elrhiarhodan

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

Mid-March

The road back wasn’t easy; Peter didn’t think it would be.

First were the meetings with Neal’s doctors. And before that, figuring out how to explain his relationship to Neal. There were definitely legal hurdles to jump before they would disclose anything to Peter but neither of them could understand why Neal’s verbal consent wasn’t going to be enough. The professionals were obdurate and refused to discuss Neal’s health with him. They finally cut through the red tape and Neal gave Peter the right to made medical decisions for him.

The doctors were still suspicious, but they reluctantly complied. For a whole week, as Neal worked harder with his therapists than he had for nearly a year, Peter met with surgeons and neurologists and specialists of all kinds. He became numb to the horror that had been Neal’s life for so many months.

It was the orthopedic surgeon who convinced Peter that taking Neal back to New York might result in a setback or even permanent disability.

“New York is his home. He has friends and people he considers family,” Peter argued.

“And that’s precisely why he should stay here.”

That baffled him.

The doctor, a woman about Peter’s age, gave him a compassionate smile. “Neal’s progress has been slow, he’s had setback after setback, but he’s making tremendous progress now. If he goes home, back to a familiar environment, he’ll be tempted to overdo, to take risks he wouldn’t here. He’s still at the stage where a bad fall could cripple him for life.”

Peter understood the logic, he didn’t like it, but he understood. “What can I do?”

“What are you willing to do?”

There was nothing to consider. “Anything and everything.”

She gave him another warm and compassionate smile. “I have wondered about Mr. Caffrey – he’s always seemed to be the type of man who should be surrounded by people, and it surprised me that he had no one.”

They talked about treatments, about how Peter could be integrated into Neal’s regime. She cleared the path for him, and a few calls to the professionals at the clinic gave him entrée into what Neal needed on a day-to-day basis.

Peter checked out of his hotel and found a small efficiency apartment near the clinic. It was plain, unadorned, with room for little more than a bed and a single burner cook top. It reminded him a little too much of his first dorm room at Harvard, but without the pot-smoking roommate.

The physical work over the next few months was harder than Peter had to do since his training at Quantico. There were days of frustration, when Neal cursed and spat and refused to move because of the pain. Those days were the worst. At first, Peter wanted to let Neal do what he wanted, to stay in his chair and ease through the pain. But he learned that giving in was the worst thing for Neal. Routines and regimes could be modified, but every day lost was a setback.

It wasn’t the first time that they’d come to a stumbling block, but it was the first time that they couldn’t work through it. For the past three days, Neal absolutely refused to get up and he treated Peter and his therapist like they were the enemy.

“Come on, get up. You can do it.” Peter was trying to be encouraging, but Neal wasn’t having any of it.

“I told you, I’m too tired. I’m in too much pain.”

“That’s because you overdid it. Dolph told you to stop, but you didn’t listen,” Peter couldn’t help but point out. But this was old news.

“And today, I’m going to take it easy and recover.”

“Like you did yesterday and the day before.” Peter looked over at Neal’s therapist, who shook his head. “You still have to walk today. You can forego the strength training, but you have to get up and walk.” Peter didn’t like the idea of giving Neal a pass on that part of his therapy. The herniated discs might not need surgery if Neal kept to a strict exercise regimen.

“No.” Neal released the breaks and rolled out of the therapy room. Or tried to. Peter blocked him, and it was a battle of wills – or more precisely, a battle of upper-body conditioning – and it was surprisingly difficult to turn the chair around.

“Damn it, Neal – this isn’t like you. You know that you have to walk every day, you have to keep your muscles stretched. What are you going to do tomorrow, when everything hurts just that much more? Sit back and whine about the pain? And the day after that? Don’t you want to get better?”

“Fuck you – no one asked you to come. No one asked you.” Neal hissed at him, vicious and angry. There was actually hate in his eyes.

He backed off, hands in the air. “Okay – you don’t want to walk – you don’t have to. You’re a grown man and you can make decisions for yourself.” Peter picked up his jacket and left the therapy room. He stood just outside, hands in his pockets, heartsick. It was inevitable that they’d butt heads; that he’d push and Neal would push back, but the venom in Neal’s voice still hurt.

Peter started walking back to his tiny apartment, the voice of reason dogging his footsteps. Well, maybe if you didn’t behave like a fucking drill sergeant, he wouldn’t react like that. He should have known better – Neal never was one to take lectures well. Tell him to do one thing and he was just as likely to do the opposite.

His cell phone buzzed with an incoming call, it was El. His saving grace.

“Hey there, hon. How did you know I needed to talk to you?”

“Hmm, my magical sixth sense?” He could hear the amusement in her voice. “What’s the matter?”

Peter told her about the debacle this morning and the days that had preceded the blowup. “It was my fault – I was too heavy handed. I talked to him like he was a ten year old.”

“No, Peter – you didn’t. You were honest.”

“I was mean.”

“You were undiplomatic, at the very worst.”

Peter stopped and looked up at the mid-morning sky. It was starting to rain – perfect. “I should go back and apologize.”

“Actually, you should come home and take care of Satchmo.”

Peter stopped again, thankfully under an awning. “What?”

“I’d prefer not to leave Satch at the kennel for the whole week.”

“Hon, I’m not following.”

“I’ll be arriving in Geneva tomorrow night. I’ve just emailed my flight information. I think you need a break, hon. You’ve been with Neal night and day for almost two months. You both need a break.

Peter didn’t like the idea. “I don’t know. It feels like I’m abandoning Neal at the first sign of difficulty. He needs me.”

”Of course he does, but he needs to understand that you’re not his servant either. There’s nothing wrong with a few days’ break.

Peter fought against the idea. “I can’t do this to him. He needs me.”

“Peter, you sound like you’re becoming co-dependent. Not good.”

That gave him pause. He looked out onto the street. The rain had stopped – mostly. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Hon, have I ever been wrong when it came to you and Neal?”

“No, of course not.” Peter dodged the raindrops best he could. “But I just don’t …”

“You don’t like the idea of being separated again.” She completed his thought. ”He’s not going to disappear, and you’re forgetting, I’ll be there with him. Gonna whip that boy’s ass in shape if it kills both of us.

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

“That wasn’t very nice of you.” Dolph didn’t look at him, concentrating on resetting the therapy room for the next patient. “Your friend rearranges his life to help you and you treat him worse than a stray dog.”

Neal was ashamed, and not just because his physical therapist took pains to point out his bad manners. He didn’t reply, though.

“He wants you to get better. Not for his sake.”

Neal whispered, “I know.”

“Then why treat him like that?”

It was complicated and not something he wanted to tell a relative stranger. When an aide came to escort back to his room, it was weird to be alone. Peter had been with him, caring for him, and a tide of shame washed over him again. He’d been here, working with him every day, all day long, for over two months. Waiting on him hand and foot.

Neal pulled out his phone as soon as he got back to his room and called Peter, holding his breath until he answered.

“Peter?”

“Hey, Neal”

He closed his eyes in relief. Peter didn’t sound angry or disappointed. “I’m sorry for being such a fucking ungrateful bastard these last few days.”

“It’s understandable – and I’ve been pushing at you. My fault, too.”

“Apologies all the way around? Not an unfamiliar situation, right?”

“Yeah – we’ve been here, done this a few times.”

Neal felt himself smiling. “Listen – I’ve talked with Dolph, and there’s a slot open in the therapy room this afternoon. I thought I’d get back on my feet. You’re right – I’m backsliding.”

“That’s a great idea – but, well – I can’t make it.

Neal’s heart plummeted. “What’s the matter?”

“I – I have to go back to New York for a week. There’s some stuff going on that I have to deal with in person.”

“Of course – I understand.” Neal swallowed and asked, “Anything I can do?” What a stupid question was that?

“No – it’s just stuff. I’ve already got my return ticket – I’ll be back here on Saturday. And we’ll talk – every day, right?” Peter sounded as upset as he felt.

“Maybe we could try to Skype?” Neal hoped he didn’t sound too bereft.

“Yeah, we could do that.”

There was something that Peter wasn’t telling him. Neal wasn’t sure it was about him, or if there was something bad going on at home, or if he really did need to go into the office and deal with stuff. Regardless, Peter was leaving him and even if it was just for a little while, Neal felt panicked, abandoned. But the voice of reason was there, too. If Peter promised to be back, he’d be back. He didn’t break his promises. Ever.

Neal was proud of himself, that he could tell Peter to have a good trip without his voice breaking. “Don’t forget to call me when you get home?”

“Of course I will. There was a pause, fraught and pregnant with meaning. “I love you – no matter what. Don’t forget.”

“As if I could. And I love you, too, Peter.”

The call ended and Neal was left to stare out the window. It was a typical gray day in March, rainy and cold and depressing. It probably was not much better in New York City. He wished he was going on that plane with Peter, returning home with Peter, starting his life over.

With Peter.

It seemed like another life – another person who was making those desperate calls to hear a familiar voice. Someone lonely and hopeless; someone who wanted to be forgotten but afraid that no one would remember him.

That person was gone, healed in so many impossible ways. But the healing wasn’t complete. It would be a long time still before he could walk, before he could live on his own, before he could …

Before he could fuck.

Early after the accident, when he was numb below the waist and the doctors insisted that it was temporary, Neal prayed. He prayed to a god he wasn’t sure existed that if only he could walk again, he’d be satisfied. He wouldn’t ask for anything more than that.

But that turned out to be a lie, because now he wasn’t satisfied. He could walk – he needed help, he needed braces to keep his legs straight, but he could walk, he could get in and out of bed on his own. He could even stand up and pee – a triumph that he thought impossible even three months ago.

But he couldn’t get hard. His dick was a limp and useless thing. Until Peter came, it really didn’t even matter, he didn’t think about it because he had no use for arousal.

Neal leaned his head against the window, the raindrops blurring the world just outside. Inside, Neal could hear the echoes of them – their laughter, the sudden heart-stopping passion. They’d be playing cards, or reading or talking and Peter would look at him, he’d smile and touch him like he didn’t think he was real. Or he’d lift him up and carry him to the bed, and they’d lie there, carefully entwined. Peter kissing him, devouring him and he’d kiss back, pour out his soul into Peter’s willing self. He could feel Peter’s arousal, the hard bulge of his cock, and he’d start to grind against it. Until Peter pulled away – his refusal wasn’t a rejection – it was too much damn respect and concern for his still healing, still useless body.

Maybe the time apart would help. Peter would have a very happy reunion with Elizabeth, and Neal could work on his – what? His non-existent stamina?

He rolled away from the window, lined his chair up with his bed and lifted himself up and onto the mattress. His upper body strength was getting impressive, and his legs weren’t totally useless anymore, just weak. This little bit of independence still had the power to thrill him.

The door was shut and no one would bother him until dinner time. He had plenty of privacy.

Neal took a deep breath; he could feel the beginnings of a flop sweat forming at the base of his spine. “Come on, Caffrey – you can do this.” He laughed at his own pep-talk, which was probably counterproductive. He slid his hand inside his pants, a little startled. Not by the scars – they were a familiar feature, but all that ungroomed hair. He was once so meticulous about his person. Maybe he could get it trimmed. Or get someone to buy a trimmer for him.

But he didn’t let the overgrown undergrowth dissuade him and he touched himself with sexual intent for the first time in a year and a half.

And withdrew his hand. The months of dedicated physical development left his hands callused. Neal checked the bedside drawer. A small bottle of hand cream – that would do. And it certainly did, once he warmed it up. It felt nice, both strange and very familiar and he closed his eyes, letting images fill the space behind his eyelids. He held himself gently, schooled his breath and waited for his body to sync with the desire in his mind.

Neal always had fantasies about Peter – going all the way back to the moment when he handed him that lime-green lollipop. They were a guilty pleasure during the years he was traveling through Europe – stealing Europe to be accurate – and even more when he was in prison. He recalled one where he was the seducer, where he was initiating Peter into all the pleasures of sex with another man.

He stroked himself, up and down, in time with the rise and fall of Peter’s chest under his lips. His body didn’t respond, but Neal didn’t give up. Maybe some of the fantasies that weren’t sweet and gentle. Those were the ones that guaranteed a quick and powerful orgasm, ones that he didn’t like to use too often – he didn’t want to wear them out.

He used to imagine Peter fully dressed, except for his cock erupting out of those Brooks Brothers suit pants. He’d be brandishing it like some fantastic, fleshy weapon, making him take it in his mouth, forcing it between his lips, bruising his throat. It wasn’t rape, because that was too real and too damaging, even for a fantasy. No – in his dreams, Peter was angry at him, but Neal wanted it – maybe he had done something to incite Peter’s anger and Peter would make him do things to earn forgiveness.

The best part to these violent fantasies was what happened after, when Peter would take him in his arms, and tell him that everything was good, that he was good, and he was loved and he belongs to Peter.

Neal would come in his fist, come splattering from the force of his orgasm and he’d practically blush at the memory. What was he doing, jerking off to the thought of a kinky sexual relationship with the FBI agent responsible for putting him in prison?

And yet those fantasies persisted, through four years of angst and turmoil. When he was chasing after Kate, he’d imagine Peter telling him he had to make a choice – but it wasn’t so simple. He could have his pretty girlfriend and a life of respectability, or he could be Peter’s boy. Neal would lie on his bed, dick in his hand, pretending it was Peter holding him, stroking him, whispering like a devil on his shoulder. “You want to give this up for Kate, you want me to go, you want to leave *this* behind?” Fantasy Peter would do something incredible with his hands and fingers, something that would make him whimper and whine and wordlessly beg. “You go after Kate, we’re finished, it will be as if it never happened. You’re mine, Neal – and I don’t share.”

Peter’s voice, dark with intent, rang in his ears. Neal licked his lips, ready to respond that there was no one else, that Kate didn’t matter, that he was Peter’s now and forever.

His body thrilled to this imaginary conversation. First there was a tingle in his thighs, a tightening in his belly, then an unexpected firmness. He held himself carefully, as if his cock was a small creature too frightened to move, and rubbed gently. In his mind, this was Peter’s hand, his own careful touch at odds with Peter’s fierce strength. Neal felt his arousal grow, the tingle becoming more like a rush as he stroked himself harder, as he felt his erection grow harder.

And then nothing. It just stopped, and he was left with a limp dick and a mass of frustration.

Neal pulled his hand out of his pants and considered what just happened. The frustration was still riding him, but so was satisfaction. He got a hard on. He got an erection. It was real. He was still a man.

He threw his head back and laughed, happiness filling his soul. This – this was something he could work on. He could almost walk and he could almost wank, and it was only a matter of time before he’d do both more than almost.

Only a matter of time.

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

Elizabeth’s flight was scheduled to land at a quarter to ten and he felt like he was waiting to pick her up on their first date. It wasn’t the first time that they’d been apart this long, but there was something momentous about it. Maybe it was the unspoken understanding that their lives were about to change – or had already changed.

The past two months had been all about Neal’s physical recovery, and despite this week’s setback, his progress had been astonishing. Both Neal’s physical therapist and his orthopedic surgeon attributed it to Peter’s consistent presence, his daily participation in the therapy sessions, his constant attention.

Peter didn’t doubt it. But he didn’t want to make it into something special. It was what friends did for each other. And that was why he didn’t want to go back to New York. Despite El’s contention that maybe they needed some time apart, it still felt like he was abandoning Neal.

He paced the length of the waiting area and checked the arrivals board. With a slight thrill, Peter noticed that El’s flight was now marked as “Arrived.” It took another twenty minutes, but there she was, striding out of the gate area, looking a little tired but thoroughly gorgeous.

To the bemusement and appreciation of the collection of limo drivers and other people waiting for arriving passengers, Peter swept his wife up in his arms and planted a very welcoming kiss. They actually received a smattering of applause, and he felt himself turning a little red.

El, on the other hand, just smiled, her eyes glowing with happiness. “Hey, hon.”

“Hon.” He kissed her again, just because she felt so good in his arms, and once more, just because he could. If this was New York, certainly there’d be some wise guy shouting at them to get a room, but the locals were too polite.

Peter placed a quick call to the car service and arranged the pickup, they collected her luggage and with typical Swiss efficiency, were on their way to Montreux.

“El – ” But before he could finish his sentence, she interrupted.

“You’re not going back to New York?”

“How did you guess?” Peter really wasn’t surprised, though.

She shrugged. “After fifteen years of marriage and five years of sharing you with Neal, it was pretty obvious that you weren’t going to leave here without him. I knew you wouldn’t, so I left Satch with my sister.”

“Hon …” He shook his head, still befuddled by her willing acceptance of his love for Neal.

“Peter – don’t. You don’t have to justify this. Besides, if I didn’t love him too, do you think I’d be here?” She sighed and rested her head against his shoulder, a welcome weight. They had barely left the airport before she fell into a light doze.

Peter wished he could join her, but his brain was too filled with love, with worry, to let him relax.

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

Peter had told her all about his little efficiency apartment, he had even sent pictures. But El wasn’t really prepared for the college dorm room feel of the place, especially the old fashioned double bed that was barely wider than her husband’s shoulders.

She didn’t want to act like a spoiled princess; this really wasn’t a vacation after all, but still…

“Come on.” Peter grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the door. “We’re not staying here.”

“Peter, it’s okay.”

But he didn’t listen to her and frankly, she didn’t want to argue. Fifteen minutes later, they had a room at the Meridian. The bed was huge, with a dozen soft pillows and clean white sheets. She kicked off her shoes, striped to her skin and climbed into it. El barely felt Peter kiss her cheek before she fell asleep.

Quite a few hours later, El opened her eyes and closed them again. The unfamiliar angle of the sun across her face was painfully bright. But it was the scent of excellent coffee that brought her to complete wakefulness.

Peter sat on the bed and handed her a tiny cup filled with the best espresso she ever tasted.

“Good morning, Mrs. Burke.” Peter smiled, his whole voice smiled. “Your breakfast is ready.”

She finished the coffee and exchanged the cup for a freshly baked croissant slathered with strawberry preserves. Satchmo would have been proud at the speed she wolfed it down. Peter kissed her sticky lips and made an mmming noise of appreciation.

“I’ve fetched your luggage.” He tilted his head towards the closet. They had left it in Peter’s apartment the night before. “What do you want to do today?”

“What I came to Switzerland for.”

“Buying expensive chocolate and a new watch?”

She laughed at Peter’s joke, and climbed out of the bed. “I want to see Neal.”

Peter checked his watch. “He’s got a therapy session at ten that’s about two hours long and you can explore the area until we’re ready to meet you for lunch.”

El looked at Peter, concerned.

“What’s the matter?”

“I thought you were going to take a break.”

“I’m not going back to New York, El. I can’t. Not even for a week.”

“I understand that – but you also agreed that maybe you needed a little distance.”

“You were the one who suggested that.”

Under different circumstances, El would have thought that Peter was adorable, with his hands in his pockets and a small pout. “Peter – you need a few days apart. You’re not abandoning him, understand?”

He nodded, looking more like a five year old boy just told he couldn’t have another cookie than a fifty year old man who needed a break from his role as a caregiver.

“Hon – take the day off. Get a little sunshine; buy me some really expensive chocolate, maybe a new watch?”

Peter laughed and she swatted his ass as she passed him on the way to the bathroom.

Elizabeth lingered in the shower, washing away the grime of travel and sleep. When she came out of the bathroom, all pink and damp, Peter looked at her like a man starved and whatever plans they might have had for walking around the city until it was time to go see Neal evaporated in a cloud of lust.

There was definitely something to be said for reunion sex, and for post-shower sex, too. The heat and slide of Peter’s skin against hers, the familiar strength of his arms, the thrill of his cock rising to meet her, to bury itself in her cunt. She whispered in his ear, “Fuck me hard.” Peter’s eyes grew dark at her words and he flipped her over, his hands hard on her hips.

“This what you want, wife?”

“Oh, yeah.” Her assent was breathless, giddy.

He fucked her – there was no other word for it. His hands like vices on her hips, his cock – huge and burning and hard as iron – hammered into her. It felt so good; powerful and perfect as she came over and over again.

Peter came, a hard, deep grunt, and then kisses pressed along her shoulder, the nape of her neck, at the ticklish spot behind her ear that made her shiver. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.” These words, without their precious shorthand, were freighted with meaning. And tucked carefully within the protective confines of Peter’s body, her own thrumming with satiation, a stray thought drifted through her mind; she verbalized it without consideration.

“Do you do this with Neal?”

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

Neal sweated through his therapy session, longing for Peter to see his triumphant first steps outside of the parallel bars. A mere dozen, using braces and canes, but they were steps he never thought he’d be able to take. The strength training afterwards was anticlimactic and he barely felt the rubdown, usually the favorite part of the session.

His arms were sore, he felt more than a little shaky, but Neal waved off the aide who would have rolled him back to his room. He didn’t need anyone to push him anywhere anymore, and for the first time since the accident, he felt that recovery was not just a possibility, but an actuality.

As he made it from the wheelchair to his lounger, his phone pinged with an incoming message. It was from Peter, typically short and to the point. Miss you, can’t wait to see you. Behave and don’t slack off.

Neal grinned so hard his face hurt.

No rest for the weary, take a look. He attached the video one of the aides took of him walking in free space.

Peter’s response was gratifyingly swift. Damn. Of all the days not to be there. Keep it up. Love you.

Love you too. Deeper emotions churned through Neal’s joy. He set the phone aside and relaxed. He’d nap for an hour, have lunch and spend the rest of the day in the solarium with his sketchbook. The routine wasn’t all that different from when Peter was here, except that instead of napping, they’d spend the time talking. Or necking.

The thought of Peter’s kisses made him lose all interest in sleeping. He reached for the bottle of hand cream, warmed it up in his palm and shoved his hand down his pants. Unlike his experiment yesterday, it didn’t take much for his body to react and he was almost there when a sharp knock on his door interrupted him.

Neal pulled his hand out and wiped it on his sweatpants before telling whoever was on the other side of the door to come in. He hoped he didn’t sound too aggravated.

And all thoughts of wanking and aggravation and any-and-everything else evaporated when he recognized his visitor.

Elizabeth Burke, breathtakingly gorgeous, swept into his room. Her keen eyes missed nothing – he watched them swiftly track around the space – from him to the bed to the view of Lake Geneva and even the open bottle of hand cream.

“I don’t know what I expected to find when I came in here, but interrupting your jerk-off session wasn’t it.”

“Elizabeth.” That was all Neal could say. He sat up, reached out for her. She looked pointedly at his right hand and smirked, before reaching out for him and hugging him tight.

“Neal.” She whispered his name, no mocking humor in that single syllable, just relief.

“What are you doing here?” He was delighted by this unexpected visit, but puzzled. In all the times they had spoken since Peter arrived – and they talked at least twice a week – El had said nothing about coming here. Their conversations revolved around nothing more strenuous than their day-to-day lives. They both deliberately kept the tone and subject matter light.

El pulled back and gave him a long, hard look. “You seriously didn’t think I wouldn’t come to see you.”

He took a deep breath, not sure whether to laugh or cry. “I guess the timing of Peter’s trip home wasn’t because something came up?”

“No, sweetie. I thought that both of you could use a bit of a break. Just a few days. But I didn’t want you to be alone.”
Now he was certain he’d cry. “El – ”

“Neal.” His name had never seemed quite so freighted with meaning. “When you left Peter, it almost killed him.”

Trust Elizabeth to cut right to the heart of things. “I needed some space.”

“But to go, and to just tell him to send an email if there was a problem? How cold is that? After everything? After everything Peter’s sacrificed for you?”

It was like being flayed by a swan. “I had to go.”

“Because you loved him?”

Neal looked at Elizabeth, not quite shocked. “Yes - because I loved your husband. And I still don’t understand how you can let Peter …”

She placed two fingers across his lips. “Shut up. Just shut up and listen. Eighteen months ago, when you told us you were going to leave New York, I wanted to tell you that it was okay. I’ve been sharing Peter with you in almost every way but physically. I wanted to be jealous - I should have been jealous - but I couldn’t.” El paused and gave a little laugh. “It’s kind of hard to be jealous of two people you love so much.”

There was a great roaring in his ears, his heart thumped and seemed to fall out of rhythm as the universe realigned itself. “But … I … ”

“Not something to discuss over the phone, you know.” She pulled over a chair and they sat knee to knee. “I wanted to talk to you - to tell you that you didn’t need to go. But Peter - I don’t know if it was guilt or nobility or just plain stupidity - he told me not to. That you needed to explore your freedom, that you needed to find your feet and come back on your own terms.

Peter had told him this. He had a hard time believing it then, but now - he had to believe it. “I don’t know if you could have made a difference - I think we were both too guilty, too noble. Too fucking stupid to listen to reason.”

El squeezed his hand. “But you’ve worked it out.”

Neal turned his hand in hers so he could caress the back of her hand with his thumb, resting it for a brief moment on her wedding band. “I’ve been an ungrateful son of a bitch to Peter this week, though.”

“I know, Peter told me. He blamed himself for pushing you too hard.”

Neal grimaced. “It wasn’t his fault - he wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

“Then what was the matter?” El asked.

He felt himself flushing.

“Sweetie?”

Neal could swear that El knew what was going on, and damn if she wasn’t going to make him tell her. “I was frustrated.”

“But Peter says that you’ve made tremendous progress.” Maybe she didn’t.

“Not with walking - with other things.” Neal let his eyes drift over to the still-open bottle of hand cream.

“Ah.” Now she got it. “You’ve been terribly injured. I’m sure that the doctors have told you to be patient.”

“Yeah, well. But there comes a point … And I’ve wanted Peter for so long.” There - it was out there.

El bit her lip, and it was her turn to blush. “Is it working?”

Neal grinned. “I’m getting there.” He thought of all sorts of double entendres, using humor to deflect. But El knocked him back with her next question.

“Is it all for Peter?”

“El?” Neal thought he knew what she was saying, but he needed to be certain.

“Do you think that you could want me, too?” Her voice was small, but there was mischief glittering in her eyes.

“Does the sun rise in the east?” Neal leaned forward and did something he had only dreamed of - something that was more of an impossibility than loving and being loved by Peter. He kissed Elizabeth, with desire and intent. And she kissed him back, with desire, but there was also a touch of something else - shyness, certainly - and caution, too.

They broke apart, both laughing.

El suddenly looked nervous, “I’ve got something to confess.”

“Unless you plan on telling me that this is all a dream and I should wake up now, nothing you can say would make me upset.”

“I was the one who suggested that Peter go back to New York for a week. I wasn’t trying to interfere, I was just worried.”

“It’s okay, I think we both needed a short breather. And if his going back to New York meant that you could come to Montreux, then it’s doubly fine.”

El bit her lip at looked at him from under her lashes, an expression that Neal had discovered early on meant trouble.

“What is it?"

“Peter’s still here. He never went home. He was going to - he even booked a flight but cancelled it. He couldn’t leave you here.” The words came out in a rush. “He wanted to come today - but I asked him not to. I wanted to see you alone. Can you understand that?”

Neal wasn't sure at first what to feel. He was a little hurt at first, that Peter had kept himself distant, but he understood why. And ultimately, he was glad that Elizabeth came alone. It gave them a chance to really talk. “You know, you aren’t the only one with a confession to make.”

She looked at him and he licked his lips. This was something he needed to tell her.

“There’s something you should know. Something I haven’t told Peter.” There was no humor in him now. He reached out and grasped Elizabeth’s hand. “I was going to come home. I was going to try to make it work. I would have put aside those feelings - because hurting you would be the worst crime I ever committed.” Neal licked his lips. “That night - I had gone for a drive into the mountains. I was bored and antsy and angry that the freedom I had so wanted was so damned lonely. I pulled off and watched the sun set over the lake and decided that I needed to go home.”

“New York - that’s home.” El’s voice was soft, filled with understanding.

“Yes - and you and Peter … you’re my home.” He shook his head, still bitter. “And my life all but ended. Bad timing. The story of my life. I pause for a second and everything changes.” He was thinking of Kate, of Ellen.

“You can come home now, Neal. Come home to the people who care about you. Who love you.”

There was a knot in the back of his throat, a lump of tears and regrets. “I’m still a mess, El. I want to come home - you have no idea how much - but …” Neal swallowed and somehow found the courage that was missing all those times that he called Peter’s phone and never left a message; all the times he looked at the photos of his friends - his family - and never reached out to them. “I’m scared. I’m scared I’ll never be all right again.” Simple words that barely scratched the surface.

But Elizabeth understood. “We’ll take you anyway we can.”

The fear washed away with her words and he bowed his head, as if accepting her blessing. “Thank you.”

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