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elrhiarhodanTitle: Red Velvet - Part Six of Nine
Notes: See Master Post - On LJ | On DW
The silence in the room was profound and even Neal, who’d been on the receiving end of Peter’s nasty tongue, was shocked by the cruelty of the words, particularly at such a happy moment.
Elizabeth turned pale, then bright red as she struggled to contain her tears – or maybe, because Neal knew her too well – her anger. He’d never been a man moved to violence, but Neal had the urge to punch Peter, to make him bleed.
Reese, however, employed words more effectively than Neal could ever use his fists. “Peter, I need to remind you that our partnership agreement provides for unilateral dissolution. There are limits to our friendship, and you’ve crossed a line I never expected you’d even approach.”
It was fascinating, in a way, seeing Peter’s eyes darken in shame, watching that strong man collapse in upon himself as if he was being sucked into a vortex. If he was a less forgiving man, Neal might have enjoyed it. But he needed to leave, before he said something he’d never forgive himself for.
Doing his best to ignore Peter, who sat there like a figure turned to stone, Neal kissed Elizabeth’s cheek, wishing her all the happiness in the world. He shook Reese’s hand and found his way out of the apartment and then out of the building. June’s mansion was a dozen blocks north, a ten minute walk home on a cool September evening, but for the first time since Peter walked out on him, Neal found that he didn’t want to go there; he didn’t want to be alone with his broken dreams and his impossible fantasies.
He stood in front of the apartment building, dithering. A part of him wanted to hail a cab and head to the bakery, where he could bury himself in unnecessary work. Another part wanted to just walk aimlessly, letting his feet take him where they would, until exhaustion claimed him – much like he did after Peter all but called him a diseased whore.
But he did neither of those things. There was a small park where Amsterdam Avenue intersected with Broadway. Neal crossed the street and found his way into the brightly lit and well-maintained space and sat down on a bench. He scrubbed at his face, trying to erase the tears that kept welling up. This was all so fucking stupid. Peter didn’t want him, in fact, Peter was an ass. A jerk. A bastard who didn’t seem to care who he hurt. And yet, Neal still loved him.
Someone sat down next to him. It was Reese. “Are you okay, son?”
He shrugged. “I will be.”
“I’m sorry about Peter.”
“Why? It’s not your fault he behaved like a schmuck.”
“No, but it was my suggestion to have both of you over tonight. El and I wanted to share our news, and we thought, maybe …”
“You really were trying to orchestrate a reconciliation?”
“The thought had crossed my mind. But I knew it was a long shot. I just didn’t think that Peter would be such a dick.”
Neal let out a watery chuckle. “Yeah. That’s the word for it.”
The two men sat there, the passing traffic an oddly pleasing counterpoint to their silence. Neal, though, started to feel compelled to break that silence. “You know, Elizabeth and I … It’s long over.”
“I know, and it doesn’t matter. It’s not like I don’t have my own sexual history.”
“But it’s a little different to be breaking bread with your fiancée’s former lover.”
“Hmmm. Maybe, maybe not.”
“Ah.”
They sank back into silence, and this time, Neal was content to let it ride. But Reese wasn’t.
“Has Peter told you anything about himself – his past?”
Neal wondered if Reese was about to give him the key to Peter’s behavior. “A little. I know he worked for you in the FBI, and that after you retired his new boss made his life a living hell because he was gay. He told me that he …” Neal paused, trying to find a way to phrase it. “He stopped caring about the job. That he had been drinking too much. I find it hard to believe – Peter is the most disciplined man I’ve ever met.”
A police car sped by, lights blazing, siren blasting.
Reese finally answered. “Peter was one of the most brilliant agents I ever trained. It never mattered to me that he was gay. In a way, I was proud of him, proud that he didn’t hide who he was, and believe me, it was difficult in those days. He took a lot of shit from the other agents, but he made them respect him because he was so good at his job.”
“It must have killed something in him when he left.”
“It did.”
“But that’s not the only thing that happened to him, is it? He was with someone – someone who cheated on him? Someone bisexual?”
Reese sighed. “Yes, I guess it’s not hard to figure that much out.”
“But you’re not going to tell me anything more than that, are you? None of the details?”
“Peter’s my friend, despite his behavior tonight. I can’t break a confidence.”
Neal looked at his hands, the orange glow from the streetlamp made them look old, alien. “I guess it really doesn’t matter, does it? I mean, knowing what damaged Peter isn’t going to change the fact that he wants nothing to do with me.”
“No, I guess not.”
“But understanding might help me hurt a bit less.”
Reese gave him a look. “No, Neal – you need to hear it from Peter. He might not be ready to talk to you now, but maybe someday soon, he will.”
“Live in hope, die in despair.” Even the words tasted bitter as he spoke them.
“You still love him.” That wasn’t a question.
“Yes. I don’t know how to stop loving him. I wish I did, though. I wish I could just stop feeling anything.” Neal heard the whine in his voice and despised himself. “The sad, sick, sorry thing is that I know that if Peter came knocking on my door tonight, after everything he said, if he came and begged my forgiveness, I’d take him back. I’m pretty pathetic, aren’t I? The living embodiment of the weak, needy gay man.”
“No, Neal – you are not that, not at all. You fell in love with someone who hurt you badly. It would be easy to turn that hurt into hate. But maybe you’re better than that. I’d say that Peter doesn’t deserve you, but I’ve known him too long and I know the type of man he really is. He deserves you, but more than that, he needs you and right now he’s too stupid to see beyond his past to believe that.”
Neal tried to take comfort in that. “Thanks, I guess.”
Another police car raced by, followed by an ambulance. Reese commented idly, “Just another night in Manhattan.”
“I guess if you want peace and quiet, this is not the place for it.” Neal stood up, a bit more at peace with himself that he had been. “Thank you. For this, for everything.”
Reese gave him a wry smile. “Go home, get some sleep. Tomorrow might be better.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter sat at Reese and Elizabeth’s dining room table with his head in his hands, hating himself more than he’d ever thought possible. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, again.
Elizabeth just stood there and he could almost hear her fury. So far, she hadn’t said a word. So he apologized again.
“Do you mean it?”
Peter lifted his face out of his hands and looked at Elizabeth. “Yes, of course.”
“There’s no ‘of course’ about it, Peter.”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you apologizing because you feel bad, or because you are actually sorry that you’ve behaved like an ass?”
Peter understood the distinction that Elizabeth was making. “I’m sorry that I ruined your evening, that I spoiled what should have been such a happy moment for you and Reese.”
“That’s a start.”
He blinked. “What do you mean, it’s a start?”
“Well, I have to wonder why you felt compelled to blurt out my sexual history.”
Peter shrugged, but Elizabeth wasn’t giving him any quarter.
“No answer? You really have no idea why you needed to tell Reese that Neal and I had been lovers?” She waited, but Peter couldn’t come up with an answer. “Were you jealous?”
“Why would I be jealous?” The words left Peter’s mouth, but he wondered maybe, if he thought it through, he’d find the reason.
Elizabeth sat down next to him, her expression softening – just a little. “Maybe you’re jealous of Reese’s happiness, when you’re so miserable.”
God, that made so much sense.
“And maybe you’re jealous of what I used to have with Neal.”
Peter closed his eyes tightly, like a small child confronted with a monster. “I don’t want to think about that.”
“But you can’t stop thinking about it, can you.” Elizabeth was relentless. “It haunts you all the time.”
Peter nodded, unwilling to look at her.
“I know about Daniel.” Her voice was filled with an unexpected dose of compassion.
Peter’s eyes opened and he stared at Elizabeth. “How the hell could you know about him?” It had been over fifteen years since he’d discovered the truth about Dan.
“The Diarmitt.”
Peter didn’t make the connection.
“Sebastian Conroy at the Diarmitt. He knew about you and your partner, Daniel. When you came in and started investigating, I thought you were kind of hot. Sebastian was the one who told me you were gay.”
“How would he know that?”
It was Elizabeth’s turn to shrug. “He said he’d seen you and your partner at a few clubs.”
Okay – that made sense. Peter hadn’t particularly enjoyed the club scene, but Dan did, and they’d go dancing on the weekends. He could recall feeling like a clumsy fool on the dance floor and spending most evenings watching Dan strut his stuff. At the time, he hadn’t minded that Dan was dancing with other men, and even on occasion, with women. Peter saw no reason to deprive his partner of something he had enjoyed.
But Elizabeth’s phrasing – that she knew about Daniel – seemed to mean that she knew what he did to Peter. “What else did your friend, Sebastian, tell you?”
Elizabeth’s face was grave, her eyes too filled with pity. “That Daniel had been cheating on you; that he had been screwing around with other men and with women. And that you didn’t know and wouldn’t put up with it once you found out.”
Peter swallowed, but it hurt. This knowledge was so unexpected and so painful. He was humiliated that Dan’s infidelity was so commonly known that perfect strangers felt free to share that information.
“Was your friend one of Dan’s lovers?” Not that it would make any difference.
“I don’t know – I didn’t get the feeling that he was.”
Peter nodded, that was a small relief. “You know what happened, then?”
“No – actually. That’s all I know.”
“Ah. Do you want to know the rest?” He wasn’t sure why he asked Elizabeth that.
“Do you want to tell me?”
“I’m not sure I want to relive that pain again.” Actually, he was certain that he didn’t.
“It seems that you’re reliving it every day.”
“Yeah – it does seem that way, doesn’t it? Peter paused as another thought occurred to him. “I guess you’ve told Neal about Daniel.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, but I have to tell you that I’ve thought about it. All those months ago, when I told him that we’d once met, it didn’t seem relevant. Fifteen years is ancient history.”
“Or so it should be.” He looked down at his hands, for the lack of anything better to do. “But it isn’t. I’m surprised that after I broke up with Neal, you didn’t share what you knew.”
“To what end?”
“To make him feel better? To give him the chance for a little schadenfreude?”
“No – that’s not how I operate. And it wouldn’t have made Neal feel better. He’s not one to take pleasure from someone else’s pain.”
“Neal’s a good man. I never deserved him.”
“Yes.”
Peter sighed. “I can’t go back, and I can’t go forward. I’m stuck.”
“Yes, you are.” Elizabeth was all reasonableness now.
“Thanks for being so agreeable.”
“You’re welcome.” There was just a hint of laughter in her voice. “Seriously, I don’t know if you deserve or don’t deserve someone like Neal in your life. But I know that you don’t deserve to be trapped in this hell you’ve built for yourself.”
“Hell. That’s the word for it. And since you’ve been so generous in dispensing wisdom tonight, any idea how I can get out of it?”
She didn’t answer right away; just looked at him as if she was weighing her words.
“Well?”
“Have you ever thought about therapy?”
Something shifted inside him, like two continental plates bumping up against each other.
“Peter?”
Despite Elizabeth’s gentle prompting, he didn’t answer her.
“It could help, you know. Talking about what happened. Finding a way to deal with it. Because you haven’t, despite how long it’s been.”
She was right. Of course she was right, but he was unwilling to give in. “I don’t think it would do much good. It’s not like I’m in denial, or I blame myself.”
Elizabeth wasn’t giving up on him. “I think you are in denial, and I think you haven’t been able to stop blaming yourself. For everything.”
“It feels like such a cliché. A gay New Yorker in therapy.”
“So, you’d deny yourself the help you need because you don’t want to be perceived as a stereotype? That seems a bit ridiculous.”
“You take no prisoners, Elizabeth Mitchell, do you?”
“No, I guess I don’t. I don’t know why I want to help you. You’ve badly hurt someone I love; you’ve done your best to hurt me. I should kick you out on your ass and let Reese deal with you. But I can’t stand seeing anyone in pain.”
Peter looked at Elizabeth, really looked at her. He’d never seen her as anything less than a highly competent, very attractive woman, but now he could see her emotional intelligence, the strength and determination that made her so successful at life. “Reese is a very lucky man. I envy him.”
She raised an eyebrow at that last statement. Peter had to smile – he’d inadvertently brought the conversation back around to where they’d started. “And I am sorry – for being so petty and jealous.”
Elizabeth leaned close and kissed his cheek. “I understand, and I do forgive you.”
A small knot of pain, something he’d been carrying around for so long he didn’t even realize it was there, loosened. “Thank you, I don’t deserve …”
“Shh.” She put a finger against his lips, silencing him. “No, you do deserve forgiveness, more than anyone.”
Peter felt tears, damning and unmanly, gather in the back of his throat and he ducked his head. “Thank you.” He repeated himself; it was all he could say.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Reese returned to the apartment just as Peter was leaving. He looked at his old friend and was pleased to see he survived the flaying that Elizabeth must have given him.
They stood in the foyer, the moment awkward. But the awkwardness cleared when Peter looked him in the eye and apologized. “I’m sorry – I’ve been an ass and I’m sorry. For everything and especially for tonight.”
Reese had thought he’d had his fill of big emotional moments this evening, after listening to Neal Caffrey pour his heart out. But he found he still had room for Peter. “You apologized to Elizabeth?”
“Yes, and she didn’t make it easy on me.”
“Well, she shouldn’t have.” Reese felt his lips twitch into a smile. Peter looked like a small boy, suitably punished. “But I will.” He shocked both of them by reaching out and hugging Peter. “We’re good.”
Peter pulled back and gave him an abashed smile. “Your bride-to-be is a very wise woman, you know.”
“Oh?” He did, but wondered at what wisdom she’d dispensed.
“She told me – ” Peter paused and Reese could see a light flush of embarrassment color his cheeks. “That I should see someone, get some therapy.”
Reese nodded. “That, I think, is very wise.” He had thought about suggesting that to Peter a number of times over the years, and a few times in the last month, he’d even thought about requiring him to get some help. But threats like that rarely worked, and Peter was stubborn enough to dig in his heels and remain immovable on the subject if his hand was forced.
“I should get going.”
He nodded and opened the door, stepping aside to let the other man depart.
Peter didn’t leave, though. “But before I go, I want to offer you my congratulations. I know you and Elizabeth will be very happy together.” The words were heartfelt, almost shining in their sincerity.
“Thank you, Peter. It means a lot to hear that.” Peter offered his hand, and Reese took it. The handclasp lasted a few moments and Peter let go and left. Reese closed the door behind him. Thank god the evening was over. All he wanted to do was not have to think about Peter Burke or Neal Caffrey.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
October
“Blake, have you got the last tray of flourless chocolate tortes?” Neal called into the bakery. He was doing the final inventory check for the Hughes-Burke event. It was all hands on deck as they were loading the van to delivery hundreds – if not thousands – of pieces of confection and pastry to the Hudson Hotel in Manhattan.
This was the biggest event to date for Desserts After Dark, and possibly the most important one ever. Technically, Clinton Jones was supposed to be managing the event, Elizabeth had stepped in and given him a hand, smoothing the way with the staff at the Hudson, ensuring that everything was done on time, in the right order. With over two hundred guests to feed, Neal and Blake had been baking non-stop for the last three days.
Blake came out with the missing tray of pastries and Neal slotted it into place. “Is that it?”
“Yes, sir!” The young man pulled a checklist out of his back pocket and looked it over. “All of the refrigerated pastries have been loaded. The room temperature ones are wrapped and ready to go.”
“Good work.”
His apprentice flushed at the praise and went back into the bakery to start on the next set of tasks. Neal thanked god and whatever angels that sent Blake their way, because he had no idea how he’d manage without him, now.
A few days after the disastrous dinner party – now a little more than a month ago – Neal sat down with Elizabeth and gave her what he though was going to be terrible news.
Blake had been the first candidate they brought in. He didn’t balk at any of the grueling tests they’d devised – a half a day of baking a dozen different recipes, then a full day working side by side with Neal, who was ready to hire him on the spot. Elizabeth insisted that they go through the same process with the four other candidates. There was one which Neal liked enough to consider as a back-up or someone to hire a few months down the line, but as far as he was concerned, there was no one who he felt he could work with as well as Blake.
The past four weeks had proven that his people instincts, at least when they came to baking, were spot on. Blake was creative, but good at following orders. He knew that he was still learning and didn’t resent instruction. He also enjoyed showing initiative and creativity, and the Desserts After Dark menu had been expanded to add a few of his own signature recipes.
Neal figured, after the Hughes-Burke event, he’d give Blake his red velvet recipe and see how he fared with it. Elizabeth hadn’t balked, hadn’t uttered a single word of argument when Neal had taken his signature item – the red velvet cupcake – off the menu. But lately, he’d been wondering if it was time to reintroduce it.
If it was time to start living again.
Maybe the sojourn to London would do the trick. He was honest with Elizabeth when he told her he wasn’t planning on making the move permanent, that all he wanted was a change of scenery for a few months. And yet, there was a part of him that wondered if being in new city, meeting new people, maybe meeting someone who could help him get over Peter …
Neal discarded that thought. He was never going to get over Peter. He might start living again, he might start dating again. He might even meet a man who made his heart sing again, but there’d be no one who would ever replace Peter.
“Sir?” Blake came out of the bakery with yet another tray, this time filled with exquisitely decorated individual raspberry trifles.
Neal had no recollection of making them and asked Blake, “Where did those come from?”
“I made these last night, Chef Neal. I know that they weren’t on the order, but I thought maybe …”
Neal took a look at the tray – there were four dozen small cups – only enough for less than a quarter of the guests. “They look beautiful – we might have a fight on our hands if they’re a hit and we don’t have enough.”
Blake’s face fell and he turned to take them back inside.
“No – no. We’ll serve them.” He opened the van and let his apprentice put the tray inside. “Now – we need to get going. Have you seen Wesley?” The driver who replaced Moz was a good kid, a real Brooklyn hipster, complete with tattoos, scruffy neck beard and a grandpa sweater – just the type who’d have made his old friend crazy
“I think he’s helping Ms. Mitchell with packing up the coffee service. Yvonne and Brittany are already at the Hudson.”
“Ah, okay.” He could have used another set of hands. Times like this, he missed Moz, his cheerful complaints, his non-sequiturs, his ridiculously meaningful quotations.
“Everything’s cleaned up and ready to go. Once Ms. Mitchell and Wesley finish, we’ll get the rest of the pastries loaded into the second van.”
Neal dithered a bit – he should oversee that, but on the other hand, he had a truck full of perishables. “You know what to do?”
“Yes, Chef Neal.”
All of a sudden, Blake’s respectful attitude was beginning to grate on his nerves. “Neal – call me Neal, not Sir, not Chef Neal. Okay?”
“Okay, sir. Sorry – Neal.”
“Good – now remember, load the genoise …”
“I have the order written down, and all of the trays are numbered, sir.”
Neal laughed and shooed Blake back into the bakery. It would take at least forty minutes in mid-day traffic to get to the Hudson, another forty minutes to unload everything, and if his calculations were correct, he’d have an hour to get from the Hudson to his apartment, shower and change and get back to oversee the final setup. Technically, that was Elizabeth’s job – but she had her hands full and he wanted to make sure that everything was perfect.
He negotiated his way across the Williamsburg Bridge and thought, who the hell was he kidding? He was hoping to see Peter, masochistic idiot that he was. Not to talk to him because that would probably end in another disaster, but just to see him. Maybe exchange a rueful smile, a shrug, that’s all. A remembrance of what that had and that it was good.
Neal turned on the radio, Wesley had it set to a classics and standards station, but the upbeat jazz was irritating and he randomly pressed one of the preset buttons. A mournful female voice, accompanied by an equally mournful violin was singing words to break Neal’s heart:
Neal carefully turned the radio off. Silence was better than this.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter shuffled the deck of note cards for the umpteenth time. He’d been through his presentation so often; he could recite it in his sleep. The slides were simple and dynamic. He was taking a page out of the late, great Steve Jobs’ book – no more than five words per slide, no complicated graphics, the images were supposed to reinforce the message, not deliver the message.
He didn’t know why he was so nervous. He and Reese had alternated giving the company presentation and this was his year. Maybe because he finally could admit what an ass he’d made of himself; that too many of his clients knew he had a very brutal, very public meltdown.
There had been casualties on his client list. June was the first of them. She paid him the courtesy of a visit and told him very politely, very coldly, that for the foreseeable future, she’d prefer if someone else handled her accounts. He introduced her to Diana and they seemed to get on like a house on fire. He’d been pleased to see that June had accepted the firm’s invitation to the annual event and she was seated at Diana’s table.
A few other clients had abandoned him, some transferred their business to other partners, and one or two took their accounts to other firms. Arthur and Elaine stuck by him. In fact, Elaine was generous enough to recommend her therapist – after lecturing him for hours about how stupid he’d been.
It had been only a few weeks since he started therapy; individual and group counseling, too.
At first, the group therapy seemed like an episode out of the old Bob Newhart show, listening to other people’s complaints about the petty problems in their lives. He was going to keep his mouth shut and endure the ninety minutes the best he could, but the group leader wasn’t going to let him out so easily.
“Peter, why are you here?”
He just shrugged.
She’d kept at it, trying to engage him. “You’re here voluntarily; you had to have a reason. Don’t you want to share?”
He had thought about answering, “No, not really”, but even though he didn’t want to be there, he didn’t want to get tossed out, either. “I’ve had some relationship problems; I’m trying to figure out what when wrong.” That was, of course, mostly bullshit. He knew what went wrong – he deliberately hurt the man who loved him because he didn’t have any faith in that love. Why he couldn’t say that aloud was probably one of the real reasons why he was here.
As the weeks went by, talking became a little easier. Peter still hadn’t talked about Daniel in group, but he’d been slowly opening up to the past in his private sessions. He wasn’t under any illusions that this was going to be a long, slow and painful process. But even in these few short weeks, he could feel the load he’d been carrying around begin to lighten.
Maybe there was hope for him, after all.
“Hey, boss.” Diana knocked on his door. “You ready? There’s a car waiting for us.”
“Yeah. As ready as I’ll ever be.” He took the garment bag with his dinner suit off the coat rack and shouldered his briefcase. Like a few of the other partners and associates, he’d reserved a hotel room at the Hudson. It just made a lot more sense to do that than go all the way back to Brooklyn, then return to New York. He was nothing, if not practical.
Diana commented. “I watched the run-through your presentation; you’re going to hit it out of the park.”
“It’s not like I have done this before, you know.”
“I know.”
“But I’ve got a lot to overcome this time.”
Diana stuck her hands in her pockets and gave him a wry smile. “Yeah, you do.”
“And that’s why I like you, Ms. Berrigan. You don’t pull your punches.”
“Someone I once worked for taught me not to.”
Since Peter had been her first and only boss, he took that as a compliment.
The Hudson was an oasis of quiet, modernist luxury. Check-in was efficient and he had plenty of time to shower and dress. Too much time, in fact. He tried relaxing in one of the suite’s over-stuffed couches, running through the notes for his presentation yet again, but he couldn’t sit still. He thought about making a cup of coffee, but thought that with his luck; he’d spill it on himself.
Peter knew what was wrong with him – he knew why he got here so early. It was foolish, potentially dangerous, but he wanted to see Neal. He didn’t even want to talk with him. No – that was a lie and he was done with lying to himself. He did want to talk to Neal, he wanted to make things right, to apologize.
And this was the worst possible moment to do that, two hours before a major presentation. Just a few weeks since he started therapy.
No, he wasn’t ready. Not now. Not now.
Even as Peter put on his shoes, tied his tie into the perfect double Windsor, fitted his father’s gold cufflinks into his shirt cuffs and donned the suit jacket, he kept telling himself that he wasn’t the least bit ready to see Neal. The self-admonishment continued as he checked himself in the mirror, as he picked up his key card, put on his wristwatch and left the room.
There was still a half-hour, maybe more, before anyone of the firm’s clients would start arriving, but partners and associates were beginning to show up. Diana, who’d travelled with him to the hotel and had taken her own room, was in the lobby talking with a stunning brunette. It was Christie, her partner. Peter went over to say hello, because he needed something to do other than try and find his way into the ballroom or maybe even the service kitchens and look for Neal.
“Hey there.”
Christie gave him a searching look and Peter was reminded that she had been a front row witness to his meltdown two months ago. “Good to see you, Peter.” At least she didn’t ask how he was doing.
“Good to see you, too.”
They chatted about inconsequentialities for a few minutes before Peter moved on. Reese was here, and Elizabeth was with him. They’d seen each other quite a few times since the dinner party from hell, and each time he saw her, Peter was reminded how lucky his business partner was. Elizabeth seemed to have forgiven him completely, and Peter found her to be a very important part of his life these days.
They didn’t talk about Neal, of course. Nor did Peter talk about Daniel or what went on in therapy. But they managed to find other things, meaningful things, to talk about – what it was like growing up and knowing he was gay, dealing with parents who tolerated him only because he was their only child. He talked about being out in college, about refusing to go into the closet when he graduated from the FBI.
Sometimes Reese was there and he’d nod or offer his own perspective on things. For the first time in so long, Peter found that he had a family – not by blood, but through the strength of shared experience. And he couldn’t help but wonder how his life would have been different if he hadn’t lost track of Elizabeth Mitchell, if they’d become friends all those years ago.
In the same concerned tone as Diana had earlier, Elizabeth asked, “You okay?”
“What, do I have a ‘I am in a difficult place’ sign taped on my back?”
“Hmmm.” El leaned around and checked the back of his jacket. “Nope, but you’ve got a pensive look on your face.”
“Just thinking about things.”
She nodded, understanding far too much. “You didn’t answer my question. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, and you know something, I am. I think I am.”
“But it’s a work in progress, right?”
“Right.”
She kissed his cheek and said something about going to see how Clinton was holding up.
Clients and their spouses continued to arrive and Peter joined Reese on an impromptu receiving line. Of course, no one was crass enough to mention what had happened at the Met gala, but Peter received far too many odd looks. He ignored them, smiled, shook hands and thanked everyone for coming. The ballroom doors opened and the lovely aroma of chocolate wafted out and Peter quickly stepped out of the way to avoid being trampled.
He circulated through the room, getting a little more face time with people. Of course, there were the few who seemed upset that they weren’t having a traditional dinner service, but Clinton – who had done a masterful job with the event as a whole – stepped in and arranged for a small hors d'oeuvres platter to be delivered.
Yes, that man was definitely getting his promotion.
“Peter.” He knew, too well, the cultured tones of the speaker.
“Hello, June.”
She was as beautiful as always and at this moment, he hadn’t realized just how much he missed her. He hoped that someday she’d forgive him.
“It’s good to see you, Peter.” Her smile was a touch bittersweet.
“Yes, it’s good to see you too.” He wished he could think of something less banal to say. “You’ve been well?”
“Yes. I’ve been traveling, taking my granddaughters to see the world.”
“They’re very lucky girls.”
“Hmm, yes – I guess so. But I can’t help but think that it’s a terrible pity that their grandfather isn’t here to see them grow up. The pain from some losses never fade. And that’s not something I have to tell you, is it?”
“No, June. It isn’t.”
She searched his face, her eyes grave. “I wish …”
He reached out and took her hand. “Don’t. You can’t change the past.”
“But you can avoid reliving it.”
“If you’ve learned that lesson, you’ve come a long, long way, Peter.”
“I don’t think the lesson’s complete, not just yet.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Reese signaling to him. “It’s time for the comic relief portion of the evening to start.” He led her over to Diana’s table. “I’m leaving you in very capable hands.”
“Of course you are – and we need to talk. I’ll stop by your office next week?”
Peter nodded, although he was a little worried about what June wanted to discuss.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Neal returned to the Hudson about ten minutes before the ballroom doors opened and did a quick walk-through to make sure that everything was set up properly. Clinton Jones, the H-B associate who had reached out to Desserts After Dark, was doing his own double-check.
“Looks good?” He stood next to Clinton, who was inspecting the table with the chocolate fountain (Neal thought it an abomination, but it wasn’t his decision to include it).
“It does look good, but I am wondering if I need to taste everything to make sure that looks aren’t deceiving.” Clinton joked. “But don’t worry – I’m not going to mess everything up. Besides, it wouldn’t look good if I passed out from a sugar coma before the night started.”
Neal laughed. “No – that’s not a way to impress the bosses. This was all your idea, wasn’t it?”
“Yup. Want to make my mark and thought that doing something different would work.”
“Given the turnout this year, I think it has.”
“Who’d have thought that we’d get a ninety-five percent acceptance rate on the RSVPs? Aren’t most people on diets?”
Neal didn’t answer that question. He had a feeling that a lot of the buzz for this event was generated by Peter’s meltdown at the Met gala. No one did schadenfreude better than the glittering throngs of New York’s bold-faced names. Whatever reason clients had for accepting the Hughes-Burke invitation, they wouldn’t be talking about Peter’s public display of repugnance after it was over.
“This is going to be a success, right?” Clinton sounded a little nervous. “I mean – it wasn’t a mistake to do all desserts?”
“No, absolutely not. But there’s a backup plan in place, remember?” At the last minute, they arranged for a small amount of savory hors d'oeuvres to be available – just in case. At worse, they’d run out, at best, the hired wait staff would have a lot of gourmet finger food to take home.
“Yeah – yeah. Of course.”
Neal made a few small adjustments to the display of strawberries, and stepped back. He was fiddling because he, too, was getting nervous. He checked the time, it was just shy of eight o’clock. “Time for me to make my exit.”
Clinton looked at him, panic in his eyes. “You’re leaving? Why?”
“Because you have everything under control. I’m just the baker. If something goes wrong – and nothing will – Elizabeth will be here to help you.”
“But she’s …”
“She may be Reese’s fiancée, but for tonight, she’s your event planner, first and foremost.”
Clinton nodded, still nervous, but less panicky. “All right. All right.” He took a deep breath. “It’s now or never.” The man stiffed his back, dropped his shoulders and marched towards the doors, and opened them.
Neal retreated to one of the service entrances and watched the guests flood into the room. He recognized a few people. There was Diana Berrigan, of course. Peter had introduced her to Neal when he’d visited Peter at his office. He’d met her again when she’d paid a call on June at the house. Over Neal’s objections, June, in a fit of loyalty, had asked that her business be transferred to someone else at the firm. He noticed both of the CPAs he’d met at the initial presentation, Kathleen Rice and the hard-to-please diabetic, Helen Anderson, were here, naturally. Even a few of the clients seemed familiar – probably more because they were famous than because Neal actually knew them.
“Excuse me.”
Neal stepped aside and let one of the servers pass. She was carrying a tray of petit fours and he resisted the urge to straighten one of the pieces that had gone askew.
Standing here was a bad idea, and Neal wished for a better vantage point. Elizabeth was in the ballroom, Yvonne and Brittany were coordinating behind the scenes and Blake was directing from the kitchen, so there was really nothing he needed to do, except watch from the sidelines and wait for Peter to come into view.
When he did, the sight of his tall, lean figure brought as much longing as it did pain. But Neal couldn’t look away. His heart hurt a little, watching him from this distance. So close, but so far away.
A server with an empty tray pushed the door opened and Neal momentarily lost sight of Peter. Standing here, in the way, was pointless and Neal strongly considering going home. There was just too much temptation; to watch and wait and hope for a moment alone with Peter. For what, he wasn’t sure. Closure, perhaps? Or maybe another chance to discover that maybe it really wasn’t over? Because no matter how clear Peter had made it the last time they were in the same room, Neal couldn’t give up hope.
He knew that such hope was foolish, but he’d always been something of a fool.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
His presentation – on the “art” of donation – went as well as he’d hoped. If the audience hadn’t been riveted, at least they hadn’t fallen asleep. Or maybe everyone was just too hyped up on sugar, Champagne, and caffeine to doze off.
Reese took the podium for a very brief speech, thanking everyone for attending and wishing them well. After that, it was all smooth sailing. He went from table to table to pose for pictures, glad-handing and talking particulars when necessary.
It was close to midnight when the event drew to a close and the guests began to depart. The party had been a massive success, but Peter couldn’t escape a crushing sense of disappointment. He knew it was irrational, and as he’d told himself earlier, it wouldn’t be good for him either, but he’d really wanted to see Neal.
After the last guests left, Elizabeth and a small army of helpers started to oversee the teardown. In a matter of minutes, dirty linen disappeared into bags, the tables and chair were folded and stacked and rolled off. Leftovers were boxed up, to be sent to the Hughes, Burke offices for the rest of the staff to enjoy. Peter hadn’t been able to eat a thing; the thought of biting into a pastry that Neal made seemed like a curious act of betrayal. Maybe that was something he could talk about in therapy.
Elizabeth came over to him. “What are you still doing here?”
“Dunno – just watching.”
“Why don’t you go home, relax?”
He grimaced, the thought of going home – or even up to his hotel room – held no appeal. But he wasn’t going to tell Elizabeth that. “Maybe I will.”
But she wasn’t fooled. “You were hoping to see Neal, weren’t you?”
He shrugged, like a small child caught doing something he shouldn’t have. “I guess he wasn’t here, tonight.”
“No, he was.” And then El surprised him. “He spent the whole night on the other side of that door, watching.”
Peter turned to where she was pointing; there was a discreet service entrance directly to the left of the podium. He blinked, not knowing what to feel. Neal had been so close, but he hadn’t come to see him. And why should he? It’s not like you hadn’t made it clear you wanted nothing more to do with him.
Elizabeth surprised him again. “He might still be here. He’s probably overseeing the pack up.”
“El? Why are you telling me this?”
It was her turn to shrug. “Maybe you’re ready to see him.”
“My therapist would probably tell you that this is a huge mistake.” He couldn’t believe he actually said that.
“Maybe. Or maybe you just need a few minutes to make some peace between you.”
Frozen between what he wanted to do and what he should do, Peter didn’t move.
“Go.” Elizabeth actually gave him a shove towards the door.
The world behind the swinging door was completely different from the glamorous hotel ballroom he just left. Despite the late hour, the corridor was filled with staff and Peter felt like an interloper. He had no idea where he was going, and followed a young woman pushing a cart with the espresso machine, hoping her destination was the same as his.
The corridor ended at an open loading dock; the flow of midnight air, chilly this late in October, helped clear the slight fog that had enveloped Peter as he went in search of Neal. The server handed off the cart to a young man who wasn’t Neal, and Peter was intensely disappointed.
But before he could leave, he heard a familiar voice. “I think this is it. Let’s get it on the truck so you can go home, Blake.”
Peter watched as Neal came and helped load the espresso machine onto the all-too-familiar Desserts After Dark truck. He waited as the two men went through a checklist and kept thinking that he really should leave, that this wasn’t a good idea. That this was the opposite of a good idea.
But he couldn’t, even if he said nothing and just watched Neal from the shadows.
Neal clapped the young man on the shoulder and told him to drive carefully. He stood there, back to the loading dock and hands in his pockets, as the van pulled away and disappeared into the never-ending flow of Manhattan traffic.
The seconds ticked away and Peter chastised himself. Are you going to just stand here all night, or are you going leave without saying anything?
That’s what he should do. He could even convince himself that it was enough to just see Neal for these few moments; he didn’t need to talk to him. He even started to leave when Neal turned.
“Peter?”
He had to say something. So, “Hey there” sufficed.
Neal’s smile was sweet and welcoming and all Peter wanted to do was wrap his arms around the man and tell him how much he’d missed him. He even took a step forward, but Neal – still smiling – held up a hand, and he stopped.
“I didn’t know if I’d see you tonight.”
“Other than watching me through a service door?” At Neal’s quizzical look, Peter explained. “Elizabeth told me that you stood and watched for the whole evening.”
Neal ducked his head, and even in the dim light, Peter could see a touch of embarrassment on his cheeks.
“She also told me where I could find you.”
“She did? I’m surprised.”
“Why? Did she tell you not to talk to me?” Peter was hurt, but he reminded himself that Elizabeth had been Neal’s friend for a long time before they’d met.
“No – she’s sort of avoided talking about you at all.”
“Ah. I suppose I deserved that.”
“But Reese hasn’t.”
That surprised him. “Oh?”
“Nothing to be concerned about. He hasn’t really volunteering anything, but when I’ve asked, he’s said you’re doing better.” Neal tilted his head and Peter felt like he was being examined by a raptor. “Are you?”
“Yeah, I am.” He felt proud saying that.
“Good – that is really good to hear.”
The silence fell between them again. Neal looked like he was about to leave and Peter realized that he couldn’t let this moment pass. “I’m sorry.”
A myriad of emotions crossed Neal’s face. “It’s okay.”
Peter shook his head. “No, it’s not. What I did, what I said to you – that was horrible and inexcusable and wrong. The way I treated you was wrong.”
“Peter – ”
He cut Neal off. “Please, let me finish. I know this probably isn’t the right place or the right time, but I need to say this.” Peter licked his lips; they were bone dry from nervousness. “You were right – I was always holding back, I was always waiting for something to go wrong. I looked at you and saw someone young and beautiful and I wondered how the hell you could be interested in me.
“I was so shallow, focused on what you appeared to be, not what you were. What you are. And when I met Sara…” Peter swallowed, it was still hard to say the woman’s name. “It was my worst nightmare, come true. I’m sorry – beyond words sorry – and I will regret hurting you for the rest of my life.”
Neal didn’t speak and Peter thought he’d made an ass of himself yet again. But under the ugly fluorescent lighting in the Hudson Hotel’s loading dock, Peter saw the trail of tears burning down Neal’s cheeks. His own, though, were dry. He’d cried too many times these past few months to weep now.
“Peter – I wish, I wish… ”
“I know we can’t go back. I can’t change what happened, but I can try to make the future better. You did nothing wrong and what I accused you of – I know it’s unforgivable.”
“No – not unforgivable. Never that.”
Peter drew in a sharp breath as Neal reached out and touched his cheek. His fingers were hot as brands, gentle as a dove’s wing. “You are too generous.”
Neal’s smile was sad and he pulled his hand away. “The truth is, Peter – I forgave you almost immediately. I think I’ll always forgive you.”
There was another word there, it had been scraped away and painted over, like a palimpsest. Instead of forgiveness, love.
Peter somehow found the courage to speak. “That night, at Reese’s – you asked me if it was possible to mend what I’d broken.”
“You said no.”
Peter whispered, “But I wanted to say yes.”
Neal shook his head, as if he could deny what he was hearing.
“So I guess there’s no point in asking you the same question?”
Neal looked at him, and something in his eyes gave Peter hope and terrified him, too. “Can you tell me the truth? Can you tell me what happened to you that made you react like that?”
Peter wanted to say yes, he wanted to tell Neal the whole sordid story. “I – No, I can’t.” He dropped his head in shame and waited for Neal to walk away.
But Neal didn’t. He touched Peter again, lifting his face up. “When you can, maybe then we can move forward.”
“Maybe?” Peter’s heart sunk at the qualifier.
“Maybe.” Neal’s lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. “Leave me at least the illusion of self-preservation.” But his actions belied the caution in his words as he leaned in and brushed his lips against Peter’s.
The kiss was soft and heartbreakingly brief, but Peter made no move to lengthen it. “Neal.” The name was a prayer, a benediction.
“I need your honesty, Peter. When you can face what happened to you, when you can tell me everything, we can have another chance. But not before.”
It hurt, it hurt like hell and maybe it was supposed to. “I understand.” What he didn’t say was that he also understood that Neal wouldn’t wait forever. Why should he?
Someone from the hotel staff must have noticed that the loading dock was still open. “Hey there – is everything done? I need to close this.”
Neal replied, calling out that they were finished. Peter hoped that they were not.
Go to Part Seven - On LJ | On DW
Notes: See Master Post - On LJ | On DW
The silence in the room was profound and even Neal, who’d been on the receiving end of Peter’s nasty tongue, was shocked by the cruelty of the words, particularly at such a happy moment.
Elizabeth turned pale, then bright red as she struggled to contain her tears – or maybe, because Neal knew her too well – her anger. He’d never been a man moved to violence, but Neal had the urge to punch Peter, to make him bleed.
Reese, however, employed words more effectively than Neal could ever use his fists. “Peter, I need to remind you that our partnership agreement provides for unilateral dissolution. There are limits to our friendship, and you’ve crossed a line I never expected you’d even approach.”
It was fascinating, in a way, seeing Peter’s eyes darken in shame, watching that strong man collapse in upon himself as if he was being sucked into a vortex. If he was a less forgiving man, Neal might have enjoyed it. But he needed to leave, before he said something he’d never forgive himself for.
Doing his best to ignore Peter, who sat there like a figure turned to stone, Neal kissed Elizabeth’s cheek, wishing her all the happiness in the world. He shook Reese’s hand and found his way out of the apartment and then out of the building. June’s mansion was a dozen blocks north, a ten minute walk home on a cool September evening, but for the first time since Peter walked out on him, Neal found that he didn’t want to go there; he didn’t want to be alone with his broken dreams and his impossible fantasies.
He stood in front of the apartment building, dithering. A part of him wanted to hail a cab and head to the bakery, where he could bury himself in unnecessary work. Another part wanted to just walk aimlessly, letting his feet take him where they would, until exhaustion claimed him – much like he did after Peter all but called him a diseased whore.
But he did neither of those things. There was a small park where Amsterdam Avenue intersected with Broadway. Neal crossed the street and found his way into the brightly lit and well-maintained space and sat down on a bench. He scrubbed at his face, trying to erase the tears that kept welling up. This was all so fucking stupid. Peter didn’t want him, in fact, Peter was an ass. A jerk. A bastard who didn’t seem to care who he hurt. And yet, Neal still loved him.
Someone sat down next to him. It was Reese. “Are you okay, son?”
He shrugged. “I will be.”
“I’m sorry about Peter.”
“Why? It’s not your fault he behaved like a schmuck.”
“No, but it was my suggestion to have both of you over tonight. El and I wanted to share our news, and we thought, maybe …”
“You really were trying to orchestrate a reconciliation?”
“The thought had crossed my mind. But I knew it was a long shot. I just didn’t think that Peter would be such a dick.”
Neal let out a watery chuckle. “Yeah. That’s the word for it.”
The two men sat there, the passing traffic an oddly pleasing counterpoint to their silence. Neal, though, started to feel compelled to break that silence. “You know, Elizabeth and I … It’s long over.”
“I know, and it doesn’t matter. It’s not like I don’t have my own sexual history.”
“But it’s a little different to be breaking bread with your fiancée’s former lover.”
“Hmmm. Maybe, maybe not.”
“Ah.”
They sank back into silence, and this time, Neal was content to let it ride. But Reese wasn’t.
“Has Peter told you anything about himself – his past?”
Neal wondered if Reese was about to give him the key to Peter’s behavior. “A little. I know he worked for you in the FBI, and that after you retired his new boss made his life a living hell because he was gay. He told me that he …” Neal paused, trying to find a way to phrase it. “He stopped caring about the job. That he had been drinking too much. I find it hard to believe – Peter is the most disciplined man I’ve ever met.”
A police car sped by, lights blazing, siren blasting.
Reese finally answered. “Peter was one of the most brilliant agents I ever trained. It never mattered to me that he was gay. In a way, I was proud of him, proud that he didn’t hide who he was, and believe me, it was difficult in those days. He took a lot of shit from the other agents, but he made them respect him because he was so good at his job.”
“It must have killed something in him when he left.”
“It did.”
“But that’s not the only thing that happened to him, is it? He was with someone – someone who cheated on him? Someone bisexual?”
Reese sighed. “Yes, I guess it’s not hard to figure that much out.”
“But you’re not going to tell me anything more than that, are you? None of the details?”
“Peter’s my friend, despite his behavior tonight. I can’t break a confidence.”
Neal looked at his hands, the orange glow from the streetlamp made them look old, alien. “I guess it really doesn’t matter, does it? I mean, knowing what damaged Peter isn’t going to change the fact that he wants nothing to do with me.”
“No, I guess not.”
“But understanding might help me hurt a bit less.”
Reese gave him a look. “No, Neal – you need to hear it from Peter. He might not be ready to talk to you now, but maybe someday soon, he will.”
“Live in hope, die in despair.” Even the words tasted bitter as he spoke them.
“You still love him.” That wasn’t a question.
“Yes. I don’t know how to stop loving him. I wish I did, though. I wish I could just stop feeling anything.” Neal heard the whine in his voice and despised himself. “The sad, sick, sorry thing is that I know that if Peter came knocking on my door tonight, after everything he said, if he came and begged my forgiveness, I’d take him back. I’m pretty pathetic, aren’t I? The living embodiment of the weak, needy gay man.”
“No, Neal – you are not that, not at all. You fell in love with someone who hurt you badly. It would be easy to turn that hurt into hate. But maybe you’re better than that. I’d say that Peter doesn’t deserve you, but I’ve known him too long and I know the type of man he really is. He deserves you, but more than that, he needs you and right now he’s too stupid to see beyond his past to believe that.”
Neal tried to take comfort in that. “Thanks, I guess.”
Another police car raced by, followed by an ambulance. Reese commented idly, “Just another night in Manhattan.”
“I guess if you want peace and quiet, this is not the place for it.” Neal stood up, a bit more at peace with himself that he had been. “Thank you. For this, for everything.”
Reese gave him a wry smile. “Go home, get some sleep. Tomorrow might be better.”
Peter sat at Reese and Elizabeth’s dining room table with his head in his hands, hating himself more than he’d ever thought possible. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, again.
Elizabeth just stood there and he could almost hear her fury. So far, she hadn’t said a word. So he apologized again.
“Do you mean it?”
Peter lifted his face out of his hands and looked at Elizabeth. “Yes, of course.”
“There’s no ‘of course’ about it, Peter.”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you apologizing because you feel bad, or because you are actually sorry that you’ve behaved like an ass?”
Peter understood the distinction that Elizabeth was making. “I’m sorry that I ruined your evening, that I spoiled what should have been such a happy moment for you and Reese.”
“That’s a start.”
He blinked. “What do you mean, it’s a start?”
“Well, I have to wonder why you felt compelled to blurt out my sexual history.”
Peter shrugged, but Elizabeth wasn’t giving him any quarter.
“No answer? You really have no idea why you needed to tell Reese that Neal and I had been lovers?” She waited, but Peter couldn’t come up with an answer. “Were you jealous?”
“Why would I be jealous?” The words left Peter’s mouth, but he wondered maybe, if he thought it through, he’d find the reason.
Elizabeth sat down next to him, her expression softening – just a little. “Maybe you’re jealous of Reese’s happiness, when you’re so miserable.”
God, that made so much sense.
“And maybe you’re jealous of what I used to have with Neal.”
Peter closed his eyes tightly, like a small child confronted with a monster. “I don’t want to think about that.”
“But you can’t stop thinking about it, can you.” Elizabeth was relentless. “It haunts you all the time.”
Peter nodded, unwilling to look at her.
“I know about Daniel.” Her voice was filled with an unexpected dose of compassion.
Peter’s eyes opened and he stared at Elizabeth. “How the hell could you know about him?” It had been over fifteen years since he’d discovered the truth about Dan.
“The Diarmitt.”
Peter didn’t make the connection.
“Sebastian Conroy at the Diarmitt. He knew about you and your partner, Daniel. When you came in and started investigating, I thought you were kind of hot. Sebastian was the one who told me you were gay.”
“How would he know that?”
It was Elizabeth’s turn to shrug. “He said he’d seen you and your partner at a few clubs.”
Okay – that made sense. Peter hadn’t particularly enjoyed the club scene, but Dan did, and they’d go dancing on the weekends. He could recall feeling like a clumsy fool on the dance floor and spending most evenings watching Dan strut his stuff. At the time, he hadn’t minded that Dan was dancing with other men, and even on occasion, with women. Peter saw no reason to deprive his partner of something he had enjoyed.
But Elizabeth’s phrasing – that she knew about Daniel – seemed to mean that she knew what he did to Peter. “What else did your friend, Sebastian, tell you?”
Elizabeth’s face was grave, her eyes too filled with pity. “That Daniel had been cheating on you; that he had been screwing around with other men and with women. And that you didn’t know and wouldn’t put up with it once you found out.”
Peter swallowed, but it hurt. This knowledge was so unexpected and so painful. He was humiliated that Dan’s infidelity was so commonly known that perfect strangers felt free to share that information.
“Was your friend one of Dan’s lovers?” Not that it would make any difference.
“I don’t know – I didn’t get the feeling that he was.”
Peter nodded, that was a small relief. “You know what happened, then?”
“No – actually. That’s all I know.”
“Ah. Do you want to know the rest?” He wasn’t sure why he asked Elizabeth that.
“Do you want to tell me?”
“I’m not sure I want to relive that pain again.” Actually, he was certain that he didn’t.
“It seems that you’re reliving it every day.”
“Yeah – it does seem that way, doesn’t it? Peter paused as another thought occurred to him. “I guess you’ve told Neal about Daniel.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, but I have to tell you that I’ve thought about it. All those months ago, when I told him that we’d once met, it didn’t seem relevant. Fifteen years is ancient history.”
“Or so it should be.” He looked down at his hands, for the lack of anything better to do. “But it isn’t. I’m surprised that after I broke up with Neal, you didn’t share what you knew.”
“To what end?”
“To make him feel better? To give him the chance for a little schadenfreude?”
“No – that’s not how I operate. And it wouldn’t have made Neal feel better. He’s not one to take pleasure from someone else’s pain.”
“Neal’s a good man. I never deserved him.”
“Yes.”
Peter sighed. “I can’t go back, and I can’t go forward. I’m stuck.”
“Yes, you are.” Elizabeth was all reasonableness now.
“Thanks for being so agreeable.”
“You’re welcome.” There was just a hint of laughter in her voice. “Seriously, I don’t know if you deserve or don’t deserve someone like Neal in your life. But I know that you don’t deserve to be trapped in this hell you’ve built for yourself.”
“Hell. That’s the word for it. And since you’ve been so generous in dispensing wisdom tonight, any idea how I can get out of it?”
She didn’t answer right away; just looked at him as if she was weighing her words.
“Well?”
“Have you ever thought about therapy?”
Something shifted inside him, like two continental plates bumping up against each other.
“Peter?”
Despite Elizabeth’s gentle prompting, he didn’t answer her.
“It could help, you know. Talking about what happened. Finding a way to deal with it. Because you haven’t, despite how long it’s been.”
She was right. Of course she was right, but he was unwilling to give in. “I don’t think it would do much good. It’s not like I’m in denial, or I blame myself.”
Elizabeth wasn’t giving up on him. “I think you are in denial, and I think you haven’t been able to stop blaming yourself. For everything.”
“It feels like such a cliché. A gay New Yorker in therapy.”
“So, you’d deny yourself the help you need because you don’t want to be perceived as a stereotype? That seems a bit ridiculous.”
“You take no prisoners, Elizabeth Mitchell, do you?”
“No, I guess I don’t. I don’t know why I want to help you. You’ve badly hurt someone I love; you’ve done your best to hurt me. I should kick you out on your ass and let Reese deal with you. But I can’t stand seeing anyone in pain.”
Peter looked at Elizabeth, really looked at her. He’d never seen her as anything less than a highly competent, very attractive woman, but now he could see her emotional intelligence, the strength and determination that made her so successful at life. “Reese is a very lucky man. I envy him.”
She raised an eyebrow at that last statement. Peter had to smile – he’d inadvertently brought the conversation back around to where they’d started. “And I am sorry – for being so petty and jealous.”
Elizabeth leaned close and kissed his cheek. “I understand, and I do forgive you.”
A small knot of pain, something he’d been carrying around for so long he didn’t even realize it was there, loosened. “Thank you, I don’t deserve …”
“Shh.” She put a finger against his lips, silencing him. “No, you do deserve forgiveness, more than anyone.”
Peter felt tears, damning and unmanly, gather in the back of his throat and he ducked his head. “Thank you.” He repeated himself; it was all he could say.
Reese returned to the apartment just as Peter was leaving. He looked at his old friend and was pleased to see he survived the flaying that Elizabeth must have given him.
They stood in the foyer, the moment awkward. But the awkwardness cleared when Peter looked him in the eye and apologized. “I’m sorry – I’ve been an ass and I’m sorry. For everything and especially for tonight.”
Reese had thought he’d had his fill of big emotional moments this evening, after listening to Neal Caffrey pour his heart out. But he found he still had room for Peter. “You apologized to Elizabeth?”
“Yes, and she didn’t make it easy on me.”
“Well, she shouldn’t have.” Reese felt his lips twitch into a smile. Peter looked like a small boy, suitably punished. “But I will.” He shocked both of them by reaching out and hugging Peter. “We’re good.”
Peter pulled back and gave him an abashed smile. “Your bride-to-be is a very wise woman, you know.”
“Oh?” He did, but wondered at what wisdom she’d dispensed.
“She told me – ” Peter paused and Reese could see a light flush of embarrassment color his cheeks. “That I should see someone, get some therapy.”
Reese nodded. “That, I think, is very wise.” He had thought about suggesting that to Peter a number of times over the years, and a few times in the last month, he’d even thought about requiring him to get some help. But threats like that rarely worked, and Peter was stubborn enough to dig in his heels and remain immovable on the subject if his hand was forced.
“I should get going.”
He nodded and opened the door, stepping aside to let the other man depart.
Peter didn’t leave, though. “But before I go, I want to offer you my congratulations. I know you and Elizabeth will be very happy together.” The words were heartfelt, almost shining in their sincerity.
“Thank you, Peter. It means a lot to hear that.” Peter offered his hand, and Reese took it. The handclasp lasted a few moments and Peter let go and left. Reese closed the door behind him. Thank god the evening was over. All he wanted to do was not have to think about Peter Burke or Neal Caffrey.
October
“Blake, have you got the last tray of flourless chocolate tortes?” Neal called into the bakery. He was doing the final inventory check for the Hughes-Burke event. It was all hands on deck as they were loading the van to delivery hundreds – if not thousands – of pieces of confection and pastry to the Hudson Hotel in Manhattan.
This was the biggest event to date for Desserts After Dark, and possibly the most important one ever. Technically, Clinton Jones was supposed to be managing the event, Elizabeth had stepped in and given him a hand, smoothing the way with the staff at the Hudson, ensuring that everything was done on time, in the right order. With over two hundred guests to feed, Neal and Blake had been baking non-stop for the last three days.
Blake came out with the missing tray of pastries and Neal slotted it into place. “Is that it?”
“Yes, sir!” The young man pulled a checklist out of his back pocket and looked it over. “All of the refrigerated pastries have been loaded. The room temperature ones are wrapped and ready to go.”
“Good work.”
His apprentice flushed at the praise and went back into the bakery to start on the next set of tasks. Neal thanked god and whatever angels that sent Blake their way, because he had no idea how he’d manage without him, now.
A few days after the disastrous dinner party – now a little more than a month ago – Neal sat down with Elizabeth and gave her what he though was going to be terrible news.
“I got an email from one of my teachers from culinary school today.”
Elizabeth looked up from the set of invoices she was reconciling. “Oh?”
“He’s opening a small pastry school in London, for ex-pats, mostly. He’s asked me to come and teach for the inaugural semester.”
Elizabeth took off the cheaters she finally admitted to needing and gave him a wry smile. “You want to do this?”
Neal shrugged, trying to pretend indifference. “Maybe.”
“I don’t think there’s any maybe about it. You really want to do it.”
“Yeah – I do.”
“London is a wonderful city.”
He agreed. “I’ve been there a few times and thought it might be nice to live there for a while. And I’ve always enjoyed teaching – so this is a great opportunity.”
Elizabeth gave him her patented ‘stop bullshitting me’ look.
So he confessed, “But the real truth is, I think I need a change of scenery. Just get out of New York. It wouldn’t be permanent – six months at most.”
“Okay.” El leaned back in her chair, looking awfully smug.
“Just like that? I’m leaving you in a bad spot and you’re being so reasonable?”
“Neal, I’ve been expecting this for a while now.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. And I’ve been preparing for it.”
“Huh?”
She handed him a folder and he opened it. It contained over a dozen resumes – all young men and women fresh out of some of New York’s top culinary and pastry arts programs. “Even if you weren’t planning on leaving, we can’t keep operating with you as the sole baker. You’re going to take on an apprentice – or maybe two – and train them.”
Neal was reminded of the conversation he had with Mozzie on the eve of his friend’s departure to California. “Maybe just one to start with.”
Elizabeth didn’t push on that point, but she had on the timeline. “We’re going to start interviewing this week. The Hughes-Burke event is coming up, and I want someone in place well before that.”
Neal’s heart had clenched a little at that single syllable “Burke” but he just nodded. “That’s probably for the best. Break someone in, test their mettle.”
He flipped through the resumes, setting aside likely candidates, but without testing their pastry skills, there would be no way to know who was going to measure up.
“Neal?”
“Hmm?” He looked up.
“When are you planning on leaving?” Finally, there was a touch of panic in El’s voice.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere until January. Do you really think I’d miss your wedding?”
Elizabeth looked up from the set of invoices she was reconciling. “Oh?”
“He’s opening a small pastry school in London, for ex-pats, mostly. He’s asked me to come and teach for the inaugural semester.”
Elizabeth took off the cheaters she finally admitted to needing and gave him a wry smile. “You want to do this?”
Neal shrugged, trying to pretend indifference. “Maybe.”
“I don’t think there’s any maybe about it. You really want to do it.”
“Yeah – I do.”
“London is a wonderful city.”
He agreed. “I’ve been there a few times and thought it might be nice to live there for a while. And I’ve always enjoyed teaching – so this is a great opportunity.”
Elizabeth gave him her patented ‘stop bullshitting me’ look.
So he confessed, “But the real truth is, I think I need a change of scenery. Just get out of New York. It wouldn’t be permanent – six months at most.”
“Okay.” El leaned back in her chair, looking awfully smug.
“Just like that? I’m leaving you in a bad spot and you’re being so reasonable?”
“Neal, I’ve been expecting this for a while now.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. And I’ve been preparing for it.”
“Huh?”
She handed him a folder and he opened it. It contained over a dozen resumes – all young men and women fresh out of some of New York’s top culinary and pastry arts programs. “Even if you weren’t planning on leaving, we can’t keep operating with you as the sole baker. You’re going to take on an apprentice – or maybe two – and train them.”
Neal was reminded of the conversation he had with Mozzie on the eve of his friend’s departure to California. “Maybe just one to start with.”
Elizabeth didn’t push on that point, but she had on the timeline. “We’re going to start interviewing this week. The Hughes-Burke event is coming up, and I want someone in place well before that.”
Neal’s heart had clenched a little at that single syllable “Burke” but he just nodded. “That’s probably for the best. Break someone in, test their mettle.”
He flipped through the resumes, setting aside likely candidates, but without testing their pastry skills, there would be no way to know who was going to measure up.
“Neal?”
“Hmm?” He looked up.
“When are you planning on leaving?” Finally, there was a touch of panic in El’s voice.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere until January. Do you really think I’d miss your wedding?”
Blake had been the first candidate they brought in. He didn’t balk at any of the grueling tests they’d devised – a half a day of baking a dozen different recipes, then a full day working side by side with Neal, who was ready to hire him on the spot. Elizabeth insisted that they go through the same process with the four other candidates. There was one which Neal liked enough to consider as a back-up or someone to hire a few months down the line, but as far as he was concerned, there was no one who he felt he could work with as well as Blake.
The past four weeks had proven that his people instincts, at least when they came to baking, were spot on. Blake was creative, but good at following orders. He knew that he was still learning and didn’t resent instruction. He also enjoyed showing initiative and creativity, and the Desserts After Dark menu had been expanded to add a few of his own signature recipes.
Neal figured, after the Hughes-Burke event, he’d give Blake his red velvet recipe and see how he fared with it. Elizabeth hadn’t balked, hadn’t uttered a single word of argument when Neal had taken his signature item – the red velvet cupcake – off the menu. But lately, he’d been wondering if it was time to reintroduce it.
If it was time to start living again.
Maybe the sojourn to London would do the trick. He was honest with Elizabeth when he told her he wasn’t planning on making the move permanent, that all he wanted was a change of scenery for a few months. And yet, there was a part of him that wondered if being in new city, meeting new people, maybe meeting someone who could help him get over Peter …
Neal discarded that thought. He was never going to get over Peter. He might start living again, he might start dating again. He might even meet a man who made his heart sing again, but there’d be no one who would ever replace Peter.
“Sir?” Blake came out of the bakery with yet another tray, this time filled with exquisitely decorated individual raspberry trifles.
Neal had no recollection of making them and asked Blake, “Where did those come from?”
“I made these last night, Chef Neal. I know that they weren’t on the order, but I thought maybe …”
Neal took a look at the tray – there were four dozen small cups – only enough for less than a quarter of the guests. “They look beautiful – we might have a fight on our hands if they’re a hit and we don’t have enough.”
Blake’s face fell and he turned to take them back inside.
“No – no. We’ll serve them.” He opened the van and let his apprentice put the tray inside. “Now – we need to get going. Have you seen Wesley?” The driver who replaced Moz was a good kid, a real Brooklyn hipster, complete with tattoos, scruffy neck beard and a grandpa sweater – just the type who’d have made his old friend crazy
“I think he’s helping Ms. Mitchell with packing up the coffee service. Yvonne and Brittany are already at the Hudson.”
“Ah, okay.” He could have used another set of hands. Times like this, he missed Moz, his cheerful complaints, his non-sequiturs, his ridiculously meaningful quotations.
“Everything’s cleaned up and ready to go. Once Ms. Mitchell and Wesley finish, we’ll get the rest of the pastries loaded into the second van.”
Neal dithered a bit – he should oversee that, but on the other hand, he had a truck full of perishables. “You know what to do?”
“Yes, Chef Neal.”
All of a sudden, Blake’s respectful attitude was beginning to grate on his nerves. “Neal – call me Neal, not Sir, not Chef Neal. Okay?”
“Okay, sir. Sorry – Neal.”
“Good – now remember, load the genoise …”
“I have the order written down, and all of the trays are numbered, sir.”
Neal laughed and shooed Blake back into the bakery. It would take at least forty minutes in mid-day traffic to get to the Hudson, another forty minutes to unload everything, and if his calculations were correct, he’d have an hour to get from the Hudson to his apartment, shower and change and get back to oversee the final setup. Technically, that was Elizabeth’s job – but she had her hands full and he wanted to make sure that everything was perfect.
He negotiated his way across the Williamsburg Bridge and thought, who the hell was he kidding? He was hoping to see Peter, masochistic idiot that he was. Not to talk to him because that would probably end in another disaster, but just to see him. Maybe exchange a rueful smile, a shrug, that’s all. A remembrance of what that had and that it was good.
Neal turned on the radio, Wesley had it set to a classics and standards station, but the upbeat jazz was irritating and he randomly pressed one of the preset buttons. A mournful female voice, accompanied by an equally mournful violin was singing words to break Neal’s heart:
And in the winter, extra blankets for the cold
Fix the heater, getting old
I am wiser now, I know, but still as big a fool
Concerning you
I met your friend
She's very nice what can I say?
It was an accident
I never dreamed we'd meet again this way
You're looking well
I'm not afraid...
Fix the heater, getting old
I am wiser now, I know, but still as big a fool
Concerning you
I met your friend
She's very nice what can I say?
It was an accident
I never dreamed we'd meet again this way
You're looking well
I'm not afraid...
Neal carefully turned the radio off. Silence was better than this.
Peter shuffled the deck of note cards for the umpteenth time. He’d been through his presentation so often; he could recite it in his sleep. The slides were simple and dynamic. He was taking a page out of the late, great Steve Jobs’ book – no more than five words per slide, no complicated graphics, the images were supposed to reinforce the message, not deliver the message.
He didn’t know why he was so nervous. He and Reese had alternated giving the company presentation and this was his year. Maybe because he finally could admit what an ass he’d made of himself; that too many of his clients knew he had a very brutal, very public meltdown.
There had been casualties on his client list. June was the first of them. She paid him the courtesy of a visit and told him very politely, very coldly, that for the foreseeable future, she’d prefer if someone else handled her accounts. He introduced her to Diana and they seemed to get on like a house on fire. He’d been pleased to see that June had accepted the firm’s invitation to the annual event and she was seated at Diana’s table.
A few other clients had abandoned him, some transferred their business to other partners, and one or two took their accounts to other firms. Arthur and Elaine stuck by him. In fact, Elaine was generous enough to recommend her therapist – after lecturing him for hours about how stupid he’d been.
It had been only a few weeks since he started therapy; individual and group counseling, too.
At first, the group therapy seemed like an episode out of the old Bob Newhart show, listening to other people’s complaints about the petty problems in their lives. He was going to keep his mouth shut and endure the ninety minutes the best he could, but the group leader wasn’t going to let him out so easily.
“Peter, why are you here?”
He just shrugged.
She’d kept at it, trying to engage him. “You’re here voluntarily; you had to have a reason. Don’t you want to share?”
He had thought about answering, “No, not really”, but even though he didn’t want to be there, he didn’t want to get tossed out, either. “I’ve had some relationship problems; I’m trying to figure out what when wrong.” That was, of course, mostly bullshit. He knew what went wrong – he deliberately hurt the man who loved him because he didn’t have any faith in that love. Why he couldn’t say that aloud was probably one of the real reasons why he was here.
As the weeks went by, talking became a little easier. Peter still hadn’t talked about Daniel in group, but he’d been slowly opening up to the past in his private sessions. He wasn’t under any illusions that this was going to be a long, slow and painful process. But even in these few short weeks, he could feel the load he’d been carrying around begin to lighten.
Maybe there was hope for him, after all.
“Hey, boss.” Diana knocked on his door. “You ready? There’s a car waiting for us.”
“Yeah. As ready as I’ll ever be.” He took the garment bag with his dinner suit off the coat rack and shouldered his briefcase. Like a few of the other partners and associates, he’d reserved a hotel room at the Hudson. It just made a lot more sense to do that than go all the way back to Brooklyn, then return to New York. He was nothing, if not practical.
Diana commented. “I watched the run-through your presentation; you’re going to hit it out of the park.”
“It’s not like I have done this before, you know.”
“I know.”
“But I’ve got a lot to overcome this time.”
Diana stuck her hands in her pockets and gave him a wry smile. “Yeah, you do.”
“And that’s why I like you, Ms. Berrigan. You don’t pull your punches.”
“Someone I once worked for taught me not to.”
Since Peter had been her first and only boss, he took that as a compliment.
The Hudson was an oasis of quiet, modernist luxury. Check-in was efficient and he had plenty of time to shower and dress. Too much time, in fact. He tried relaxing in one of the suite’s over-stuffed couches, running through the notes for his presentation yet again, but he couldn’t sit still. He thought about making a cup of coffee, but thought that with his luck; he’d spill it on himself.
Peter knew what was wrong with him – he knew why he got here so early. It was foolish, potentially dangerous, but he wanted to see Neal. He didn’t even want to talk with him. No – that was a lie and he was done with lying to himself. He did want to talk to Neal, he wanted to make things right, to apologize.
And this was the worst possible moment to do that, two hours before a major presentation. Just a few weeks since he started therapy.
No, he wasn’t ready. Not now. Not now.
Even as Peter put on his shoes, tied his tie into the perfect double Windsor, fitted his father’s gold cufflinks into his shirt cuffs and donned the suit jacket, he kept telling himself that he wasn’t the least bit ready to see Neal. The self-admonishment continued as he checked himself in the mirror, as he picked up his key card, put on his wristwatch and left the room.
There was still a half-hour, maybe more, before anyone of the firm’s clients would start arriving, but partners and associates were beginning to show up. Diana, who’d travelled with him to the hotel and had taken her own room, was in the lobby talking with a stunning brunette. It was Christie, her partner. Peter went over to say hello, because he needed something to do other than try and find his way into the ballroom or maybe even the service kitchens and look for Neal.
“Hey there.”
Christie gave him a searching look and Peter was reminded that she had been a front row witness to his meltdown two months ago. “Good to see you, Peter.” At least she didn’t ask how he was doing.
“Good to see you, too.”
They chatted about inconsequentialities for a few minutes before Peter moved on. Reese was here, and Elizabeth was with him. They’d seen each other quite a few times since the dinner party from hell, and each time he saw her, Peter was reminded how lucky his business partner was. Elizabeth seemed to have forgiven him completely, and Peter found her to be a very important part of his life these days.
They didn’t talk about Neal, of course. Nor did Peter talk about Daniel or what went on in therapy. But they managed to find other things, meaningful things, to talk about – what it was like growing up and knowing he was gay, dealing with parents who tolerated him only because he was their only child. He talked about being out in college, about refusing to go into the closet when he graduated from the FBI.
Sometimes Reese was there and he’d nod or offer his own perspective on things. For the first time in so long, Peter found that he had a family – not by blood, but through the strength of shared experience. And he couldn’t help but wonder how his life would have been different if he hadn’t lost track of Elizabeth Mitchell, if they’d become friends all those years ago.
In the same concerned tone as Diana had earlier, Elizabeth asked, “You okay?”
“What, do I have a ‘I am in a difficult place’ sign taped on my back?”
“Hmmm.” El leaned around and checked the back of his jacket. “Nope, but you’ve got a pensive look on your face.”
“Just thinking about things.”
She nodded, understanding far too much. “You didn’t answer my question. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, and you know something, I am. I think I am.”
“But it’s a work in progress, right?”
“Right.”
She kissed his cheek and said something about going to see how Clinton was holding up.
Clients and their spouses continued to arrive and Peter joined Reese on an impromptu receiving line. Of course, no one was crass enough to mention what had happened at the Met gala, but Peter received far too many odd looks. He ignored them, smiled, shook hands and thanked everyone for coming. The ballroom doors opened and the lovely aroma of chocolate wafted out and Peter quickly stepped out of the way to avoid being trampled.
He circulated through the room, getting a little more face time with people. Of course, there were the few who seemed upset that they weren’t having a traditional dinner service, but Clinton – who had done a masterful job with the event as a whole – stepped in and arranged for a small hors d'oeuvres platter to be delivered.
Yes, that man was definitely getting his promotion.
“Peter.” He knew, too well, the cultured tones of the speaker.
“Hello, June.”
She was as beautiful as always and at this moment, he hadn’t realized just how much he missed her. He hoped that someday she’d forgive him.
“It’s good to see you, Peter.” Her smile was a touch bittersweet.
“Yes, it’s good to see you too.” He wished he could think of something less banal to say. “You’ve been well?”
“Yes. I’ve been traveling, taking my granddaughters to see the world.”
“They’re very lucky girls.”
“Hmm, yes – I guess so. But I can’t help but think that it’s a terrible pity that their grandfather isn’t here to see them grow up. The pain from some losses never fade. And that’s not something I have to tell you, is it?”
“No, June. It isn’t.”
She searched his face, her eyes grave. “I wish …”
He reached out and took her hand. “Don’t. You can’t change the past.”
“But you can avoid reliving it.”
“If you’ve learned that lesson, you’ve come a long, long way, Peter.”
“I don’t think the lesson’s complete, not just yet.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Reese signaling to him. “It’s time for the comic relief portion of the evening to start.” He led her over to Diana’s table. “I’m leaving you in very capable hands.”
“Of course you are – and we need to talk. I’ll stop by your office next week?”
Peter nodded, although he was a little worried about what June wanted to discuss.
Neal returned to the Hudson about ten minutes before the ballroom doors opened and did a quick walk-through to make sure that everything was set up properly. Clinton Jones, the H-B associate who had reached out to Desserts After Dark, was doing his own double-check.
“Looks good?” He stood next to Clinton, who was inspecting the table with the chocolate fountain (Neal thought it an abomination, but it wasn’t his decision to include it).
“It does look good, but I am wondering if I need to taste everything to make sure that looks aren’t deceiving.” Clinton joked. “But don’t worry – I’m not going to mess everything up. Besides, it wouldn’t look good if I passed out from a sugar coma before the night started.”
Neal laughed. “No – that’s not a way to impress the bosses. This was all your idea, wasn’t it?”
“Yup. Want to make my mark and thought that doing something different would work.”
“Given the turnout this year, I think it has.”
“Who’d have thought that we’d get a ninety-five percent acceptance rate on the RSVPs? Aren’t most people on diets?”
Neal didn’t answer that question. He had a feeling that a lot of the buzz for this event was generated by Peter’s meltdown at the Met gala. No one did schadenfreude better than the glittering throngs of New York’s bold-faced names. Whatever reason clients had for accepting the Hughes-Burke invitation, they wouldn’t be talking about Peter’s public display of repugnance after it was over.
“This is going to be a success, right?” Clinton sounded a little nervous. “I mean – it wasn’t a mistake to do all desserts?”
“No, absolutely not. But there’s a backup plan in place, remember?” At the last minute, they arranged for a small amount of savory hors d'oeuvres to be available – just in case. At worse, they’d run out, at best, the hired wait staff would have a lot of gourmet finger food to take home.
“Yeah – yeah. Of course.”
Neal made a few small adjustments to the display of strawberries, and stepped back. He was fiddling because he, too, was getting nervous. He checked the time, it was just shy of eight o’clock. “Time for me to make my exit.”
Clinton looked at him, panic in his eyes. “You’re leaving? Why?”
“Because you have everything under control. I’m just the baker. If something goes wrong – and nothing will – Elizabeth will be here to help you.”
“But she’s …”
“She may be Reese’s fiancée, but for tonight, she’s your event planner, first and foremost.”
Clinton nodded, still nervous, but less panicky. “All right. All right.” He took a deep breath. “It’s now or never.” The man stiffed his back, dropped his shoulders and marched towards the doors, and opened them.
Neal retreated to one of the service entrances and watched the guests flood into the room. He recognized a few people. There was Diana Berrigan, of course. Peter had introduced her to Neal when he’d visited Peter at his office. He’d met her again when she’d paid a call on June at the house. Over Neal’s objections, June, in a fit of loyalty, had asked that her business be transferred to someone else at the firm. He noticed both of the CPAs he’d met at the initial presentation, Kathleen Rice and the hard-to-please diabetic, Helen Anderson, were here, naturally. Even a few of the clients seemed familiar – probably more because they were famous than because Neal actually knew them.
“Excuse me.”
Neal stepped aside and let one of the servers pass. She was carrying a tray of petit fours and he resisted the urge to straighten one of the pieces that had gone askew.
Standing here was a bad idea, and Neal wished for a better vantage point. Elizabeth was in the ballroom, Yvonne and Brittany were coordinating behind the scenes and Blake was directing from the kitchen, so there was really nothing he needed to do, except watch from the sidelines and wait for Peter to come into view.
When he did, the sight of his tall, lean figure brought as much longing as it did pain. But Neal couldn’t look away. His heart hurt a little, watching him from this distance. So close, but so far away.
A server with an empty tray pushed the door opened and Neal momentarily lost sight of Peter. Standing here, in the way, was pointless and Neal strongly considering going home. There was just too much temptation; to watch and wait and hope for a moment alone with Peter. For what, he wasn’t sure. Closure, perhaps? Or maybe another chance to discover that maybe it really wasn’t over? Because no matter how clear Peter had made it the last time they were in the same room, Neal couldn’t give up hope.
He knew that such hope was foolish, but he’d always been something of a fool.
His presentation – on the “art” of donation – went as well as he’d hoped. If the audience hadn’t been riveted, at least they hadn’t fallen asleep. Or maybe everyone was just too hyped up on sugar, Champagne, and caffeine to doze off.
Reese took the podium for a very brief speech, thanking everyone for attending and wishing them well. After that, it was all smooth sailing. He went from table to table to pose for pictures, glad-handing and talking particulars when necessary.
It was close to midnight when the event drew to a close and the guests began to depart. The party had been a massive success, but Peter couldn’t escape a crushing sense of disappointment. He knew it was irrational, and as he’d told himself earlier, it wouldn’t be good for him either, but he’d really wanted to see Neal.
After the last guests left, Elizabeth and a small army of helpers started to oversee the teardown. In a matter of minutes, dirty linen disappeared into bags, the tables and chair were folded and stacked and rolled off. Leftovers were boxed up, to be sent to the Hughes, Burke offices for the rest of the staff to enjoy. Peter hadn’t been able to eat a thing; the thought of biting into a pastry that Neal made seemed like a curious act of betrayal. Maybe that was something he could talk about in therapy.
Elizabeth came over to him. “What are you still doing here?”
“Dunno – just watching.”
“Why don’t you go home, relax?”
He grimaced, the thought of going home – or even up to his hotel room – held no appeal. But he wasn’t going to tell Elizabeth that. “Maybe I will.”
But she wasn’t fooled. “You were hoping to see Neal, weren’t you?”
He shrugged, like a small child caught doing something he shouldn’t have. “I guess he wasn’t here, tonight.”
“No, he was.” And then El surprised him. “He spent the whole night on the other side of that door, watching.”
Peter turned to where she was pointing; there was a discreet service entrance directly to the left of the podium. He blinked, not knowing what to feel. Neal had been so close, but he hadn’t come to see him. And why should he? It’s not like you hadn’t made it clear you wanted nothing more to do with him.
Elizabeth surprised him again. “He might still be here. He’s probably overseeing the pack up.”
“El? Why are you telling me this?”
It was her turn to shrug. “Maybe you’re ready to see him.”
“My therapist would probably tell you that this is a huge mistake.” He couldn’t believe he actually said that.
“Maybe. Or maybe you just need a few minutes to make some peace between you.”
Frozen between what he wanted to do and what he should do, Peter didn’t move.
“Go.” Elizabeth actually gave him a shove towards the door.
The world behind the swinging door was completely different from the glamorous hotel ballroom he just left. Despite the late hour, the corridor was filled with staff and Peter felt like an interloper. He had no idea where he was going, and followed a young woman pushing a cart with the espresso machine, hoping her destination was the same as his.
The corridor ended at an open loading dock; the flow of midnight air, chilly this late in October, helped clear the slight fog that had enveloped Peter as he went in search of Neal. The server handed off the cart to a young man who wasn’t Neal, and Peter was intensely disappointed.
But before he could leave, he heard a familiar voice. “I think this is it. Let’s get it on the truck so you can go home, Blake.”
Peter watched as Neal came and helped load the espresso machine onto the all-too-familiar Desserts After Dark truck. He waited as the two men went through a checklist and kept thinking that he really should leave, that this wasn’t a good idea. That this was the opposite of a good idea.
But he couldn’t, even if he said nothing and just watched Neal from the shadows.
Neal clapped the young man on the shoulder and told him to drive carefully. He stood there, back to the loading dock and hands in his pockets, as the van pulled away and disappeared into the never-ending flow of Manhattan traffic.
The seconds ticked away and Peter chastised himself. Are you going to just stand here all night, or are you going leave without saying anything?
That’s what he should do. He could even convince himself that it was enough to just see Neal for these few moments; he didn’t need to talk to him. He even started to leave when Neal turned.
“Peter?”
He had to say something. So, “Hey there” sufficed.
Neal’s smile was sweet and welcoming and all Peter wanted to do was wrap his arms around the man and tell him how much he’d missed him. He even took a step forward, but Neal – still smiling – held up a hand, and he stopped.
“I didn’t know if I’d see you tonight.”
“Other than watching me through a service door?” At Neal’s quizzical look, Peter explained. “Elizabeth told me that you stood and watched for the whole evening.”
Neal ducked his head, and even in the dim light, Peter could see a touch of embarrassment on his cheeks.
“She also told me where I could find you.”
“She did? I’m surprised.”
“Why? Did she tell you not to talk to me?” Peter was hurt, but he reminded himself that Elizabeth had been Neal’s friend for a long time before they’d met.
“No – she’s sort of avoided talking about you at all.”
“Ah. I suppose I deserved that.”
“But Reese hasn’t.”
That surprised him. “Oh?”
“Nothing to be concerned about. He hasn’t really volunteering anything, but when I’ve asked, he’s said you’re doing better.” Neal tilted his head and Peter felt like he was being examined by a raptor. “Are you?”
“Yeah, I am.” He felt proud saying that.
“Good – that is really good to hear.”
The silence fell between them again. Neal looked like he was about to leave and Peter realized that he couldn’t let this moment pass. “I’m sorry.”
A myriad of emotions crossed Neal’s face. “It’s okay.”
Peter shook his head. “No, it’s not. What I did, what I said to you – that was horrible and inexcusable and wrong. The way I treated you was wrong.”
“Peter – ”
He cut Neal off. “Please, let me finish. I know this probably isn’t the right place or the right time, but I need to say this.” Peter licked his lips; they were bone dry from nervousness. “You were right – I was always holding back, I was always waiting for something to go wrong. I looked at you and saw someone young and beautiful and I wondered how the hell you could be interested in me.
“I was so shallow, focused on what you appeared to be, not what you were. What you are. And when I met Sara…” Peter swallowed, it was still hard to say the woman’s name. “It was my worst nightmare, come true. I’m sorry – beyond words sorry – and I will regret hurting you for the rest of my life.”
Neal didn’t speak and Peter thought he’d made an ass of himself yet again. But under the ugly fluorescent lighting in the Hudson Hotel’s loading dock, Peter saw the trail of tears burning down Neal’s cheeks. His own, though, were dry. He’d cried too many times these past few months to weep now.
“Peter – I wish, I wish… ”
“I know we can’t go back. I can’t change what happened, but I can try to make the future better. You did nothing wrong and what I accused you of – I know it’s unforgivable.”
“No – not unforgivable. Never that.”
Peter drew in a sharp breath as Neal reached out and touched his cheek. His fingers were hot as brands, gentle as a dove’s wing. “You are too generous.”
Neal’s smile was sad and he pulled his hand away. “The truth is, Peter – I forgave you almost immediately. I think I’ll always forgive you.”
There was another word there, it had been scraped away and painted over, like a palimpsest. Instead of forgiveness, love.
Peter somehow found the courage to speak. “That night, at Reese’s – you asked me if it was possible to mend what I’d broken.”
“You said no.”
Peter whispered, “But I wanted to say yes.”
Neal shook his head, as if he could deny what he was hearing.
“So I guess there’s no point in asking you the same question?”
Neal looked at him, and something in his eyes gave Peter hope and terrified him, too. “Can you tell me the truth? Can you tell me what happened to you that made you react like that?”
Peter wanted to say yes, he wanted to tell Neal the whole sordid story. “I – No, I can’t.” He dropped his head in shame and waited for Neal to walk away.
But Neal didn’t. He touched Peter again, lifting his face up. “When you can, maybe then we can move forward.”
“Maybe?” Peter’s heart sunk at the qualifier.
“Maybe.” Neal’s lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. “Leave me at least the illusion of self-preservation.” But his actions belied the caution in his words as he leaned in and brushed his lips against Peter’s.
The kiss was soft and heartbreakingly brief, but Peter made no move to lengthen it. “Neal.” The name was a prayer, a benediction.
“I need your honesty, Peter. When you can face what happened to you, when you can tell me everything, we can have another chance. But not before.”
It hurt, it hurt like hell and maybe it was supposed to. “I understand.” What he didn’t say was that he also understood that Neal wouldn’t wait forever. Why should he?
Someone from the hotel staff must have noticed that the loading dock was still open. “Hey there – is everything done? I need to close this.”
Neal replied, calling out that they were finished. Peter hoped that they were not.
Go to Part Seven - On LJ | On DW
Tags:
- character: clinton jones,
- character: diana berrigan,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: june ellington,
- character: matthew keller,
- character: mozzie,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: ofc,
- character: omc,
- character: peter burke,
- character: reese hughes,
- character: sara ellis,
- genre: alternative universe,
- genre: angst,
- genre: domesticity,
- genre: fluff,
- genre: food,
- genre: friendship,
- genre: het,
- genre: hurt/comfort,
- genre: romance,
- genre: slash,
- pairing: elizabeth/mozzie,
- pairing: elizabeth/neal,
- pairing: elizabeth/reese,
- pairing: neal/kate,
- pairing: neal/keller,
- pairing: neal/sara,
- pairing: peter/neal,
- type: fan fiction,
- type: longfic,
- white collar,
- written for: wcbb,
- year: 2013
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-09-22 07:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-09-22 10:19 pm (UTC)I cried when I was writing this - it hurt so much.
no subject
Date: 2013-09-22 11:24 pm (UTC)The talk between Peter and Neal made me cry *sniff* My heart aches for them. At least they were able to start talking about what is keeping them apart ♥ And I was so proud of Neal that even though he had already forgiven Peter, he was still able to tell Peter that there are still things he needs to deal with until they can even try to be together again \o/
On to the next part :D
no subject
Date: 2013-09-22 11:30 pm (UTC)This was definitely a turning point in the story.
no subject
Date: 2013-09-24 05:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-15 02:31 am (UTC)Peter'w words to him were cruel, vicious and undescribable awfull.
I don't feel Peter truly realize how cruel he was, how stupid.
I wouldn't want anyone to be forgiven so easily after said those things.
I wish Neal would find someone better and forget Peter.
I wish Neal tobe happywith someone else.