In the Driver's Seat

Chapter 1

 Federal Building, Manhattan, NY. December 15, 2003. Monday evening.

When Peter's laptop beeped a reminder at him, it took him by surprise. He double-checked the time and shook his head. This morning he'd texted Elizabeth as he got out of his car in the parking garage at a few minutes before 7am, excited to start his first day as the leader of the Manhattan White Collar task force. She'd responded, betting that he wouldn't make it back to his car within twelve hours and that she'd plan their celebration dinner accordingly.

At the time he'd blithely responded that as the boss he could leave whenever he wanted, and had received a "ha-ha" in reply.

They both knew that he'd be working overtime the next few days in order to limit interruptions during their vacation next week. Still, he hadn't intended to work this late. He shut down the laptop and sped through the empty bullpen, only to tap his foot impatiently in the elevator lobby.

He was two parking spots away from his car when his phone rang. "Hey, hon," he answered. "You were right."

"Should I hold off on dinner?"

"No, I'm at the car now." He unlocked the door and slid into the driver's seat. "Hear that?" He slammed the door shut, and started the engine.

"I won't distract you while you're driving. I'm looking forward to hearing about your day over Chicken Cacciatore. It should be ready as soon as you walk in the door."

"Sounds great. Love you, El."

"Love you, too."

He thought back over the day with satisfaction as he drove. It wasn't until he reached the Brooklyn Bridge that he realized he had a problem: his wife wanted to hear about his day.

After four years of marriage, he took for granted her understanding that as an FBI agent he couldn't provide details about his day. The cases he worked on had to be kept confidential — not only until they caught the bad guys, but often until those bad guys had been tried and convicted.

Clearly she expected that his new managerial duties were something he could discuss, and therefore he'd be sharing a lot more about his job. But what could he say? He'd spent most of his day comparing vacation schedules to case workloads to decide who should cover which cases when more than half the team took time off over the Christmas and New Year's holidays. It appealed to his logical, mathematical nature to arrange the puzzle pieces of schedules, workloads, and skill sets to find the perfect matches.

He was confident that solving puzzles appealed to Neal Caffrey, too. It was just a matter of presenting the right puzzle to keep the newest team member interested enough to stick around. Peter's biggest fear was what Neal would do next week. The kid was too new to the FBI to work a case on his own, and the few folks not going on vacation wouldn't have time to mentor him. Mentoring was supposed to be Peter's job, and after his vacation they'd find the right case to use Neal's skills. In the meantime, the worry was that Neal would get bored and either quit or get into trouble. Or both.

When he'd recruited Neal a couple of weeks ago, Peter had thought about using him as a topic of conversation with his father-in-law, the psychiatrist. Alan always made Peter uncomfortable. He had this way of looking at people as if he were peering into their innermost thoughts. El's father would probably be fascinated by the (hopefully) reformed thief who viewed Peter as a father figure. And it was safe to talk about Neal, because he wasn't a case anymore. His confession had closed the books on his past crimes.

As Peter walked into the house to be greeted by a six-month-old puppy, he was smiling. Neal was the answer. El would be interested in hearing about the first day of the newest team member, and that was a perfectly safe topic.