“Come on, come ON!” Peter said, tapping his foot impatiently at Neal's door.

“You can’t rush me,” Neal said, trying to decide between the black fedora and the grey trilby.

“It’s a two-day trip to Boston, not a grand tour of Europe. Come on, come on, come on!” Peter made herding gestures toward the door.

Neal threw him an annoyed look as they left, Peter closing the door behind them. In truth, Neal was jazzed to be going. A counterfeit case they were consulting on with the Secret Service had turned up a lead in Boston, and Peter suggested they go to check it out in person. “I could kiss you!” Neal enthused when he realized the invitation included him (and of course he did, later, and much more), and he’d thought of little else since, planning on visiting the Boston Symphony, the Museum of Fine Arts and other attractions. Going outside his radius, if for only a couple of days, was a rare treat. For his part, Peter found Neal's excitement adorable, though the ex-con was apparently a bit of an over-packer.

They hailed a cab to Newark airport to catch the Continental shuttle. “Oh, great, it’ll take forever to get to the gate,” Neal said, annoyed to see the long lines at security.

“Oh no, not for us. We’ll get through pretty quickly. I’m a Federal agent; all I have to do is present myself to airport security.”

“Nice,” Neal commented appreciatively and followed Peter to the director of airport security’s office.

“Peter Burke, FBI” Peter introduced himself when they’d arrived, flashing his badge. “This is my consultant, Neal Caffrey. My office should have called ahead?”

The woman in the security office checked a printout on her clipboard. “Yes, Agent Burke, good afternoon. May I see your tickets and identification, please?” Neal and Peter handed over their documents for her to check. She clicked a few keys on a computer and then handed them back. “Everything seems to be in order. We just need you to step outside for a security check and you can be on your way.

They were ushered to an anteroom where an airport security staffer awaited. Her name badge said, “Clarice” and she was a plump African American woman in her late 40’s. She started with Peter, running the metal detection wand up and down his legs, torso and outstretched arms with no incident. She ran his luggage through the small-scale X-ray machine and pronounced that he’d passed. He moved over so that his service weapon could be inspected by another agent as Neal had his turn.

“Hi,” he said, flashing his best Neal Caffrey hundred dollar smile to the TSA agent. She ignored him and instructed him to remove any metallic objects from his pockets. He placed his phone, keys, change, and watch into a small basket and she ran the wand over him. It buzzed at his ankle. “That’s his tracking anklet,” Peter pointed out. “He’s a parolee in my custody.”

Clarice gave Neal a measured look but said nothing. She ran the wand up Neal's torso and it buzzed at his tie bar. “That’s, uh, vintage,” he pointed out, but she made no reaction. He smiled anyway.

“Can you put your luggage onto the conveyor belt, sir?” she asked, sounding as bored as she looked.

Neal hefted the bag up onto the belt and watched curiously as she ran it through. She flicked the switch for the conveyor belt back and forth twice, and looked up at Neal, a dubious expression on her face. “Will you come with me, please?” she said.

“I’m sorry? Is there a problem?”

“Come with me. Please.” She gestured to another table at the far end of the room. She picked up his bag and led the way. “This is your bag, sir?”

“Yes.”

“It’s been in your possession all day?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll need to open it up to perform a hand search.”

“OK. Is there a problem?” Neal had a confused expression on his face.

Clarice ignored him, unzipping the top of the suitcase and flicking it open. She moved his clothes around and ran her hands along the walls of the case. Then she opened up the zippered pocket on the underside of the lid. She pulled out a slender box that Neal did not recognize. The label read Hey Romeo! Vibrating Butt Plug.

Neal's eyes met Clarice’s over the top of the suitcase. Clarice raised an eyebrow. Neal smiled his most winning smile. Clarice put the sex toy down on top of Neal's clothes and reached back inside the pocket. She pulled out a small bottle of lube. Again she looked at him, eyebrow reaching for her hairline. Neal shifted his stance to his other foot and shrugged. She reached into his bag one more time and removed a packet of brightly colored silicone cock rings.

“Would you believe those are Silly Bandz?” he said.

“I would not.”

“Huh.”

“Sir, you’re supposed to put all liquids into a small Ziploc bag,” she told him, replacing all of the items in his luggage and pushing it toward him.

“It’s been a while since I’ve flown,” he said. “Any other tips?”

She waited a beat. “You should consider storing the batteries separately from your sex toys. You don’t want any corrosion.”

“Thanks, I’ll, um, try to remember that.”

“Have a safe flight.”

He zipped his bag closed and joined Peter at the door. Peter's shoulders shook with barely-suppressed laughter. “Oh, my God, the look on your face. I wish I brought a camera.”

“Very funny.”

“That was payback for the surveillance van prank.”

“Yeah, I figured. Of course you know this means war?”

Peter put his hand on Neal's shoulder and let him precede him down towards the terminal. He leaned down and kissed him lightly on the ear. “Bring it, Bugs,” he murmured, laughing.

----

Thank you for your time.

Of course, now Neal must exact his revenge. Any ideas? Head to the comments, gentle readers.

And here's the sequel: A Freudian Substitute.