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It was an ordinary day at the White Collar Unit. While they were not working solely on mortgage fraud cases, nothing too interesting or dangerous was occurring, which meant that Neal was bored. Since he was put on the anklet, Damian had to learn how to slow down with everything in life. Sure he still had a mission, but it was no longer one of life or death; There was not always a pressing time limit or a gun pointed to his head. Plus, the ‘villains’, if one could even call these petty criminals that, were mild. They did not cause buildings to spontaneously explode or plants to overtake the city, which Neal supposed was a good thing for people in general, but it made him antsy.
See, Damian was used to his nighttime activities as Robin and, before that, he was a born and raised assassin. His family hoped that tethering him to this Peter Burke would help him slow down. Neal would never admit they were right.
Peter and Elizabeth invited him over for dinner. El had claimed that he had not been over in too long, to which Peter argued that that was what was right, seeing as Neal was a criminal, but he didn’t protest too much, which Damian counted as a win. It was an odd feeling having civilian friends, even if he wasn’t entirely honest with them.
When he got to the Burke’s house, Elizabeth was in the kitchen preparing the ingredients for their meal and Peter was setting the table; El wasn’t letting him get away with doing nothing to help. Neal, though she insisted that he was a guest, went in to help El prepare. It was well known that he was an excellent cook, as he should be. He was taught by Alfred after all. He went to cut a tomato and instead of making a clean cut, it squashed and juices and seeds squirted all over the cutting board. Damian’s eyes furrowed. He tried to cut another with the same result.
“Elizabeth, these knives you have are dull.”
Now it was her turn to furrow her brow. “Neal, these are some of the best knives on the market. Peter bought them for me for our 5th anniversary when my catering business started picking up business. They might need to be sent out to be sharpened, but they definitely aren’t dull.”
Damian scowled and set the knife aside. He would not be using subpar tools for cooking. It would be a scourge on Alfred and his teachings. He reached down to his ankle, the one not containing his anklet, and pulled out a long wicked looking blade. It was not a kitchen knife, but at this moment it would function better than those at his disposal. He threw it up in the air and started twirling it around in his hand before returning to his chopping. He started humming and smiling gentle, well, not exactly smiling, but he seemed content.
El’s eyes widened in shock as she slowly backed towards the dining room. She pushed the swinging door back slightly with her foot and motioned for Peter to come over.
“Peter,” she whispered. “Neal pulled a huge knife off of a strap on his ankle.”
Peter stood still for a moment before whispering back, “Neal did?”
At El’s nod he pushed his way into the room positioning himself between Neal and El. Neal was supposed to be a nonviolent criminal and, according to Peter’s experiences with him for over 2 years, he was. He had never physically harmed anyone, even in self defense.
“Neal?” Peter said, watching Neal warily.
Damian turned around, the knife held confidently in his hand, dripping tomato juices making it look more gruesome than it truly was and painting a not pretty picture in Peter’s mind. In this moment, he could see Neal as something more than the nonviolent criminal he portrayed himself as. The moment vanished as soon as the thought flashed in his mind.
“Peter? Are you ok?” Neal asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“No, I am not ok Neal!” Peter said, his hand hovering near his gun on his waist. Neal’s eyes flashed to his hand and looked up concerned. He put the knife down and held his hands up in an abortive gesture.
“Ok, Why are you not ok, Peter?”
Peter sputtered, briefly before saying, “How am I supposed to react when my wife tells me that my CI pulls a sheathed knife off of his ankle. My supposedly nonviolent CI at that. Why do you have a knife on you?”
Neal looks taken aback before glancing at the knife still sitting on the counter. He didn’t understand what the big deal was. He had always carried knives on him since childhood. And seeing as Peter knew his shoe size and his favorite brand of hair gel, he had assumed that he knew that Neal carried knives on him too.
“Your kitchen knives are dull, so I pulled one out that is better to cut with until we can rectify that. And I always carry knives on me, even if I don’t use them. I thought you knew that Peter seeing as you know everything else about me.”
“You always carry knives on you?”
“Yeah. This isn’t even the only one on me. And it's not like I conspired to bring them into your home, I had them on me in the office today too. We came straight here, remember? I thought you were ok with it.”
Peter just looked at Neal, shocked. His CI, his nonviolent CI carried Knives on him all the time.
“Neal, you can’t just carry knives on you. They’re weapons.”
“Of course I know that Pet-”
“And if you get caught with them, you will be sent back to prison.”
“Peter, if I was going to hurt someone with them I wou-”
“No, I don’t want to hear it Neal. No more knives. End of Story.”
Damian pouted a little bit. He had heard that phrasing multiple times before, though usually not from close friends. Jon, for example, had gotten used to his ‘antics’, as he liked to call them, a long time ago. And while there was a knives policy at the Manor, the Family never prevented him from carrying them with him when he went out, though in those first months Father and Grayson had tried to insist. It never stuck. Maybe they had just given up.
“Fine. But Peter,” Neal said. “I will finish dinner with this knife. I wasn’t lying when I said your kitchen knives are abominations.”
Peter narrowed his eyes and glanced at El. She seemed to have calmed down a bit and was looking at Neal as if he were a puzzle, but she no longer seemed in distress.
“Just for tonight.”
And it was almost worth saying that to see Neal’s eyes light up as he went back to preparing everything for dinner that night.
The next morning someone rang the doorbell. It was far earlier than Peter or El were used to having company, even from the neighbors. They shared a quick look and Peter grabbed his gun holster, attaching it before he went to open the door. The doorbell rang again within that time.
“Ok, ok I am coming,” Peter said more to himself than to the person at the door.
When he opened the door there was a fedex delivery person there.
“Ummm. Hi. I wasn’t expecting a delivery?” Peter said.
“Well, are you a Mister Peter Burke?” asked the delivery person.
“Yes, but-”
“Well then this is for you. I just need a signature. It was overnighted.”
Peter signed for it and brought it inside.
“What is it, hon?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, let’s open it and find out.”
Inside was a brand new set of the best kitchen knives on the market. They were so expensive that even many of the world’s most renowned chefs could not afford them.
“NEAL!!!” he hollered before muttering, “He better not have bought these with stolen money.”