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elrhiarhodanTitle: Leaving Me In Silence – Rocker El ‘verse 3 of 3
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Peter/Neal
Spoilers: Slight spoilers for S3.06 (Taking Account)
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: An A/U called The Rocker El 'verse
Word Count: ~12,000 (Three Parts)
Summary: Neal and Elizabeth start to bond over lunch. Peter comes home and makes a very important decision.
Leaving Me In Silence is set in an alternative universe where Elizabeth Burke is a rock star who uses the stage name, Lizzie Bordyn and she is long divorced from her FBI agent husband. Neal Caffrey is the same, except that Kate broke up with him before he started serving his sentence and Moz disappeared. Peter is Peter – but without Elizabeth.
Author’s Notes: Greatly expanded and revised from the series of ficlets written during Promptfest VI, starting with the original prompt fromladygray99, Elizabeth - Rock n Roll. Title from Annie Lennox', No More I Love Yous.
Beta'd byrabidchild67 and jrosemary. Thank you! All mistakes are mine and mine alone. Part 1 and Part 2 were published on 8/16 and 8/17 respectively.
_____________________________
Neal watched as Peter walked out into the blinding sunshine. He wanted to follow him, to beg him not to go, not to leave him here with the woman that had been and always will be his biggest rival. He might talk a good game about being friends with the former Mrs. Burke – but he wasn’t blind to the risks. He knew how this was all going to end.
Peter loved Elizabeth. He never said anything, but Neal could see that he longed for her like she was the other half of his soul, and didn’t realize it. There were times that Neal would lie next to Peter and listen to him talk in his sleep. He’d whisper her name like a prayer. It didn’t happen too often, but it happened often enough for Neal to know that given the choice between a future with Elizabeth and a future with Neal, Peter wouldn’t hesitate.
Oh, he’d apologize, he’d try to make things right. But one day soon, he’d look at Elizabeth and see all his dreams come true. He’d look at Neal and see … what? That was something he never could figure out.
Unlike Peter, he knew that “Lizzie Bordyn" was retiring. Moz, his onetime friend – his former criminal mentor – had somehow become her manager. Neal couldn’t quite figure it out and Moz never offered an explanation. He got in touch with Neal shortly after he got out of prison. They shared a bottle of the ’82 Bordeaux that Neal had stashed before his trial and reminisced over old times.
Moz had been disappointed that Neal wasn’t interested in getting back into the game, but he was happy enough with his current work. A few months ago, when he met up with Moz during a trip to Los Angeles, Moz told him that Lizzie Bordyn wasn’t going to re-up with her label. Neal’s blood ran cold. Once Peter found out she was retiring, he’d try to get back with her. Or at least start thinking about it.
So he was faced with a choice - give Peter what he wanted and keep him for a little while longer, or do nothing and lose him quickly. Either way, he knew he was going to end up without Peter. It was just a matter of time.
He plastered a smile on his face, turned on his heel and went back into the restaurant.
“Coffee? Dessert?”
Elizabeth smiled at him – maybe the first genuine one she’d given him. “I think I’ll pass. I’m a little worn out. I’ve got about two years worth of sleep to catch up on.” She made a move to get up.
“Then how about a decaf espresso? Tiny cup, not a lot of coffee. A perfectly civilized way to end a meal.” He gave her his patented “trust me” look – open smile, wide eyes, arched brows.
“Well, okay.” Elizabeth relaxed.
The waiter came and they placed their order, and he coaxed her into splitting a tiramisu.
Neal wondered how he was going to be able to get Elizabeth to open up to him – she was smart and now very cautious without Peter’s presence. But to his surprise, she jumped in, feet first.
“I’m a little surprised at you and Peter.”
“Why? Because I’m a guy?”
“Nah.” Elizabeth grinned and casually waved a hand, dismissing any prejudice. “Peter told me about his experimental days, some of the relationships he had in college. No, I’m just surprised that he’s in a committed relationship with a former criminal.”
Neal was relieved. “The operative word there is ‘former’. I’ve been out of the game for a long time now.”
The waiter brought their coffee and dessert. El took a sip of her espresso. “So – how did the two of you get together?”
Neal leaned back and turned on the charm. “We were prison pen pals.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. I sent him a birthday card. Peter wrote back.”
“And that was the start of a beautiful friendship?”
“That’s one way of putting it. There certainly have been some rocky points along the way.” Neal wasn’t giving her the details.
“Peter said you got out of prison, went to his office and offered to become a CI. That true?”
“That’s pretty much how it happened.”
“Why would you do that? It seems rather implausible.”
Neal shrugged. “At the time, it felt like the only option. Ex cons aren’t exactly employable, and my record made it hard to do anything in a trust-worthy position.” He didn’t have to tell her that there was no way he was going to allow Peter to slip through his fingers.
“I guess not. But if you’re no longer a CI, what are you doing?”
“Can’t I just be sitting around, like the lilies in the field?”
“That proverb had nothing to do with laziness.”
“Peter’s always said you were smart.” Neal thought that Elizabeth Burke had one of the most beautiful smiles he’d ever seen – her whole face lit up, her eyes sparkled.
“Really, what do you do?”
“Do we always have to define ourselves by our careers?” Neal knew he was deflecting. He had no reason, other than that Elizabeth was still very much a stranger.
Elizabeth grinned at him. “Are you like this with Peter?”
“Sometimes. Now – what was your question?” Neal found himself smiling back. This woman was dangerous.
“What do you do? When you’re not driving Peter crazy?”
“What makes you think I drive him crazy?”
“Neal!” Her laugh was equal parts amusement and frustration.
“Okay, okay. I’m an independent art expert. I consult for museums, private collectors, foundations.”
“And what does an ‘independent art expert’ do on a day to day basis?”
“Mostly paperwork – investigating provenance…”
“Provenance?”
“An artwork’s ownership history.”
“Ah. Go on – I’m fascinated.” Elizabeth rested her chin on her fist and batted those big blue eyes at him. Neal felt a little helpless.
“Sometimes I will verify authenticity.”
“Wasn’t Peter after you for forgery? Isn’t that like asking the fox to guard the hen house?”
“Good point, but my time working with the FBI helped to clear some of that stigma. And since I still consult for the FBI on art matters, my former vocation doesn’t seem to be an issue anymore.” Neal dug a spoon into the tiramisu and took a taste. He tried not to grimace.
“Not very good?”
“No, unfortunately.” He drank his remaining espresso to clear the taste from his mouth.
Elizabeth sighed. “Look, I should go. I’m exhausted.”
Neal signaled for the waiter, who brought the check. “Where are you staying?”
“The Aurora, in Chelsea.”
“Nice place – quietly luxurious.”
“You’ve stayed there?”
Neal bit his lip and hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Peter and I would go there occasionally.”
“Long lunches?”
“Something like that.” Neal paid in cash, and left a generous tip, despite the vile dessert. They both got up to leave. “Can I walk you back there?”
Elizabeth looked up at him, and he couldn’t quite read her face. “Hmm. No, I don’t think so. But you can get me a cab.”
They walked out of the restaurant and whether it was serendipity or just good luck, a cab pulled up to the curb to let out passengers. He ushered her into the cab and watched it pull away.
The previous night, when Peter sprang this lunch on him, Neal wondered what it would be like. Watching them together in the bar, the way Elizabeth was looking at Peter, it was easy to see that she was interested. When he sat alone after they went in for lunch, there was a moment when the seething acid of jealousy nearly blinded him. Elizabeth was crying, and Peter had her wrapped in his arms. For a man who professed helplessness with crying women, he seemed to be handling one of them just fine.
There were moments, after Peter introduced them, that he wondered if Elizabeth was going to claw out his eyes in a jealous rage of her own. But after everything, he was glad to have some time alone with Peter’s ex. Despite her fame as a rock ‘n’ roll goddess, despite the history between them, despite Peter’s subconscious attempts at reconciliation, he liked her. She was smart, formidable and perfectly able to take care of herself.
If she wasn’t such a threat to his happiness, he’d want to be her friend.
It was close to midnight when Peter got home. The intel on Donovan had been completely accurate. He had been about to bolt for Rio, hoping Brazil’s lax observance of extradition laws would keep him out of prison. But now he wouldn’t have a chance to find out. The take down was successful, netting much more evidence than they had expected. Donovan had been sloppy; he left a key and a letter to his brother containing instructions on the disposal of the contents of a storage unit on his desk, in plain view. Jones got a warrant and they found dozens of cartons of counterfeit medication and enough paperwork to tie Donovan to a distribution chain up and down the east coast.
By the time they processed the evidence and got their suspect into lock up, it was after ten. Peter entrusted the final clean up to his deputies and headed home. He had exchanged a few texts with Neal during the day, but nothing of consequence. He was dying to know how the rest of the lunch went with Elizabeth. It mattered very deeply that they got along, that El liked Neal, that the three of them could be friends.
He let himself in and Lily, the golden retriever that they had adopted from a rescue group, looked up and gave him a doggie grin. But she was too lazy to come over and greet him, instead content to just thump her tail on the floor when Peter reached down and scratched behind her ears.
There was music playing softly in the background. Peter recognized the recording, and was surprised. It was one of Elizabeth’s classical recordings - something she never commercially released. He wondered how Neal found it.
It was a good thing they both were quiet. Neal was asleep in an easy chair, a file opened on his lap and his reading glasses slipping down his nose. Peter just watched him - there was something so defenseless about a quiescent Neal. Paradoxically, he looked both younger and older. The unguarded nature of sleep lent him an air of innocence, but without his ever present smile, the gentle passage of time was more obvious. The flecks of gray in his late day beard, the small lines at the corners of his eyes, the strands of silver at his temples.
The sight of Neal’s bare feet propped up on an ottoman undid Peter. For as long as he had known Neal – even during his time in prison, he had used his appearance as a weapon and as protection. Whether he was as composed as a fashion model or clad simply in a pair of chinos and a t-shirt, his attire was his armor. Seeing him like this, still in one of his classic suits, vest buttoned, tie perfectly knotted, cuffs neat and tight on his wrists, but his feet naked, stirred something primal in him, a need to protect, to care for, to nurture – and to love Neal as he needed to be loved.
Peter wasn’t blind to Neal’s faults – he took incredible risks, he’d sooner dodge and deflect than give a straight answer, and there had been times when he was certain that Neal was heading straight back to the life. But Neal was also vulnerable and shockingly insecure, though he hid it well. It was that vulnerability that had called to Peter – first as a friend, then as a lover. It filled a place in his soul – the need to be needed.
He knew that their relationship was more than that – it was love in all its complexities. His heart was filled with joy and a sudden understanding that this was the person he was going to spend the rest of his life with. There was no going back and even if Elizabeth had told him she still loved him, that she regretted her choice, that she wanted to be his again, he’d remain unmoved. Seeing her today brought back a few old feelings, but if there was one thing he was certain of, the old torch he’d been carrying was well and truly burned out.
Peter went up to their bedroom, stowed his gun in the safe and took out a small velvet bag hidden in the back, behind a few cartons of ammunition. He got out of his suit, put the bag in his pocket and washed up before going back downstairs. Watching Neal sleep, Peter composed his thoughts.
Neal stirred, mumbled something and licked his lips. His glasses, which were now resting on the tip of his nose, slid off, waking him up.
He opened his eyes and blinked.
“Hey there.”
Neal looked up and gave him a sleepy smile. “Hey, yourself. When did you get home?”
“About ten minutes ago. Sorry I was so late. Things got complex.”
Neal sat up, a worried look crossed his face. “Everyone okay?”
“Not that kind of complex. Sorry. We got Donovan and a storage locker full of evidence.”
“You found the counterfeits?”
“Including Tamoxifen and a half-dozen other chemotherapy drugs.”
“Bastard. What sort of person fakes cancer treatments?”
“Someone without a shred of decency.”
Neal rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “You eat?”
“Yeah, we got a delivery from Grand China at the office.”
Neal made a face. “Don’t tell me – boneless spareribs and fried rice?”
“For one meal, it’s fine. I promise not to make a habit of it.” He didn’t want the evening to spiral into a discourse on his elevated cholesterol levels.
“Okay, fine.” Neal got up and stretched, joints popping. “I think I’m getting too old to spend my nights like this.”
Peter chuckled. “Try spending your nights in the van when you’re my age.”
“Hmm, been there, done that – don’t need to think about revisiting it in my decrepitude.”
“Hey! Who are you calling decrepit?” Peter flexed a muscle for show.
“Put the gun away, Agent Burke.”
“Thought my guns turned you on?” It was a running joke between them, considering how much Neal hated firearms. He snagged Neal by the belt buckle, pulled him onto his lap and kissed him. Neal kissed him back, slowly, sweetly. “Hmmm, I like coming home to this, to you.” After all this time, it still felt new and special.
Neal tucked his head into his shoulder and mumbled, “I like having you come home to me.”
Peter kissed Neal’s ear, biting down gently on the tender lobe. Neal’s reaction was gratifying as he pressed himself closer and the hard bar of his burgeoning erection was a prod against his belly. “Mmmm, love you.” He turned Neal’s face back up to his, threaded his fingers through his hair and kissed him again. “I love you so very much.”
Neal, though, didn’t respond, and there was a sudden lack of enthusiam in his kisses.
Peter pulled back and looked at him. There was sadness and a touch of anger in his eyes. He hadn’t seen that look in a very long time. Neal pulled away, stood up. Peter was chilled at their physical separation.
“Neal, what’s the matter?”
“Don’t do this to me.”
“Do what?”
Neal looked everywhere but at him. “You don’t have to pretend – you don’t have to say the words to make me feel better.”
Peter was confused. “What are you talking about?”
“I understand – I went into this with my eyes open, I knew what was going to happen.”
“Neal – honestly – I have no idea what you mean.”
Neal walked over to one of the bookcases and picked up a photograph. He turned back to Peter, holding out the picture. “Elizabeth – your one perfect love. I always knew that you’d go back to her one day, that your heart would always be hers.” Peter had kept that single picture of them taken while they were still dating - before fame and careers and life got in the way. It wasn’t kept as a shrine or even a reminder of the life he once had - but an ordinary memory of a day in his life. Had Neal put it away, he probably never would have noticed.
“Neal!” Peter was shocked. This was the last thing he expected, but perhaps he should have realized it. “I don’t love Elizabeth – not as my ex-wife, not as a future anything. She’s dear to me because I did love her. Once, a long time ago. But not now.”
It was clear that Neal didn’t believe him. He took the picture he was holding out and placed it face down on the couch.
“She wants you back, Peter. It’s obvious – Elizabeth wants to pick up the threads of her life with you. You can have her back without breaking a sweat.”
Peter got up and went to Neal, wrapping his arms around him. “I know – and to my regret, I made it seem like I was interested in that too. But I’m not.” Neal didn’t say anything and that troubled Peter, so he blundered along. “Yes, there was a time when I would have given my right arm for that – but not since you.”
Neal finally looked at him. The pain in his eyes was heartbreaking. “You still love her.”
Peter sighed and shook his head. “No, Neal. I don’t.” Peter was emphatic and even a little angry. “And I can’t believe you thought that all this time, after everything we’ve been through together, that I’d leave you for Elizabeth.”
“Peter, you say her name in your sleep.”
That surprised him – he never remembered dreaming about her. Not since he’d been with Neal. “Do I call her name when we’re having sex?” That would be the ultimate insult.
“No, but you subconsciously...”
“Neal – no I don’t. Consciously or subconsciously.” He kissed Neal with each word. “And I can prove it to you.”
This was not how he had intended the evening to go, but it was the best way possible to prove his intentions. Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet bag. He dropped to one knee and took Neal’s right hand.
“Neal Caffrey, will you marry me?”
Neal had never intended to press the issue of Elizabeth tonight. He planned to casually say how lovely she was, and wouldn’t it be nice to have her over for dinner. He watched them together and started planning his own future without Peter. He had a legitimate business, it paid well, gave him professional satisfaction and a certain amount of respect. There was no need to abandon that.
Maybe he could recruit Moz – turnabout could be fun, and there was no denying that he could use his expertise.
But when Peter started professing his love, Neal couldn’t take it anymore. It just hurt too much. So he laid everything on the line. And as much as Peter denied it, as much as he wanted to believe – with his whole heart – that Peter loved him more than his dreams of reconciliation, he couldn’t let himself. It would only end in pain.
Then Peter did the unthinkable. He asked him to marry him.
Neal collapsed. Literally. He dropped to his knees in front of Peter.
“Neal - are you okay?”
He heard Peter over the pounding in his brain. “Peter? Did you just...”
“Ask you to marry me. Yes, I did.”
Every molecule in his body screamed “YES” in triumph. But he couldn’t make his tongue utter that single syllable.
Peter scooted around and pulled him into his arms. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at such a loss for words. And I don’t know if that’s a bad sign.”
Neal leaned into Peter, his mind and his heart finally in agreement. He twisted his head around and looked up. “Yes, Peter, I will marry you.”
Peter dropped something into his lap before cupping his face and kissing him. “I love you, Neal. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want you as my own, from this day forward to forever.”
The possessiveness in Peter’s voice, the progressively harsher kisses unknotted the last cords of doubt.
Peter’s hand was fishing around his lap, missing the obvious locus of desire and Neal, in a moment of mischief, pressed it against his cock.
“That’s not what’s I’m looking for.” Peter pulled his hand free and retried what he had dropped. He bit Neal’s lip, just hard enough to make it lightly swollen by the morning. He held up a small velvet bag. “This is.”
Peter opened the bag and pulled out something flat and golden. Before Neal could tell what it was, Peter took his wrist and wrapped the gold around it.
“Somehow, a diamond engagement ring didn’t seem suitable.” Peter licked his lips and Neal couldn’t help but smile.
“A Cartier slave bracelet?”
“I think it’s officially called a “Love” bracelet.” Peter blushed and Neal’s heart melted.
“You have the screwdriver?”
Peter shook the bag and the small tool fell out. “I had hoped that once I put this on you, it could never be taken off.”
“The symbolism doesn’t escape me, Peter. You’ve always had a thing for me in handcuffs.” Neal held out his wrist and Peter tightened the locking screw. “Maybe we can get it engraved?”
Peter kissed him again. “I’d like that.”
“And then soldered closed?” Neal bit his lip – maybe that was too much?
But Peter didn’t think so. Not at all. He growled and his eyes lit up. “Yes, we are going to do that.” Neal leaned in and kissed Peter, wrapping himself around him like a vine.
“I love you, Peter Burke.” He kissed him, hard. “I love you, I love you.”
Peter kissed him back, hard and claiming. “I love you too. Don’t ever doubt again.”
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Peter/Neal
Spoilers: Slight spoilers for S3.06 (Taking Account)
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: An A/U called The Rocker El 'verse
Word Count: ~12,000 (Three Parts)
Summary: Neal and Elizabeth start to bond over lunch. Peter comes home and makes a very important decision.
Leaving Me In Silence is set in an alternative universe where Elizabeth Burke is a rock star who uses the stage name, Lizzie Bordyn and she is long divorced from her FBI agent husband. Neal Caffrey is the same, except that Kate broke up with him before he started serving his sentence and Moz disappeared. Peter is Peter – but without Elizabeth.
Author’s Notes: Greatly expanded and revised from the series of ficlets written during Promptfest VI, starting with the original prompt from
ladygray99, Elizabeth - Rock n Roll. Title from Annie Lennox', No More I Love Yous.Beta'd by
rabidchild67 and jrosemary. Thank you! All mistakes are mine and mine alone. Part 1 and Part 2 were published on 8/16 and 8/17 respectively.Neal watched as Peter walked out into the blinding sunshine. He wanted to follow him, to beg him not to go, not to leave him here with the woman that had been and always will be his biggest rival. He might talk a good game about being friends with the former Mrs. Burke – but he wasn’t blind to the risks. He knew how this was all going to end.
Peter loved Elizabeth. He never said anything, but Neal could see that he longed for her like she was the other half of his soul, and didn’t realize it. There were times that Neal would lie next to Peter and listen to him talk in his sleep. He’d whisper her name like a prayer. It didn’t happen too often, but it happened often enough for Neal to know that given the choice between a future with Elizabeth and a future with Neal, Peter wouldn’t hesitate.
Oh, he’d apologize, he’d try to make things right. But one day soon, he’d look at Elizabeth and see all his dreams come true. He’d look at Neal and see … what? That was something he never could figure out.
Unlike Peter, he knew that “Lizzie Bordyn" was retiring. Moz, his onetime friend – his former criminal mentor – had somehow become her manager. Neal couldn’t quite figure it out and Moz never offered an explanation. He got in touch with Neal shortly after he got out of prison. They shared a bottle of the ’82 Bordeaux that Neal had stashed before his trial and reminisced over old times.
Moz had been disappointed that Neal wasn’t interested in getting back into the game, but he was happy enough with his current work. A few months ago, when he met up with Moz during a trip to Los Angeles, Moz told him that Lizzie Bordyn wasn’t going to re-up with her label. Neal’s blood ran cold. Once Peter found out she was retiring, he’d try to get back with her. Or at least start thinking about it.
So he was faced with a choice - give Peter what he wanted and keep him for a little while longer, or do nothing and lose him quickly. Either way, he knew he was going to end up without Peter. It was just a matter of time.
He plastered a smile on his face, turned on his heel and went back into the restaurant.
“Coffee? Dessert?”
Elizabeth smiled at him – maybe the first genuine one she’d given him. “I think I’ll pass. I’m a little worn out. I’ve got about two years worth of sleep to catch up on.” She made a move to get up.
“Then how about a decaf espresso? Tiny cup, not a lot of coffee. A perfectly civilized way to end a meal.” He gave her his patented “trust me” look – open smile, wide eyes, arched brows.
“Well, okay.” Elizabeth relaxed.
The waiter came and they placed their order, and he coaxed her into splitting a tiramisu.
Neal wondered how he was going to be able to get Elizabeth to open up to him – she was smart and now very cautious without Peter’s presence. But to his surprise, she jumped in, feet first.
“I’m a little surprised at you and Peter.”
“Why? Because I’m a guy?”
“Nah.” Elizabeth grinned and casually waved a hand, dismissing any prejudice. “Peter told me about his experimental days, some of the relationships he had in college. No, I’m just surprised that he’s in a committed relationship with a former criminal.”
Neal was relieved. “The operative word there is ‘former’. I’ve been out of the game for a long time now.”
The waiter brought their coffee and dessert. El took a sip of her espresso. “So – how did the two of you get together?”
Neal leaned back and turned on the charm. “We were prison pen pals.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. I sent him a birthday card. Peter wrote back.”
“And that was the start of a beautiful friendship?”
“That’s one way of putting it. There certainly have been some rocky points along the way.” Neal wasn’t giving her the details.
“Peter said you got out of prison, went to his office and offered to become a CI. That true?”
“That’s pretty much how it happened.”
“Why would you do that? It seems rather implausible.”
Neal shrugged. “At the time, it felt like the only option. Ex cons aren’t exactly employable, and my record made it hard to do anything in a trust-worthy position.” He didn’t have to tell her that there was no way he was going to allow Peter to slip through his fingers.
“I guess not. But if you’re no longer a CI, what are you doing?”
“Can’t I just be sitting around, like the lilies in the field?”
“That proverb had nothing to do with laziness.”
“Peter’s always said you were smart.” Neal thought that Elizabeth Burke had one of the most beautiful smiles he’d ever seen – her whole face lit up, her eyes sparkled.
“Really, what do you do?”
“Do we always have to define ourselves by our careers?” Neal knew he was deflecting. He had no reason, other than that Elizabeth was still very much a stranger.
Elizabeth grinned at him. “Are you like this with Peter?”
“Sometimes. Now – what was your question?” Neal found himself smiling back. This woman was dangerous.
“What do you do? When you’re not driving Peter crazy?”
“What makes you think I drive him crazy?”
“Neal!” Her laugh was equal parts amusement and frustration.
“Okay, okay. I’m an independent art expert. I consult for museums, private collectors, foundations.”
“And what does an ‘independent art expert’ do on a day to day basis?”
“Mostly paperwork – investigating provenance…”
“Provenance?”
“An artwork’s ownership history.”
“Ah. Go on – I’m fascinated.” Elizabeth rested her chin on her fist and batted those big blue eyes at him. Neal felt a little helpless.
“Sometimes I will verify authenticity.”
“Wasn’t Peter after you for forgery? Isn’t that like asking the fox to guard the hen house?”
“Good point, but my time working with the FBI helped to clear some of that stigma. And since I still consult for the FBI on art matters, my former vocation doesn’t seem to be an issue anymore.” Neal dug a spoon into the tiramisu and took a taste. He tried not to grimace.
“Not very good?”
“No, unfortunately.” He drank his remaining espresso to clear the taste from his mouth.
Elizabeth sighed. “Look, I should go. I’m exhausted.”
Neal signaled for the waiter, who brought the check. “Where are you staying?”
“The Aurora, in Chelsea.”
“Nice place – quietly luxurious.”
“You’ve stayed there?”
Neal bit his lip and hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Peter and I would go there occasionally.”
“Long lunches?”
“Something like that.” Neal paid in cash, and left a generous tip, despite the vile dessert. They both got up to leave. “Can I walk you back there?”
Elizabeth looked up at him, and he couldn’t quite read her face. “Hmm. No, I don’t think so. But you can get me a cab.”
They walked out of the restaurant and whether it was serendipity or just good luck, a cab pulled up to the curb to let out passengers. He ushered her into the cab and watched it pull away.
The previous night, when Peter sprang this lunch on him, Neal wondered what it would be like. Watching them together in the bar, the way Elizabeth was looking at Peter, it was easy to see that she was interested. When he sat alone after they went in for lunch, there was a moment when the seething acid of jealousy nearly blinded him. Elizabeth was crying, and Peter had her wrapped in his arms. For a man who professed helplessness with crying women, he seemed to be handling one of them just fine.
There were moments, after Peter introduced them, that he wondered if Elizabeth was going to claw out his eyes in a jealous rage of her own. But after everything, he was glad to have some time alone with Peter’s ex. Despite her fame as a rock ‘n’ roll goddess, despite the history between them, despite Peter’s subconscious attempts at reconciliation, he liked her. She was smart, formidable and perfectly able to take care of herself.
If she wasn’t such a threat to his happiness, he’d want to be her friend.
It was close to midnight when Peter got home. The intel on Donovan had been completely accurate. He had been about to bolt for Rio, hoping Brazil’s lax observance of extradition laws would keep him out of prison. But now he wouldn’t have a chance to find out. The take down was successful, netting much more evidence than they had expected. Donovan had been sloppy; he left a key and a letter to his brother containing instructions on the disposal of the contents of a storage unit on his desk, in plain view. Jones got a warrant and they found dozens of cartons of counterfeit medication and enough paperwork to tie Donovan to a distribution chain up and down the east coast.
By the time they processed the evidence and got their suspect into lock up, it was after ten. Peter entrusted the final clean up to his deputies and headed home. He had exchanged a few texts with Neal during the day, but nothing of consequence. He was dying to know how the rest of the lunch went with Elizabeth. It mattered very deeply that they got along, that El liked Neal, that the three of them could be friends.
He let himself in and Lily, the golden retriever that they had adopted from a rescue group, looked up and gave him a doggie grin. But she was too lazy to come over and greet him, instead content to just thump her tail on the floor when Peter reached down and scratched behind her ears.
There was music playing softly in the background. Peter recognized the recording, and was surprised. It was one of Elizabeth’s classical recordings - something she never commercially released. He wondered how Neal found it.
It was a good thing they both were quiet. Neal was asleep in an easy chair, a file opened on his lap and his reading glasses slipping down his nose. Peter just watched him - there was something so defenseless about a quiescent Neal. Paradoxically, he looked both younger and older. The unguarded nature of sleep lent him an air of innocence, but without his ever present smile, the gentle passage of time was more obvious. The flecks of gray in his late day beard, the small lines at the corners of his eyes, the strands of silver at his temples.
The sight of Neal’s bare feet propped up on an ottoman undid Peter. For as long as he had known Neal – even during his time in prison, he had used his appearance as a weapon and as protection. Whether he was as composed as a fashion model or clad simply in a pair of chinos and a t-shirt, his attire was his armor. Seeing him like this, still in one of his classic suits, vest buttoned, tie perfectly knotted, cuffs neat and tight on his wrists, but his feet naked, stirred something primal in him, a need to protect, to care for, to nurture – and to love Neal as he needed to be loved.
Peter wasn’t blind to Neal’s faults – he took incredible risks, he’d sooner dodge and deflect than give a straight answer, and there had been times when he was certain that Neal was heading straight back to the life. But Neal was also vulnerable and shockingly insecure, though he hid it well. It was that vulnerability that had called to Peter – first as a friend, then as a lover. It filled a place in his soul – the need to be needed.
He knew that their relationship was more than that – it was love in all its complexities. His heart was filled with joy and a sudden understanding that this was the person he was going to spend the rest of his life with. There was no going back and even if Elizabeth had told him she still loved him, that she regretted her choice, that she wanted to be his again, he’d remain unmoved. Seeing her today brought back a few old feelings, but if there was one thing he was certain of, the old torch he’d been carrying was well and truly burned out.
Peter went up to their bedroom, stowed his gun in the safe and took out a small velvet bag hidden in the back, behind a few cartons of ammunition. He got out of his suit, put the bag in his pocket and washed up before going back downstairs. Watching Neal sleep, Peter composed his thoughts.
Neal stirred, mumbled something and licked his lips. His glasses, which were now resting on the tip of his nose, slid off, waking him up.
He opened his eyes and blinked.
“Hey there.”
Neal looked up and gave him a sleepy smile. “Hey, yourself. When did you get home?”
“About ten minutes ago. Sorry I was so late. Things got complex.”
Neal sat up, a worried look crossed his face. “Everyone okay?”
“Not that kind of complex. Sorry. We got Donovan and a storage locker full of evidence.”
“You found the counterfeits?”
“Including Tamoxifen and a half-dozen other chemotherapy drugs.”
“Bastard. What sort of person fakes cancer treatments?”
“Someone without a shred of decency.”
Neal rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “You eat?”
“Yeah, we got a delivery from Grand China at the office.”
Neal made a face. “Don’t tell me – boneless spareribs and fried rice?”
“For one meal, it’s fine. I promise not to make a habit of it.” He didn’t want the evening to spiral into a discourse on his elevated cholesterol levels.
“Okay, fine.” Neal got up and stretched, joints popping. “I think I’m getting too old to spend my nights like this.”
Peter chuckled. “Try spending your nights in the van when you’re my age.”
“Hmm, been there, done that – don’t need to think about revisiting it in my decrepitude.”
“Hey! Who are you calling decrepit?” Peter flexed a muscle for show.
“Put the gun away, Agent Burke.”
“Thought my guns turned you on?” It was a running joke between them, considering how much Neal hated firearms. He snagged Neal by the belt buckle, pulled him onto his lap and kissed him. Neal kissed him back, slowly, sweetly. “Hmmm, I like coming home to this, to you.” After all this time, it still felt new and special.
Neal tucked his head into his shoulder and mumbled, “I like having you come home to me.”
Peter kissed Neal’s ear, biting down gently on the tender lobe. Neal’s reaction was gratifying as he pressed himself closer and the hard bar of his burgeoning erection was a prod against his belly. “Mmmm, love you.” He turned Neal’s face back up to his, threaded his fingers through his hair and kissed him again. “I love you so very much.”
Neal, though, didn’t respond, and there was a sudden lack of enthusiam in his kisses.
Peter pulled back and looked at him. There was sadness and a touch of anger in his eyes. He hadn’t seen that look in a very long time. Neal pulled away, stood up. Peter was chilled at their physical separation.
“Neal, what’s the matter?”
“Don’t do this to me.”
“Do what?”
Neal looked everywhere but at him. “You don’t have to pretend – you don’t have to say the words to make me feel better.”
Peter was confused. “What are you talking about?”
“I understand – I went into this with my eyes open, I knew what was going to happen.”
“Neal – honestly – I have no idea what you mean.”
Neal walked over to one of the bookcases and picked up a photograph. He turned back to Peter, holding out the picture. “Elizabeth – your one perfect love. I always knew that you’d go back to her one day, that your heart would always be hers.” Peter had kept that single picture of them taken while they were still dating - before fame and careers and life got in the way. It wasn’t kept as a shrine or even a reminder of the life he once had - but an ordinary memory of a day in his life. Had Neal put it away, he probably never would have noticed.
“Neal!” Peter was shocked. This was the last thing he expected, but perhaps he should have realized it. “I don’t love Elizabeth – not as my ex-wife, not as a future anything. She’s dear to me because I did love her. Once, a long time ago. But not now.”
It was clear that Neal didn’t believe him. He took the picture he was holding out and placed it face down on the couch.
“She wants you back, Peter. It’s obvious – Elizabeth wants to pick up the threads of her life with you. You can have her back without breaking a sweat.”
Peter got up and went to Neal, wrapping his arms around him. “I know – and to my regret, I made it seem like I was interested in that too. But I’m not.” Neal didn’t say anything and that troubled Peter, so he blundered along. “Yes, there was a time when I would have given my right arm for that – but not since you.”
Neal finally looked at him. The pain in his eyes was heartbreaking. “You still love her.”
Peter sighed and shook his head. “No, Neal. I don’t.” Peter was emphatic and even a little angry. “And I can’t believe you thought that all this time, after everything we’ve been through together, that I’d leave you for Elizabeth.”
“Peter, you say her name in your sleep.”
That surprised him – he never remembered dreaming about her. Not since he’d been with Neal. “Do I call her name when we’re having sex?” That would be the ultimate insult.
“No, but you subconsciously...”
“Neal – no I don’t. Consciously or subconsciously.” He kissed Neal with each word. “And I can prove it to you.”
This was not how he had intended the evening to go, but it was the best way possible to prove his intentions. Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet bag. He dropped to one knee and took Neal’s right hand.
“Neal Caffrey, will you marry me?”
Neal had never intended to press the issue of Elizabeth tonight. He planned to casually say how lovely she was, and wouldn’t it be nice to have her over for dinner. He watched them together and started planning his own future without Peter. He had a legitimate business, it paid well, gave him professional satisfaction and a certain amount of respect. There was no need to abandon that.
Maybe he could recruit Moz – turnabout could be fun, and there was no denying that he could use his expertise.
But when Peter started professing his love, Neal couldn’t take it anymore. It just hurt too much. So he laid everything on the line. And as much as Peter denied it, as much as he wanted to believe – with his whole heart – that Peter loved him more than his dreams of reconciliation, he couldn’t let himself. It would only end in pain.
Then Peter did the unthinkable. He asked him to marry him.
Neal collapsed. Literally. He dropped to his knees in front of Peter.
“Neal - are you okay?”
He heard Peter over the pounding in his brain. “Peter? Did you just...”
“Ask you to marry me. Yes, I did.”
Every molecule in his body screamed “YES” in triumph. But he couldn’t make his tongue utter that single syllable.
Peter scooted around and pulled him into his arms. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at such a loss for words. And I don’t know if that’s a bad sign.”
Neal leaned into Peter, his mind and his heart finally in agreement. He twisted his head around and looked up. “Yes, Peter, I will marry you.”
Peter dropped something into his lap before cupping his face and kissing him. “I love you, Neal. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want you as my own, from this day forward to forever.”
The possessiveness in Peter’s voice, the progressively harsher kisses unknotted the last cords of doubt.
Peter’s hand was fishing around his lap, missing the obvious locus of desire and Neal, in a moment of mischief, pressed it against his cock.
“That’s not what’s I’m looking for.” Peter pulled his hand free and retried what he had dropped. He bit Neal’s lip, just hard enough to make it lightly swollen by the morning. He held up a small velvet bag. “This is.”
Peter opened the bag and pulled out something flat and golden. Before Neal could tell what it was, Peter took his wrist and wrapped the gold around it.
“Somehow, a diamond engagement ring didn’t seem suitable.” Peter licked his lips and Neal couldn’t help but smile.
“A Cartier slave bracelet?”
“I think it’s officially called a “Love” bracelet.” Peter blushed and Neal’s heart melted.
“You have the screwdriver?”
Peter shook the bag and the small tool fell out. “I had hoped that once I put this on you, it could never be taken off.”
“The symbolism doesn’t escape me, Peter. You’ve always had a thing for me in handcuffs.” Neal held out his wrist and Peter tightened the locking screw. “Maybe we can get it engraved?”
Peter kissed him again. “I’d like that.”
“And then soldered closed?” Neal bit his lip – maybe that was too much?
But Peter didn’t think so. Not at all. He growled and his eyes lit up. “Yes, we are going to do that.” Neal leaned in and kissed Peter, wrapping himself around him like a vine.
“I love you, Peter Burke.” He kissed him, hard. “I love you, I love you.”
Peter kissed him back, hard and claiming. “I love you too. Don’t ever doubt again.”
