White Collar Fic - A Forever Kind of Family - Part Three of Three (Reverse Big Bang R2)

[elrhiarhodan]

Title: A Forever Kind of Family - Part Three of Three
Author: elrhiarhodan
Artist: eldorah
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Reese Hughes, Kyle Bancroft, Original Male Characters, Original Female Characters; Peter/Elizabeth
Word Count: ~16,500
Spoilers: All of Season 6, Especially Au Revoir
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Brief scene of animal neglect
Beta Credit: sinfulslasher
Summary: The year between his "death" and the final sentencing of the Pink Panthers brought a lot of changes in Neal's life, and in Peter's, too. Families are made - by birth and by choice - and both men learn that the bonds of friendship can never really be broken.

Author’s Note: Written as a pinch hit for eldorah's artwork for Round 2 of the wc_reverse_bb.

__________________



Ten Months Post Mortem - Hippity-Hop

The Louvre job was coming along very well and Neal mentally patted himself on the back. The museum's trustees had released the next stage of funding - over a million Euros - now that his proof of concept had met their expectations. Neal himself conducted the demonstration; a penetration testing scenario where he played the part of a determined and clever thief trying to break into a gallery via the roof, underground tunnels, through windows. What made the demonstration so effective was that Neal was able to gain access to the interior in sections where he hadn't installed the new security system, but was stymied by his own work. It was really rather brilliant, if he had to say so himself.

The money helped, although he didn't make a whole lot of profit - at least not yet. But he had enough to keep his family well taken care of. Peter was a big dog, now fully grown, and he required vast quantities of fresh food and high quality pet food. Diana was more of a delicate eater and Neal worried that she didn't eat enough. But the vet assured him that she was the perfect weight for her size and breed. Greyhounds that didn't race tended to a more sedentary lifestyle, and needed far fewer calories.

Moz was a pain. Neal couldn't figure out how a bird raised by a simple parish priest developed such a finicky palate. In addition to fresh vegetables and very expensive pellet food, he loved apples, but not just any old apples. They had to be Rajkas from the Czech Republic or Italian Annurcas or German Clivias, which were only available at certain times of the year. And heaven forbid there were millet seeds mixed in with his sunflower seeds. Moz loved both, but not in the same dish. He'd pitch a fit. For hours at a stretch, Neal would be assaulted with the Requiem Mass, and each verse punctuated by high-volume instructions to go fuck himself.

At least the cats were normal. Normal, that is, for cats that like to sleep with dogs. To Neal's shock, both Hughes, a compact gray tabby with piercing blue eyes, and Bancroft, a small tortoise-shell with floppy ears, had fallen in love with Diana. And vice versa. They slept in a pile, one tucked against her belly, the other one under her chin. When they ate, she stood guard. Because as much as Peter was a Saint Bernard with a strong moral code, he was still a dog. Food on the floor regardless of which species it was intended for, was an opportunity that should never be passed up.

The cats were affectionate and well-behaved, despite their tendency to go a little nuts just as Neal was trying to fall asleep. They'd race around the room for the sheer joy of disturbing his rest and when Neal would get up to see what the problem was, or more likely, to pick up something they'd knocked over, he'd find the pair of them draped over Diana, pretending that nothing had happened.

Peter would look at him with a touch of blame in those deep, dark eyes. You brought them here, you deal with it.

At least the pair wouldn't be permanent additions to his life. Almost two months ago, Charlotte's daughter had given birth to a healthy baby girl. The child was thriving and her older sister was happy, except that she wanted her cats back. Her parents agreed that once the baby was eight months old, the cats could come home.

Neal might miss the felines, but he wouldn't miss the heightened level of chaos they brought into his life. At least they didn't torment Mozzie. In fact, they really were quite terrified of the bird, who seemed to take great delight in that. He'd perch on Peter's head and make a variety of different noises, sending the cats into a frenzy of exploration. They never seemed to realize that the bird was the one making the sounds.

At the moment, from his cage, Mozzie was doing his best buzzing-fly impression and Bancroft was slinking across the floor looking for the insect. Neal half-wanted to join in the fun and take out his laser pointer to further torment the furball, except he had a feeling that Peter would disapprove.

He occasionally wondered if the Saint had been named something other than Pietro when he had come into his life, would he have had such a strong effect on him and the decisions he made.

Thank goodness he had a cleaning lady who loved animals as much as he did. Greta didn't mind the dogs, the cats, or the bird. She had beasts of her own - three Flemish Giant rabbits, two standard poodles and a Persian cat. She often told him that she packaged the fur they left behind and sold it to specialty yarn spinners, and that he should have her do the same. Neal just said she was free to do what she wanted with the content of her vacuum bags.

He was expecting her, and locked his office door. That was the one animal-free zone in his apartment. In the early days, Peter was welcome to keep him company, but when Neal found a puddle of drool decorating some of the classified blueprints he'd been entrusted with, he had to harden his heart and keep all the beasts away. Given the sensitive nature of his work, he needed to take precautions, putting in a cipher lock that even the human Mozzie couldn't pick - or at least couldn't pick without the aid of a master social engineer.

Greta, a middle-aged German woman who'd immigrated in the seventies, and almost stereotypically efficient, arrived on the dot. When he let her in, Neal found her burdened with a large animal carrier.

"Danke, Herr Victor. Here, take this." She handed him the carrier and Neal had a terrible feeling that he just accepted ownership of whatever was inside of it.

Neal hefted the carrier - its contents was heavier that he expected - and muttered, "This better not be what I think it is." He set the crate down and peered inside. A rather large, and exceedingly disapproving visage stared back at him. Peter lumbered over to investigate.

"Greta, why have you brought one of your rabbits with you?"

"Ah, Herr Victor - Mr. Clinton isn't one of mine. He belonged to a friend and he needs a good home - my friend is sick and can't care of him anymore. This place would be perfect."

"That might be, but in case you haven't noticed, I have all the animals I can handle." But Neal could already feel his resolve crumbling.

Greta leaned over and flicked open the crate door. The rabbit leaned out, cautiously inspecting the new environment. "He is trained to use a litter box."

"But won't he chew on everything? You complain that your rabbits love to chew on the wires."

Greta stuck her hands in her pockets. "Mr. Clinton is better behaved than mine are. He is named after a very great American President."

Neal chuckled to himself. A president who was so well-behaved, he couldn't keep it in his pants.

"You are my last resort, Herr Victor. I can't keep him - my girls are very territorial and a boy rabbit makes them unhappy. Even though he is fixed."

"I didn't know you could even get rabbits fixed."

"You do if you don't want baby rabbits every few months." Greta shrugged. "I thought a rabbit would make you happy. It would complete your family." Mr. Clinton hopped out of his carrier, sniffed at the magazines on the coffee table and then hopped onto the floor. Hughes and Bancroft came over to investigate and backed away. Neal couldn't hold back a smile. The rabbit was half again as big as both felines put together. Peter crouched down and touched noses with Mr. Clinton, who put his front paws on the dog's dewlaps. It looked like the two animals were kissing.

The sound of toe nails clacking on the parquet floors signaled Diana's approach and Neal became concerned. Greyhounds chased rabbits - albeit mechanical ones - around the race track. Not that Diana had ever been a racing dog, but rabbits were natural prey for coursing hounds.

Except that Diana didn't seem at all interested in chasing this particular rabbit. Instead, she licked him from nose to tail, and sat down. Mr. Clinton was now surrounded by dogs and he seemed rather content. His huge ears - each as long as the span of one of Neal's hands - were sort of flopped over, one up, one down.

"There, you see, Herr Victor. Mr. Clinton likes the dogs. The cats won't bother him, and I'm sure Herr Mozart will be happy to welcome him into the household."

Neal glared at his housekeeper. "You will come and clean twice a week. I will pay you, of course, but this new addition is going to make a mess, we both know that."

Greta nodded. "Certainly. I will come on Mondays and Fridays and your apartment will sparkle. You'll never know that Mr. Clinton is here."

At that moment, Mozzie flew out of his cage and landed on Peter's head to do his own inspection of the newcomer. Neal sighed and waited for the inevitable. Clinton the Rabbit seemed to be the strong, silent type, but Mozart the Parrot was anything but. And to prove the point, the bird welcomed Clinton into the household, "Mysterium fidei sit, now go fuck yourself."

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

Ten months after Neal's death

"You wanted to see me, Peter?"

"Yes. Come in, shut the door."

Clinton took a seat, but he looked worried. "This can't be good news."

Peter laughed and shook his head. "Oh, you're wrong. It's very good news."

"My request was approved?"

Peter nodded and handed Clinton a folder. "Congratulations on your very first task force."

The other agent took a deep breath and gave Peter a rueful smile. "It feels like it was just yesterday that I talked my way into your very first task force."

Peter remembered the brash young agent who wouldn't take no for an answer. "What were you, two weeks off of your probationary assignment?"

"Yeah. I had a set of brass ones back then."

"You still do."

Clinton looked through the folder. "Thank you for everything, Peter. For taking me on, for trusting me to get the job done. For getting me out of the van."

They both chuckled at the last. "You earned it."

Clinton stood to leave, but he paused. "If I could, I'd thank Neal, too. Without him, who knows where'd I'd be."

Peter shook his head. "You'd be right where you are, right now. A stellar agent with a brilliant career ahead of you."

"Yeah. Maybe. Still miss him, though."

"So do I. Every single day."

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

Post Mortem One Year – The man, not the con.

It was a little before midnight when the text came through. Neal read it three times before the reality of its contents set in.

Panthers sentenced to life in prison. Woodford going to Supermax in Colorado

It was over.

He sat on his couch, Clinton on his lap, Peter stretched out across his feet, Diana sleeping next to him. The cats were dozing in their basket and Mozzie was in his cage, softly singing to himself.

Life was … perfect.

Except that it really wasn't. His friends – his human friends – still thought he was dead. They still grieved for him.

He'd prepared for this moment, even though he feared it might never come. But it had, and there was one more step he had to take to make things right.

Neal dialed a number, and waited for the call to go through. It seemed to take far too long, but maybe it was simply because he was calling New York. A few seconds later, someone picked up. The voice that answered was familiar and beloved. "Hello, Neal."

"I got your text."

"I figured. Everything's ready. I have the wine bottle, and I'm going to see Mozzie this evening. I'll give him your letter and make sure he doesn't fall apart."

"What about the newspaper?" Two weeks ago, the Louvre released the announcement of their new security upgrade, and it had made the news.

"I can give it to Moz, or I can take care of it myself."

"No – let Mozzie do it. You shouldn't be hanging around shipping container yards in Long Island City."

"Oh, Neal – I've been in far worse places for far worse reasons."

"June…"

"If it will make you happy, however, I'll let Moz do the honors."

"It will. And thank you for everything. I don't know how I would have managed without you."

June laughed. "Yeah, well, I was happy to help."

She hadn't been in on his plans – not from the start. Like Peter, like Mozzie, June truly believed he'd died. But two weeks after his death – after his cremation and whatever funeral they'd given him – he had sent her a letter, explaining what he'd done and why he'd done it. And he'd given her his cell phone number. She'd called and cursed him out for a good ten minutes – Mozzie the Parrot had nothing on her.

Once she finished, once his ears stopped ringing, Neal told her what he needed from her. The things that needed to be moved into the storage locker. He gave her the name of the woman who'd helped him – the one who'd played the EMT. She'd do all of the heavy lifting. And he told her that none of this was a rush. Until he knew that everyone was safe from Woodford's wrath, that locker and his existence would remain their secret.

But now it was time to end the secrets, to stop the pain.

Neal just hoped that his friends – the people he loved and missed beyond reason – would forgive him.

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

One year after Neal's "death"

For three days, Peter had kept his discovery to himself. He hadn't told El, he hadn't told his therapist, he hadn't told anyone. He'd just walked around, pretending everything was normal, but inside, his heart pounded out a rhythm to the melody his brain kept playing.

Neal's alive. Neal's alive. Neal's alive.

Unlike the stages of grief, which were disorderly and confusing, Peter found his acceptance of Neal's life to be quick and rationale. First there was joy as profound as his grief had been. Then anger - how dare Neal do this to him and El and Moz and June and everyone who cared about him? But the anger passed like a summer storm. Because he understood exactly why Neal did what he did.

And with acceptance and understanding came gratitude.

Woodford had made threats to him at his sentencing, but they'd been all bluster – the standard fare for a career criminal. But what he'd said about Neal and what he would have done to him and everyone he ever loved had chilled him to the bone. Had Neal been alive, Peter doubted that even WitSec could have protected him or Elizabeth or June or Moz.

Neal "died" so everyone he loved could live.

And that sacrifice humbled Peter.

Once he worked through this, other pieces began to fall into place. Pieces that he was embarrassed he'd missed. The doctor handing him the bullet from the gun Keller had used - a bullet miraculously extracted without leaving any surgical scars. The timing of the "ambulance". Neal putting his tracker back on. It all made horrible, but perfect sense now.

And there was one thing he was certain of - Mozzie didn't know. Moz was a good actor when he had to be, but his range was limited. He excelled at playing crazy, but he wasn't a convincing dramaturge. The deep grief and denial in the hospital, even the sadness when he'd met him at the park a few days ago. That was real.

Peter was just as certain that Moz had gotten the news sometime between then and when he'd shown up at the house. Of course he was the one who left the wine on the doorstep. And based on their conversation earlier that day, he'd left the Queen of Hearts in the storage container.

But who'd put everything else there? The obvious answer was someone who had unfettered access to Neal's apartment.

For the first time in a year, Peter made the trip up to Riverside. June greeted him with a smile. He didn't need to ask, she volunteered the information.

"I didn't know until afterwards."

Peter accepted her unstated apology. "I understand why he did it."

"Do you want to know where he is?"

"Paris, I'm guessing." He pulled out the newspaper with the article about the Louvre security contract. "Is this his doing?"

June nodded. "He's been working on it for a year."

Peter felt a surge of pride at what Neal had built for himself.

"He wanted to prove to you, to everyone, that he could stand on his own. He could be the man, not the con, whatever that means."

"It was something I said to him a long time ago. 'You can be a man or a con, you can't be both'."

June disagreed. "Maybe in your world."

"Maybe."

"He wants to see you, Peter. He needs to see you."

"I know. I want to see him, too. But I can't just pack up and leave to chase after him - my life's different now."

"Neal understands that. Do you want me to give him a message? Tell him you're on your way?"

Peter considered her offer. "No. I need to do this in my own time. If he wants to know my reaction, you can tell him I'm not angry, that I understand."

June nodded. "That is something I can do."

Peter turned to leave, but remembered he had one more question. "I guess you're the one who told Mozzie."

"I did. The only thing harder than telling him Neal was alive was watching him grieve. But he couldn't know – it would have been too dangerous."

Peter agreed. "He stopped by last night, and he said something about not staying in one place too long. I guess he's on his way to Neal?"

June shrugged. "Possibly. But he might be taking his own time, too. I don't think he has your perspective, Peter. He's happy, but he’s very fragile."

Peter understood that. "If you do see him, tell him I wouldn't mind a traveling companion."

"I will."

Peter left and headed home. It was time to tell Elizabeth.

She didn't believe him. "Peter, honey… Maybe you need to talk with someone?"

"No, I'm fine. Really. This isn't a delusion." He laid it all out for her – the cork with the number on it. The key with the same number that had been part of Neal's personal effects. The storage container yard Jones had tracked Neal to a week before his "death". The storage container itself - filled with the contents of his apartment. The newspaper. And finally, June's confirmation that yes, Neal Caffrey was alive and well and living in Paris.

"But why? Why would he do that to you? He didn't trust that you'd make sure the FBI would honor his contract? Does he have any idea what his little trick did to you?" El's voice rose in her anger and the baby started fretting. "We named our son after a dead man who's really not so dead after all!"

Peter picked Neal up and rocked him until he stopped crying. Then he explained. "The Panthers – especially their leader – would have gone after Neal. They would have gone after June and Mozzie and – "

"And us."

Peter nodded. "Neal did the only thing he could. He staged his own death to protect us." Peter kissed his son's brow. "He did the right thing for the right reason."

Elizabeth gave him a troubled look. "I might have pushed him to do this."

"El?"

She looked like she was about to cry. "I asked him to do everything possible to keep you safe."

Peter reached out with his free arm and hugged her. Moments like this – holding his wife and his son – were what made life worth living. "I think he did this because he loved – loves – us. You didn't push him."

"I wished he'd let us know he was alive. It would have saved you so much pain."

Peter kissed her brow, much like he'd kissed his son's. "He couldn't – I had to testify. If I knew he was alive, I'd end up committing perjury. The Panthers are in jail for the rest of their lives. Their leader's in solitary in the most secure facility in the country. The danger is over. That's why Neal's let us know now."

"Us?"

"Moz knows, too. June told him before he visited the other night."

El took Neal out of his arms and sat down on the couch. "You're going to Paris?"

Peter joined her. "I'd like to. Do you want to come, too?"

"No – not this time."

"This time?"

"I have the feeling we're going to be taking lots of vacations in France, but I think the two of you need your own reunion, first."

Peter blinked at the almost overwhelming emotions El's words brought. "In case I haven't mentioned it recently, you really are the best wife, ever."

"I know." She leaned into him and he wrapped his arm around her and the baby again.

Life was … wonderful.

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


It was killing him, not knowing when Peter was going to show up. Every morning he'd wake up and wonder if this would be the day he'd see his friend again. Neal understood that Peter couldn't just drop everything and fly to Paris. He had a family, he had an important job. He'd just spent a year grieving for someone who wasn't actually dead.

June told him that Peter understood, that he wasn't angry, that he didn't hate him. But until he saw Peter, Neal couldn't really allow himself to believe that. Throughout their years together, Peter had been quick to anger, quick to flay him with a sharp tongue, but equally quick to forgive him when he screwed up.

This, however, was bigger – and worse – than anything that he'd done before. Even worse than keeping the Nazi loot from Peter and precipitating Elizabeth's kidnapping.

Mozzie had come and gone, and while he'd be back, Neal couldn't escape the feeling that their relationship was irrevocably damaged. Or maybe it was that he now had a legitimate business where his clients relied on his integrity. It was probably too difficult for Moz to accept that he willingly and deliberately chose this path, unlike the years when he was forced Fed. He hoped that Moz would come around and accept what he'd become, because he missed him as much as he missed Peter.

Neal sighed. He knew he was wallowing and he knew he needed to stop, but he couldn't quite figure out how, so he flopped down on his couch and tried not to worry.

Over the past year, his family had become keenly attuned to his moods and never failed to provide comfort. Peter heaved his bulk onto the couch, and dropped his massive head onto Neal's knee. The drool quickly seeped through his pants, but Neal didn't mind. Clinton was only slightly more graceful as he snuggled under his other hand for a petting. Diana let the cats climb over her. And while she was content to sit on his feet, Bancroft and Hughes jumped onto the back of the couch and from there, onto his shoulders. They started purring and kneading at him. Moz flew out of his cage, took up his favorite perch, atop Peter's head, and starting singing.

Neal didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but he accepted their comfort.

Eventually, the cats got bored and decided to go crazy – chasing each other around the living room. Clinton bit down a little too sharply on Neal's thumb and escaped to his pen to take care of business. In the process, the rabbit kicked Peter in the face, sending Mozzie flying. Of course, the parrot took great offense to the interruption of his serenade. A string of Kiswahili curses followed as he went back to his cage.

Peter just sighed and drooled. Diana rolled over, freeing his feet. Maybe this was a sign. Maybe he needed to get up and get out. "Want to go for a walk?"

The dogs perked up and Diana went into sprinter mode, all but leaping over Peter to get to the door.

He put their leashes on, grabbed some baggies for the inevitable, and away they went. It was a surprisingly comfortable afternoon for July – the temps were in the mid-20s. It had taken a year, but he'd finally started thinking in Celsius. They headed west along the Seine, taking a leisurely stroll. Past Notre Dame, resplendent on the Ile de Cite, then towards the Louvre and Tuileries, the Orsay on the Left Bank. Before the river curved at the Pont de l'Alme, they turned for home.

It had been a good walk and it helped to clear the fog from Neal's mind. Moz would come back. Peter would show up. Maybe not today or next week, but he'd see him, eventually.

Buoyed along by the positive turn his thoughts had taken, Neal turned onto the small street where his apartment was, and stopped. Standing there, in front of the building, was Peter. Tall and broad, maybe a little thinner, but the living embodiment of his hopes and dreams over the last year. He was talking with Charlotte and didn't see him approach. But when he did, Peter's smile was like all the fireworks going off on the Fourth of July.

It lit up his soul.

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

Peter needed about two weeks to get this trip organized. There were too many things going on at work to just take off, especially with Diana gone and Jones taking on a more supervisory role. There were other agents he could rely on, but there was no one, yet, who had the right combination of savvy and smarts to step into their shoes.

He was also reluctant to leave El and their son for more than a night or two. Even with the knowledge that Neal was alive and well and looking forward to seeing him, the old anxiety still haunted him.

But the anticipation of seeing Neal alive and well and happy outweighed the irrational worry. He had a minor panic attack on the way to the airport, but El talked him down from it. On the flight, Peter allowed himself to imagine his reunion with Neal. He knew that Neal was settled and happy in his new life and he wouldn't be coming back to New York - at least not permanently. They'd talk into the night - catching up with each other's lives. He'd share all the joys of new fatherhood, spend hours showing him pictures of his namesake, probably boring Neal to tears.

The one thing he wouldn't talk about, though, was what this last year had done to him. That was over, part of his past. The pain had been necessary.

His flight landed mid-afternoon, Paris time. By the time he passed through immigration, claimed his luggage, went through customs, and finally got into Paris, there was no way he could go to see Neal - he needed to decompress for a bit. Peter checked into his hotel and showered, changing into casual clothes - a deliberate choice to make it clear that he was here as a friend. Not as an FBI agent looking to drag the not-so-dead Neal Caffrey back to New York.

Peter also had to admit that these final steps were delaying tactics. He couldn't silence the voice whispering in the back of his head, the one that said that Neal Caffrey was his friend, but Victor Moreau was a stranger. It was illogical, as irrational as his worry about his family, but there was so much between them. Not just the last year, but the tension that had defined their roles - handler and CI, FBI agent and criminal.

He would be meeting Neal - or whatever he chose to call himself - as an equal, and it scared him.

But there was no reason to delay. He'd talked to El, she assured him that all was good, and he even listened to his son babble.

He had no more excuses and he so headed out. His hotel was a short distance to the address June had given him - no more than ten minutes. As he walked, Peter couldn't help see himself, El and his son walking these streets, going to see someone they loved.

His heart pounding in anticipation, Peter found Neal's apartment building and smiled. Even though this wasn't a private home, it bore a distinct stylistic resemblance to the last place he'd lived in. He checked the directory and the tenant on the fourth floor was listed as "V. Moreau", and to his delight, (NC) was penciled in next to the name. But no one answered when he rang and Peter couldn't help but feel a crushing sense of disappointment. It was a Monday afternoon - why would Neal be home now?

Standing there, debating what to do, the door opened. A woman in her mid-sixties exited and asked, "Puis-je vous aider?"

Peter grimaced and lifted his hands in a gesture of ignorance. "I'm sorry, I don't speak French."

The woman smiled. "Then it is a good thing I speak English. Can I help you?"

Grateful, Peter replied, "I'm looking for Victor Moreau - he lives in this building."

The woman's smile didn't fade; a good sign. "Yes, he does. He went out a little while ago - but I don't think he'll be long. You are a friend?"

Before Peter could answer, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps and looked up. There was Neal, casually dressed and holding the leashes of two large dogs. There was a wary expression on his face, but Peter smiled and the wariness was replaced by one of pure joy.

Two steps closed the distance between them and he hugged Neal. It was like that moment in Cape Verde, but so much better. Neal was hugging him, and this time, he was the one who whispered, "I've missed you so much."

He might have held onto Neal forever, but the sudden weight of a heavy paw on his instep broke the moment.

One of the dogs - a Saint Bernard of all things - was stepping on his foot. The other dog - a greyhound - was sniffing him. He knew that Neal loved dogs - how many times had he come over to discuss a case and ended up on the floor, playing with Satchmo.

"These are yours?"

Neal nodded and actually blushed, which intrigued Peter to no end. "You really are a solid citizen."

"Yeah. I am." Neal picked up the leashes and gently tugged, but the dogs seemed fascinated by him. The Saint was crowding him from the right, practically sitting on his feet, and the greyhound was still sniffing him, and when it stuck its nose in Peter's crotch, Neal pulled on the leash again, sharply commanding, "Diana, no."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Diana? Are you kidding me?"

Neal's blush deepened.

Peter gestured to the other dog. "And I suppose this is Clinton."

"No, Clinton's the rabbit. That's Peter." Neal sighed and shook his head. "And you should know, I have temporary custody of two cats, one's named Bancroft and the other is Hughes. Also - I have a parrot named Mozart."

Peter reached out and let the Saint - his namesake - sniff his hand. He was rewarded with an excess of slobber. "This sounds like an interesting story."

Neal tilted his head towards his apartment building. "Want to come up? I've been waiting a long time to tell you about it."

FIN

Comments

[paganlowroader.livejournal.com]

What a wonderful, bittersweet treat. I have missed these characters so damn much and this story truly filled a void in my heart. And Neal's ever-growing menagerie is such a fun image.

[elrhiarhodan]

Thank you so very much. I'd written a reunion fic right after Au Revoir aired, but this one had a different spin and helped resolved my lingering distress.

[leonie-alastair.livejournal.com]

What a delightful 'fixit' story. And the animals! All adorable. I hope that's a large Paris apartment!

[elrhiarhodan]

Thank you!

And yes, the apartment is large, the top floor of a 19th century maison de ville. No need for Beaux Arts revival (like the Schinesi mansion), this one's the real thing).

[reve-silencieux.livejournal.com]

I am grinning from ear to ear. That was so unexpected, but brilliant. I LOVE all the little things you put in there, from the animal's temperaments and the hilarity of Mozart's antics to the emotional angst. I don't know how to say how much I loved this fic. It made me smile, laugh and cry. And it was just so different. I love that Neal found a family in pets, it was refreshing. Even more, I love that you made Peter understand the why - months before he found out the truth. No, they didn't deserve to go through that pain, but it kept them all safe.

[elrhiarhodan]

Thank you so very much. I am so glad I made you feel all the thinks I, myself, felt. Joy, sadness, humor.

[daniel-shadow.livejournal.com]

I love this story so much!! Thank you for sharing it. :)

[elrhiarhodan]

Thank you for reading it.

[joy2190.livejournal.com]

Oh, I love this story so, so much. Very funny, and moving too. Of course, Mozart is my favorite pet. I love his tricking Bancroft and Hughes with his sound effects. I bet you had a blast creating him! Thanks for a great read.

[elrhiarhodan]

I did have a blast - Moz the parrot is way too much like Moz the human NOT to have fun.

[pooh-collector.livejournal.com]

HAHA! Kiswahili swear words,huh? Thank you for that! It made me laugh. As did all of Mozart's antics. And, the personalities of all of Neal's new family. They were wonderful.

This was a very sweet and fulfilling fix it.

[elrhiarhodan]

I'll have you know that I was }{ close to inserting the actual Kiswahili dialect, but I thought you might go into vapor lock (like Lola did when I shared the first Mozzie scene).

[treonb.livejournal.com]

This is so beautiful - sad and touching and funny. I loved Neal's growing family, but also the look at Peter's dealing with his grief.

[elrhiarhodan]

Thank you so very much. I wrote the entire "Neal" story and was about to start the reunion when I realized that I needed to see how Peter dealt with the loss in that horrible year.

[icecreammilktea.livejournal.com]

This reunion fic is perfect - I loved it. Thank you so much for it! Y'know, it'd be great if this could be developed into a verse or something, I'd love to read about more of their adventures! Thanks again!

[pipilj.livejournal.com]

Aww adorable story. Neal managed to find furry counterparts to his manhatan friends. U portrayed Peter and Neal sorrow really well.

[riverotter1951.livejournal.com]

This was marvelous. It's great to see Peter and Neal in Paris reunited with all the angst resolved. The animals are priceless especially their names and personalities that reflect their namesakes. I like the way the animals interact as well.

[ladyrose42.livejournal.com]

Another great story! Neal with pets, and not small little ones Great angst between Peter thoughts and Neal's.

[palombaggia.livejournal.com]

This is so interesting.
I love it.
your talent as always amazes me.
I rarely read some wc fics these days because it makes me sad usually.
I still look at yours though.
This one made me laugh and it was soo good.
I hope you are doing well?
Its hot as hell in France right now.
Lots of hugs.
I never thought I could be so sad after the end of a tv show but here it is.

[calis-1st.livejournal.com]

I absolutely adore this story! I love each of the animals (I laughed out loud when Mozart appeared; unfortunately I was in a doctor's waiting room at the time). I especially love how you show us Peter and Neal trying to, and then actually, getting on with their lives, even though they miss each other terribly. I'm glad June didn't have to wait long before Neal reached out to her.

Thanks so much for this beautiful story.

[dennih23.livejournal.com]

This is adorable, I love this story. There is just enough angst yet the story is uplifting in how Neal’s furry and feathered family find him.

June knowing about Neal and keeping him informed as to bits and pieces as to what was going on in New York, and then becoming his accomplice in letting both Mozzie and Peter know he was alive and well. I see Peter not being angry with Neal but realizing why Neal did what he did.

Terrific story – thank you for sharing this.

[eldorah.livejournal.com]

Oh my goodness, oh my goodness. I am flailing.

This was made of pure perfection. Every single word of this was absolutely amazing. I adored each and every one of the pets that built Neal's new family. Peter the human was perfectly mirrored in Peter the dog. A greyhound is a lovely and fitting choice to mirror Diana. Loved Clinton and Bancroft and Hughes, and their dynamic with Diana. And Mozart? LOL! I was laughing so hard my roommate came over to see what I was reading.

I loved that you gave us Peter's perspective as time progressed through that year as well. Despite the comedy that ensued with a houseful of animals, you weaved the emotional trauma of both Neal and those he "left behind" so delicately. An unexpected but beautiful detail that I absolutely adored was that it was El's idea to name their son Neal... I can imagine Peter's surprise and joy. Peter's anxiety about leaving, his conversation with Hughes, and his journey through therapy were all achingly beautiful details of his year long struggle to move forward. Finally, the reunion... I am such a sucker for endings like this, where our boys can talk and share emotion even without many words. I will have that perfect image of them hugging, sandwiched between two beautiful pups, forever etched in my mind.

Thank you, thank you, thank you a million times over for taking on a pinch hit and giving us this creative, beautiful, and brilliant fill. :D

[aragarna.livejournal.com]

Lovely story! ♥♥

[kanarek13]

I don't think words can properly express how epic this story is, all I can do is flail incoherently and hope I can string at least a few words, lol ♥

The whole idea of Neal adopting pets that not only have the names but also personalities similar to his human family Neal was forced to leave behind - tht's like.. I don't even...

*flails some more*

I had sooo much fun reading this ♥ And the beautiful perfect ending = ♥ Love it all soooooo much \o/ Squeee :D

[elrhiarhodan]

{{{{{{{{{HUGS}}}}}}}}}}}

It was really a joy to write - the idea took hold of my brain and wouldn't let go for a week.

I have so many timestamps to write...like Mozzie meeting Mozzie.

[kanarek13]

OMG, Moz vs Moz, the quotes duel :P I think Saint Peter would actually roll his eyes at some point, LOL :D

[elrhiarhodan]

Hee, I certainly can see that. Poor Saint Peter, as put upon as his human counterpart.

[sheenianni.livejournal.com]

Awwww, this was beautiful and sweet and achy and funny. I love the way you balanced all those different feelings and it was great to see both Neal and Peter healing. Wonderful story :)

[china_shop]

This is really sweet! I love Peter's gradual processing and Neal's growing menagerie. <3

I had to testify. If I knew he was alive, I'd end up committing perjury.

Excellent point!

[grishyc.livejournal.com]

I'd try to remain sad reading this but couldn't because of sweetness behind every little bit. Warm inside <3