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elrhiarhodanTitle: Return and Rebuild the Desolate Places – Chapter Twenty-Six
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Mozzie, Reese Hughes, Clinton Jones, Diana Berrigan, Olivia Benson (L&O: SVU), Section Chief Bruce (McKinsey) Original Characters
Spoilers: White Collar, all of Season 5; no specific spoilers for L&O: SVU, but set in Season 15. No spoilers for Season 6, A/U from S5 finale forward.
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Kidnapping, torture (off-camera), rape (off-camera),
Word Count: This chapter – ~2500 / Total – ~90,000
Beta Credit:sinfulslasher
Story Summary: Six months after Neal disappears, Peter still has no answers and his decision not to go to Washington has had significant repercussions for both his career and his marriage.
Chapter Summary: Neal is home, in his apartment and he tries to settle back and find his own normal. Peter and Elizabeth, too, are searching for what they've lost over the last six months. And they just might have found it.
__________________
Previous Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty | Chapter Twenty-One | Chapter Twenty-Two | Chapter Twenty-Three | Chapter Twenty-Four | Chapter Twenty-Five |
A/N: Title from Alan Hovhaness’ wind concerto, which takes it from the Old Testament. New chapters will be posted to my LJ every Thursday and to the relevant communities on Fridays.
Art bykanarek13
Sometime in Late January – Friday Evening
Thinking back over the last two weeks, Peter had wondered if he would ever have this moment again. Knowing that Neal was in his own bed in his apartment – his "cappuccino in the clouds" - Elizabeth was upstairs, washing up, getting ready for an evening meal with him – albeit delivery Chinese – and Satchmo was relaxing at his feet.
It wasn't so long ago that these simple pleasures seemed out of reach, gone from his life and never coming back.
But Neal was safe and the animals responsible for hurting him were in jail. He was healing and although that road was going to be long and difficult, it was a journey he had already started. Peter didn't want to think about everything that Neal was going to have to endure, have to get past, get around, get over – if one could actually ever get over six months of torture.
For the moment, Peter took deep pleasure in the little triumphs. Neal trusting him enough to let him help get him dressed, walking from the front of the hospital into the waiting car, and then from the car, up the stairs into the welcoming arms of June, with Moz standing right behind her.
He and El hadn't stayed long after that. Neal was visibly at the end of his rope – he was shaking by the time the ancient elevator came to a creaking halt on the top floor. Peter wasn't sure if it was a bad reaction to the small, dark space or exhaustion, but he had a hard time stopping himself from picking Neal up and carrying him into the apartment.
Peter had hovered until Moz pushed him away. He'd looked to El for some kind of guidance, and she had given him a wry smile, as if to say, "Let Moz have this moment." So he had, assuring Neal that he'd be back tomorrow. Neal had seemed grateful – for both the assurance and for Peter's imminent departure.
"Looks like there's more snow in the forecast." El came downstairs and flopped down next to him on the couch.
"Do you think this winter will ever end?"
"A few more days and we'll find out."
Peter looked at her, puzzled.
"Groundhog Day."
"Ah, right." He laughed. "The best sort of magical thinking."
El leaned against him and Peter draped an arm around her shoulders. "We're going to be okay, aren't we?" He hadn't intended to have this conversation right now, but the words just popped out of his mouth.
"Yeah, we are. We both have a lot of work to do, but we'll be good. We are good."
"I'm sorry. For everything I said to you the other day, for all the times I didn't say anything. For being so helplessly angry. For taking it out on you."
She snuggled against him, sighing with happiness. "I know you are, and I forgive you. And I hope you'll forgive me – for my blindness, my own silence. For not being here when you needed me."
"Ah, El – of course." It wasn't going to be easy to get back to where they should be, but this was a start.
As they sat together, a long-absent emotion simmered between them. Not desire, but peace. Peter picked up her hand and threaded his fingers through hers, content just to be in the moment with the one person he loved and trusted beyond words. It had been so very long since they were able to be like this, together and comfortable, and he almost dared not think the word – be he was actually happy.
Eventually, the doorbell rang and the arrival of dinner interrupted the moment. For the first time in a very long time, Peter was looking forward to a meal.
Over a shared order of mu shu pork, El too casually asked, "What happens now?"
"What do you mean?"
"With Neal?"
"Well, he's not going back to prison." That last word left a terrible taste in his mouth.
"I know that, Neal told me. He also said that they got the people who took him."
"Yeah."
"Hon, it's going to be all right." She reached over and squeezed his hand. "The nightmare is over."
Peter sighed. "I know, for me – it is. Neal's got a long hard road ahead of him."
El nodded, but she was persistent. "You didn't really answer my question. What happens to him now?"
Peter pushed away his plate, his appetite gone. "For now, he's still considered a felon on work release. I'm still his handler."
"The FBI expects him to go back to work?"
Peter shrugged. "Bruce came up to New York yesterday to deliver the news that Neal would be serving the rest of his sentence. And to give me a new tracker."
"Which you haven't put on Neal."
"You noticed."
El nodded slowly. "It would be kind of hard to miss."
"I don't want to do it, El. He's been through so much. Putting him back on a leash seems like the worst sort of insult." He scrubbed at his eyes, suddenly weary beyond words. "I keep thinking, if I never put it on him, who would know? The Marshals don't ping monitors that aren't active."
"But they might check Neal's – you know he's not their favorite felon."
"I know – and I know that I've made a lot of enemies in the Justice Department, people who can make life difficult for Neal if they find out that I haven't put it on him."
"It doesn't seem like you have a choice. You'll have to do it." El started to clean off the table and stopped, giving him a searching look. "You don't want him to run, do you?"
Peter had to be honest. "The thought has crossed my mind, but then we'd be right back to where we started. Even with Moz's support, Neal isn't up to a life on the run and I don't think I could live with myself if he ran and ended up back in prison."
"He has, what? Six months left? That shouldn't be so bad, even if he's on the tracker." El grimaced at her own words.
"Under ordinary circumstances, no"
"But this is Neal, and circumstances are never ordinary."
"No, never." Peter shook his head. "He was chained to a wall for months, remember? How can I put this back on him?
"But maybe he'd want it back on. Think about it, hon. Just maybe Neal would feel better knowing you were watching out for him.
Peter wasn't so sure and he shrugged in response. El dumped the dishes in the sink and shoved the leftovers into the garbage. "Come on, let's call it a night." She tugged on him until he got up. "I know you haven't been sleeping."
Peter didn't resist. "No, and I spent the past few nights in the hospital with Neal. I don't even remember what my – what our – bed feels like."
She led him upstairs. "Then it's time you became reacquainted. With your bed. And your wife."
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
"Go home, Moz." Neal was exhausted and he wanted to do nothing more than ease himself under the covers of his bed and sleep. The very idea of sleeping without interruption, sleeping in safety, was enough to bring him to tears.
But Moz wasn't listening to him. He sat at the dining table, an open bottle of Malbec and a half-eaten apple before him. "You know, Neal – there's nothing keeping you here."
"Moz?" He was tired and he didn't have the strength to follow Moz's byzantine thought processes.
Moz gestured to his foot with the paring knife. "You haven't got a leash. You could leave right now, no one would be the wiser."
"No." His response was automatic, visceral.
"Why not? There are doctors everywhere. We don't even have to fly commercial. A private jet to Paris and the world is ours."
"Moz, no. I'm not running."
Moz wasn't giving up. "But that's the beauty of it, you wouldn't be running. Peter hasn't put your tracker back on. That should tell you something."
When Neal didn't answer, Moz filled in the blank. "They're not putting it back on. You're a free man, Neal."
But I don't feel free. "Go home, Moz. I'm tired and I want to go to sleep."
"I'll be quiet."
"Look, I appreciate what you're doing, but really – go home." Neal was at the end of his rope and he didn't have the energy to be polite. If Moz took offense, if he left in a huff, that would be fine.
But Moz didn't leave. "Get into bed."
"Don't order me around." Neal had his fill of that.
"Neal, please get into bed."
"I will, as soon as you leave." Neal gripped the edge of the table; it kept him upright.
Moz gave him a hard look – one that Neal had trouble deciphering. "You have a golden opportunity here. You're wasting it."
Neal gave in, just a little. "We can talk tomorrow. Just let me sleep."
Moz softened. "Okay. And I'm not really going far. June's letting me sleep here tonight." He walked over to the nightstand and picked up something – a pink and white plastic walkie-talkie. One half of a baby monitor. "Don't turn it off – if you're smart. If you need anything – and I mean anything - just shout."
Neal forced a smile and watched Moz leave. He didn't need a minder or a nurse and he shut the damn monitor off. And for good measure, pulled out the batteries. Moz wasn't above rigging switches.
He hobbled over to the bed, wincing with every step. It was almost too much effort to strip out of the New York Giants regalia that Peter had gotten for him. He managed to drop the sweatpants on the floor and slid off the zippered sweatshirt, but the tee shirt and shorts were going to have to stay on.
And honestly, he didn't think he was up to sleeping in his skin. His beat-up, bruised and scabbed over skin.
Neal slipped under the covers and sighed in weary happiness at the caress of good cotton. He remembered his first night here, almost four years ago. The pleasure then was a faint echo of what he was feeling now.
He closed his eyes and rather than fall asleep, his brain started to whir. Moz's suggestion about leaving was unacceptable, but it brought up a whole host of questions. What was his status? Peter had assured him that he wasn't going back to prison, but he'd said nothing else. The psychiatrist had arrived to do her evaluation, then Peter came back with Sergeant Benson to share the news of the arrest, and after that, there never seemed to be a moment when he could ask.
And the crazy thing was, Neal wasn't sure he wanted his freedom anymore. He rubbed his right foot against his left ankle and felt the soft cotton sock and nothing else. No tracker.
Except during his brief interlude on Cape Verde – and, of course, those months in prison after Kate was killed - almost every night for three and a half years, he'd made that gesture, hoping against hope that the damn thing would magically unlock itself.
Of course it never did, and he'd fall asleep to elaborate fantasies of waking up a free man, having the whole world to explore, with no one watching his every movement.
And now, he lay here and wished he'd had the tracker back. He wished that there was someone holding the leash, watching his every movement. Watching out for him, making sure he was safe.
He stared at the ceiling, the cold moonlight from the French doors illuminating the apartment. He once knew every shadow.
Sleep remained elusive. He had pills he could take, mild sedatives that would take the edge off, but he didn't want to start down that route. The pain was manageable – if there was a nurse around to ask, he'd say a five or six out of ten.
He just couldn't shut off his brain. The questions he had about his status devolved into more inchoate fears. Was that a shadow on the terrace?
Neal pushed himself up, ignoring the pull on his abused body, and switched on the bedside lamp. He found the batteries for the baby monitor and put them back in. He flipped the switch and it powered up with soothing chirp. He turned the nightlight off – somehow, doing this was easier in the dark. "Moz, you there?"
"Yeah, you okay?" Neal was a little surprised to hear his friend's voice, that he'd rigged the simple monitor for two way communications.
"Would you mind?" He hated himself, he hated asking.
"Mind what?"
"Coming upstairs? Keeping me company?"
"Not at all. I've spent many nights – and days – on that couch. Be there in a second."
A minute or two later, a shaft of light poured into the apartment as Mozzie opened the door. "Everything all right?"
"Yeah." It is, now.
The light dimmed and died as Moz shut the door. Neal could hear Moz approach the bed and in the dimness, he could see that his friend was holding out something. "Here, this might help."
Neal took it and tried not to cry. It was Mozart, scruffy, threadbare, missing half his stuffing, and smelling very much like Moz – the essence of a good Italian red, with a touch of some high-quality weed, and underneath, everything wonderful and familiar about the man who rescued him, pulled him into danger, and trusted him with his dreams.
"Yeah, I think it will. Thank you, Moz."
"You're welcome, Neal. I'll be on the couch if you need me." Moz cursed a bit as he banged against a piece of furniture.
Neal tucked the bear under his chin and hugged it gently.
To his surprise, he slept.
TO BE CONTINUED - Go to Chapter Twenty-Seven
Author:
elrhiarhodan Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Mozzie, Reese Hughes, Clinton Jones, Diana Berrigan, Olivia Benson (L&O: SVU), Section Chief Bruce (McKinsey) Original Characters
Spoilers: White Collar, all of Season 5; no specific spoilers for L&O: SVU, but set in Season 15. No spoilers for Season 6, A/U from S5 finale forward.
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Kidnapping, torture (off-camera), rape (off-camera),
Word Count: This chapter – ~2500 / Total – ~90,000
Beta Credit:
sinfulslasher Story Summary: Six months after Neal disappears, Peter still has no answers and his decision not to go to Washington has had significant repercussions for both his career and his marriage.
Chapter Summary: Neal is home, in his apartment and he tries to settle back and find his own normal. Peter and Elizabeth, too, are searching for what they've lost over the last six months. And they just might have found it.
Previous Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty | Chapter Twenty-One | Chapter Twenty-Two | Chapter Twenty-Three | Chapter Twenty-Four | Chapter Twenty-Five |
A/N: Title from Alan Hovhaness’ wind concerto, which takes it from the Old Testament. New chapters will be posted to my LJ every Thursday and to the relevant communities on Fridays.
Art by
kanarek13Sometime in Late January – Friday Evening
Thinking back over the last two weeks, Peter had wondered if he would ever have this moment again. Knowing that Neal was in his own bed in his apartment – his "cappuccino in the clouds" - Elizabeth was upstairs, washing up, getting ready for an evening meal with him – albeit delivery Chinese – and Satchmo was relaxing at his feet.
It wasn't so long ago that these simple pleasures seemed out of reach, gone from his life and never coming back.
But Neal was safe and the animals responsible for hurting him were in jail. He was healing and although that road was going to be long and difficult, it was a journey he had already started. Peter didn't want to think about everything that Neal was going to have to endure, have to get past, get around, get over – if one could actually ever get over six months of torture.
For the moment, Peter took deep pleasure in the little triumphs. Neal trusting him enough to let him help get him dressed, walking from the front of the hospital into the waiting car, and then from the car, up the stairs into the welcoming arms of June, with Moz standing right behind her.
He and El hadn't stayed long after that. Neal was visibly at the end of his rope – he was shaking by the time the ancient elevator came to a creaking halt on the top floor. Peter wasn't sure if it was a bad reaction to the small, dark space or exhaustion, but he had a hard time stopping himself from picking Neal up and carrying him into the apartment.
Peter had hovered until Moz pushed him away. He'd looked to El for some kind of guidance, and she had given him a wry smile, as if to say, "Let Moz have this moment." So he had, assuring Neal that he'd be back tomorrow. Neal had seemed grateful – for both the assurance and for Peter's imminent departure.
"Looks like there's more snow in the forecast." El came downstairs and flopped down next to him on the couch.
"Do you think this winter will ever end?"
"A few more days and we'll find out."
Peter looked at her, puzzled.
"Groundhog Day."
"Ah, right." He laughed. "The best sort of magical thinking."
El leaned against him and Peter draped an arm around her shoulders. "We're going to be okay, aren't we?" He hadn't intended to have this conversation right now, but the words just popped out of his mouth.
"Yeah, we are. We both have a lot of work to do, but we'll be good. We are good."
"I'm sorry. For everything I said to you the other day, for all the times I didn't say anything. For being so helplessly angry. For taking it out on you."
She snuggled against him, sighing with happiness. "I know you are, and I forgive you. And I hope you'll forgive me – for my blindness, my own silence. For not being here when you needed me."
"Ah, El – of course." It wasn't going to be easy to get back to where they should be, but this was a start.
As they sat together, a long-absent emotion simmered between them. Not desire, but peace. Peter picked up her hand and threaded his fingers through hers, content just to be in the moment with the one person he loved and trusted beyond words. It had been so very long since they were able to be like this, together and comfortable, and he almost dared not think the word – be he was actually happy.
Eventually, the doorbell rang and the arrival of dinner interrupted the moment. For the first time in a very long time, Peter was looking forward to a meal.
Over a shared order of mu shu pork, El too casually asked, "What happens now?"
"What do you mean?"
"With Neal?"
"Well, he's not going back to prison." That last word left a terrible taste in his mouth.
"I know that, Neal told me. He also said that they got the people who took him."
"Yeah."
"Hon, it's going to be all right." She reached over and squeezed his hand. "The nightmare is over."
Peter sighed. "I know, for me – it is. Neal's got a long hard road ahead of him."
El nodded, but she was persistent. "You didn't really answer my question. What happens to him now?"
Peter pushed away his plate, his appetite gone. "For now, he's still considered a felon on work release. I'm still his handler."
"The FBI expects him to go back to work?"
Peter shrugged. "Bruce came up to New York yesterday to deliver the news that Neal would be serving the rest of his sentence. And to give me a new tracker."
"Which you haven't put on Neal."
"You noticed."
El nodded slowly. "It would be kind of hard to miss."
"I don't want to do it, El. He's been through so much. Putting him back on a leash seems like the worst sort of insult." He scrubbed at his eyes, suddenly weary beyond words. "I keep thinking, if I never put it on him, who would know? The Marshals don't ping monitors that aren't active."
"But they might check Neal's – you know he's not their favorite felon."
"I know – and I know that I've made a lot of enemies in the Justice Department, people who can make life difficult for Neal if they find out that I haven't put it on him."
"It doesn't seem like you have a choice. You'll have to do it." El started to clean off the table and stopped, giving him a searching look. "You don't want him to run, do you?"
Peter had to be honest. "The thought has crossed my mind, but then we'd be right back to where we started. Even with Moz's support, Neal isn't up to a life on the run and I don't think I could live with myself if he ran and ended up back in prison."
"He has, what? Six months left? That shouldn't be so bad, even if he's on the tracker." El grimaced at her own words.
"Under ordinary circumstances, no"
"But this is Neal, and circumstances are never ordinary."
"No, never." Peter shook his head. "He was chained to a wall for months, remember? How can I put this back on him?
"But maybe he'd want it back on. Think about it, hon. Just maybe Neal would feel better knowing you were watching out for him.
Peter wasn't so sure and he shrugged in response. El dumped the dishes in the sink and shoved the leftovers into the garbage. "Come on, let's call it a night." She tugged on him until he got up. "I know you haven't been sleeping."
Peter didn't resist. "No, and I spent the past few nights in the hospital with Neal. I don't even remember what my – what our – bed feels like."
She led him upstairs. "Then it's time you became reacquainted. With your bed. And your wife."
"Go home, Moz." Neal was exhausted and he wanted to do nothing more than ease himself under the covers of his bed and sleep. The very idea of sleeping without interruption, sleeping in safety, was enough to bring him to tears.
But Moz wasn't listening to him. He sat at the dining table, an open bottle of Malbec and a half-eaten apple before him. "You know, Neal – there's nothing keeping you here."
"Moz?" He was tired and he didn't have the strength to follow Moz's byzantine thought processes.
Moz gestured to his foot with the paring knife. "You haven't got a leash. You could leave right now, no one would be the wiser."
"No." His response was automatic, visceral.
"Why not? There are doctors everywhere. We don't even have to fly commercial. A private jet to Paris and the world is ours."
"Moz, no. I'm not running."
Moz wasn't giving up. "But that's the beauty of it, you wouldn't be running. Peter hasn't put your tracker back on. That should tell you something."
When Neal didn't answer, Moz filled in the blank. "They're not putting it back on. You're a free man, Neal."
But I don't feel free. "Go home, Moz. I'm tired and I want to go to sleep."
"I'll be quiet."
"Look, I appreciate what you're doing, but really – go home." Neal was at the end of his rope and he didn't have the energy to be polite. If Moz took offense, if he left in a huff, that would be fine.
But Moz didn't leave. "Get into bed."
"Don't order me around." Neal had his fill of that.
"Neal, please get into bed."
"I will, as soon as you leave." Neal gripped the edge of the table; it kept him upright.
Moz gave him a hard look – one that Neal had trouble deciphering. "You have a golden opportunity here. You're wasting it."
Neal gave in, just a little. "We can talk tomorrow. Just let me sleep."
Moz softened. "Okay. And I'm not really going far. June's letting me sleep here tonight." He walked over to the nightstand and picked up something – a pink and white plastic walkie-talkie. One half of a baby monitor. "Don't turn it off – if you're smart. If you need anything – and I mean anything - just shout."
Neal forced a smile and watched Moz leave. He didn't need a minder or a nurse and he shut the damn monitor off. And for good measure, pulled out the batteries. Moz wasn't above rigging switches.
He hobbled over to the bed, wincing with every step. It was almost too much effort to strip out of the New York Giants regalia that Peter had gotten for him. He managed to drop the sweatpants on the floor and slid off the zippered sweatshirt, but the tee shirt and shorts were going to have to stay on.
And honestly, he didn't think he was up to sleeping in his skin. His beat-up, bruised and scabbed over skin.
Neal slipped under the covers and sighed in weary happiness at the caress of good cotton. He remembered his first night here, almost four years ago. The pleasure then was a faint echo of what he was feeling now.
He closed his eyes and rather than fall asleep, his brain started to whir. Moz's suggestion about leaving was unacceptable, but it brought up a whole host of questions. What was his status? Peter had assured him that he wasn't going back to prison, but he'd said nothing else. The psychiatrist had arrived to do her evaluation, then Peter came back with Sergeant Benson to share the news of the arrest, and after that, there never seemed to be a moment when he could ask.
And the crazy thing was, Neal wasn't sure he wanted his freedom anymore. He rubbed his right foot against his left ankle and felt the soft cotton sock and nothing else. No tracker.
Except during his brief interlude on Cape Verde – and, of course, those months in prison after Kate was killed - almost every night for three and a half years, he'd made that gesture, hoping against hope that the damn thing would magically unlock itself.
Of course it never did, and he'd fall asleep to elaborate fantasies of waking up a free man, having the whole world to explore, with no one watching his every movement.
And now, he lay here and wished he'd had the tracker back. He wished that there was someone holding the leash, watching his every movement. Watching out for him, making sure he was safe.
He stared at the ceiling, the cold moonlight from the French doors illuminating the apartment. He once knew every shadow.
Sleep remained elusive. He had pills he could take, mild sedatives that would take the edge off, but he didn't want to start down that route. The pain was manageable – if there was a nurse around to ask, he'd say a five or six out of ten.
He just couldn't shut off his brain. The questions he had about his status devolved into more inchoate fears. Was that a shadow on the terrace?
Neal pushed himself up, ignoring the pull on his abused body, and switched on the bedside lamp. He found the batteries for the baby monitor and put them back in. He flipped the switch and it powered up with soothing chirp. He turned the nightlight off – somehow, doing this was easier in the dark. "Moz, you there?"
"Yeah, you okay?" Neal was a little surprised to hear his friend's voice, that he'd rigged the simple monitor for two way communications.
"Would you mind?" He hated himself, he hated asking.
"Mind what?"
"Coming upstairs? Keeping me company?"
"Not at all. I've spent many nights – and days – on that couch. Be there in a second."
A minute or two later, a shaft of light poured into the apartment as Mozzie opened the door. "Everything all right?"
"Yeah." It is, now.
The light dimmed and died as Moz shut the door. Neal could hear Moz approach the bed and in the dimness, he could see that his friend was holding out something. "Here, this might help."
Neal took it and tried not to cry. It was Mozart, scruffy, threadbare, missing half his stuffing, and smelling very much like Moz – the essence of a good Italian red, with a touch of some high-quality weed, and underneath, everything wonderful and familiar about the man who rescued him, pulled him into danger, and trusted him with his dreams.
"Yeah, I think it will. Thank you, Moz."
"You're welcome, Neal. I'll be on the couch if you need me." Moz cursed a bit as he banged against a piece of furniture.
Neal tucked the bear under his chin and hugged it gently.
To his surprise, he slept.
Tags:
- character: clinton jones,
- character: diana berrigan,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: june ellington,
- character: landon shepherd,
- character: mozzie,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: ofc,
- character: olivia benson,
- character: omc,
- character: peter burke,
- character: theo berrigan,
- crossover: law and order: svu,
- genre: abuse,
- genre: angst,
- genre: emotional trauma,
- genre: friendship,
- genre: future fic,
- genre: hurt/comfort,
- genre: violence,
- pairing: peter/elizabeth,
- type: fan fiction,
- type: longfic,
- wc verse: return and rebuild,
- white collar,
- year: 2014
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2015-04-30 06:18 pm (UTC)And Mozart - ahhhhhhh.
(no subject)
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Date: 2015-04-30 06:19 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2015-04-30 06:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2015-04-30 07:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2015-04-30 07:25 pm (UTC)Poor everyone! But, I'm happy that Peter and El seem to be truly finding their way back to each other and that Neal is sort of on the mend.
This has been such a terrible (wonderful) roller coaster ride.
(no subject)
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Date: 2015-04-30 08:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2015-04-30 10:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-05-01 12:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-05-01 04:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-05-01 04:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-05-01 05:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-05-01 06:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-05-01 09:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-05-01 11:02 pm (UTC)That is a VERY GOOD THING. Peter is remembering how much he trusts El and relies on her judgment.
But oh, Mozzie. Get a clue. Don't be so selfish. Maybe you think that running would be what's best for Neal, but you really want it because you want it.
Still, it's good that Neal could call on Mozzie and know that he'd be there when Neal did need him.
And Mozzie giving Mozart to Neal to help him sleep? AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. That gesture, as much as the bear itself, certainly was why Neal could fall asleep.
no subject
Date: 2015-05-01 11:45 pm (UTC)And what for one. Since having to wait but more than worth it.
The scenes between Peter and El, and Neal and Mozzie were so damn good that I first had to take a deep breath. Sniff!
And I'm so glad that Peter and El are happy to be together again on the way. You need but trust each other and it would be such a pity if they no longer could hold it up. Trust, friendship and their love made their marriage but only so much.
Thank you that you can be happy again.
Tried to persuade as Moz Neal to them to run ... I would have liked him .... Burrrrr !!!! Mozzie man let the yet to be !!!! But as Neal then needed him he was there immediately. No ifs and buts! So just is Mozzie.
As Neal could not sleep, and Mozzie "via radio" asked to come up again, God because I could have burst into tears.
Neal sleeps with a Mozart in the arm. Oh God, how sweet is that.
I was really looking forward very on this chapter and can be expected, as it goes on it now barely. Although at the same time, the story goes faster coming to an end.:o(
Only five chapters ... no now only four. I now displacing times quickly.
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Date: 2015-05-02 01:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-05-02 09:41 am (UTC)Mozzie and Mozart ...who can resist ...
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Date: 2015-05-02 08:19 pm (UTC)I am glad that Peter & El are together again. Love this part -
She led him upstairs. "Then it's time you became reacquainted. With your bed. And your wife."
I love the image of Neal cuddled up with Mozart.
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Date: 2015-05-05 02:25 am (UTC)Happy you've returned with the story.
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Date: 2015-05-06 06:38 pm (UTC)Seriously though, Mozzie giving Neal the teddy bear was a lovely touch.
And I'm very curious to see how the discussion of the tracker will go -- between Neal and Mozzie in the morning, and between Neal and Peter when the time comes. I think Peter's going to be very surprised if/when Neal accepts it quickly.