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Entry tags:
White Collar fic: Traditional (3x05 tag)
Title: Traditional
Word Count: 2700
Rating/Pairing: PG, canon pairings
Summary: Tag to 3x05; spoilers, obviously. It's all over but the cleanup. Neal POV.
Cross-posted: http://archiveofourown.org/works/222326
The unglamorous part of a wedding ceremony was always cleaning up afterwards. Or so logic would imply. Neal had never actually been around for that part, usually because the wedding itself had been a scam and the immediate post-wedding period involved running from the feds -- he and Kate had done that a few times, with each of them in various roles depending on the nature of the con.
And now, here he was, helping to orchestrate an actual wedding -- a very impromptu wedding, but still a real one -- for one of those selfsame feds. He and Mozzie, of all people.
Peter hesitated in the foyer of June's house. "I'm sorry to leave you with --"
"I've got help." Neal planted a hand against Peter's back and pushed. "Go. Your honeymoon awaits."
Technically the "honeymoon" was two days off work in the townhouse, but Peter still grinned like a little kid. Then he hesitated, pulled Neal into a one-armed hug and roughed up his hair.
"Thank you," Elizabeth said, and kissed his cheek. Then she twined her hand in Peter's and they were out the door into the night.
Diana and Jones were inside a second later.
"Spill," said Diana. "Did she cry?"
"Did he cry?" Jones put in.
"Did you take pictures?"
"Yes to all of the above, and I'll email visual evidence later." Neal leaned closer, and murmured, "Did you take care of the --"
"Neal!" Peter's voice barked, muted by distance. "What the hell did you people do to my car?"
Diana and Jones burst into helpless laughter. "It's tradition, boss!" Diana called through the crack in the door before hastily shutting it. Still laughing, she held up her phone, cued up a picture and wordlessly waved it at Neal. Peter's staid sedan was almost invisible beneath streamers and glitter, with JUST MARRIED written in splashy pink letters on the back window.
"It'll come off," Jones said.
"We hope," Diana added, giggling.
June and her granddaughter Cindy were already at work in the loft, deftly taking down decorations and packing them up. Sara showed up a few minutes later, bringing two bottles of wine and some cartons of takeout for the wedding cleanup party. And Mozzie drifted back into the loft not long after; he'd made himself scarce immediately after the ceremony, but apparently was unable to resist the lure of free food and, better still, free drinks.
"This is really beautiful," Sara said, unhooking a string of flowers garlanding the kitchen counter. "Your friends are lucky."
Neal observed her out of the corner of his eye as he washed and put away June's champagne flutes -- trying to figure out if there were ulterior, hint-dropping motives to that comment, but it seemed to be sincere. "Yeah," he said. "They are. Peter and Elizabeth ..." He hesitated, poised on the verge of diverting the conversation into safer territory. Tossing off a joke. He felt open, exposed. But no one else was near enough to overhear, and Sara offered him a smile, and he said, "They make me believe that the sort of romance you see in old movies is really possible. I don't just mean hearts-and-flowers romance, or even true love, necessarily. What they have --" He stopped, bit that off. Safety. Family. A place to land when you fall. "It's not common," he said at last.
He brought himself to look at Sara, and saw that her smile was soft. "That's not exactly what I meant," she said. "I mean, I'm not really arguing -- I don't know them well, but you do, so I'll take your word for it, and they do seem happy. But I meant that they're lucky in their friends, to do all of this for them."
Neal opened and closed his mouth. "Oh," he said.
Sara kissed him lightly and trotted downstairs with a box of decorations. "Neal," Cindy called across the room, "could you bring a chair? Someone needs to get the ones above the door."
"Photo op!" Diana cried cheerfully, pulling out her phone to snap a picture of Neal on the chair.
"What are you doing, making a wedding album?" Jones asked her, looking amused.
"Why not? Someone ought to."
Seeing his apartment transformed from its usual state into a wedding bower had been fascinating and a little disturbing. Now Neal watched the reverse process with a vague sense of regret, as the fairy-tale magic peeled away, layer by layer, to leave the everyday surroundings that he woke to every morning. Still, the work went swiftly with six pairs of hands (seven when Mozzie occasionally pitched in).
With the loft back in order, the work crew congregated on the rooftop balcony. Sara passed around cartons of food and paper plates, and June brought out wine glasses. It was a warm night, punctuated with the now-familiar sound of traffic on Riverside. Stories were swapped about the Burkes: the two FBI agents had the best dirt on Peter, obviously, but June also told the story of the dinner party with her friend Ford. Neal had a few anecdotes of his own, but for the most part, he found himself drifting to the edges of the conversation, listening and not saying much. Occasionally he glanced at Moz, who was also quiet.
Don't get used to it. This is temporary.
******
Eventually the rest of the wedding committee wandered off one by one: Diana and Jones both had to work in the morning; Cindy was yawning; Mozzie gave Neal a small, hard-to-read smile and discreetly faded off somewhere. Sara kissed Neal's ear and murmured, "Next time it'll be my turn to take you on a date," before squeezing his hand and slipping away herself.
At last it was just him and June, sitting in companionable silence with half a bottle of wine between them. The energy of the whirlwind decorating, followed by the wedding itself and the cleanup party, had given way to a weary lassitude.
"This was a good night," June said quietly to Neal, topping off his glass of wine and her own.
Neal clinked his glass against hers. "Thanks for letting us use the place."
June waved him off. "Oh, don't insult me. It does a house good to have joy within its walls. And it was a nice affair."
"It's not that different from some of the things I've done before," Neal said. "Aside from leaving out the 'fleeing' part."
June's slight smile was knowing. "It's different when it's real."
Like so many things. In so many ways. "Yes," Neal said softly. "It is."
"You've never been to a wedding before, have you?"
Neal shook his head. "Not a real one. Not really."
June nodded to herself, as if confirming something she'd already known. Neal felt his emotional walls going up again, but she showed no signs of prying into anything he didn't want to talk about. They sat in a silence that gradually grew comfortable again, drinking wine, listening to the heartbeat of the city. Neal tilted his head back and looked up at the sky, at the flat bellies of low clouds tinted orange by the city's lights. The warm tingle of the wine spread through him, leaving him mellow and content, at peace with the world.
I like it here, he thought, but that way lay treacherous emotional quicksand. It was easier, safer, to not think at all, to enjoy the moment and try not to focus on what lay beyond.
His phone vibrated, making him jump. There was a text from Diana: a Photobucket link and then PIX 4 U! NOW SHOW ME YOURS!
Neal snorted and typed with his thumbs: PATIENCE GRASSHOPPER. AND CHATSPEAK DOES NOT BECOME YOU.
The answer came back immediately: CHRISTIE WANTS PIX, CAFFREY! I CAN MAKE YOUR LIFE HARD!
Neal hadn't exactly been planning on sorting through the pictures anytime soon, particularly not in his current emotional state. He found the first non-blurry one of the Burkes and emailed it to her. Down payment, now go to sleep, he typed, and looked up at June. "Sorry. Diana wants pictures."
June's smile turned coy. "I wouldn't mind seeing pictures as well. It's my house, after all."
"Oh? Well ... here." He spun the phone around to show her Elizabeth and Peter smiling at each other.
June nodded before giving it back. "They are good people. Byron would have laughed to know I'd be someday hosting an FBI agent's wedding in our home, but I think he would have approved."
"I'd like to have met him," Neal said, tucking away his phone. "He sounds like he was a great guy."
"He was. The very best." June reached across the table and placed her hand over Neal's. "He would have liked you, Neal. You remind me of him in a lot of ways."
Neal gave her his best dazzling-the-mark smile, though between the wine and fatigue, he suspected that it wasn't quite up to its usual sparkle. "Rakish and dashing?"
"That and more." June squeezed his hand. "Byron never believed he was a good man. But he was."
Neal pulled back.
"You don't like to be complimented," June said gently. "I've noticed. But that doesn't make it untrue." She sighed, set aside her empty wine glass and rose. "Well, I may have gone out dancing all night when I was a girl, but these days I need my sleep."
She put her hand on his cheek, leaned over and kissed his forehead. "It's all right to let people get to know you, Neal. There's not as much to hide as you think. Good night, sweet boy."
She was already gone by the time Neal said quietly to the empty doorway, "Good night, June."
He cleared away the empty wine glasses and takeout containers in silence, then opened another bottle of wine. Probably a bad idea -- he'd already had more tonight than he generally allowed himself -- but what the hell. "You're supposed to get drunk at weddings, right?" he said to the empty windows, the glittering lights of the city beyond. "It's traditional."
Traditional. Like it was traditional for people in his profession to keep moving, to hold other people at arm's length, to always look for an angle in any relationship and never, never put down permanent roots.
There was a single silk rose on the floor, overlooked by the cleanup crew and, now, slightly trampled. Neal picked it up between two fingers and looked around for a place to put it; finally he tucked it between two adjustment bars at the top of one of his easels, so that he could see it while he was painting. "Good luck charm," he said, and flopped on the couch. Damn it, he was drunk now, just a little bit. He hated being drunk -- the loss of control, the way it made it all too easy to say something he shouldn't, reveal things he didn't want to show. But there was no one around to see or hear.
He wondered if it was worth moving into the bedroom. Probably not. The couch was comfortable. Neal sprawled and let his fingers trail lightly against the stem of the wine glass on the coffee table.
His phone buzzed against his hip.
Half asleep already, he thought about ignoring it. But it might be important. He fumbled the phone in front of his eyes. Elizabeth? A surge of adrenaline chased away some of the drowsiness; she wouldn't be calling in the middle of the night -- especially not this night -- if it wasn't important. "Yeah, hi. What's wrong?"
"Nothing." El sounded drowsy and cheerful, changing quickly to apologetic. "Oh, I'm so sorry -- did I wake you? I hoped you'd still be awake. Peter said you stay up late."
"I wasn't asleep." From his position on the couch, he could see the silk rose in its perch on the easel -- a little crushed, a little damaged, but still dauntless. "Are things okay? I'd think you'd have better things to do than call me on your honeymoon."
"Oh, things are great. Better than great." El giggled. "Actually, we've been very busy --"
"Stop! Whatever you were going to say, do us all a favor and just don't. Besides, I'm guessing you didn't call me in the middle of the night to tell me about your sex life." And the idea that there was something so important that she needed to talk to him right now worried him more than a little. Although she didn't sound especially stressed about it.
El managed to get her giggles under control, and her voice turned serious. "No. I didn't get a chance to really say this before, and I wanted to make sure I said it now. Things were a whirlwind at the wedding, and I was a little overwhelmed. But thank you, Neal, for everything. From the bottom of both of our hearts."
"It was kind of a group effort," Neal said helplessly.
"I know. And there will be muffins for everyone involved, and gluten-free brownies for Mozzie --"
"He's not actually gluten intolerant, you know --"
"Oh, Neal, don't take away his fun." He could hear the grin in Elizabeth's voice. "But it really does mean a lot, that you were willing to offer your home --"
"-- June's home, technically --"
"-- and help pull this together on such short notice," she went on. "For me. For us. It just meant a lot, Neal. And I couldn't fall asleep until I made sure that you knew that."
In the background, Neal heard Peter's voice say sleepily, "Is that Neal? Give me the phone." Then more clearly: "Neal?"
Thank God. With Peter, at least, he was on somewhat firmer emotional footing. "Okay, I think you people really need to have someone sit you both down and explain about honeymoons. You know, those things where traditionally you don't invite your friends? Or call them at four in the morning?"
"Based on your extensive experience?" Peter asked blandly.
"Hey, Kate and I were married four times. Allegedly, I mean."
"Allegedly married?" Peter sounded as if he was trying not to laugh. "Are these the sort of alleged weddings in which other people might accidentally become separated from their alleged money?"
"Hey, it's not our fault if we were fond of weddings." And he could speak of Kate now without his throat closing up. The pain was still there, but muted, distant, tempered with affection and time.
"Apparently so," Peter said. Elizabeth was saying something in the background. Peter must have covered the phone with his hand, because his voice went muffled, though still audible. "I'm getting to it!" Then, at normal levels: "Anyway, you know, the point is, about the -- what I'm trying to say --"
"I know," Neal said.
"I thought you probably did."
"You're welcome."
"Yeah," Peter said, and there was a depth of warmth in that single syllable that made Neal grin into the dark. "By the way," Peter added, "if you see Diana before I do, tell her that she and Jones are on report for what they did to my car."
"Hey, you heard her. It's tradition."
"Tradition," Peter scoffed. "Just because something is traditional doesn't mean it has to be that way every damned time."
"That's true," Neal agreed, softly, into the darkened room lit with the glitter of the Manhattan skyline. "Not every time."
"Also, one of these days, Caffrey, you're going to tell me about all these weddings."
"Alleged weddings," Neal said quickly. "Good night. Go back to your honeymoon."
"Planning on it," Peter said, and Elizabeth called into the phone, a little more distantly, "Good night, Neal!"
"Good night," Neal said, and he was still grinning when he hung up.
~
This entry is also posted at http://friendshipper.dreamwidth.org/356647.html with
comments.
Word Count: 2700
Rating/Pairing: PG, canon pairings
Summary: Tag to 3x05; spoilers, obviously. It's all over but the cleanup. Neal POV.
Cross-posted: http://archiveofourown.org/works/222326
The unglamorous part of a wedding ceremony was always cleaning up afterwards. Or so logic would imply. Neal had never actually been around for that part, usually because the wedding itself had been a scam and the immediate post-wedding period involved running from the feds -- he and Kate had done that a few times, with each of them in various roles depending on the nature of the con.
And now, here he was, helping to orchestrate an actual wedding -- a very impromptu wedding, but still a real one -- for one of those selfsame feds. He and Mozzie, of all people.
Peter hesitated in the foyer of June's house. "I'm sorry to leave you with --"
"I've got help." Neal planted a hand against Peter's back and pushed. "Go. Your honeymoon awaits."
Technically the "honeymoon" was two days off work in the townhouse, but Peter still grinned like a little kid. Then he hesitated, pulled Neal into a one-armed hug and roughed up his hair.
"Thank you," Elizabeth said, and kissed his cheek. Then she twined her hand in Peter's and they were out the door into the night.
Diana and Jones were inside a second later.
"Spill," said Diana. "Did she cry?"
"Did he cry?" Jones put in.
"Did you take pictures?"
"Yes to all of the above, and I'll email visual evidence later." Neal leaned closer, and murmured, "Did you take care of the --"
"Neal!" Peter's voice barked, muted by distance. "What the hell did you people do to my car?"
Diana and Jones burst into helpless laughter. "It's tradition, boss!" Diana called through the crack in the door before hastily shutting it. Still laughing, she held up her phone, cued up a picture and wordlessly waved it at Neal. Peter's staid sedan was almost invisible beneath streamers and glitter, with JUST MARRIED written in splashy pink letters on the back window.
"It'll come off," Jones said.
"We hope," Diana added, giggling.
June and her granddaughter Cindy were already at work in the loft, deftly taking down decorations and packing them up. Sara showed up a few minutes later, bringing two bottles of wine and some cartons of takeout for the wedding cleanup party. And Mozzie drifted back into the loft not long after; he'd made himself scarce immediately after the ceremony, but apparently was unable to resist the lure of free food and, better still, free drinks.
"This is really beautiful," Sara said, unhooking a string of flowers garlanding the kitchen counter. "Your friends are lucky."
Neal observed her out of the corner of his eye as he washed and put away June's champagne flutes -- trying to figure out if there were ulterior, hint-dropping motives to that comment, but it seemed to be sincere. "Yeah," he said. "They are. Peter and Elizabeth ..." He hesitated, poised on the verge of diverting the conversation into safer territory. Tossing off a joke. He felt open, exposed. But no one else was near enough to overhear, and Sara offered him a smile, and he said, "They make me believe that the sort of romance you see in old movies is really possible. I don't just mean hearts-and-flowers romance, or even true love, necessarily. What they have --" He stopped, bit that off. Safety. Family. A place to land when you fall. "It's not common," he said at last.
He brought himself to look at Sara, and saw that her smile was soft. "That's not exactly what I meant," she said. "I mean, I'm not really arguing -- I don't know them well, but you do, so I'll take your word for it, and they do seem happy. But I meant that they're lucky in their friends, to do all of this for them."
Neal opened and closed his mouth. "Oh," he said.
Sara kissed him lightly and trotted downstairs with a box of decorations. "Neal," Cindy called across the room, "could you bring a chair? Someone needs to get the ones above the door."
"Photo op!" Diana cried cheerfully, pulling out her phone to snap a picture of Neal on the chair.
"What are you doing, making a wedding album?" Jones asked her, looking amused.
"Why not? Someone ought to."
Seeing his apartment transformed from its usual state into a wedding bower had been fascinating and a little disturbing. Now Neal watched the reverse process with a vague sense of regret, as the fairy-tale magic peeled away, layer by layer, to leave the everyday surroundings that he woke to every morning. Still, the work went swiftly with six pairs of hands (seven when Mozzie occasionally pitched in).
With the loft back in order, the work crew congregated on the rooftop balcony. Sara passed around cartons of food and paper plates, and June brought out wine glasses. It was a warm night, punctuated with the now-familiar sound of traffic on Riverside. Stories were swapped about the Burkes: the two FBI agents had the best dirt on Peter, obviously, but June also told the story of the dinner party with her friend Ford. Neal had a few anecdotes of his own, but for the most part, he found himself drifting to the edges of the conversation, listening and not saying much. Occasionally he glanced at Moz, who was also quiet.
Don't get used to it. This is temporary.
Eventually the rest of the wedding committee wandered off one by one: Diana and Jones both had to work in the morning; Cindy was yawning; Mozzie gave Neal a small, hard-to-read smile and discreetly faded off somewhere. Sara kissed Neal's ear and murmured, "Next time it'll be my turn to take you on a date," before squeezing his hand and slipping away herself.
At last it was just him and June, sitting in companionable silence with half a bottle of wine between them. The energy of the whirlwind decorating, followed by the wedding itself and the cleanup party, had given way to a weary lassitude.
"This was a good night," June said quietly to Neal, topping off his glass of wine and her own.
Neal clinked his glass against hers. "Thanks for letting us use the place."
June waved him off. "Oh, don't insult me. It does a house good to have joy within its walls. And it was a nice affair."
"It's not that different from some of the things I've done before," Neal said. "Aside from leaving out the 'fleeing' part."
June's slight smile was knowing. "It's different when it's real."
Like so many things. In so many ways. "Yes," Neal said softly. "It is."
"You've never been to a wedding before, have you?"
Neal shook his head. "Not a real one. Not really."
June nodded to herself, as if confirming something she'd already known. Neal felt his emotional walls going up again, but she showed no signs of prying into anything he didn't want to talk about. They sat in a silence that gradually grew comfortable again, drinking wine, listening to the heartbeat of the city. Neal tilted his head back and looked up at the sky, at the flat bellies of low clouds tinted orange by the city's lights. The warm tingle of the wine spread through him, leaving him mellow and content, at peace with the world.
I like it here, he thought, but that way lay treacherous emotional quicksand. It was easier, safer, to not think at all, to enjoy the moment and try not to focus on what lay beyond.
His phone vibrated, making him jump. There was a text from Diana: a Photobucket link and then PIX 4 U! NOW SHOW ME YOURS!
Neal snorted and typed with his thumbs: PATIENCE GRASSHOPPER. AND CHATSPEAK DOES NOT BECOME YOU.
The answer came back immediately: CHRISTIE WANTS PIX, CAFFREY! I CAN MAKE YOUR LIFE HARD!
Neal hadn't exactly been planning on sorting through the pictures anytime soon, particularly not in his current emotional state. He found the first non-blurry one of the Burkes and emailed it to her. Down payment, now go to sleep, he typed, and looked up at June. "Sorry. Diana wants pictures."
June's smile turned coy. "I wouldn't mind seeing pictures as well. It's my house, after all."
"Oh? Well ... here." He spun the phone around to show her Elizabeth and Peter smiling at each other.
June nodded before giving it back. "They are good people. Byron would have laughed to know I'd be someday hosting an FBI agent's wedding in our home, but I think he would have approved."
"I'd like to have met him," Neal said, tucking away his phone. "He sounds like he was a great guy."
"He was. The very best." June reached across the table and placed her hand over Neal's. "He would have liked you, Neal. You remind me of him in a lot of ways."
Neal gave her his best dazzling-the-mark smile, though between the wine and fatigue, he suspected that it wasn't quite up to its usual sparkle. "Rakish and dashing?"
"That and more." June squeezed his hand. "Byron never believed he was a good man. But he was."
Neal pulled back.
"You don't like to be complimented," June said gently. "I've noticed. But that doesn't make it untrue." She sighed, set aside her empty wine glass and rose. "Well, I may have gone out dancing all night when I was a girl, but these days I need my sleep."
She put her hand on his cheek, leaned over and kissed his forehead. "It's all right to let people get to know you, Neal. There's not as much to hide as you think. Good night, sweet boy."
She was already gone by the time Neal said quietly to the empty doorway, "Good night, June."
He cleared away the empty wine glasses and takeout containers in silence, then opened another bottle of wine. Probably a bad idea -- he'd already had more tonight than he generally allowed himself -- but what the hell. "You're supposed to get drunk at weddings, right?" he said to the empty windows, the glittering lights of the city beyond. "It's traditional."
Traditional. Like it was traditional for people in his profession to keep moving, to hold other people at arm's length, to always look for an angle in any relationship and never, never put down permanent roots.
There was a single silk rose on the floor, overlooked by the cleanup crew and, now, slightly trampled. Neal picked it up between two fingers and looked around for a place to put it; finally he tucked it between two adjustment bars at the top of one of his easels, so that he could see it while he was painting. "Good luck charm," he said, and flopped on the couch. Damn it, he was drunk now, just a little bit. He hated being drunk -- the loss of control, the way it made it all too easy to say something he shouldn't, reveal things he didn't want to show. But there was no one around to see or hear.
He wondered if it was worth moving into the bedroom. Probably not. The couch was comfortable. Neal sprawled and let his fingers trail lightly against the stem of the wine glass on the coffee table.
His phone buzzed against his hip.
Half asleep already, he thought about ignoring it. But it might be important. He fumbled the phone in front of his eyes. Elizabeth? A surge of adrenaline chased away some of the drowsiness; she wouldn't be calling in the middle of the night -- especially not this night -- if it wasn't important. "Yeah, hi. What's wrong?"
"Nothing." El sounded drowsy and cheerful, changing quickly to apologetic. "Oh, I'm so sorry -- did I wake you? I hoped you'd still be awake. Peter said you stay up late."
"I wasn't asleep." From his position on the couch, he could see the silk rose in its perch on the easel -- a little crushed, a little damaged, but still dauntless. "Are things okay? I'd think you'd have better things to do than call me on your honeymoon."
"Oh, things are great. Better than great." El giggled. "Actually, we've been very busy --"
"Stop! Whatever you were going to say, do us all a favor and just don't. Besides, I'm guessing you didn't call me in the middle of the night to tell me about your sex life." And the idea that there was something so important that she needed to talk to him right now worried him more than a little. Although she didn't sound especially stressed about it.
El managed to get her giggles under control, and her voice turned serious. "No. I didn't get a chance to really say this before, and I wanted to make sure I said it now. Things were a whirlwind at the wedding, and I was a little overwhelmed. But thank you, Neal, for everything. From the bottom of both of our hearts."
"It was kind of a group effort," Neal said helplessly.
"I know. And there will be muffins for everyone involved, and gluten-free brownies for Mozzie --"
"He's not actually gluten intolerant, you know --"
"Oh, Neal, don't take away his fun." He could hear the grin in Elizabeth's voice. "But it really does mean a lot, that you were willing to offer your home --"
"-- June's home, technically --"
"-- and help pull this together on such short notice," she went on. "For me. For us. It just meant a lot, Neal. And I couldn't fall asleep until I made sure that you knew that."
In the background, Neal heard Peter's voice say sleepily, "Is that Neal? Give me the phone." Then more clearly: "Neal?"
Thank God. With Peter, at least, he was on somewhat firmer emotional footing. "Okay, I think you people really need to have someone sit you both down and explain about honeymoons. You know, those things where traditionally you don't invite your friends? Or call them at four in the morning?"
"Based on your extensive experience?" Peter asked blandly.
"Hey, Kate and I were married four times. Allegedly, I mean."
"Allegedly married?" Peter sounded as if he was trying not to laugh. "Are these the sort of alleged weddings in which other people might accidentally become separated from their alleged money?"
"Hey, it's not our fault if we were fond of weddings." And he could speak of Kate now without his throat closing up. The pain was still there, but muted, distant, tempered with affection and time.
"Apparently so," Peter said. Elizabeth was saying something in the background. Peter must have covered the phone with his hand, because his voice went muffled, though still audible. "I'm getting to it!" Then, at normal levels: "Anyway, you know, the point is, about the -- what I'm trying to say --"
"I know," Neal said.
"I thought you probably did."
"You're welcome."
"Yeah," Peter said, and there was a depth of warmth in that single syllable that made Neal grin into the dark. "By the way," Peter added, "if you see Diana before I do, tell her that she and Jones are on report for what they did to my car."
"Hey, you heard her. It's tradition."
"Tradition," Peter scoffed. "Just because something is traditional doesn't mean it has to be that way every damned time."
"That's true," Neal agreed, softly, into the darkened room lit with the glitter of the Manhattan skyline. "Not every time."
"Also, one of these days, Caffrey, you're going to tell me about all these weddings."
"Alleged weddings," Neal said quickly. "Good night. Go back to your honeymoon."
"Planning on it," Peter said, and Elizabeth called into the phone, a little more distantly, "Good night, Neal!"
"Good night," Neal said, and he was still grinning when he hung up.
~
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"They make me believe that the sort of romance you see in old movies is really possible. I don't just mean hearts-and-flowers romance, or even true love, necessarily. What they have --" He stopped, bit that off. Safety. Family. A place to land when you fall. "It's not common," he said at last.
He brought himself to look at Sara, and saw that her smile was soft. "That's not exactly what I meant," she said. "I mean, I'm not really arguing -- I don't know them well, but you do, so I'll take your word for it, and they do seem happy. But I meant that they're lucky in their friends, to do all of this for them."
Neal opened and closed his mouth. "Oh," he said.
Was just...too Neal.
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And I love your Neal's voice. Seems very in character to me.
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Nicely put, Peter!
Ah, poor Neal. He needs to get his head on straight, and he knows it, but he's not quite there yet.
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(Sorry, too tired to write proper reviews tonight! But I'm still reading and really enjoying your stories :) )
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