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Peter sat on the stoop, unwilling to burden Elizabeth with his day. He didn't know the time, didn't care to look, but he knew she must've seen his car parked outside.
By now, he'd finally started to crash from the adrenaline, leaving him simultaneously feeling everything and nothing at all. He'd relived every what-if and could-have-been situation as he'd typed up his report, laying it all out in black and white as he overheard Hughes next door trying to tip the scales with Justice.
Peter continued toying with the keys in his hand, delaying the inevitable. How much would he tell her? How much would she ask?
There was only one other person who would understand, who could possibly—
“Peter.”
He raised his head and found Neal standing on the sidewalk in his three-piece suit, still looking quite shaken. Even after all these years, Neal was a hard read, but for the first time in a while, Peter could make out every line, every chapter on Neal’s face, including the one that was written today.
Relieved, yet concerned, Peter silently gestured for Neal to sit down.
Neal shed his jacket and joined Peter on the stoop, quietly resting his arms on top of his knees. As he did, his pant leg rose up, and Peter couldn’t help but notice that they’d forgotten to put the anklet back on.
Elizabeth had more emotional intelligence than both of them combined, but Peter knew full well that Neal didn’t come all the way to Brooklyn for the anklet.
Peter could hear Neal thinking loudly, but he didn’t dare rush the process. Hell, Peter had found himself in a similar position after arriving home, hence his sitting outside for the past half hour.
Next to him, Neal sighed, focusing on his outstretched palms as if he were reading them. Judging by his expression, it was unclear whether the story had an ending.
Needing something to fill the silence, Peter raised a hand to undo his tie, hoping to buy himself some time as he fought for the right words, but the assurances he came up with all fell flat.
That was, until a car backfired down the street, causing both of them to flinch. For a brief second, their eyes met, and any composure they’d convinced themselves of having quickly fell apart.
It was then, with memories of that afternoon fresh in their minds, that Peter wrapped his arms around Neal, cherishing the contact before Neal inevitably pulled away.
But Neal didn’t pull away, Peter had to tell himself, even as Neal held him back, fully welcoming the embrace.
Neal leaned his head against Peter’s shoulder so that when he spoke, his words were muffled. "We're okay,” he said, repeating it once for good measure.
Peter held on tight. He didn't let go, didn't look into Neal's eyes for traces of doubt that weren’t there.
It was true that their partnership relied on faith, but not for this.
This, Peter knew, was the truth.