![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elrhiarhodanTitle: Friend or Foe, There's Only Us
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Reese Hughes, Neal Caffrey, Clinton Jones, Diana Berrigan, Elizabeth Burke, Sara Ellis, Peter/Elizabeth, Peter/Neal
Spoilers: Episode Tag for the end of S4.04 – Parting Shots
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~ 2700
Beta Credit:coffeethyme4me and jrosemary. They are awesome, as always.
Summary: A fill for my dearestcoffeethyme4me, who wanted me to describe, moment by moment, the eye fucking between Peter and Neal at the end of Parting Shots. And also a fill for jrosemary’s Angst-a-Palooza prompt at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
whitecollarhc.
A/N: Title from the Peter Gabriel song, “Only Us.”
__________________
When Hughes handed him the sealed envelope, Peter was certain his career was over. Well, at least I went out doing the right thing. But from the small, tight smile and the irrepressible twinkle in his boss’ eye, Peter had to reassess.
Hughes handed him a letter opener, and his hands shook so much he nearly cut his thumb off, but finally, finally…
There was the usual FBI memorandum headings and about a dozen assistant directors were in copy. Apparently his trip off the reservation really did garner too much administrative attention. He took a deep breath and read the single sentence that comprised the Board of Inquiry’s decision.
And smiled.
He didn’t say anything to anyone. He just walked into his office, sat down at his desk and started working. There were dozens of emails to catch up on; cases to review and every so often, he’d look out into the bullpen, happy and satisfied that everyone was where they were supposed to be.
That Neal was where he was supposed to be.
Around four-thirty, his phone buzzed with an incoming text message: Party at my place after work, El’s bringing the Champagne.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
They left the office together, Peter sauntering down the stairs a little after five, Diana and Clinton falling into step behind him without a word – as if they were on parade. Neal donned his hat and joined them at the elevator, as if there was nothing special about this particular five PM departure.
During the subway ride from Federal Plaza to June’s, he and Peter, Diana and Clinton, discussed nothing more dramatic than their current caseload. Somewhere north of Penn Station, the conversation had dropped off. Neal relaxed and looked out into the darkness of the tunnel.
There was nothing wrong with reporting to the senior members of the Harvard Crew – they all understood each other – but he was back in New York because of Peter. And now that Peter was reinstated, all was right with the world – with his world. The feeling of well-being increased when he met Peter’s eye in the window’s reflection; they shared a small, private smile.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“It is our recommendation that he be reinstated as Special Agent in Charge of the Manhattan White Collar Division, effective immediately.” Neal had all but yanked the envelope out of Peter’s hands when the walked into his apartment.
The Champagne was poured and Peter couldn’t help but meet Neal’s eyes, once again sharing that tiny, infinitesimally brief smile, the knowledge that all of the barriers (except for one) had come down. Even if he wasn’t reinstated, even if he was destined to spend the remaining days of his career at the Cave – or worse – he’d count the loss well worth the cost.
It was more than rescuing Neal from a life on the run, from a bullet out of Collins gun, from a life in prison. They were invested in each other. Committed to each other. As El said to him just last night, he and Neal were all but married.
In a way, his wise, beautiful wife (the best wife ever) was right, but it was a strange sort of marriage. They might not ever quite trust each other – and yet – they do trust each other absolutely. Implicitly. They’d lay down their lives for each other. And so they had, time and time again.
Neal raised his glass in a toast, and Peter’s heart (which he had once thought so hard and stern when it came to Neal Caffrey) melted. “To Peter Burke, the man we all wish we could be more like.” Their glasses clinked, their eyes met again and Peter knew, the way he knew his name, what Neal was really saying.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Elizabeth watched her husband; he was more than just happy to have his job back. He was happy to have his Neal back.
She had long since given up trying to be jealous of Neal Caffrey. There was a brief moment, back in the beginning, when she wondered if Peter – who was so clearly falling head over heels in love with his CI – would leave her. The answer was, of course not. It was just a matter of having a heart big enough to share.
She watched her husband, she watched Neal. She watched them all but make love to each other with those brief, speaking looks. She wanted them to have this night together – this chance to reestablish what they once had.
Clinton and Diana were –as usual – oblivious, which always amused her. How could they be so blind – or maybe Neal and Peter behaved themselves in the office. She thought that Sara knew, or at least suspected. Their own eyes met, and Sara gave her a sad smile before letting Neal draw her off.
Peter stood next to her and she raised her face for a kiss. Then they both watched Neal and Sara – neither looked happy. El was never convinced that Sara was going to be Neal’s “happily ever after.” She was too damaged to give Neal what he needed. She wondered if the pretty widow would be the one, but she suspected not. He needed Peter, and whoever else might find their way into his ambit, he was never going to settle down with them.
His heart was already claimed.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Neal had expected the conversation with Sara to be difficult, and it was. He had hints of it when she told him that the world didn’t stop spinning when he was gone. He figured she had moved on, she had every right to. But this, this hurt. And what was worse, he made false promises to Sara – when he was always careful never to promise her anything. To assure her that her sister was alive – what right did he have to say that?
Sara knew he was bullshitting her – for the best of all reasons. She smiled, sipped her Champagne and Neal tried to console her, all the while aware that Peter was watching them, his expression inscrutable. Neal could never quite figure out what Peter wanted of him and Sara – he did push them together – but now, he seemed content that they were simply friends, if that.
Sara kissed his cheek and wandered off. Peter was still looking at him, one eyebrow slightly raised. Neal shrugged. They both knew what mattered.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Clinton and Diana made their farewells, congratulating Peter yet again. Elizabeth corralled Sara, whose expression spoke volumes about her hurt feelings. El needed to get her out of the apartment, away from Neal, away from Peter.
“Can I give you a lift?”
Sara looked at her, startled.
“I have a meeting with a client in midtown.” Her tone brooked no disagreement. “Is there someplace I can drop you?”
“No, I’m fine.” She looked like she wanted to linger.
El stared at her, eyes narrowed. “The boys have much to discuss – let me at least take you home.”
Sara shrugged. “Thanks – but …”
El smiled, she felt fierce, protective. “It’s no problem.” She handed the woman her purse and all but dragged her out of Neal’s apartment.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter watched Elizabeth’s performance, amused. They had talked about this and while Peter felt a little guilty, it wasn’t enough to interfere with his plans for this evening. The only thing that would stop the inevitable was Neal himself.
He wanted to trust his instincts, he wanted to believe Neal’s heartfelt words were a declaration, but watching Neal and Sara together, and apart, he had to wonder. Neal’s body language was lover-like, yes – but he’d seen that when Neal was all but seducing a mark. A suspect.
El kissed Neal goodnight, whispered something in his ear, and Neal looked at him, a deer caught in the headlights. She tugged on Sara and suddenly the apartment was empty. It was just the them now.
Neal refilled his glass and wandered out onto the terrace. Peter waited a moment, for no good reason, and joined him, shoulder to shoulder. He watched Neal as he watched the city, still bustling in the early evening light.
“You missed it.”
“More than you can know.”
“Would you ever have come back?” Peter had wanted to ask that question for weeks, but he was honestly afraid of Neal’s answer. Would you have ever come back to me?
Neal toyed with his glass, ignoring the question.
“Neal?” Peter persisted.
“Before you tracked me down, before we talked, I had reconciled myself to a life without you. The moment I heard your voice, I knew that was a lie. I knew that someday – maybe sooner than later – I’d have to find my way back to you.”
Neal’s confession erased the last doubts Peter had. He lifted the glass out of Neal’s hand, set it aside and – for the first time in so damn long – he touched Neal. Not as friend and comrade, but as the man he loved.
“Are you sure about this?” Peter had to ask – it was his nature.
Neal gave him that sweet smile, the one he could never resist. “Of course I am. I’ve been waiting.”
Peter’s fingers skipped over Neal’s cheek, enjoying the contrast of texture. “I liked the beard.”
“The beard was part of another life.” Neal turned his cheek into Peter’s palm, pressing a kiss there. “I’m back, I’m not going anywhere. You’re back where you belong, too. We don’t need to wait anymore, do we?”
“No, Neal – we don’t.” His fingers traced Neal’s jaw, settling on his collar. Neal reached out and mirrored the action, his thumb rubbing gently against Peter’s lips.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Neal met Peter’s eyes, this time not content with just a glance. He wasn’t astonished by the desire there. It was the love that still floored him.
After everything, he hadn’t expected to find that again.
The love had gone away – Neal thought forever – that terrible, long day and night after the u-boat had exploded and Peter all but repudiated him. He was ready to run because of it – or the lack of it. He stayed because he couldn’t believe that it was really, truly gone, just like that.
Yeah, they had still gotten together – less frequently, but often enough. They fucked – that’s what it was, all it was. A mutual scratching at urges. Sometimes when Peter leaned over him, pressed into him, used his body like a convenience, Neal would whisper to himself, I still love you. He never had the courage to say those words out loud. He didn’t want to see the contempt on Peter’s face.
Or maybe it never would have been there. Back in Cape Verde, when Peter came through that door, when all the light in the world seemed to shine out of his eyes, Neal stopped him. He had to – not because he thought Peter was going to arrest him, do him harm – but because he wasn’t prepared for what would come next. And in a way, he still wasn’t.
Peter wrapped his arms around him and he was enveloped by feeling of safety, security, the sense of coming home.
The love.
In that moment, Neal realized something. The love had never left. It had just been buried under layers of suspicion and mistrust. That maybe when they had fucked, it was still with love and it was his own guilt and shame coloring it in such sickly motives.
He worked Peter’s tie loose, he undid the collar button and slipped his hand around Peter’s warm, strong neck. Bringing him close enough to kiss.
He loved the taste of Peter’s mouth – the hints of a late afternoon cup of coffee, the sharp, yeasty spark of Champagne. He kissed Peter the way he wanted to be kissed, like he had just come home after a long and lonely journey.
Peter’s hand worked his shirt buttons loose and slipped inside, his palm hard against his bare skin, his thumb resting, teasing his nipple. He could stay like this forever.
Still kissing, they stumbled inside, clumsy and impatient. They bumped into furniture, into walls. Neal didn’t care when he heard something rip. It could have been his suit, it could have been Peter’s. It didn’t make a difference as long as they both got naked.
It seemed like the bed came up to meet them – but it almost didn’t matter. They were horizontal and Peter’s mouth was on him, kissing and biting and making him writhe in pleasure. There were sounds coming from his mouth that he didn’t recognize – moans of joy, encouragement, desire.
“More, Peter. More – more – more more moremoremoremoremoremore … ”
They fumbled for lube, for a condom and Neal all but impaled himself on Peter with the most minimal prep. He didn’t mind the sharp pinch of pain, the long burn – he always wanted it this way with Peter.
Peter drove him near the edge, then they took the plunge together. Thankfully, Neal retained just enough control of himself, over himself, to not say what he was most afraid of.
I love you.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“I love you.” Peter said as leaned over Neal, looking him in the eye. Neal turned his head, breaking that link. Peter touched his cheek, turning Neal’s face back to him. “Neal – I love you.” He felt Neal’s heart speed up and worried when he tried to turn away. “What’s the matter?”
Neal took a deep breath and met his gaze at last. “I don’t know – I’m afraid, maybe?”
“Of what?”
“Of losing you, of losing us again.”
Peter understood that fear. He shared it. “I can’t make promises, Neal – I can’t. Except that I will always love you, I will always find you, and I will do everything I have to to keep you safe.”
Neal looked like he was about to cry, or get angry, or argue.
Peter pressed their foreheads together. “You know me – you know how I am. Is that what you’re afraid of?”
He felt Neal’s shuddering breath. “In a way, yes. I’m afraid of failing you. I’m afraid of making your life a living hell again, taking everything away. I’m afraid that you’ll –”
He rolled off Neal, but dragged him close. “Turn on you without reason again?”
“Yes – no – I don’t know. I thought I had gotten over that. I thought it was in our past. I thought …”
“Neal – I love you.” Peter said that and hoped the words were enough. And then, in case they weren’t. “I’m sorry.”
Neal sighed and curved his body into him, holding him close, burying his face in his neck. “Don’t think I don’t want this.”
Peter stroked Neal, his hand coming to rest just about the curve of his ass. “I wish – I wish…”
“No – don’t! Don’t wish the past away.” Neal surprised him with his vehemence, pushing at him, rolling them over. Neal pushed him back into the pillows. The moment was fraught with imminence, everything felt fragile, breakable – that despite everything they had rebuilt, it could all break apart in a heartbeat.
“Peter – ”
He understood. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”
His heart broke just a bit when Neal kissed him. “I love you – because of – despite – regardless. I love you. I missed you every damn moment. I used to be able to remake myself without a second thought. Now, I don’t know if I can do that again. This broke something in me.” Neal relaxed, and Peter felt the tension slide out of him. “I love you, Peter.”
He closed his eyes and said a small prayer of thanks. “I love you, too.”
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Reese Hughes, Neal Caffrey, Clinton Jones, Diana Berrigan, Elizabeth Burke, Sara Ellis, Peter/Elizabeth, Peter/Neal
Spoilers: Episode Tag for the end of S4.04 – Parting Shots
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~ 2700
Beta Credit:
coffeethyme4me and jrosemary. They are awesome, as always.Summary: A fill for my dearest
coffeethyme4me, who wanted me to describe, moment by moment, the eye fucking between Peter and Neal at the end of Parting Shots. And also a fill for jrosemary’s Angst-a-Palooza prompt at whitecollarhc.A/N: Title from the Peter Gabriel song, “Only Us.”
When Hughes handed him the sealed envelope, Peter was certain his career was over. Well, at least I went out doing the right thing. But from the small, tight smile and the irrepressible twinkle in his boss’ eye, Peter had to reassess.
Hughes handed him a letter opener, and his hands shook so much he nearly cut his thumb off, but finally, finally…
There was the usual FBI memorandum headings and about a dozen assistant directors were in copy. Apparently his trip off the reservation really did garner too much administrative attention. He took a deep breath and read the single sentence that comprised the Board of Inquiry’s decision.
And smiled.
He didn’t say anything to anyone. He just walked into his office, sat down at his desk and started working. There were dozens of emails to catch up on; cases to review and every so often, he’d look out into the bullpen, happy and satisfied that everyone was where they were supposed to be.
That Neal was where he was supposed to be.
Around four-thirty, his phone buzzed with an incoming text message: Party at my place after work, El’s bringing the Champagne.
They left the office together, Peter sauntering down the stairs a little after five, Diana and Clinton falling into step behind him without a word – as if they were on parade. Neal donned his hat and joined them at the elevator, as if there was nothing special about this particular five PM departure.
During the subway ride from Federal Plaza to June’s, he and Peter, Diana and Clinton, discussed nothing more dramatic than their current caseload. Somewhere north of Penn Station, the conversation had dropped off. Neal relaxed and looked out into the darkness of the tunnel.
There was nothing wrong with reporting to the senior members of the Harvard Crew – they all understood each other – but he was back in New York because of Peter. And now that Peter was reinstated, all was right with the world – with his world. The feeling of well-being increased when he met Peter’s eye in the window’s reflection; they shared a small, private smile.
“It is our recommendation that he be reinstated as Special Agent in Charge of the Manhattan White Collar Division, effective immediately.” Neal had all but yanked the envelope out of Peter’s hands when the walked into his apartment.
The Champagne was poured and Peter couldn’t help but meet Neal’s eyes, once again sharing that tiny, infinitesimally brief smile, the knowledge that all of the barriers (except for one) had come down. Even if he wasn’t reinstated, even if he was destined to spend the remaining days of his career at the Cave – or worse – he’d count the loss well worth the cost.
It was more than rescuing Neal from a life on the run, from a bullet out of Collins gun, from a life in prison. They were invested in each other. Committed to each other. As El said to him just last night, he and Neal were all but married.
In a way, his wise, beautiful wife (the best wife ever) was right, but it was a strange sort of marriage. They might not ever quite trust each other – and yet – they do trust each other absolutely. Implicitly. They’d lay down their lives for each other. And so they had, time and time again.
Neal raised his glass in a toast, and Peter’s heart (which he had once thought so hard and stern when it came to Neal Caffrey) melted. “To Peter Burke, the man we all wish we could be more like.” Their glasses clinked, their eyes met again and Peter knew, the way he knew his name, what Neal was really saying.
Elizabeth watched her husband; he was more than just happy to have his job back. He was happy to have his Neal back.
She had long since given up trying to be jealous of Neal Caffrey. There was a brief moment, back in the beginning, when she wondered if Peter – who was so clearly falling head over heels in love with his CI – would leave her. The answer was, of course not. It was just a matter of having a heart big enough to share.
She watched her husband, she watched Neal. She watched them all but make love to each other with those brief, speaking looks. She wanted them to have this night together – this chance to reestablish what they once had.
Clinton and Diana were –as usual – oblivious, which always amused her. How could they be so blind – or maybe Neal and Peter behaved themselves in the office. She thought that Sara knew, or at least suspected. Their own eyes met, and Sara gave her a sad smile before letting Neal draw her off.
Peter stood next to her and she raised her face for a kiss. Then they both watched Neal and Sara – neither looked happy. El was never convinced that Sara was going to be Neal’s “happily ever after.” She was too damaged to give Neal what he needed. She wondered if the pretty widow would be the one, but she suspected not. He needed Peter, and whoever else might find their way into his ambit, he was never going to settle down with them.
His heart was already claimed.
Neal had expected the conversation with Sara to be difficult, and it was. He had hints of it when she told him that the world didn’t stop spinning when he was gone. He figured she had moved on, she had every right to. But this, this hurt. And what was worse, he made false promises to Sara – when he was always careful never to promise her anything. To assure her that her sister was alive – what right did he have to say that?
Sara knew he was bullshitting her – for the best of all reasons. She smiled, sipped her Champagne and Neal tried to console her, all the while aware that Peter was watching them, his expression inscrutable. Neal could never quite figure out what Peter wanted of him and Sara – he did push them together – but now, he seemed content that they were simply friends, if that.
Sara kissed his cheek and wandered off. Peter was still looking at him, one eyebrow slightly raised. Neal shrugged. They both knew what mattered.
Clinton and Diana made their farewells, congratulating Peter yet again. Elizabeth corralled Sara, whose expression spoke volumes about her hurt feelings. El needed to get her out of the apartment, away from Neal, away from Peter.
“Can I give you a lift?”
Sara looked at her, startled.
“I have a meeting with a client in midtown.” Her tone brooked no disagreement. “Is there someplace I can drop you?”
“No, I’m fine.” She looked like she wanted to linger.
El stared at her, eyes narrowed. “The boys have much to discuss – let me at least take you home.”
Sara shrugged. “Thanks – but …”
El smiled, she felt fierce, protective. “It’s no problem.” She handed the woman her purse and all but dragged her out of Neal’s apartment.
Peter watched Elizabeth’s performance, amused. They had talked about this and while Peter felt a little guilty, it wasn’t enough to interfere with his plans for this evening. The only thing that would stop the inevitable was Neal himself.
He wanted to trust his instincts, he wanted to believe Neal’s heartfelt words were a declaration, but watching Neal and Sara together, and apart, he had to wonder. Neal’s body language was lover-like, yes – but he’d seen that when Neal was all but seducing a mark. A suspect.
El kissed Neal goodnight, whispered something in his ear, and Neal looked at him, a deer caught in the headlights. She tugged on Sara and suddenly the apartment was empty. It was just the them now.
Neal refilled his glass and wandered out onto the terrace. Peter waited a moment, for no good reason, and joined him, shoulder to shoulder. He watched Neal as he watched the city, still bustling in the early evening light.
“You missed it.”
“More than you can know.”
“Would you ever have come back?” Peter had wanted to ask that question for weeks, but he was honestly afraid of Neal’s answer. Would you have ever come back to me?
Neal toyed with his glass, ignoring the question.
“Neal?” Peter persisted.
“Before you tracked me down, before we talked, I had reconciled myself to a life without you. The moment I heard your voice, I knew that was a lie. I knew that someday – maybe sooner than later – I’d have to find my way back to you.”
Neal’s confession erased the last doubts Peter had. He lifted the glass out of Neal’s hand, set it aside and – for the first time in so damn long – he touched Neal. Not as friend and comrade, but as the man he loved.
“Are you sure about this?” Peter had to ask – it was his nature.
Neal gave him that sweet smile, the one he could never resist. “Of course I am. I’ve been waiting.”
Peter’s fingers skipped over Neal’s cheek, enjoying the contrast of texture. “I liked the beard.”
“The beard was part of another life.” Neal turned his cheek into Peter’s palm, pressing a kiss there. “I’m back, I’m not going anywhere. You’re back where you belong, too. We don’t need to wait anymore, do we?”
“No, Neal – we don’t.” His fingers traced Neal’s jaw, settling on his collar. Neal reached out and mirrored the action, his thumb rubbing gently against Peter’s lips.
Neal met Peter’s eyes, this time not content with just a glance. He wasn’t astonished by the desire there. It was the love that still floored him.
After everything, he hadn’t expected to find that again.
The love had gone away – Neal thought forever – that terrible, long day and night after the u-boat had exploded and Peter all but repudiated him. He was ready to run because of it – or the lack of it. He stayed because he couldn’t believe that it was really, truly gone, just like that.
Yeah, they had still gotten together – less frequently, but often enough. They fucked – that’s what it was, all it was. A mutual scratching at urges. Sometimes when Peter leaned over him, pressed into him, used his body like a convenience, Neal would whisper to himself, I still love you. He never had the courage to say those words out loud. He didn’t want to see the contempt on Peter’s face.
Or maybe it never would have been there. Back in Cape Verde, when Peter came through that door, when all the light in the world seemed to shine out of his eyes, Neal stopped him. He had to – not because he thought Peter was going to arrest him, do him harm – but because he wasn’t prepared for what would come next. And in a way, he still wasn’t.
Peter wrapped his arms around him and he was enveloped by feeling of safety, security, the sense of coming home.
The love.
In that moment, Neal realized something. The love had never left. It had just been buried under layers of suspicion and mistrust. That maybe when they had fucked, it was still with love and it was his own guilt and shame coloring it in such sickly motives.
He worked Peter’s tie loose, he undid the collar button and slipped his hand around Peter’s warm, strong neck. Bringing him close enough to kiss.
He loved the taste of Peter’s mouth – the hints of a late afternoon cup of coffee, the sharp, yeasty spark of Champagne. He kissed Peter the way he wanted to be kissed, like he had just come home after a long and lonely journey.
Peter’s hand worked his shirt buttons loose and slipped inside, his palm hard against his bare skin, his thumb resting, teasing his nipple. He could stay like this forever.
Still kissing, they stumbled inside, clumsy and impatient. They bumped into furniture, into walls. Neal didn’t care when he heard something rip. It could have been his suit, it could have been Peter’s. It didn’t make a difference as long as they both got naked.
It seemed like the bed came up to meet them – but it almost didn’t matter. They were horizontal and Peter’s mouth was on him, kissing and biting and making him writhe in pleasure. There were sounds coming from his mouth that he didn’t recognize – moans of joy, encouragement, desire.
“More, Peter. More – more – more more moremoremoremoremoremore … ”
They fumbled for lube, for a condom and Neal all but impaled himself on Peter with the most minimal prep. He didn’t mind the sharp pinch of pain, the long burn – he always wanted it this way with Peter.
Peter drove him near the edge, then they took the plunge together. Thankfully, Neal retained just enough control of himself, over himself, to not say what he was most afraid of.
I love you.
“I love you.” Peter said as leaned over Neal, looking him in the eye. Neal turned his head, breaking that link. Peter touched his cheek, turning Neal’s face back to him. “Neal – I love you.” He felt Neal’s heart speed up and worried when he tried to turn away. “What’s the matter?”
Neal took a deep breath and met his gaze at last. “I don’t know – I’m afraid, maybe?”
“Of what?”
“Of losing you, of losing us again.”
Peter understood that fear. He shared it. “I can’t make promises, Neal – I can’t. Except that I will always love you, I will always find you, and I will do everything I have to to keep you safe.”
Neal looked like he was about to cry, or get angry, or argue.
Peter pressed their foreheads together. “You know me – you know how I am. Is that what you’re afraid of?”
He felt Neal’s shuddering breath. “In a way, yes. I’m afraid of failing you. I’m afraid of making your life a living hell again, taking everything away. I’m afraid that you’ll –”
He rolled off Neal, but dragged him close. “Turn on you without reason again?”
“Yes – no – I don’t know. I thought I had gotten over that. I thought it was in our past. I thought …”
“Neal – I love you.” Peter said that and hoped the words were enough. And then, in case they weren’t. “I’m sorry.”
Neal sighed and curved his body into him, holding him close, burying his face in his neck. “Don’t think I don’t want this.”
Peter stroked Neal, his hand coming to rest just about the curve of his ass. “I wish – I wish…”
“No – don’t! Don’t wish the past away.” Neal surprised him with his vehemence, pushing at him, rolling them over. Neal pushed him back into the pillows. The moment was fraught with imminence, everything felt fragile, breakable – that despite everything they had rebuilt, it could all break apart in a heartbeat.
“Peter – ”
He understood. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”
His heart broke just a bit when Neal kissed him. “I love you – because of – despite – regardless. I love you. I missed you every damn moment. I used to be able to remake myself without a second thought. Now, I don’t know if I can do that again. This broke something in me.” Neal relaxed, and Peter felt the tension slide out of him. “I love you, Peter.”
He closed his eyes and said a small prayer of thanks. “I love you, too.”
Tags:
- character: clinton jones,
- character: diana berrigan,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: peter burke,
- character: reese hughes,
- character: sara ellis,
- genre: angst,
- genre: episode tag,
- genre: romance,
- kink: eye-fucking,
- pairing: peter/elizabeth,
- pairing: peter/neal,
- type: fan fiction,
- white collar,
- year: 2012
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-08-06 08:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-07 01:20 pm (UTC)I am worried, too. And there are still another seven days to brood on the developments.