance himself against the back of his couch.

Norton reaches out to steady Neal and flicks an icy glare at Keller.

"You just can't help yourself, can you, sweetheart?" Showing off what he knows and Neal doesn't. Digging little knives into the conversation at every turn. "Are you always this bitchy or is this the international criminal equivalent of pulling on pigtails?"

Neal and Keller speak almost at the same time, Neal in a ghost of a whisper and Keller with the same calm smugness as ever.

"He's always this bitchy."

"I prefer to think of myself as bluntly honest."

Neal closes his eyes a moment, trying to wrap his head around what Keller just dropped on him. Rebecca--Rachel--dead. No. He's not going to believe it without independent verification, he's not going to accept Keller's word without someone else telling him it's true.

He draws in a slow, deep breath, and turns toward Norton to allow himself the comfort of a close hug, even if the other man is only half-dressed. Neal doesn't care.

Keller stays silent for once, glowering a little as he takes another pull from his beer.

Norton holds Neal close. He's tempted to glare at Keller over Neal's shoulder but decides that the better play is to completely ignore him.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I know it was complicated."

He wonders if Keller brought it up just to hurt Neal or if there was some sort of strategic purpose to it. Or maybe he simply didn't care one way or another what the effect would be of dropping that doodlebug on Neal's metaphorical roof.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Neal says. He almost says it loud enough for Keller to hear, but decides to keep it quiet at the last moment instead. It’s not about making Keller jealous, not that statement. It’s about Norton being here when Neal needs someone he knows is on his side.

I love you, he thinks, like if he thinks it loudly enough, Norton will know without him having to say.

“You done, or should I come back later?”

Neal loosens his hold on Norton, turning so he can have an arm around the other man’s waist when he answers Keller. “You’re more than welcome to leave and not come back.”

"Couldn't let you face this alone." He didn't know it'd be exactly this, but it was inevitable that returning home to deal with everything that had happened would be hard. It's why Norton hasn't done it himself yet.

And knowing how very bad Neal is at violence made Norton certain he needed to come along just in case violence was needed to protect Neal. Which, with Keller making an appearance, it seems increasingly likely that they'll reach that point sooner or later.

"You've extended your invitation for Neal to join the Pink Panther club, and he's not interested, so if there's nothing else you can go now. Shoo." He flicks his hand loosely at Keller in dismissal.

Neal gives a very, very soft little chuckle at Norton's dismissal, knowing how much it's going to piss Keller off. Knowing it'll make Keller even angrier if Neal doesn't counter what Norton says or turn around. Knowing how addicted to his masculinity Keller is, and how it's going to rankle to have someone with Norton's manner taking the lead in this whole situation.

He has the odd thought that he and Norton work well together, not just together, but actually working.

Neal hears the now-empty beer bottle clunk hard onto the table. He hears the chair scrape unnecessarily as Keller gets up, hears movement and the whisper of the veranda door being opened. Of course Keller can't actually leave without one more volley.

"I'll be in touch, Neal. Think about it. It's the Panthers. You love history so much, well. Be part of it. We need one more man, and you? You know you're one of the best."

The door closes harder than it needs to and Neal's shoulders sag a little in relief. He drops his forehead onto Norton's shoulder and exhales. "This was not a turn I expected tonight to take."

Norton holds onto Neal as he watches the door Keller just walked out of it, eyes narrowed with suspicion. The tension Keller had brought with him remains, even with the man himself gone.

"Bit of a crinkle in an otherwise perfect night." He says it before he thinks about it, but it really was a more perfect night than any he's had in a long time. His thoughts skitter nervously around that notion for a few seconds before settling on his usual modus operandi of just enjoying the moment.

"We shan't let Keller spoil it." He takes Neal's face in his hands to raise his head up so he can kiss him.

Neal relaxes into the kiss, lingering in it, one arm going around Norton's waist and the other gently playing with the little hairs at the nape of his neck.

God, he wants to do this. He wants to sink back into this, be warm and safe and wrapped up in someone who cares about him.

But there are people he cares about that need to know what's going on. He breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against Norton's. "I should call Peter. He needs to know that Keller is in the city. The last time he was here, he kidnapped Peter's wife."

Norton sighs softly in disappointment. But Neal's right, Keller's a threat and he needs to keep his focus. "Golly. Burke will be on the warpath when he hears."

Which is might be good for them. Maybe dodging Burke will keep Keller busy enough that he won't have time to pester Neal. Although that's probably optimistic. From what Neal has told him about Keller, the man is good at multitasking.

"Tell me about the Pink Panther gang. Didn't want to ask while Keller was here."

“Yeah. Last time was my fault, as was Keller kidnapping Peter himself, so I can’t imagine he’ll be delighted with me either.” A moment more to brace himself, then he straightens, giving himself a few extra seconds to study the colors of Norton’s eyes while they’re this close.

Oh. Right. “They’re less of a crew than a… reputation? No one actually knows who the members are at any given moment, and it changes from job to job. There are rumors about who runs it, but they’ve never been caught. All anyone really knows is that they’re responsible for some of the biggest and most audacious heists in recent historical memory. They’re supposed to be responsible for the theft of over half a billion US dollars worth of luxury goods over the past ten years. One criminologist working in pursuit called them artists of their craft.”

That makes him smile a little, wistful, and he can’t help wondering what it would be like to work with that kind of team. “But they’re not violent. They never have been. No one has ever been killed during one of their jobs.”

"Sounds more like a private members club than a gang. White's for thieves." He cocks his head in curiosity, seeing that hint of yearning in Neal's expression. "Do you want to join?"

So long as a person isn't stealing from him or stealing world-ending alien technology, he's not too fussed about it. Any judgement he might have about it is from a low-simmering resentment of exclusive clubs in general--largely because in his experience they don't let people like him join--rather than the thieving aspect.

"I can see the appeal of proving to your peers you're one of the best."

“You’re not wrong about the club thing.”

But regardless— “It doesn’t really matter if I want to. I’ve got the anklet and too much to lose.”

But god there is a part of him that wants to, so badly, and he’s no good at hiding things like that in moments where it really matters. “They’re responsible for the biggest jewelry heist in Japan’s history. They stole almost two million British pounds in gems and precious metals and jewelry from a collection display in the middle of the afternoon. Use a rumor that you ran with them well enough and you’d never be short on work.”

He doesn’t mean to sound like so much of a fanboy. He really doesn’t.

"Do you think Burke would let you join if you proposed it as a strategy to find out what Keller is up to?"

Neal says it doesn't matter if he wants it, but he clearly does, so now the trick is to find a way. If it ultimately also ruins Keller's plans, whatever they are, that's just gravy.

Neal’s expression lights. “I’m sure he would.”

There’s another moment then, a flicker of realization and hesitation. “…Helping the FBI catch the leadership of the Pink Panthers might even be a big enough feather to force a deal to cut the anklet for good.”

"It would create a vacancy at the top right when you'd have the freedom to look for a new job. If that's something you'd want."

It's his nature to manoeuvre towards advantages, see opportunities.

"Or would you rather stay with the FBI, but as a free man?" He can see the appeal of that stability as well.

"Once upon a time that would have been an easy question. Or a hard one." A pause. "I guess it's easy again."

It still takes him a moment to say more, and it still feels like an admission. "I don't want to work with the FBI ever again once I'm free."

"Would you want to be in charge of the Panthers? Once the current leadership is removed and you're free from the FBI?"

It's what Norton would probably do. But he'll support Neal's career goals, whether that's working with the FBI (off the table now) or running a criminal empire of top-notch thieves. Or quieter ambitions, like a seaside villa and occasional cat burglary.

"I don't know." He's a little mystified by his own uncertainty. "I can't tell if I want that or just don't want to be beholden to anyone for a while."

"Understandable." He smooths a hand down Neal's arm. "Well, you have time to decide."

Neal nods a little absently, taking Norton's hands in his and giving them a squeeze before he moves toward the kitchen to start coffee and work himself up to calling Peter.

"Keller and I used to play chess together." A pause. "He was better than me."

It's not something Neal would ever say to Peter, to pretty much anyone here, even Mozzie. Norton is safe to tell. It doesn't harm his reputation and he doesn't think it will make the man think less of him.

"I've never been very good at chess, to be honest. Too rigid, too many restrictions. As far as strategy games go, it's very stilted. I find card games much more fun. And I think it's a more accurate representation of real strategic manoeuvring. Multiple people, each with their own agenda, and luck potentially throwing all prior plans out the window for everyone at any moment. Also it's easier to cheat at cards."

He watches Neal work in the kitchen.

"I know you'll win this."

Good god, he loves Norton Folgate, and he wishes he could just say it without the worry that it will be too much. Without the fear that Norton doesn't, or won't, or will run. He smiles at the coffee instead as he sets it up to brew, boiled water and a french press and a tiny bit of cinnamon and salt.

Then he comes back to Norton and puts his arms around him, pulls him close, and kisses him. "I've got MI-5's finest as backup."

I've been here, I've been there // Honey, I been somehow everywhere

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short timeskip… lmk if you want to roll back!

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