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elrhiarhodanChapter Six – Between the Darkness and the Dawn
Still trying to absorb the fact that Neal was there, waiting for him – without any idea that he was going to be in Venice, the thought occurs to him that he’s married to an extremely devious woman. He forces himself to look from Neal (he’s almost afraid he’ll disappear if he looks away) to Elizabeth and shakes his head in wonder.
“What?”
“I am in awe, El. Absolutely in awe. You led me here like a dog on a leash, I never got the slightest hint that you were manipulating me.” Peter’s smile takes away the sting of his words. “No nap, let’s go for a walk, and let’s go see the Rialto. You were on a very strict timeline. What would you have done if I said ‘no’?”
Her mouth turned up in a sheepish grin, she looks at Neal. “Where are you staying?”
He rolls off the name of an exclusive boutique hotel near the Accademia Bridge, the same one he and El were staying at.
“Oh, thank goodness.” She turns to Peter. “If we missed Neal today, I would have asked the front desk if he had checked in yet. As long as Neal was there, we would have arranged the meeting. Somehow, somewhere.”
He hugs her with equal measure of love and gratitude.
They hail a water taxi and head back to the hotel. Pulling away from the quay, Peter turns around and looks back at the Rialto. It’s so much smaller than his memory, but so much more beautiful. He shakes his head. It’s Neal, and Peter still can’t believe he’s here, that after everything, he took such a leap of faith. He looks at Neal. The year has wrought some changes; the delicate, albeit masculine beauty has matured. There is something there, something that Peter can’t quite put his finger on, but he’s got some time to figure it out.
He can barely remember the rest of the trip back to the hotel; it seems to take half a lifetime. When they go into the lobby, there is a moment’s awkwardness, he and El have already checked in, and Neal is standing there, unsure of where he should be going. Peter says nothing, and Neal has to ask the concierge for his room key. Peter’s exhausted, physically and emotionally, but there is no way he’s letting Neal out of his sight. Not now, maybe not ever. The three of them head upstairs and as Neal says goodnight and turns to go to his room, Peter pulls on his arm.
“You’re with us, Caffrey.” He knows he’s growling. “I just didn’t feel like advertising our relationship to the hotel staff just yet.”
El chimes in. “Did you think, after everything, that you were going to spend the evening alone?”
The relief on Neal’s face is patently clear. “I guess we have a lot to talk about.”
“You guess, Sherlock?”
The hotel suite is everything that the advertising promised, particularly the oversized bed and the view of the Grand Canal. Neal is standing before the window, watching the sun set behind the ancient city’s skyline. El goes to him and he presses a kiss to her hair. Watching them, in the warm stillness of the hotel room with the last of the daylight pouring in, Peter’s eyes begin to burn. They are silhouettes rimmed in gold and red, features indistinguishable in the sharp-edged shadows. In a few brief moments, the sun flashes once and disappears, leaving the room in near total darkness.
The city and the hotel room are amazingly silent. Peter doesn’t remember Venice being this quiet, but it must have been. There are no cars, no sirens, no horns, no wheels rattling over potholes and broken pavement. Even though it is still early in the evening, and barges are still moving up and down the canal, they are far less noisy than their wheeled counterparts. The silence, punctuated only by the soft sound of three people breathing makes him feel a strange, almost drugged lethargy. And then he remembers, it’s still the first day in Europe and the jet lag is catching up to him.
He holds out his hands to his wife and then to Neal. “Come to bed?”
Neal hesitates, like some fey, shy creature, and then he takes Peter’s hand and allows himself to be pulled down onto the bed.
Shoes are toed off, but the rest of the clothing stays on. They lie together, wrapped around each other, three weary travelers clinging together for comfort, for solace, for safety.
Elizabeth is the first to wake. She’s disoriented and can’t remember where she is or even why she’s on a bed, still dressed, and wrapped in a strange man’s arms. The unfamiliar sound of ringing church bells and the familiar sleepy mutterings of her husband on the far side of the bed restore her sense of place and time.
The illuminated clock on the nightstand reads 9:01 pm; they’ve only been asleep for a little over an hour and a half. Her stomach rumbles, the loudest noise in the room, loud enough to wake Neal. His eyes open, glowing in the reflection of the dim light. He stretches and smiles at her, gracefully moving into a half sitting, half reclining pattern.
“Here we are, again.” His voice is barely a whisper.
She kisses him gently as she gets up and walks into the outer room of the suite; Neal follows, but only so far. She stiff arms him and goes to the bathroom. When she comes out, Neal hands her a glass of cold orange juice from the honor bar, and makes use of the bathroom himself.
Peter’s still sleeping when he comes out of the bathroom and by mutual and unspoken agreement, the door to the bedroom is closed and they sit down to talk. Except that Elizabeth can’t think of what to say, even though she’s imagined this moment for a year.
“You look good, Neal.” An appeal to his vanity is always a conversation starter, but Neal shakes his head and gives a light snort of laughter. She’s apparently too transparent in her awkwardness.
Neal cuts right to the chase. “How bad was it?”
“Pretty awful, especially the first few weeks.”
“Was he angry at you?”
“No. It took me about two months before I told him what I had done, that I knew what you were planning. He figured out that I must have told you about his feelings for you. That didn’t seem to matter. But still, I felt so guilty. He was so hurt, so angry. I had never seen him like that.”
Neal took a sip of his drink, and Elizabeth could see his hands shake slightly. “You were right, you know. I should have just left the office, and left you alone. I let him believe that I was going to stay, and that was unforgivable.”
She can’t offer Neal absolution. That will have to come from Peter. But he has to know that there is a way back to “them.” After all, she arranged this trip for Peter, on the slim and unconfirmed hope that Neal would be here, waiting.
“Are we – you and me – going to be okay?” Neal’s eyes are pleading.
She reaches out and runs her fingers through his forelock. “Maybe, honey.”
They sit together, in the semi-darkness, not talking even though she has a million questions. Elizabeth’s seen the postcards in the Bureau offices, and she knew most of his plans before he left, but she has no details. Finally, she breaks the silence.
“An ashram in India? Very original.”
“What, I can’t seek a path to spiritual enlightenment?”
“Neal, that’s not even a classic, and it’s barely a cliché. Besides, I can’t see you giving up all your worldly possessions and creature comforts.”
“No?” His grin is blinding.
“Well, not your worldly possessions. You’ve certainly spent time without creature comforts.” She smirks at him.
Neal bites his lip to restrain the laughter. “That I have.”
“If your postcards hadn’t started coming in again, I think people would have thought you were in prison someplace.”
“That was never, ever a possibility.” The truth in Neal’s words rang like a silver bell in the quiet room.
Something within Elizabeth relaxed. “So, you’ve done what you set out to do?”
“Yeah.” There was nothing more to say.
“Then we’re good.”
Neal stands up and pulls her to his feet. She’s wrapped in his arms. “It nearly killed me, you know.”
“What?”
“The expression on your face, when you slapped me. You looked at me like I was a monster from your worst nightmares. I understood, but it hurt. Maybe worse that Peter’s anger.”
Elizabeth had never thought about that. In the hours and days after Neal’s departure, she had focused on Peter and his pain and her guilt. Except for picking up the envelope and tucking it away, she deliberately refused to think about Neal, what he was doing and how he was feeling. Tears threaten, then begin to fall as she thinks about how lonely and abandoned Neal must have felt, particularly since she had helped him plan that last weekend.
“I’m sorry.” The words sound empty, hollow, meaningless. She’s said them so often lately.
Neal looks down at here, and his own eyes are filled with tears. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
Never a pretty crier, she sniffles and rubs her nose against Neal’s chest.
“Hey!” Neal steps back and looks at the streak of mucus on his shirt. “Elizabeth Burke, you’re disgusting.” The mood is broken and they both smile.
“But you love me anyway?” The question is flippant.
Neal’s answer is not. “Forever and always.”
Peter rolls over, hot and uncomfortable. Wakefulness comes slowly as he reaches for Elizabeth and finds an empty bed and a strange room. Venice. And then he remembers. It wasn’t a dream, was it? The soft sound of voices from the outer room, the words indistinguishable but infinitely soothing. No, definitely not a dream.
He sits on the edge of the bed and lets the last of the torpor dissipate and reality set in. Neal was here, he came to Venice on the slimmest of hopes and said he’s forgiven him. But that doesn’t mean that everything is good between them. The road back is going to be difficult. He said some very hateful things to Neal. He had been hurt and wanted to make Neal hurt just as much. “I’m sorry” only goes so far. However, he can’t kid himself that there wasn’t a core of truth in the sentiments.
Time to face the music.
Peter opens the outer room of the suite, El and Neal are standing there, and in the dim room light, he can see the remnants of tears on both their faces. But they are smiling now.
“Hey you.”
Neal turns to him. “Hey, yourself.”
They are awkward with each other, and El – bless her – kisses his cheek and excuses herself, she wants to shower before they head out for a late supper.
“Neal.” He breathes like a prayer. “I don’t know where to start.”
Neal puts a hand on his shoulder and slides it around to the back of his neck, drawing him in close. He presses his head against Neal’s, inhaling his scent and triggering a thousand memories. Not of them together in bed, but of Neal standing by his side, in the office, in the field, working together. And then he knows what he has to say.
“I have missed you. I’ve missed you so much.” The waterworks threaten, but Peter contains himself.
“I’ve missed you too. You have no idea.”
The words come easier now. “I said awful, terrible things to you.”
“And a lot of them were true.”
Peter nods. “Yes, in a way there were. But still, I was brutal.”
“I hurt you… It wasn’t business – it wasn’t about a case or the music box or Kate or any of the million and one crazy stunts I’ve pulled. It was about us – about commitment.”
Peter can’t say anything. Neal is right. But he isn’t finished.
“Peter, you have to understand something…” Echoes of what he tried to say that morning. “If…if I could go back and do it all over again, I wouldn’t do anything differently.”
Peter is speechless.
“I know it sounds horrible, and my reasoning is selfish, but please – just let me explain.”
He nods, giving Neal the time that he once refused to.
“Did Elizabeth tell you why I had to go?”
Peter chose his words carefully, out of self-preservation. “Yes, and it made me feel even worse. You were looking to do the right thing, and I was thinking about how much I … I wanted and needed you.”
“Then understand this – without the hard break, I don’t think I could have left. Or left and stayed away until I could come back. I couldn’t risk having a soft landing. As long as I knew you were somewhere behind me, looking out for me, I don’t think I could have done it. I doubt I would have been able to stand on my own, as an honest man, knowing that you were there as my safety net.”
“Oh, god. Neal.” Peter is stunned. This is something he never considered, even after El told him why Neal left.
Neal grasps his hands, holding them tightly. “If I could have done it without hurting you and Elizabeth, believe me, I would have. Of all the terrible things I’ve done, leaving you like that may have been the worst. You deserved so much better than that. Can you forgive me?”
“Neal, how can you even ask?” He feels like he’s just run a marathon.
“Where do we go from here, Peter?”
Peter thinks about the question, and all the ways he could answer it. He’s afraid, though; afraid to start hoping again. It’s too soon and he knows that it wouldn’t take much for him to start building castles in the air.
“I think we take things very slowly. For all our sakes.”
Neal seems to agree. “Venice is, after New York, my favorite city in the world. I would love to show it off to you.”
Peter agrees. “We’ll spend these weeks together, and make no commitments. We won’t discuss the past, and we won’t talk about the future. We can just be ourselves, in this place, out of sight and out of time.”
Neal nods his head in agreement. “Okay - no commitments now.”
He reluctantly allows Neal to go back to his room to shower and change, with a promise to meet in the lobby. It feels ridiculous, but he doesn’t want to let the other man out of his sight. It is ridiculous, Neal isn’t going to just disappear again.
Neal delights in giving them a cook’s tour of Venice. Sometimes quite literally. He guides them through his favorite museums and art galleries, alternately ignoring Peter’s questions about which pieces he’s copied and then driving him crazy by pointing the ones that he’d like to make copies of some day. Peter growls, Elizabeth laughs and it’s all a game.
It’s exhilarating. He’s never been with them without worrying - even that last weekend. As Peter had said - this was their time - no past, no future. Just now. Their days are filled with exploring the city. He takes them up and down the narrow canals, away from the tourist-filled areas, to the quiet places that he loves, places that are quintessentially Venice. He buys Elizabeth strands of hand blown glass beads and introduces Peter to old friends in the leather working business, and has both of them fitted for butter-soft lambskin pants.
And everything is punctuated by food. Between this gallery and that shop, they eat. Pizza and seafood and fish and risotto and more pizza, or they are snacking on olives and cheese and bread dipped in olive oil. The coffee is to die for and the wine never seems to stop flowing. The next to last night before the end of their Venetian interlude, after a magnificent seven course meal that leaves El dozing in a food and wine drenched stupor, and he’s sitting next to Peter, toying with the remains of their dessert.
“How in the world did you managed to stay fit enough to get a leg over the railing of the Rialto, never mind landing on top of that water taxi and not sinking the boat when you lived here. You seem to know every restaurant and coffee bar and wine shop in the city. We haven’t stopped eating for ten days.”
Neal laughs. “I certainly didn’t indulge myself when I was here with Kate and Mozzie.” He didn’t even pause at the mention of Kate’s name. That wound finally healed. “You kept me on the run. No way I could stay ahead of you if I ate like this.” He splits the last of the third bottle of red into both of their glasses. He’s not quite drunk, and neither is Peter, but they are almost at the point of no return. He stares at Peter’s mouth as it glistens with the residue of the rich meal and the wine and he wonders if it will taste as good as his memories.
They’ve been as chaste as if they were siblings this past week and a half, even though they’ve shared a bed every night. That’s not to say that there is any lack of desire on his part, or an excessive amount of willpower, it’s just that it doesn’t feel quite right. He wakes up with morning wood, and so does Peter, but he excuses himself and goes back to his own suite to shower and dress, and to let Peter and Elizabeth be husband and wife.
Now, though, it feels right. The only thing stopping him from reaching out and kissing Peter full on the lips is that they are in a half-empty restaurant and it’s not New York, where public displays of affection between men are nothing exceptional. He keeps his voice low and leans in towards Peter, brushing his fingers along his palm. “I’ve missed you.”
Peter seems to understand the subtext and closes his hand around Neal’s fingers, capturing him. “I’ve missed you, too.”
In a moment of utter recklessness, Neal brings their hands to his mouth and presses a hot, wet kiss against the pulse point on Peter’s wrist, and is rewarded when the steady beat speeds up.
“I know you said you wanted to take things slow, but fuck - Peter.”
“Fuck? Caffrey, your vocabulary is a little lacking tonight.” Neal wants to kiss the smirk off Peter’s lips.
“Yeah - fuck.” He’s held off because it made sense, but now it seems stupid and wasteful. “It’s been a damn long and lonely year. How much longer are you going to make me wait?” Neal closes his eyes in embarrassment - the wine’s loosened his tongue, or maybe he’s just suddenly tired of the glacial pace of this reunion.
“I never said ‘no sex’ - I just said we should take things slowly.”
“Peter, we took things slowly for four years.”
“And you know why.”
Neal sighs, “Yeah. There were a million good reasons back then, and not one of them is valid now.” Then something occurs to him, a sickening thought. “Unless you don’t feel that way anymore?”
Now it’s Peter’s turn to sigh. “Neal, I think I’d need to be dead and dust before I’d stop wanting you.”
“Then what’s stopping you?” Neal looks over at the dozing Elizabeth.
“No, it has nothing to do with El and everything to do with me.”
Neal’s confused. “You aren’t making any sense, Peter.”
Peter licks his lips and his eyes won’t meet Neal’s. “I’m afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” His mouth is dry, he isn’t sure he wants to hear the answer.
“We said no commitments. I am afraid that if we have sex, I’m going to do exactly what I did last year. I’m going to want promises that you won’t be able to make.” He meets Neal’s eyes at last. “I’m an old fashioned guy - you wine me, dine me, take me dancing...eventually, I’m going to expect a ring on my finger.”
Neal’s heart starts to pound. “You’ve already got a ring.” His breath comes out in a shudder.
“I’ve got another hand, and so does Elizabeth.”
Neal licks his lips. They are heading into dangerous territory here. No commitments but lots of wordplay. “What if I said I know a jeweler in New York. Would you be interested in paying him a visit?”
“In New York?”
“Yes, in New York.”
“Sound like a plan.”
Neal can’t help but notice that Peter has been careful to avoid asking when, and Neal wants to tell him. He wants to tell him everything but caution, borne of experience and his own natural reticence stops him. There is still time.
Peter gently shakes Elizabeth away. “Come on honey, wake up.”
“What, what?” It’s rather cute, almost like when he startles Mozzie out of a nap. She’s both hyper-alert and completely disoriented.
Peter leans low and whispers in her ear, just loud enough for him to hear, too. “Neal wants to have sex. We should go back to the hotel. I don’t thing the restaurant would appreciate a public act of sodomy.”
Neal nearly chokes on the last sip of wine.
Elizabeth looks from Peter to Neal and back to Peter. “Well, it’s about time.”
When they get back to the hotel, Neal finds he is almost as nervous as if this were his very first time. Elizabeth’s in no shape to join them, and Peter tells him that he’ll meet him in his room in a few minutes. Neal gives him his room key.
He dithers around his hotel suite for the next ten minutes. Should he get undressed and prepare himself? Should he let Peter prep him? What does Peter want? And then he stops. They were lovers once, just for a brief weekend. They still have so much to learn about each other. So he takes care of his personal hygiene, warms up the lube with hot water from the bathroom tap before putting it on the bedside table and sits down to take off his shoes and socks.
And smiles.
It’s been a year and he’s barely thought about it since it came off that last time, but there’s no tracker. No unwieldy chunk of plastic with a green light to remind him that he’s always being watched. He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t hear Peter come in. He doesn’t notice Peter until the other man clears his throat.
“Problem, Caffrey?”
Neal would never admit it, but one of the things he’s missed the most these past twelve months is the way Peter says his last name, half growl of exasperation, half affectionate murmur. He finally looks up.
“No, just thinking about something.”
“Wanna share?”
Without even pausing, he replies. “The tracker.”
“Missing it? Because if you are, I can probably arrange to get you one.” Neal can read a wealth of amusement in Peter’s words and body language.
“No. No thank you. Wasn’t missing it at all.” Neal finishes taking off his socks and goes to Peter. “This is what I’ve been missing.” He wraps his arms around Peter and kisses him. Peter tastes better than his memories. He’s flavored with wine and the sour sweetness of the lemon sgroppino they had for dessert and power and everything that Neal’s dreamed about for the past year.
Their kiss is sweet and then brutal. Neal isn’t in the mood to take prisoners and Peter isn’t willing to surrender. Peter’s hand clutch at his shoulders, his back and his own hands thread through Peter’s hair, pulling him close, holding him tight. They struggle a little for domination, both men giving and taking. Peter uses his size to leverage Neal back onto the bed. He looks up at Peter and licks his bruised lips. “At last” is the only thing he can say.
Peter is grinning. “Neal, if you wanted this, why didn’t you make your move earlier.” He watches him like a hawk.
He swallows, nervous again. “I didn’t …” His voice dies away.
“You didn’t what”
Neal raises his chin, a challenge. “I didn’t want to be turned down.” A flush of embarrassment stains his cheeks bright red. “Satisfied?”
Thankfully, Peter doesn’t laugh. “Not hardly, but I understand.”
Peter lies on the bed next to him, and brushes his hand across his face, as if he’s the most precious thing in the universe. “For all that we’ve known each other for decade, and we’ve been close friends for the last four years, we rushed everything. I didn’t want make the same mistakes.”
“Peter…”
“Shhh...don’t say anything, Neal. Like we agreed, this is our time. No past, no future. Just now.”
Neal let himself be carried away, but Peter was wrong. Had they not just made a promise to each other?
As soon as the words left his mouth, he knows they are not only wrong, but a lie. This is not a moment out of time, this is the start of something of which Peter cannot see the end.
Neal turns his face into his shoulder and is pressing hot, wet kisses along his neck, his jawline.
“Do you know how long I’ve dreamed about doing this?” Neal’s whisper is dirty, salacious as his tongue teasing the mole at the base of his throat. Whatever thoughts Peter ever had had about seeing a dermatologist and getting it removed fly out of his head. Neal’s tongue, hot and wet and a little rough, like a cat’s, keep licking and licking. Peter shivers as Neal blows a cool stream of air against it.
He lay back against the bed and lets Neal take over for the moment. His fingers are quick and clever, unbuttoning his shirt, taking off his shoes and socks and then his pants. He’s naked and ready and is strangely passive. He wants to see Neal’s next move, but Neal doesn’t move.
“What are you waiting for?”
“What do you want from me?” Neal’s eyes are looking down and his posture is … submissive.
Peter’s mouth goes dry. This is almost too good to be real. There were times, before the tracker came off, when he would allow himself to think … to fantasize… about Neal like this. It was perhaps the one scenario that frightened him in its ability to instantly arouse him. To have him like that now, here, makes him dizzy with desire.
“Neal?” His voice infuses the name with all of the questions he doesn’t want to articulate.
“What do you want me to do?” Neal’s eyes come up, a brief flash of blue before falling back down.
“Strip. Slowly. And don’t stop looking at my face.”
Neal licks his lips and gets off the bed in a single, graceful move. Keeping his eyes glued to Peter’s, he first unbuttons his shirt, revealing his smooth, flawless skin. In a thoroughly uncharacteristic move, he simply drops his shirt to the floor. Neal’s pants follow shortly thereafter, and then his briefs. Completely naked now, his erection tight against his belly, Neal stands there, waiting for direction.
“Come here.”
He pulls Neal down onto the bed and begins to explore him. Neal writhes in his arms.
“Don’t move.” Peter presses his mouth against the apple of Neal’s shoulder, but Neal undulates like a seal swimming against the current. He bites down, a sharp, brief punishment. “I said, don’t move.”
Neal moans, but keeps still.
Peter takes his time, relearning Neal’s body and thinks there isn’t enough time in the universe to learn what makes this beautiful, complex man tick. Three years on the chase, four in prison, then another four at his side, plus one year doing everything he could not to think of Neal (and failing miserably), and he’s barely scratched the surface. He wants to lose himself in the act of pleasing Neal, but some part of his brain stays detached, cynical, wondering how long it’s going to be before he’s hurt and disappointed again. It could be two days from now, when he and Elizabeth get on an airplane bound for New York and Neal leaves for parts unknown; or maybe next month or next year, when a BOLO comes across his desk - for real this time - for an art thief, a forger, a con artist matching Neal’s description.
Peter ruthlessly shuts down that voice and concentrates on the body beneath him. Neal is still following his orders, keeping himself still, keeping his eyes on Peter’s face. Those blue eyes are burning holes into his soul and he can’t bear to look at them any more. With a quick motion, he turns Neal over and hauls him up onto his knees. Neal’s arms are spread across the covers, the clenching hands his only movement.
Taking the bottle of lube from the nightstand, he takes his time prepping Neal, and thinks about what he had said earlier this evening, that it had been a year for Neal. He didn’t marvel at that, when it comes to matters of the heart, he knows that Neal is as constant as the sun, and he doesn’t doubt for a minute that Neal loves him, loves Elizabeth, but there is still that hard seed of worry that he can’t seem to shake. It’s not buried deep, and he knows that it won’t take much to make it germinate.
“Peter, please.” Neal is still fighting against movement, but he’s holding on by the thinnest of threads. “How long are you going to make me wait?”
They’re both shocked by the implications of Neal’s inadvertent plea.
“As long as it takes.” Peter tries to keep his voice steady, but he’s afraid some anger leaks out.
“I’m so…”
“Shut up, Neal. Just shut up.” He’s panting, and he finally lets loose the hounds of his desire. He pushes in deep, with one hard stroke. Peter’s barely concerned with Neal’s pleasure at this moment, he takes and takes, pounding in him, punishing him for everything that’s gone before and trying to take payment for anything that happens in the future. He hears Neal’s cries, but he doesn’t care if they are from pain or pleasure. His hands are like steel clamps on the other man’s hips, certain to leave bruises but he doesn’t care. As Neal clamps down on him, Peter comes, a blinding rush that darkens the edges of his vision and he collapses against Neal. As his heart slows and reality returns, he’s appalled at himself. He’s never, ever lost control like that. As he pulls out of Neal’s body, he’s afraid to look, afraid to see the damage he’s caused.
“Neal, are you all right? Neal?”
Neal rolls over and looks at Peter. “You know, there’s something to be said for reunion sex.” To Peter’s intense relief, Neal’s grinning like a fool, at least until he see the look on Peter’s face. “What’s wrong.”
“I thought I had hurt you. I was rough. I was … angry.” Peter swallowed, wanting to look away but unable to.
“Did you hear me objecting?”
Hating himself a bit, he says, “I don’t think I could have stopped even if I did hear you.”
Neal pulled him down and kissed him thoroughly. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not as helpless as I look.”
Peter’s skeptical, but lets himself be soothed. As he’s thought all along, this is not going to be an easy road back.
Neal pulls the covers over them, sets the alarm and snuggles close. As he drifts off to sleep, Peter wonders how he is ever going to be able to say goodbye again.
Someone wakes him with a slap on the ass. Or maybe it’s just a strange dream featuring his wife and his lover? Boyfriend?
“You were right, Elizabeth. He talks in his sleep. It’s both charming and annoying.”
“I’ve managed to survive for fifteen years on a combination of charming, annoying and really great sex.”
That’s El’s voice and it’s definitely not a dream. He rolls over and sees Neal standing there, in of all things, a t-shirt, shorts and running shoes. His wife’s next to him, wearing a bathrobe and sipping from a tiny cup of espresso.
“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey.” Neal chants. “Except that this is Venice and the breakfast is Continental.” He holds out a cup to Peter as he sits up. He takes the time to savor the first swallow before downing the rest in a second gulp.
“Heathen.”
Peter sniffs and gets out of bed, totally disregarding the fact that he’s naked and sticky with the residue of last night’s adventures, and the two people he loves most in the world are looking at him with fond exasperation.
Neal looks at him and grimaces. “One night, and all the romance is gone.”
Peter can’t help but chuckle. “If you didn’t feel it necessary to stand around and watch, maybe some mystery would remain.
“Peter, this is my room, in case you’ve forgotten.
His wife interrupts their banter. “You boys are on your own this morning. I’ve got a spa appointment.” El sails out of the room, the terry cloth robe briefly flying open, displaying a tiny pair of white panties.
“I am so very glad my wife feels so comfortable with her body that she doesn’t mind walking around the hotel in her underwear.” Peter scrubs at his face and goes to the bathroom.
“Want to join me for a run, old man?”
“Was that the sound of pipes creaking, or did you just call me ‘old man’?”
Peter can’t hear Neal’s answer over the sound of the flushing toilet, but he knows his goat is being gotten. He takes a quick shower to finish waking up and finds Neal lounging on the bed. “El brought over your gym clothes.”
He dresses quickly and they head outside. It is a perfect morning for a run, cool and crisp.
“Let’s make this interesting.” Neal’s eyes are gleaming with challenge.
Peter can’t resist. “What are you thinking?”
“Let’s race. From the Accademia to San Marco, twice around the whole Piazza and back.”
They had walked that route enough times over the past ten days that Peter thinks he could do it in his sleep. “Sounds good. What are the stakes?”
“One question. Winner gets to ask the loser one question.”
“Loser has to give a full and complete answer?”
“A confession, if you will.”
“Works for me.”
They stretch and do a slow jog to the base of the Accademia Bridge to warm up and Neal asks one of the shop keepers to act as starter. They take off as the man shouts “tre, both easily bounding up the steps of the bridge and back down the other side. It’s too early for tourists, but early enough for the shops and markets to be taking deliveries. There are wagons and goods being offloaded everywhere, and they have to leap and dodge like a pair of horses running a steeplechase. As Peter hits his stride, a sense of déjà vu settles over him again. But it’s nothing from his prior visit to Venice; it’s the memory of the Yellow Brick Road run from last May, when he was chasing a phantom.
But Neal is no phantom. He picks up the pace and is running side by side with Neal until they begin the approach to the Piazza and the crowds thicken. Peter discovers that there really isn’t a time of day when San Marco is empty of tourists, and he battles to keep sight of Neal, of the flashing strength of those endless legs. He’s again struck by the feeling that he’s done this before and remembers how convinced he was that the runner on the Quantico endurance course was Neal. Breaking free of the crowds he spots Neal less than ten feet in front of him, and plowing through the resident pigeons, he kicks into overdrive and pulls even.
They are once again side by side as they lap around the Piazza for the second time and Peter takes the lead as Neal has to dodge around a pair of elderly women feeding the birds. The route back is just as obstacle ridden, but Peter keeps the lead, beating Neal back to their starting point by thirty seconds.
They are both slightly winded; the route was not particularly challenging except for the obstacles, and Peter thinks that wherever Neal has been this past year, he’s been able to keep in shape. They walk back to the hotel, agree to meet in the hotel dining room for breakfast and head off to their respective suites to shower.
As he’s scrubbing himself, Peter contemplates the question he wants to ask Neal. This is something too precious to waste. Neal won’t lie to him, and he will keep his promise about a full confession, considering it was Neal himself who proposed the bet. He never would risk offering up something that he isn’t prepared to give. Peter goes through a dozen different options and discards them all. Nothing from his pre-prison days is relevant, although he is tempted to ask about the status of his cache. Somehow though, that seems cheating. Asking Neal about something that he could arrest him for is wrong. It has to be about something that Neal’s been hiding, but shouldn’t be something that gets him into trouble. Maybe if it’s something out of Peter’s jurisdiction, something he wouldn’t be bound to report? Then Peter latches on to the perfect question. But he’s not going to rush to ask it. Let Neal stew a little bit.
Neal is downstairs, waiting for him in the dining room, as promised.
“So, what to you want to ask me?”
There is something about the grin on Neal’s face that makes Peter wonder if he is being played.
“I haven’t made up my mind yet. A few things are percolating. Let’s wait a bit.”
Neal leans back in his seat, staring at him over the rim of his espresso cup. “You know, you can ask me anything. Any open file, even about the Raphael that I think Sara’s still chasing.”
Peter blinks, startled. He’s suddenly reminded of the daydream he had before the Quantico lecture, when he had imagined meeting Neal and Neal telling him that he was marrying Sara Ellis.
“Peter, you’ve got the strangest look on your face. I am dying to know what you’re thinking.”
He shakes his head, “No, you definitely won’t.”
“Now I am definitely intrigued.”
“Don’t be. Please.” The last thing he wants to do is tell Neal that he would construct elaborate scenarios about how they’d meet. They all seem so silly, so juvenile, especially now.
He watches Neal take a sip of his coffee. He can see that Neal wants to press him, there’s that small twisted smile on his lips that always means trouble. Yet Neal doesn’t say anything more on the subject. Peter nods his head in thanks.
Searching for a topic that won’t lead them into trouble, Peter asks about Mozzie.
“He’s fine. I suppose.”
“You suppose?”
“I haven’t seen him since I left New York. He’s not one for email or even the U.S. Postal Service, let alone mail in foreign countries. I’d know if there was a problem, we have contingencies in place.”
“I’m a bit surprised; I thought the two of you were inseparable. Joined at the hip.”
Neal shakes his head. “No, not hardly. He’s got his own agenda, I’ve got mine. They often overlap, but traveling through Europe isn’t one of those areas. Mozzie doesn’t care too much for the hotel life.”
“Whereas you would be very happy spending your days enjoying fresh coffee delivered to your door with the morning paper and nightly turndown service.”
“You know me all too well, Peter.”
Neal’s grin is just on the far side of too bright and Peter wonders if he’s said something wrong.
“Is there anything you’d like to do today?”
Peter notices that Neal deliberately avoids referring to the fact that he and El are leaving for New York tomorrow afternoon.
“I can’t think of anything. We’ve done museums and churches and shops and I don’t think there’s a wine or coffee bar we haven’t been in on the entire archipelago.”
“Want to jump off the Rialto? That’s something you haven’t done.”
“And it’s something I’m never going to experience, thank you very much Neal.”
“We could find a four story building with an awning, and I could teach you how to jump safely.”
“Neal, I went to Quantico. They taught me all sorts of stuff, like how to leap out of windows, how to scale fences, how to climb and jump and rappel down the sides of buildings. I think there’s little you could teach me.”
“Yes, I’ve certainly seen your prowess at dodging and leaping and climbing over obstacles.”
“What? When?” Something feels so off about that. Their work had never really involved serious and strenuous physical activity.
“This morning, Peter. You ran like a professional hurdler. I bet you have one of the best times on some of those FBI training runs.”
“Oh.” He feels foolish, of course Neal was referring to their run this morning. They had often worked out together on the track in the FBI gym, but the mild gradient on the quarter-mile loop was nothing compared to the cobblestone streets of the ancient city.
Their conversation wanders on and off, if they don’t talk about the past and he won’t bring up the future, there is little to discuss. Neal, though, has barely taken his eyes off of him since he sat down.
Resorting to the timeworn conversation starter, Peter says “Two cents for them, Caffrey.”
Neal huffs out an embarrassed laugh.
“What?”
“Just thinking about classics and clichés.”
Before he gets a chance to explain himself further, Peter spots El and waves her over. He thinks he hears Neal mutter something like “saved by the El.”
They stand in old fashioned courtesy, and Elizabeth gives him a kiss. And then one for Neal.
“I didn’t think it was possible but you are even more beautiful now than you were the day we married.” It wasn’t mere flattery, but the truth. El glowed with happiness.
“I can’t believe it’s our last day.” Her sigh is mournful. “How am I ever going to face a cup of Folgers ever again?”
Both men groan.
“What?” She unwittingly echoes her husband from five minutes ago,
Neal answers, his voice colored with rueful exasperation. “We’ve been sitting here, oh so carefully trying to avoid any mention of tomorrow.
She laughs. “You can’t keep avoiding the inevitable.”
Neal’s reply is soft, almost mournful. “I know, I know.”
Peter tries to sweep away the awkwardness of the moment. “Neal and I raced this morning, I beat him hands down.”
She turns to Neal. “Did you let him win? You know that you don’t need to stoke his ego.”
“Believe me, Elizabeth, with the stakes we were racing for, there was no way I was just going to let Peter win. I probably would have beaten him fair and square if it wasn’t for the old ladies feeding the pigeons.”
“What stakes?” She looks eagerly from Peter to Neal and back to her husband.
“The winner gets to ask the loser one question, and the loser has to give a completely honest answer.” Neal answers.
“Ooooh. Neal, that’s a big risk you took.”
He smiles. “I have nothing to hide. My life is an open book.”
She turns to Peter. “And what did you ask him?”
He grins at his wife. “I haven’t yet.”
“What are you waiting for?”
Peter shrugs. “I really don’t know.” He’s nervous, all of a sudden. Warning bells are going off and his gut is telling him that he’s about to make a huge mistake, but he ignores the internal alarm system. He doesn’t know why, but while his instincts are screaming “bad idea,” something is driving him to ask this question now.
“Neal, what did you do that you had to hole up for five months?” Damnit, that wasn’t how I wanted to ask him.
“What do you mean, ‘hole up’?”
He’s committed now. “Come on Neal, you should be familiar with the expression. You went to ground for five months. We all appreciate that you took the time to let us know you’d be out of touch for a while, but I don’t think anyone bought the ashram story. I know I didn’t. You stole something, or pissed off someone or were running a con that took you off the grid. ”
His wife looks at him like he’s grown a second head and the expression on Neal’s face would be unreadable if Peter didn’t know him so well. It’s a combination of shock and hurt.
Neal doesn’t answer and Peter finds himself getting angry. “The stakes were a full and complete confession. I asked the question, you have to answer.”
“I didn’t do anything like what you are suggesting Peter. I had some personal business to take care of. Nothing illegal or immoral. I wasn’t ‘holed up’ or on the run or running a con.” Neal’s tone is quiet, emphatic and bitter. “But I guess in your eyes, a leopard never changes his spots and Neal Caffrey can’t go straight unless he’s attached at the hip to Peter Burke.”
“Okay, then. What were you doing for those five months?”
“No, Peter. You got your question and your answer. You don’t get a second chance.”
“Seems that you’ve had plenty of second chances, Neal, and I’ve given you most of them.”
“Peter!” El’s voice is filled with shock and anger.
Neal carefully finishes his coffee and tosses his napkin on the table. “I think I’m going to go start packing. I’ll leave the two of you to enjoy what’s left of your vacation.” Neal kisses El on the cheek and doesn’t look at Peter.
Peter thinks, as exits go, this is one of the less dramatic ones, but it somehow rivals their worst partings.
Go to Chapter Seven
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Date: 2010-12-29 07:59 pm (UTC)Great hook for the next chapter! I'm guessing maybe they *did* let Neal into the FBI academy??
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Date: 2010-12-31 05:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-31 06:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-31 06:54 pm (UTC)(In case you were wondering, Neal did not let Peter win, but he really wanted him to, and he really wanted Peter to ask that question).
Since Peter all but accused him of going back to the life, Neal answered (in his mind) quite fully.
Thank you so much for giving me a chance to talk about my creative process!
Like I said - MEN!
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Date: 2010-12-31 06:59 pm (UTC)