Chapter Text
Neal was a little giddy at his first legal trip out of New York in years. He wasn't sure what Moreau had done or whose strings he had pulled, but at the moment he didn't particularly care. It didn't even bother him that he was in Washington. Though he did feel a little naked without the anklet, a little unsure where he went from there.
He didn't even find it particularly objectionable when Moreau asked him to pick a lock to a reasonably priced apartment in a reasonable neighbourhood. The whole place was so non-descript, Neal wondered what on Earth Moreau could possibly find interesting.
It was only when the door swung open and Neal found himself both squinting against a sudden buzzing headache and staring into the barrel of a gun that Neal realised he'd been set up. He gave his best charming but harmless smile, still struggling to rein in his instinctive fear of guns despite his Immortality. The man holding the gun was tall, whipcord thin and entirely unwavering.
"This is all Moreau's fault," Neal said, hoping the man himself would step in at some point, but Moreau stayed silent behind him. The man's stare remained hard for a long moment before he sighed and lowered the weapon.
"Of course it is."
The man looks past Neal to Moreau standing behind him and Neal isn't sure how to read the expression he has. He doesn't dare take his eyes off the threat in front of him to try to read Moreau's expression, even if he isn't entirely sure Moreau's not a threat either. But he's used to working with dangerous people and sometimes that's half the fun.
"He's my student," Moreau said. "And an FBI consultant."
"Of course he is," the man said with resigned exasperation.
He gestured them in and Neal stepped into the apartment, looking around as he did so. The interior wasn't nearly so non-descript as the exterior. The apartment was open plan, like Neal's, but much larger. Half the living room area was taken up with a mess of computer equipment, old books and artefacts, a few of which actually made Neal's palm itch with the desire to touch, to appraise, to take. He thought Abe would probably love the collection. The other half was dedicated to training if the mat on the floor was any indication. Most telling, perhaps, was how at home Moreau seemed to be here.
"What are you doing?" the man asked Moreau, all but dismissing Neal who browsed the bookshelves hoping to pick up some information on the man.
"Recruiting," Moreau said, quite pleased with himself. The man didn't look impressed.
The books were a mix of old and new, in more languages than Neal could hope to recognise, never mind speak. The computer system looked top of the line too.
"I thought you were trying to stay under the radar for now," the man said. "And in that suit, you won't have any shortage of people trying to get to you."
"I managed to find 'evidence' proving my innocence and no one likes the CIA these days anyway," Moreau said. Neal could practically hear the inverted commas and he wondered how Moreau had managed it. He certainly had more balls than Neal had credited him with if he was taking on the CIA without a second thought.
"And that was it?" the man asked sceptically. Neal couldn't blame him.
"I did wear a few people, but only for a short time and all for a good cause," Moreau said, smirking at the last and the man rolled his eyes. Neal couldn't even begin to determine the meaning of that.
The man sighed, smile reluctantly tugging the corner of his mouth. Moreau moved forward then, crowding him against the kitchen counter.
"I can go scare that team your painfully uninteresting mortal is so fond of now," Moreau said, hands resting on the counter at either side of the man's hips. The man looked at Moreau through half-lidded eyes and to Neal he looked more dangerous than coy.
"Sounds like fun," the man said, tilting his head to one side and offering his neck. It should have been an act of submission, but Neal had the feeling he was perfectly in control of the both of them. Neal was beginning to feel superfluous. "I'm not taking any responsibility for him."
They might be talking about him, but Neal was fairly certain their entire worlds had narrowed to just each other.
"Of course not," Moreau told him, nipping at his ear. "Your mortal and his profiler can do that since Neal will be splitting his time between DC and New York's white collar team."
That was news to Neal and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. Not if he'd be anywhere near Agent Kramer. On the other hand, he'd be working with Peter again. The man just sighed.
"I don't know why I put up with you."
"You wouldn't know what to do without me," Moreau told him, hand sliding to grip his hip and pull him closer.
"Lead a quiet life?" the man offered, appearing unmoved.
"You'd hate it," Moreau said, most of the teasing leaving his voice. "You weren't made to be small and insignificant."
"I've done it before. With great success."
"You tried to get that mewling child to kill you."
There was a wealth of history between them and, for the first time, Neal wondered how old they both were, how long they'd been together. It made the idea of the future stretching out in front of him, endlessly, lonely, a chilling thought. He thought about Henry, who was like him, who faced the same issues. Just then, his phone rang, the display showing Henry's name and he couldn't help but smile at the coincidence. He moved further away, giving them some small amount of privacy and answered.
"Hey," Neal said, voice softer than he'd intended especially when they hadn't really talked since Henry had excused himself and hurriedly fled Neal's apartment after their kiss. Henry cleared his throat.
"Neal."
"Is there something I can help you with?" Neal asked, more curious than demanding.
"I was hoping you would go to dinner with me," Henry said.
"Definitely," Neal told him and he smiled faintly when Henry sighed.
"Excellent."
"It's a date."
"If you'd prefer," Henry said and Neal could tell from his tone he was vaguely amused.
"And if I do?"
"I would enjoy that a great deal," Henry told him.
Neal grinned and determinedly didn't think about how when everything was going this well, the only way to go was down.