elrhiarhodan

Close Your Eyes and Think of Me (call out my name) - Part Four

They had him up early today for neurological tests. There was some numbness in his hands and feet and Neal couldn’t help but feel like all the progress he had made was going to be lost once again.

So much for recovery.

After the tests, they wheeled him to his preferred spot in the solarium. It was an isolated corner, but there was a perfect view of the lake. Neal wondered why other patients didn’t claim this spot, and had asked one of the aides. The answer was vague and unsatisfying and Neal didn’t bother to press. He was just pleased that he had someplace to park himself, someplace where no one came and bothered him for a few hours.

His palm itched, or more accurately, it tingled. This was the hand on his uninjured arm, which was what disturbed him enough to mention it to his therapist, hence the neuro exam. Neal made a fist, squeezed it tight until the tingling and coldness dissipated. But only for a few seconds, just long enough to give hope and then steal it away.

The sky was leaden. It had snowed last night, and there was more snow threatening. Not that it mattered; it wasn’t as if he was going to go anywhere. Neal remembered winters in New York. It had been warm for the last two years of his sentence, but the first two – those had been something. It had been a freezing cold, snow falling on the day that Kate died. Of course he had spent the rest of that winter back in prison. The one after that had been spectacularly snowy, but fun. He remembered snowball fights with Peter and the Harvard Crew in Columbus Park, a few blocks off from Federal Plaza. Someone had issued a challenge to the agents in Organized Crime and they met there for a show down.

Neal smiled at the memory. OC seemed to have the upper hand, pelting them from behind an impenetrable fortress. At least until that fortress inexplicably melted. Moz and some tech that probably should have been highly classified gave the White Collar team a sudden advantage, and they buried their opponents. Literally.

Good times.

He wondered what the weather was like in New York, now. Without thinking, he pulled out his cell phone and checked. A few degrees below freezing, there was a fifty-percent chance of accumulating snowfall. Peter would probably glare up at the sky and grumble. Elizabeth would sternly tell him that he was not to even think about shoveling – that’s what neighbors with teenaged boys were for. Peter would sigh and grumble some more and look at Satchmo for support. The dog would probably side with Elizabeth. He was getting up there and didn’t quite have the same love of romping in the snow that he used to.

A swipe of his thumb and he called up his phone book, with all the numbers. A few days ago, he gave in and restored the missing data. Neal hadn’t been able to bring himself to look at the pictures again, but he would. He was weak and lonely and he needed them. Just like he needed to hear Peter’s voice.

Neal dialed, and in this secluded corner, surrounded by glass and potted palm trees, he put the phone on speaker. It rang the customary four times, and Neal smiled and closed his eyes as he heard Peter’s voice.

“You’ve reached the voicemail for Peter Burke, Special Agent in Charge of the White Collar Division in the FBI Field Office in New York City. I am on leave until July. Please dial extension 341 for Agent Clinton Jones or extension 346 for Agent Diana Berrigan. They will be able to assist you.”

The call immediately disconnected. Neal stared at the handset in disbelief. Why would Peter be taking off half a year? Was he sick? Was Elizabeth sick? He licked his lips. He wanted to call Peter, call the house and find out what was going on.

He pressed the entry for “Peter and Elizabeth Burke” but before he could hit “dial” someone reached through the foliage and plucked the phone out of his hand. “What? What the – ” Neal twisted his body around to face the thief. Someone walked around to face him

“You don’t need this if you really want to talk to me.”

It was Peter standing there, tall and grave and so heartbreakingly beautiful.

Neal didn’t know what to do. He was trapped, not only by his failing body, but by his will to leave. He closed his eyes and ducked his head, if he couldn’t run, maybe he could hide. But Peter wouldn’t let him.

He kneeled down in front of him, reached out and touched his face, lifting his chin up so gently. Neal had to look now; he had to see the pity and the disgust in Peter’s eyes.

There were emotions there, strong ones – regret, concern, a touch of fear, but no disgust. “I would have come for you, you have to know that. Didn’t I tell you that I’d come for you, no matter what?”

Neal tried to escape again, but it was another failure. Peter wasn’t going anywhere. “I know – I never forgot. But – ”

There was a thread of anger in Peter’s response. “But nothing, Neal. After all we’ve gone through, everything we meant to each other, what did you think? I’d turn my back on you because you’re not a perfect physical specimen anymore?”

“No.” Neal’s admission was a whisper. “I thought you’d pity me, you’d come to resent me, that you’d hate what I’ve become.” He banged his hands on the arms of his chair. “I know I do. I’m pathetic and weak and disgusting.”

“No, Neal – you’re not.” Peter carefully lifted his clenched fists, his very gentleness forced Neal to uncurl his fingers, and brought the left one – damaged and wasted – up to his lips and kissed it. He kissed the right one, and the heat of Peter’s mouth seared through the numbness, in his fingers, in his soul.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

When he woke this morning, Peter had such a terrible, disjointed feeling, like the world was about to end. It wasn’t the same feeling of worry in his gut that had been dogging him for over a year; it was a helplessness to change the tragedy that already happened. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling. He felt that way after the police took Neal into custody when Kate’s plane exploded. He felt that way after that scrap of canvas floated to his feet. It was the same feeling he had rushing home to find Elizabeth gone, taken by Keller and his thug. And the morning after all hell broke loose at Neal’s commutation hearing.

Gerard had dropped him off at his hotel, which was thankfully just a short walk to the clinic where Neal might be. Where he was.

One of the last things Peter did before leaving New York was to reach out to Sally again. His request was simple: could she please verify that Neal Caffrey was still a patient at the Clinic de Chillon? The answer came back within the hour, and yes, Neal was currently a patient there. Nothing else, no details about his condition, his prognosis, how long he’d been there. Peter didn’t ask because he didn’t want to know, he didn’t think he could bear the agony of traveling with that knowledge. Now he wondered if ignorance was truly bliss.

He had coffee, and it may have well have been mud for all that he could taste anything. He didn’t eat, too nervous, too worried for that. At eight-thirty, a civilized hour for the Swiss, he walked over to the clinic, prepared for everything and for nothing. The lobby reminded him strongly of the hotel he just left, Art Nouveau elegance with gleaming modern touches. The young woman at the reception desk could have been the clone of the one back at the hotel, with her smooth, upswept blonde hair, her simple pearl earrings and perfectly applied makeup. She smiled as Peter approached.

“Welcome to the Clinic de Chillon, how may I assist you?”

Peter wondered how she knew to speak English, and then discarded the thought as irrelevant. “I’m looking for a patient here, Mr. Neal Caffrey.”

“Certainly, let me check.” She tapped her keyboard, looked up at him, still smiling. “Yes, Mr. Caffrey’s a guest here. Let’s see where he is right now.” A few more taps on the keyboard, some owlish peering at the monitor, and yet another radiant smile. “He’s in the solarium, far right corner facing the lake, behind some potted palms.”

The level of detail surprised him. “You are that certain?”

“Oh, yes – all of our patients are outfitted with GPS trackers in their wheelchairs. It makes it so much easier for the staff to locate them.”

It was all Peter could do not to burst into laughter. She pointed him towards the solarium, and the last steps of his journey began.

It felt like lead blocks were chained to his ankles, and his heart was pounding like he’d just run the marathon. It wasn’t like this back on Cape Verde, or even in his dreams. Peter recognized it as reluctance, as fear. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before crossing the solarium. There were a few patients in the cavernous glass-walled room, and some looked up as he passed by, hope in their eyes that the visitor was for them. Peter gave each a distracted smile as he made his way towards the far right corner, where Neal supposedly was.

He recognized the top of Neal’s head first, despite the threads of silver, and then he heard his own voice, the message he left on his office phone, that he’d be out until July.

It was easy enough to reach through the leaves and pull the cell phone out of Neal’s hand; it was achingly difficult to walk around the palm trees and face him.

Sleep had been even more elusive since Peter had learned of Neal’s accident. Nightmares haunted him, a dreamscape where Neal was terribly disfigured. Maybe that was the reason why he wouldn’t let his friends – the people who thought of him as family – know what happened. It wouldn’t matter to him what Neal looked like, but he was still afraid – afraid of the damage and the loss.

Looking down at Neal, seeing him for the first time in more than a year, Peter was honestly relieved. It was clear from the scars on his forehead, his cheek, his chin and one across the bridge of his nose, that Neal didn’t escape from the accident unscathed. But he was still Neal.

All the words he first wanted to say to him, all the words he had rehearsed, were forgotten when he took the phone out of his hand. Those were easy words, joking and lighthearted. After all, this was the first time he’d seen Neal in a year, their longest separation since he walked out of Sing Sing wearing a pair of dress pants, a peacoat, and a tracking anklet. But his next words weren’t so lighthearted.

“I would have come for you, you have to know that. Didn’t I tell you that I’d come for you, no matter what?”

Neal’s reaction broke his heart. He tried to hide – to close in on himself, to run away without going anywhere. Peter wanted to lift him out of that wheelchair, to hold him in his arms, to give him all of the strength and security he could. Instead, he took his friend’s hands gently in his, uncurling the fists, holding them until they warmed. Neal’s hands were so painfully thin, the left hand almost wasted. Without thinking, he lifted it to his mouth, pressing a kiss into the palm, repeating the gesture to the other hand.

“Neal, I love you. I never should have let you leave without telling you that.” Those were the words he had rehearsed – words he was going to say whether Neal was mobile and flirting with the nurses, or bound to a bed, on a ventilator.

Neal didn’t reply. He wouldn’t even meet his eyes.

Peter’s heart sank – maybe he had been wrong all this time. Maybe Neal wasn’t interested in him this way, maybe the love he thought he saw was only a reflection of his own hopes and feelings and desires. He carefully let go of Neal’s hands. But he wasn’t going to walk away, he wasn’t going to apologize.

He cleared his throat. “But I understand if you don’t feel the same way about me. You’re still my closest friend, and after El, the person who will always matter the most to me.”

Neal started to laugh, a harsh and painful and heartbreaking sound.

Peter didn’t know how to comfort Neal; it took all his willpower not to give into the need to take him in his arms. Instead, he tried to hold him but he was afraid that he’d hurt him, he’d cause further damage. To his amazement, Neal reached out for him, wrapping himself around Peter – it reminding him of another hug, another reunion. He was shocked at how light and insubstantial Neal was, how much his body had diminished.

The hold was awkward, but he let Neal cling to him as long as he needed to. Neal shook with hysterical laughter, and Peter tried to soothe him. “Shh, shh, it’s all right. I’ve got you, I’m here.”

Neal calmed down but began to struggle against his hold. At that moment, Peter felt the hard braces against his own legs and he needed to know the full extent of Neal’s injuries. He needed to know what he had to do to help, to get Neal home, to ensure his recovery.

Peter let go and sat down next to Neal, trapping him the best he could. “Neal? What’s going on inside that head of yours? What are you thinking?”

“Everything’s changed. Whatever could have been … Those dreams are gone. You have to see that.”

Peter thought he understood. “You’re saying that because of what happened, the accident?”

Neal nodded, pursing his lips.

“And what if I said that none of this matters? What if I said that I will love you forever?”

“How can you? Not even considering Elizabeth – and how could you even think of betraying her?”

Peter cut Neal off. “Elizabeth’s always known how I’ve felt about you. She thought I was a fool for letting you go. She wanted to tell you just what you were leaving behind. I wouldn’t let her. I didn’t want you to feel trapped or obligated.”

Neal blinked and looked away. “That’s irrelevant now.”

“Why? Because you’re not perfect anymore?” Peter saw the muscles in Neal’s jaw tighten. “Talk to me.”

Neal looked up, perhaps trying to find answers in the cloudy winter sky. “I’m practically a cripple. I can barely walk. I can’t take care of myself. The least little thing sends me back into intensive care. Do you know what milestone I celebrated yesterday?”

There was so much derision and self-loathing in Neal’s voice that Peter wanted to beg him to stop, but he didn’t. He swallowed the pain in his soul, he swallowed the tears that threatened. “Tell me.”

“I walked ten steps. I moved three yards under my own power. That’s the farthest distance I’ve traveled while vertical since the accident. And that progress may be completely illusory. My hands and feet keep going numb. The doctors are worried about compression in my cervical spine. Another operation, another chance to die.”

Peter thought about how to answer Neal. He understood the fatalism, but he didn’t agree with it. “And does that mean that I shouldn’t love you? That you’re any less worthy of being loved? What if I had cancer? What if El did? Would we be any less worthy of your love?”

“No, but that’s different.”

“No, Neal. That’s bullshit.” Neal refused to look at him, but Peter wasn’t going to accept that. He reached out and turned Neal’s head back to face him. “I can understand what you’re feeling. You feel helpless, you don’t want to be a burden.” Neal’s eyes widened. “Yeah – you think you’re the only one who’s gone through this?”

“You?”

“Yeah, I had a friend. He – ” Peter grimaced at the memory. “He had colon cancer. The day his doctors told him he’d live but he’d have to use an ostomy bag for the rest of his life, he went into his garage, turned on the car and killed himself. He didn’t even give his family a chance. He didn’t want to be a burden.”

“I’m sorry.” The apology was faint, but genuine.

Peter took Neal’s hands again, he needed the physical contact. “I love you, Neal. You are a part of – well – my soul.” Peter laughed. “Sappy, I know, but it’s the damn truth. Nothing has been the same this past year. I keep looking for you and you’re not there. I have had nightmares about what happened to you. My gut kept telling me that something was wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” Neal whispered.

This time, Peter waved it off. “Let’s stop apologizing to each other. We need to move forward, Neal. Not back. Can we?”

Neal squeezed his hands, but whatever he was about to say was cut off. An aide found them and cheerfully announced that it was time for M. Caffrey’s morning session with the physical therapist.

Peter wasn’t sure if he should follow, where he should wait, but Neal didn’t let go. Not just yet. “Come, watch. You want to see what you’re in for? I hope you have a strong stomach, because it’s going to get ugly.”

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Neal refused to let himself be distracted by Peter’s presence, but frankly it was impossible to put it out of his mind. Peter was here. Peter found him. He wanted him, he loved him. It was like his best and worst fantasies had come true.

“Herr Neal – are you ready?” They had warmed him up with electric stimulation and heat packs, and Peter sat next to him, but they didn’t talk. He didn’t know what to say just yet and Peter seemed content to be by his side. They removed his heat packs and took him over to the parallel bars – his bête noir. Peter remained behind, watching intently.

Dolph, the latest in the ever-changing cycle of physical therapists, stood there, mild impatience on his face. Neal nodded and let himself be lifted up and out of the chair. He stood between the two parallel bars as the aides locked his leg braces. His left arm was weak and the palm of his right hand was numb, but he gripped the bars and moved his right leg forward, then his left. He was drenched with sweat from the exertion by the time he took the second step and his arms were shaking by the fourth step. But he wasn’t going to give up, he wasn’t going to look at Peter, he was going to make it to the end of the damn set of bars, turn around and walk back to his chair if it killed him.

Another step and another and he reached the end. Over the pounding of his heart, he thought he heard Peter say, “That’s it, that’s it. Come on, you can do it.” For the first time, he turned himself around without assistance and started the walk back. Hand forward, opposite leg forward, repeat. Over and over again until he was facing his wheelchair and without thinking, he turned around again and gratefully collapsed into it. The aides rushed to unlock his braces and ease his legs down.

Neal allowed himself to sneak a glance at Peter. Their eyes met but Peter’s expression was unreadable. What was he thinking? Was he disgusted?

It was time for strengthening exercises, where they worked him over. He pulled and pushed and lifted as many times as he could. The weights were laughable – five pounds at the heaviest, and that made him sweat and pant. Ever conscious of the eyes on him, Neal pushed himself to do more reps than he normally would.

Dolph put a gentle hand on his arm and halted the next set of movements. “No need to damage yourself by showing off. Your friend is very impressed already.” His therapist helped him sit up. “Let’s get you cooled down.”

Neal was embarrassed as the man scooped him up and carried him over to the massage table. That was nothing new, but he hated how helpless it made him look. The masseur eased him out of his sweat-soaked clothing, draping a towel across his hips to preserve his modesty, as wasted and shriveled as it was. Neal turned his head to face Peter and then did something that was sure to bring this happy reunion to a swift ending. “Come here, Peter. Come take a look at me.”

Peter crossed the short distance, and never breaking eye contact with him, asked the masseur for a few minutes of privacy. When Neal let himself look at his torso, he felt like Frankenstein’s monster, put together with parts of other bodies, stuffed into a skin and sewn up. He was revolted by his own body. “It’s disgusting, isn’t it?” The question was a challenge.

“No, it isn’t.” Peter traced the scars, the ones that were still an angry red, the ones that had faded a bit. “You’re alive and these marks are a testimony to your survival. It hurts me that you were hurt so badly, that you could have died and I’d have never known. It hurts that you’re struggling for every step. But understand this – they don’t, you don’t disgust me.” Peter bent over and kissed the scar that crossed his torso, bisecting his navel, leaning his cheek against his ruined flesh.

Neal felt the wetness of Peter’s tears – an echo of the ones on his cheeks. He put his hand on Peter’s head, holding him there so lightly. This kiss was a benediction, a touch of salvation that he never thought he’d receive. Peter stood up, stood over him, looming like some terrible, wonderful angel, his gaze terrifying in its intensity. He smiled and suddenly was human again. The knot under Neal’s heart eased, and the fear he’d been carrying since he first woke after the accident took flight.

“You’re going to come home, Neal. You’re going to come back to us. Understand?”

Peter stepped away and summoned the masseur. The man worked over the stiffening muscles until Neal almost fell asleep. They dressed him and took him back to his room, Peter walking at his side.

Settled into the recliner in front of the window, Neal fought against exhaustion. He was afraid if he closed his eyes, he’d wake and discover that this was all a dream. But sleep was inexorable. “You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

Peter brushed his fingers down his cheek. “You think after all this that I’m going to let you out of my sight, Caffrey?”

Neal had to laugh at the fond exasperation. “Okay – and when I wake up, I want you to tell me exactly how you found me.”

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Peter watched Neal for a while, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyelids fluttered and relaxed, how his lips pursed and eased. Neal had a mobile face and even in repose that hadn’t changed.

He stepped out of the room and called Elizabeth. Talking to her, hearing her voice made everything real.

“He’s still Neal.”

“But?”

“It’s bad, El. It’s going to be a hard road back.”

“Worse than what you expected?”

Peter thought for a moment. “No. Actually it’s not as bad as I expected. But he can’t walk without assistance. He’s so frail that the least thing, the most minor illness could send him back to the hospital. I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do I stay here with him? Do I make arrangements to take him back to New York? I don’t know what’s best for Neal.”

“Well, isn’t it Neal’s choice?”

She was right, of course. But still…

You have to respect his wishes, Peter. But you can offer him the choice, and we’ll do whatever we need to help him recover.

They talked some more, and he promised to call her again later, but before they disconnected, he had to ask, “Any chance you could come to Montreux, El?” Peter knew he was begging.

“Oh, hon – as you’re so fond of saying, ‘cowboy up’. You’re doing fine, you don’t need me.”

“Hon, I’ll always need you.”

Peter smiled at El’s snort of laughter. “Okay, now that that’s settled, let me go back to sleep.”

Peter took a quick look at his watch and winced. It was a little before noon here. Which meant it was close to six AM in New York. El hung up before he could apologize.

Back in Neal’s room, he was a little too antsy to just sit and watch Neal. He rooted around the desk drawers and found a pen and some stationary. He wasn’t interested in writing a letter; he needed to make lists of what had to be done to get Neal home, to get him well.

He didn’t get too far on the list – there were just too many unknowns. He suspected that a private clinic like this would be extremely expensive in New York, which set him to wondering just how Neal did afford this place. Even if there was insurance from the driver, even if Neal had his own insurance, he doubted it was enough to pay for the long term residential care here. Peter shook his head, dismissing the question. The state of Neal’s finances didn’t matter. Getting him well did.

Once Neal was mobile enough, healthy enough, he was going to need a place to live. As much as he wanted it, it would be nearly impossible to keep Neal at the house. There was no first floor bathroom and he couldn’t expect that Neal would be able to climb all of those stairs. A few years ago, El had broken her ankle and spent six weeks cursing each and every step.

Peter figured that June could easily be persuaded to give Neal back his old apartment. After Moz was shot, June showed them the small elevator that went up to the top floor. He was certain that June wouldn’t mind having Neal back, and wouldn’t have a problem with the home health care assistance that Neal would need.

But again, plans couldn’t be made until he knew what Neal wanted to do. He sighed.

“That seems way too heartfelt. What’s the matter?” Neal was awake and smiling.

“Nothing – just trying to figure out a few things.” Peter folded the paper and shoved it in his pocket.

“I can’t believe you’re really here.” There was a softness in Neal’s voice, a wonderment – like it was Christmas morning and he’d been given a much longed-for gift. “I thought it was a dream.”

“You sure you don’t mean a nightmare?”

Neal shook his head. “Never that, not even when you arrested me the first time. And I still want to know how you found me.”

Peter had to smile. “I’m Special Agent Peter Burke, it’s my life’s mission to find Neal Caffrey.”

Neal’s laugh was joyous. “Of course it is. Now – come on; dazzle me with your deductive skills.”

“Well, you weren’t exactly hiding.”

“True, but stop stalling.”

He had to smile at Neal’s petulant tone. “You kept your promise.”

“What – what do you mean?”

“You said you were done with the life, and you were happy being Neal Caffrey. You traveled under that name – you used your legitimate passport.”

Neal still looked puzzled.

“When I searched for you, the only hit on your passport was your exit from New York and your entry into France. There are no border checks – you never left Europe.”

Neal arched a brow in disbelief. “And you can’t tell me that you didn’t check all my other aliases.”

“Of course I did – the ones I’ve known about, the ones we haven’t burned. But I never believed that you used them, or you had new identities made. You said you weren’t interested in returning to the life – you were done with that and I believed you.”

“But you still checked.” Neal was, if nothing else, persistent.

“I’m not stupid – I wanted to find you.”

“Okay, okay – so you were convinced I was still in Europe. How did you connect that to a rehabilitation clinic in a small city in Switzerland? Even for you, that’s a bit of a leap.”

“Last December 18th, at 2:37 AM, Eastern Standard Time.”

“Huh?”

“A telephone call to my office line. I was there and picked up my phone. There was someone on the other end, but he hung up immediately.” It was interesting to see the light dawn on Neal’s face.

He shook his head in bemused amazement. “You knew it was me? From just a single late night phone call that you happened to be there to take?”

“It wasn’t a single phone call. I’ve been working on a case that’s needed a lot of late nights in the office. You were calling my phone, Diana’s, Clinton’s, regularly, but you weren’t leaving messages. We all figured it was some robo-telemarketer. This was just the first time that I didn’t let the call ring through.” Peter grimaced. “It was just random luck. The minute I realized that there was a human on the other end of the line, that it wasn’t a computer generated call, I knew it had to be you.”

“The famous Peter Burke gut detector?”

He shrugged. “Maybe – when it comes to Neal Caffrey, I’ve learned to trust it implicitly.”

“You couldn’t have traced the call. I wasn’t on the phone long enough.”

“Ah, but you’re forgetting that you’ve been calling the FBI offices. We keep logs of all incoming calls. They were able to trace the call to a pair of cell towers in Montreux, Switzerland. And burner phone or not, there’s still a number attached to the handset you used. I tried calling, but it was disconnected. And you never called again. What happened?” Peter had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer. And he didn’t.

Neal was grim. “My phone was misplaced or stolen when I had to go back to the hospital for emergency surgery. There was an intestinal blockage from the scar tissue.” Neal placed a hand over his abdomen. “Of course, I developed an infection.”

Now Peter understood Neal’s fatalism. “How bad was it?”

“I was in ICU and then isolation for almost two weeks. It wasn’t the first time that happened.” Neal’s tone was leaden.

“Last April?”

“Surgery on my knee, and another infection.”

“August?”

Neal compressed his lips. “Bladder infection. And before you ask, there were operations on my shoulder and wrist that sent me back to the hospital in October.”

Peter sighed, he couldn’t help it. “You’re a mess.”

Neal’s response was gratifying. He laughed. “Yeah, I am. And this latest problem – the herniated discs in my neck – may mean another operation.”

Peter didn’t know what to say.

Neal, though, wasn’t letting go so quickly. “So – you still haven’t explained how you got from a general location in Montreux to finding me.”

“Remember Sally? El suggested I contact her.”

Neal grinned, from ear to ear. “You dog – you went to The Vulture. What did you have to do to persuade her to help you?”

“Nothing – it was surprisingly easy. I posted to the Deepnet, noting that Little Bear’s friend might be in trouble.”

“Little Bear – you mean Mozzie, right?” Neal chuckled at Peter’s nickname for his friend.

“Yup. Sally got in touch almost immediately, and she got a hold of Moz.”

“Are they together?”

“Don’t think so – not physically, at least.” He gave Neal a level stare. “If you wouldn’t reach out to me, why wouldn’t you at least contact Mozzie? He’s your oldest friend.”

“Moz isn’t good with situations like this.” Neal replied with a twist of his lips.

Peter didn’t believe that, but Neal did – and it was irrelevant now anyway. “Sally traced the number from the cell phone. It was defunct, but there was an email account attached to it. George Devore’s, I believe.”

That earned another laugh. “So Sally traced the phone and probably was able to trace the location too.”

“She also found a newspaper article about the accident. You were named as the victim. She was able to confirm you were still a patient here.”

“And that, as they say, was that. Nice bit of detective work, Agent Burke. This makes you, what, four and ought?” There was a touch of awe in Neal’s voice.

“At the very least.” Peter wasn’t going to tell him about the year filled with sleepless nights, with longing, with worry. Neal had enough to deal with.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It still amazed Neal that Peter was here, that he found him. Like he had pointed out, he hadn’t been hiding, but it wasn’t as if he was out in the world, either. And yet it seemed so right that Peter had located him. It was, Neal guessed, inevitable. “Calling your office phone was pretty pathetic, I guess.”

The look Peter gave him set the butterflies loose in his stomach.

“Not pathetic, Neal. Just …” Peter frowned, pursing his lips, as if he was searching for the right word. “Unnecessary. Sad. I know that you didn’t want to be a burden – but you should have given us a chance.”

Neal dropped his head. He was ashamed at the hurt he caused Peter – it wasn’t hard to see what this had done to him. But he still didn’t think he had the right to do anything differently. “Is everything all right with Elizabeth?”

Peter looked at him, puzzled. “Yes, of course – other than she’s been worried about you, too.”

“Oh.” Neal licked his lips, he had to ask – even though he thought he knew the answer. “Then why the six-month leave of absence?”

Peter leaned over, cupped his cheek, resting a thumb against his lips. “Because you need me. Because I had no idea what I’d find here, and because I’m not going home without you. Because I love you.” Peter kissed him again – not a blessing this time but a statement of intent.

Neal moaned and he couldn’t help but lean into that kiss. He tasted Peter, tasted the lips he had dreamed of. This kiss did more than rekindle the memory of the one Peter gave him at their parting, the one that haunted him, that kept him alive through the dark hours. This kiss revived him, brought life back into parts of his soul that he had thought dead.

This time, it was Peter who pulled away, and Neal could see the apology in his eyes. “No – don’t. It was – it is – perfect.” And he finally had to confess, in and unaccustomedly shy and halting voice, “I love you, too.”

Peter kissed him again, and in a dizzying moment, scooped him up and out of his chair, only to resettle him on his lap. “Are you okay?”

Neal laughed and then sighed. Then laughed again, for the sheer joy of it. “I can’t remember being better.” Yes, his body was still wasted and useless. His arm, his legs hurt no less than they did this morning, when he woke up and expected this to be just another day in a long series of days with no end in sight.

But now he felt alive, he felt vital. He had a future.

They had a future.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Go to Part Five On DW On LJ