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Title: Neal, Peter and the Great Outdoors
Rating: PG
Characters: Neal, Peter some Elizabeth
Summary: Peter and Neal go camping. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
virgo_79 for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
collarcorner. Prompt here. Sorry it took so long. It kept trying to be tricky for such a simple plot.
Neal, Peter and the Great Outdoors
“The Blair Witch called, she wants her house back.”
“Oh, come on, it's not that bad.”
Neal raised both eyebrows at Peter. Peter snorted. The kid knew nothing. He wasn't a camper and had admitted as much with his constant high-octave complaints all the way up to the cabin. As far as cabins went, this one was posh – running water, a gas stove, two beds with mattresses already provided. Yes, it smelled a little funny, and Peter couldn't guarantee the water ran cold and hot, and there was no TV, but this was an FBI sanctioned team-building program, where luxury wasn't the point.
“Peter, I'm not staying here.”
Peter tossed his bag on the couch, raising a small cloud of dust. “Yes, you are.”
“I just saw a spider big as my hand run across the counter. No, I'm not.”
“Yes, you are unless you want to hike back through mile after mile of woodland. Oh, wait, you can't. Your anklet's been reprogrammed for a four mile radius.” The Marshalls had wanted to make it two miles just to make life easier on themselves, but the requirements of the program wouldn't have it. The bulk of the activities involved several miles of hiking all over the place.
Neal had sided with the Marshalls by reminding Peter how much trouble he could get into with only two miles to work with, so did he really want to risk four?
“Go in the bedroom and pick a bed, already,” Peter said.
Neal sulked off down the little hall on the other side of what passed as the living room.
“Peter, there's only two beds and they're both in the same room.”
“Be glad it's not one bed.” Peter grimaced at the big-ass spider now scuttling across the stove. He rummaged under the sink for a can of Raid but couldn't find one, so settled for his shoe.
“Peter!”
“What now!”
“There's no hot water! At all!”
Peter closed his eyes and said a silent prayer.
-------------------------
“Peter, do you know how hard it is to get the smell of smoke out of your clothes?”
Peter stabbed emphatically at the burning wood with a thick stick. “No but I have the feeling you're going to enlighten me.”
“Very hard.”
“My heart bleeds for your wardrobe. Pay attention, your marshmallow's about to fall off your stick.”
Neal's lip curled at the mostly burnt wad of goo about to slide into the flames. It was with much cursing and complaint that he managed to slide it onto the graham cracker but only after losing the chocolate pieces, twice. By the time he was done, he had more marshmallow and chocolate on his fingers than he did the s'more. More ended up smeared all over his face when he stuffed the 'smore into his mouth.
“Thas akshlly prdy g'd,” he said.
Peter handed him a moist towlette. “Glad you approve.”
He took a picture while Neal was busy unsticking his fingers to use the cloth.
--------------------------
“Peter?”
“Yes?”
“I thought this was some training exercise deal?”
“It is?”
“Then what does getting up at five in the morning to go fishing have to do with catching bad guys?”
Peter reeled his line in, flicked the rod and tossed the line back out. “The first challenge isn't until seven. So I'd suggest you enjoy this time of doing absolutely nothing while it lasts.”
Neal exhaled on a lengthy, put upon sigh. Peter glanced over his shoulder long enough to see Neal having slumped back to his original petulant position from when they'd first rowed out to this spot. But at least he was quiet and still holding his rod.
Birds sang in the pine trees and dragonflies skimmed above the still water. The air was cool and wonderfully clean, and Peter breathed it in then out, letting it carry off his tension.
Various muffled pops distracted him. He looked back to see Neal rolling his shoulders, twisting his back, twisting his neck, setting the rod down to stretch his arms above his head, every joint and vertebra popping, cracking and creaking.
“Neal, knock it off.”
“What? I was going stiff.” He glanced at Peter innocently.
“You've loosened up enough. Now grab the pole and be quiet or so help me I will toss you overboard.”
Neal shrugged. “I don't know, a little swim sounds kind of nice.”
“In a leech infested pond?”
Neal resumed his quiet sulk.
------------------------
“So is this the part where we cry into the camera about how scared we are?”
“We're not lost.”
“Peter, we've been out here thirty minutes and found only two things on the list. You sure this is a scavenger hunt and not cruel and unusual punishment?”
Peter plopped down on a boulder, pulling his canteen from his shoulder. If he had to deal with Neal's complaints, he was going to do so while conserving as much energy as possible.
“It's a level four hunt, Neal. The toughest hunt the program has, reserved only for senior agents. That we found two things is impressive, trust me.”
“If you say so.” Neal dropped onto the log across from the boulder. Sweat dripped off his face and stained most of the chest of his shirt. Other than that, he didn't really look all that winded. Peter kind of hated him at the moment.
“A little hike getting to be too much for you?” Peter said, and took a triumphant swig of water.
Neal simpered at him. “Your rapier wit wounds me, Peter.”
“Here's a thought: how about instead of whining you zip it and enjoy the damn scenery. It's a new experience. I thought you loved new experiences.”
“I love new challenges.”
“A new challenge, then. So enjoy it.”
“I would if it was challenging.” He leaned back, reaching down to pluck something from the ground. He leaned forward holding up a small, spotted mushroom, the next item on the list.
Neal smiled. “See?”
Peter glared at him.
-------------------------
“Peter, are you sure there are no leeches?”
“Yes, Neal, it's a lake. Lakes aren't known for their leeches.”
“What about snakes? Any snakes?”
“Damn it, Neal, you're the one who wanted to go swimming.”
“Because it was a better alternative to fishing at the time... there it is again!” Neal floundered backward, splashing Peter with water.
“Neal, enough! It's a lake, it has fish. It's just a fish. Fish won't hurt you. Will you relax?”
“Snapping turtles. Snapping turtles go in lakes, right? And fresh water electric eels, do they exist...?”
Peter splashed him with water.
--------------------
“Neal.”
“What?”
“That wasn't a ghost story.”
“Of course it was.”
“It was one of your heists.”
“Alleged heist done by a totally different guy who happened to kind of look like me. I just heard about it. And how is it not a ghost story?”
“There were no ghosts.”
“But it was scary.”
“Hearing about someone allegedly 'borrowing' – and, borrowing, seriously? Taking some sculpture from a museum and almost getting shot by a security guard is not scary.”
“It is for the guy getting shot at.”
“Neal---”
“Can we go in? I think the mosquitoes have sucked me dry.”
“Not until you hear a real ghost story.”
“Does it involve something some guy who looked a lot like you allegedly do? Because I think that would be much more interesting.”
“Don't make me throw you in the pond with the leeches.”
“Right, shutting up.”
--------------------
“Damn it Neal, I told you to take a two minute shower, not twenty.”
“I c-couldn't g-get the sh-sh-shampoo w-washed out of m-my h-h-hair.”
Peter chafed Neal's back and arms through the blanket as Neal leaned closer to the stove, soaking up the heat through his bare chest. He was shivering pretty bad, and it didn't help that the temperature outside had decided to take a nose dive. The cabin wasn't exactly air tight, and one of the windows panes was nothing more than a gaping hole.
“Well, at least you learned a valuable lesson.”
“G-g-get a b-better c-cabin.”
Peter rolled his eyes.
-------------------------
“Peter?”
“What?”
“I can't sleep.”
“Why not?”
“It's too quiet.”
“Well what am I supposed to do about it?”
“I don't know. Maybe if you start snoring...”
“I do not snore.”
“Elizabeth begs to differ.”
“She told you I snore?”
“She warned me you snore.”
“Fine, you want me to snore, then can it and let me sleep. I do not snore on demand.”
“Okay.”
Peter sighed. “Thank you.”
Somewhere outside, a twig snapped. Sheets and blankets rustled, and Peter opened his eyes to the moonlit outline of Neal sitting bolt upright in bed.
“Think that was a bear?”
“Hope so. Then I can toss you to it and get some sleep.”
“You're all heart, Peter.”
“Damn right.”
-------------------------
“Hey, you two,” Elizabeth said on opening the door. “I see you survived.” She planted a long, lingering kiss on Peter's lips, a small peck on Neal's cheek, then stepped back to let them step through. Satchmo greeted them by trying to tangle himself in their legs.
“Barely,” Peter said.
“Don't listen to him,” Neal said, all bright smiles. “It was a blast.”
“Neal?”
Neal rolled his eyes. “Don't make you toss me into traffic or something.”
“Hey, look at that, you did learn something on this trip.”
Elizabeth laughed as she led the way to the kitchen for coffee.
The End
Rating: PG
Characters: Neal, Peter some Elizabeth
Summary: Peter and Neal go camping. Written for
virgo_79 for collarcorner. Prompt here. Sorry it took so long. It kept trying to be tricky for such a simple plot. “The Blair Witch called, she wants her house back.”
“Oh, come on, it's not that bad.”
Neal raised both eyebrows at Peter. Peter snorted. The kid knew nothing. He wasn't a camper and had admitted as much with his constant high-octave complaints all the way up to the cabin. As far as cabins went, this one was posh – running water, a gas stove, two beds with mattresses already provided. Yes, it smelled a little funny, and Peter couldn't guarantee the water ran cold and hot, and there was no TV, but this was an FBI sanctioned team-building program, where luxury wasn't the point.
“Peter, I'm not staying here.”
Peter tossed his bag on the couch, raising a small cloud of dust. “Yes, you are.”
“I just saw a spider big as my hand run across the counter. No, I'm not.”
“Yes, you are unless you want to hike back through mile after mile of woodland. Oh, wait, you can't. Your anklet's been reprogrammed for a four mile radius.” The Marshalls had wanted to make it two miles just to make life easier on themselves, but the requirements of the program wouldn't have it. The bulk of the activities involved several miles of hiking all over the place.
Neal had sided with the Marshalls by reminding Peter how much trouble he could get into with only two miles to work with, so did he really want to risk four?
“Go in the bedroom and pick a bed, already,” Peter said.
Neal sulked off down the little hall on the other side of what passed as the living room.
“Peter, there's only two beds and they're both in the same room.”
“Be glad it's not one bed.” Peter grimaced at the big-ass spider now scuttling across the stove. He rummaged under the sink for a can of Raid but couldn't find one, so settled for his shoe.
“Peter!”
“What now!”
“There's no hot water! At all!”
Peter closed his eyes and said a silent prayer.
-------------------------
“Peter, do you know how hard it is to get the smell of smoke out of your clothes?”
Peter stabbed emphatically at the burning wood with a thick stick. “No but I have the feeling you're going to enlighten me.”
“Very hard.”
“My heart bleeds for your wardrobe. Pay attention, your marshmallow's about to fall off your stick.”
Neal's lip curled at the mostly burnt wad of goo about to slide into the flames. It was with much cursing and complaint that he managed to slide it onto the graham cracker but only after losing the chocolate pieces, twice. By the time he was done, he had more marshmallow and chocolate on his fingers than he did the s'more. More ended up smeared all over his face when he stuffed the 'smore into his mouth.
“Thas akshlly prdy g'd,” he said.
Peter handed him a moist towlette. “Glad you approve.”
He took a picture while Neal was busy unsticking his fingers to use the cloth.
--------------------------
“Peter?”
“Yes?”
“I thought this was some training exercise deal?”
“It is?”
“Then what does getting up at five in the morning to go fishing have to do with catching bad guys?”
Peter reeled his line in, flicked the rod and tossed the line back out. “The first challenge isn't until seven. So I'd suggest you enjoy this time of doing absolutely nothing while it lasts.”
Neal exhaled on a lengthy, put upon sigh. Peter glanced over his shoulder long enough to see Neal having slumped back to his original petulant position from when they'd first rowed out to this spot. But at least he was quiet and still holding his rod.
Birds sang in the pine trees and dragonflies skimmed above the still water. The air was cool and wonderfully clean, and Peter breathed it in then out, letting it carry off his tension.
Various muffled pops distracted him. He looked back to see Neal rolling his shoulders, twisting his back, twisting his neck, setting the rod down to stretch his arms above his head, every joint and vertebra popping, cracking and creaking.
“Neal, knock it off.”
“What? I was going stiff.” He glanced at Peter innocently.
“You've loosened up enough. Now grab the pole and be quiet or so help me I will toss you overboard.”
Neal shrugged. “I don't know, a little swim sounds kind of nice.”
“In a leech infested pond?”
Neal resumed his quiet sulk.
------------------------
“So is this the part where we cry into the camera about how scared we are?”
“We're not lost.”
“Peter, we've been out here thirty minutes and found only two things on the list. You sure this is a scavenger hunt and not cruel and unusual punishment?”
Peter plopped down on a boulder, pulling his canteen from his shoulder. If he had to deal with Neal's complaints, he was going to do so while conserving as much energy as possible.
“It's a level four hunt, Neal. The toughest hunt the program has, reserved only for senior agents. That we found two things is impressive, trust me.”
“If you say so.” Neal dropped onto the log across from the boulder. Sweat dripped off his face and stained most of the chest of his shirt. Other than that, he didn't really look all that winded. Peter kind of hated him at the moment.
“A little hike getting to be too much for you?” Peter said, and took a triumphant swig of water.
Neal simpered at him. “Your rapier wit wounds me, Peter.”
“Here's a thought: how about instead of whining you zip it and enjoy the damn scenery. It's a new experience. I thought you loved new experiences.”
“I love new challenges.”
“A new challenge, then. So enjoy it.”
“I would if it was challenging.” He leaned back, reaching down to pluck something from the ground. He leaned forward holding up a small, spotted mushroom, the next item on the list.
Neal smiled. “See?”
Peter glared at him.
-------------------------
“Peter, are you sure there are no leeches?”
“Yes, Neal, it's a lake. Lakes aren't known for their leeches.”
“What about snakes? Any snakes?”
“Damn it, Neal, you're the one who wanted to go swimming.”
“Because it was a better alternative to fishing at the time... there it is again!” Neal floundered backward, splashing Peter with water.
“Neal, enough! It's a lake, it has fish. It's just a fish. Fish won't hurt you. Will you relax?”
“Snapping turtles. Snapping turtles go in lakes, right? And fresh water electric eels, do they exist...?”
Peter splashed him with water.
--------------------
“Neal.”
“What?”
“That wasn't a ghost story.”
“Of course it was.”
“It was one of your heists.”
“Alleged heist done by a totally different guy who happened to kind of look like me. I just heard about it. And how is it not a ghost story?”
“There were no ghosts.”
“But it was scary.”
“Hearing about someone allegedly 'borrowing' – and, borrowing, seriously? Taking some sculpture from a museum and almost getting shot by a security guard is not scary.”
“It is for the guy getting shot at.”
“Neal---”
“Can we go in? I think the mosquitoes have sucked me dry.”
“Not until you hear a real ghost story.”
“Does it involve something some guy who looked a lot like you allegedly do? Because I think that would be much more interesting.”
“Don't make me throw you in the pond with the leeches.”
“Right, shutting up.”
--------------------
“Damn it Neal, I told you to take a two minute shower, not twenty.”
“I c-couldn't g-get the sh-sh-shampoo w-washed out of m-my h-h-hair.”
Peter chafed Neal's back and arms through the blanket as Neal leaned closer to the stove, soaking up the heat through his bare chest. He was shivering pretty bad, and it didn't help that the temperature outside had decided to take a nose dive. The cabin wasn't exactly air tight, and one of the windows panes was nothing more than a gaping hole.
“Well, at least you learned a valuable lesson.”
“G-g-get a b-better c-cabin.”
Peter rolled his eyes.
-------------------------
“Peter?”
“What?”
“I can't sleep.”
“Why not?”
“It's too quiet.”
“Well what am I supposed to do about it?”
“I don't know. Maybe if you start snoring...”
“I do not snore.”
“Elizabeth begs to differ.”
“She told you I snore?”
“She warned me you snore.”
“Fine, you want me to snore, then can it and let me sleep. I do not snore on demand.”
“Okay.”
Peter sighed. “Thank you.”
Somewhere outside, a twig snapped. Sheets and blankets rustled, and Peter opened his eyes to the moonlit outline of Neal sitting bolt upright in bed.
“Think that was a bear?”
“Hope so. Then I can toss you to it and get some sleep.”
“You're all heart, Peter.”
“Damn right.”
-------------------------
“Hey, you two,” Elizabeth said on opening the door. “I see you survived.” She planted a long, lingering kiss on Peter's lips, a small peck on Neal's cheek, then stepped back to let them step through. Satchmo greeted them by trying to tangle himself in their legs.
“Barely,” Peter said.
“Don't listen to him,” Neal said, all bright smiles. “It was a blast.”
“Neal?”
Neal rolled his eyes. “Don't make you toss me into traffic or something.”
“Hey, look at that, you did learn something on this trip.”
Elizabeth laughed as she led the way to the kitchen for coffee.
