"That painting above the dresser is new," Nancy remarked. "It's nice. Is it real?"

Elizabeth watched Neal duck into the kitchen out of the corner of her eye. "Yeah, that's real paint on canvas."

Her sister's eyes fell on the kitchen door, and she backed away from it ever so slightly. Her gaze shifted anxiously, and when she spoke again, her voice was pitched softly so that it wouldn't carry. "It doesn't worry you, having a criminal in and out of here all the time?"

El shook her head. "Neal's harmless."

"But still, you just never know..."

She spared a moment to imagine Nancy's face if she ever told her sister that Neal was in and out of her and Peter's bed all the time too. "Could we... not talk about this right now?"

Her sister glanced at the kitchen door again, and El saw Neal inside, leaning against the couter, eyes closed. "Well alright," Nancy said uncertainly. "Hey did I tell you Uncle Edger is getting married again?"

"Is this number five, or number six?"

"Number seven," she tittered. "Remember Ronda? It only lasted three weeks."

"Oh, yes," El bit her lip to hide her grin. "The waitress from Lodi. I'd forgotten about her."

"Mom hasn't stopped ranting about it, says he's too young to be going senile, so Uncle Edger says she can't come to the wedding."

"I"m sure she's just terribly disappointed."

Nancy smiled, calming down. "I hope it's not too much trouble showing up like this."

"Don't be silly. If it were a problem, I wouldn't have invited you," El assured her, contemplating the thinness of the wall between the guest room and the master suite. "Now, why don't you get settled. You must be exhausted."

"You ran out of plans, didn't you?" Nancy shot back.

"You caught me," she admitted. "I didn't expect you until the evening."

~*~

"She seems nice," Neal said without opening his eyes.

"Don't be like that," El told him. "She's my sister."

"What?" he asked innocently, opening his eyes wide. "I just said she seems nice!"

"Yeah, you're coming through loud and clear."

Neal pressed his lips together. "I'm going to be really happy when it's just you, me, and Peter again."

"Aww, poor baby," El teased. "Is nobody paying constant attention to you?"

"She insulted my painting, El!"

"What?" El echoed him. "She said your painting was nice!"

Neal scowled at her. "I bet she thought it went perfectly with the bedspread too."

"She was just trying to be polite! If she had known the artist was in the room, I'm sure she would have praised it to the sky." El patted his shoulder, trying not to laugh.

He shook his head and smiled. "Sure, that's supposed to make me feel better."

"Come on, da Vinci." El gave in and giggled. "Why don't I get her out of your hair and take her down to Central Park while you make dinner?"

He grimaced. "Yeah, that would be nice. I should probably head to the store for supplies."

"Make enough for four," she reminded him. "Or you're the one who doesn't get any."

"Oh, I see how it is," he laughed. She hated when he laughed like that, covering everything up behind that easy, carefree and completely false mask.

On impulse, she darted forward and kissed him firmly on the lips. "Listen," she said breaking away, "it'll be okay. When you get the anklet off, when Peter isn't responsible for you anymore, we'll find a way to tell the families. We won't have to keep you secret forever."

"It's no big deal."

She stepped back and laced her hands. "Liar."

He held his arms wide with a huge, bitter smile.

She walked backwards out of the room. As she started up the stairs, she turned around. "Don't worry, Neal, I like your painting."

He huffed. "Go on, get out of here."

That was really enjoyable. The tension feels very believable.

Thanks. I think this is officially my first OT3 fic. Neal likes being the disruptive force in other people's lives. He doesn't like having them in his.