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aragarnaTitle: The Color of the Wheat Fields
Author: Aragarna
Characters: Peter, Neal, Mozzie, Elizabeth, Little Neal
Genre: angst and fluff, hugs and tears and love. In short, reunion fic, mostly a feel good fic.
Rating: gen, general audience.
Word count: 3900
Spoilers: for the entire show, especially 6x06.
Beta credit: Many thanks to my friend![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
anodyneer, who betas faster than her shadow. ;)
Summary: Peter runs to Paris to find Neal.
Author's Note: This is my take on what happened after the screen turned black. Consider this my head canon. Also my own therapy. I know a lot of people have posted their own version faster than me, which I haven't read because I didn't want to be influenced by someone else's take. I hope you'll still like mine. Title is from The Little Prince.
It was a warm and sunny day at the end of the summer, and the famous Place Montmartre, on top of the hill of the same name, was packed with tourists wandering around the little stands of the painters, or enjoying a drink at one of the numerous café terraces. Peter started walking around the place, searching every face and trying to keep his heart beat in check. It had to be the place.
He heard his laugh before he caught sight of him. Peter turned around, and his heart thumped hard against his chest. Neal was right there, seated at his small easel, drawing the portrait of a young tourist that had visibly fallen for the Caffrey spell. Neal sure hadn’t lost his touch. And he looked damn good under his fedora. Only Neal Caffrey would wear a fancy suit and a fedora while sketching tourist portraits in the streets.
Standing twenty feet away, Peter kept looking at his friend, flirting and all smiles with the tourists. Somehow he couldn’t persuade himself to move closer. He was afraid that if he’d lose contact, if he’d blink, the spell would break, and Neal would be gone, once again.
But Neal didn’t disappear. Probably sensing his insisting gaze, the young man looked up and, as he caught sight of Peter, a soft smile brushed his lips. He put down his drawing pad and his charcoal and stood up.
Peter didn’t register stepping closer, but somehow he found himself holding Neal tightly in his arms. Or, more precisely, clinging to Neal’s strong, warm, living body. Neal’s hold was just as strong as his. Peter had forgotten how much he had missed it. Tears were falling down his cheeks and his throat was so tight from the emotion that he couldn’t say a word. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the wave of completeness and relief that hit him.
“Get a room,” someone said, and as Neal laughed, his voice wavered.
They pulled away slowly. Peter swept away his tears with the back of his sleeve and put his hands on Neal’s shoulders. He cleared his throat, but didn’t trust he wouldn’t burst into tears again if he tried to say something, so he just smiled.
Neal patted him gently on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Peter.”
He tilted his head and invited Peter to follow him. They walked down a couple of side streets, away from the busy crowd of Montmartre. As they walked side by side, a strange feeling caught Peter at the throat. He had a hard time processing everything, that it was all real.
Neal led them to a small café and they sat at the terrace. Neal ordered a pint of beer for Peter and a glass of wine for himself. Peter kept staring at him, taking in the fact that the friend he thought he had lost forever was sitting right next to him at a small terrace, in Paris, and looking perfectly alive.
“I suppose that’s four and oh,” Neal said finally to break the silence.
Peter smiled and looked away.
“Are you okay?” Neal asked, getting concerned at Peter’s silence.
Peter cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “I am. I am, now. Damn it, Neal, I thought you were dead. We all thought you were dead.”
Neal looked down. “I’m sorry.”
“Do you know how much…” Peter swallowed the lump in his throat. “How much we missed you?”
“I’m sorry, Peter,” Neal repeated.
Peter reached out and touched his arm. “It’s okay, Neal. I’m just glad you’re alive.”
He patted Neal’s arm, as if to prove himself that the young man was indeed alive, real. He leaned back on his chair. “You’re alive…” he said again in a whisper.
Peter couldn’t help staring at Neal, trying to read all the little details of the past year in the lines of his face, in his slightly longer hair, his new hat, his more modern suit. Has he been happy? Alone? Safe? Struggling? But Neal had put on a mask that Peter had a hard time reading through.
“Why?” he asked finally, unable to hold any longer the question that had been reeling in his mind for the long seven-hour transatlantic flight.
“To keep you safe. I’ve caused way too much pain to the people I loved. I couldn’t let it happen to you and your family.”
Peter shook his head. He’d figured that part. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“If I had told you my plan, would you have let me go?
“After everything we’ve done together, you didn’t trust me?” That was the one thing that hurt the most. That Neal wouldn’t tell him. That he wouldn’t trust him enough to share his plan and instead had left him in the dark, mourning his loss.
“I trust you, Peter. I do. I know you would have kept your word. But I also know you’d do anything to protect me.”
“Yes, I’m your friend.”
“And even if you had let me go, you would still have kept an eye on me. You would have gotten in trouble for me. You’ve done enough for me, Peter. I don’t want anything to happen to you, or your family, because of me.”
“I would only have gotten in trouble if you had gotten in trouble. Did you get in trouble?”
Neal smiled and shook his head. “I didn’t. But I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t. I couldn’t be sure the Panthers wouldn’t find me and go after me.”
“So, why now?”
“The Panthers have been sent away for good, and they seem confident enough Keller was the rat. I think it is safe enough now.” Neal looked at Peter and his eyes sparkled. “I knew – well, I was hoping – that the minute you’d put it all together, you’d come and find me. So, I couldn’t risk sending you a sign too soon.”
“You thought I might not come and find you?”
“Well, I was a little afraid you’d be mad at me,” Neal said in a small voice, looking down.
“Oh I am. I must have rehearsed the lecture I was going to give you half a dozen times in my head over the Atlantic. You did pull a hell of a con on me. And you lied to me. Don’t argue. You pretended to be a corpse, right in front of me. That’s the worse lie you’ve ever told me. And I…” Peter chased the painful memory. “So, yes, I’m mad at you. But I…” He cleared his voice. “I’m just so glad you’re alive.”
Neal took a sip of his wine and looked pensively at the glass.
“I missed you too,” he admitted. “At first, I thought I could do it. Disappear for good and start over, with a new life, a new identity. I needed it. I needed to start fresh. Be my own master and decide by myself what I wanted to do with my life. You know?”
Neal’s gaze locked on Peter’s. It was begging for understanding and forgiveness. And even if Peter had the heart to be angry, that would have been enough to forgive his friend. But the truth is, Peter didn’t actually seem able to be angry. Despite his initial decision to show his total disapproval of the plan and tell Neal how the betrayal hurt, now that Neal was here, all Peter could feel was joy, relief, completeness. And he didn’t want to ruin it. He nodded, and Neal went on.
“But I… I also realized that I didn’t want to be dead to you forever. As time passed I realized that my master plan had a flaw.”
“Oh, you think?”
“I did what I had to, to protect my family, but that cut me completely from it, and life just didn’t have the same interest. No matter how hard I tried to fill my new life, it was still missing something, because that’s not the life I had fought so hard to build. That life was still existing, but without me.”
“So, what did you fill your new life with?” Peter asked, as casually as possible.
Neal smiled softly. “You’re wondering if I went back to the life.”
“Did you?”
Neal looked away and turned pensive. “I cased Le Louvre. And the Musée d’Orsay. And Beaubourg. All of them. Even the Elysée. Security at Le Louvre was a joke. Seriously it’d be a crime not to rob it. On the contrary, Orsay’s new security is top-notch, though probably not impossible. That would have been a nice challenge. But as I was walking down the Impressionist aisle, I saw Degas’ sculpture of a young dancer…”
Neal paused and took another sip of his wine.
“And?” Peter pressed.
“And I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do that to you. So, instead, I sent Le Louvre an anonymous tip about all their security flaws…”
Peter felt the tears threatening again. He fought them back and smiled.
“I never got a chance to tell you,” he said softly. “I’m proud of you, Neal.”
He let it sink in before adding with a smirk, “Well except for that stupid faking-my-death thing.”
Neal shot him a small smile. They clinked their glasses and finished their drinks in a companionable silence.
“How is the family life?” Neal asked as they were walking back to his place.
Peter immediately perked up. “Ohhh, it’s so wonderful. Neal is…” He paused and looked up at the original Neal.
Neal suddenly felt a lump in his throat. “You named your son Neal?” His voice wavered and he bit his lip.
Neal knew, intellectually, that his death would hurt his friends. And that his reappearance might hurt just as much. But the glimpses he was seeing, no matter how much they tried to hide it – maybe precisely because they tried to hide it – shook him more than he expected. Neither Peter nor Mozzie expounded much about their own pain. But Neal could feel it, in Mozzie’s distance, in Peter’s tight hug, the way they both kept looking at him. But the most telling – and most moving for Neal – was the way they both couldn’t talk about it, waving off any mention of their past grief. And now, Peter had named his son after him.
Peter shrugged it off. “It seemed right. I know it might sound odd, but it helped us move on. Of course now, I find myself with two Neals… Just when I thought my hands couldn’t be more full… But you must have a new name, now?”
“Theodore Neal Parker. I know Ellen Parker wasn’t Ellen’s real name but that’s how I’ve always known her. I wanted to go with Peter Parker, but even in France it might have sounded a little too fake.”
Peter chuckled. “Right. Though given your ability to jump from high buildings, that might have been appropriate.”
“But for you, it’ll always be Neal.”
Peter seemed to ponder things for a moment until he broke into a sweet laugh and patted Neal in the back. “What a sappy pair we make.”
They walked down the narrow streets of Paris, side by side. The scenery couldn’t be more different, and yet, it felt to Neal like he was back in New York. Peter, by being at his side again, had brought a part of home with him.
“Speaking of Theodore, where’s the original one?” Peter asked.
Neal plastered on his most innocent look. “Who?”
Peter tilted his head. “I know Mozzie is here.”
Neal smiled. “He’s drinking all of my little wine collection. That’s his way to get back at me. He ran to Paris to see me, and now he’s giving me the silent treatment.”
“It’s been really hard on him, you know,” Peter said softly. “You were like a brother to him.”
Neal wondered if Peter was only talking about Mozzie.
“You know,” Peter went on, “when Boothe kidnapped you and it looked like you had run, Mozzie was convinced you couldn’t have run, not without him.”
Neal’s heart felt heavy. He felt cold inside and he shivered despite the warm evening. It appeared he had seriously underestimated his friends’ attachment to him. He wasn’t sure he deserved such faithful friends.
“Hey, it’s all behind us now. You’re here,” Peter said.
“Is it really?
Peter put a hand on Neal’s shoulder. Neal almost flinched. He had missed that warm and grounding contact.
“It is, if we decide it is.”
Mozzie poured himself another generous glass of wine. This Côte du Rhone was truly delicious. That Judas, Neal, surely hadn’t lost his tastes in matter of exquisite nectar.
Paris. Of all the places he could have run to, Neal picked precisely the one Mozzie was dreaming of going with him. And not only did he run to Paris, but he ruined all of Mozzie’s dreams of doing Le Louvre by telling them all their weaknesses. It’s one thing to give up one’s life style, but did he really have to ruin it for all the honest people of the profession?
If he wasn’t so happy that Neal wasn’t dead, Mozzie would kill him himself. Damn, it was a brilliant con. Neal Caffrey’s greatest con. Not that Mozzie will ever admit it to Neal. If Neal wanted Mozzie’s praise, he should have shared it with him.
Mozzie took a long sip and let the alcohol calm his heart and heal his wounds.
The door suddenly opened, taking him out of his reverie, and Neal appeared at the door, followed by the Suit.
“Suit,” he said, giving Peter a light nod.
“Moz’,” Peter nodded back.
“That was fast,” Mozzie commented, honestly impressed that Peter was only twenty-four hours behind him.
Peter smiled. “And that’s only because I had to get approval from El and kiss my little boy goodbye before hopping on a plane.”
“And because you took a commercial flight with the plebeians.”
The Suit frowned, wondering what the hell he was talking about and Mozzie smiled, satisfied with this little effect. Peter was such a funny and easy target.
They all sat for a dinner quickly fixed by Neal – as ‘quickly fixed’ a dinner as Neal could do, that is. At first, it was a little awkward to all of them to find themselves together again. After a year of trying to move on, it wasn’t that easy to fall back into the past, especially when none of them wanted to talk about it. But by the time they opened a second bottle of wine – Mozzie’s third – the three of them had finally fallen back into their old comfortable companionship. The conversation naturally turned to the adventures of baby Neal, and on that topic, Peter was incredibly loquacious. It was obvious that his kid was his most precious treasure, and this expression of paternal love tickled something in Mozzie’s orphan heart.
“Will you come back?” Peter suddenly asked Neal, shooting him a feverish look.
Mozzie turned to Neal, holding his breath, for a second regaining hope. He’d tried to convince Neal all day, with no luck, but maybe the Suit would be more persuasive. Peter always had a very special influence on Neal.
But Neal shook his head and looked down. “I don’t think it’d be a good idea…”
“Come on, the Panthers are in jail. You said it yourself, it’s safe now. And you wouldn’t be in any more danger in New York than in Paris. If anything, those guys are European, there’s a bigger chance someone would report you to them here than in New York where they didn’t really have any contact.”
“That’s not…”
“Let it go, Suit,” Mozzie snapped, vaguely bitter. “He doesn’t want to come home.”
“You don’t understand,” Neal said in a low voice.
“Why you would rather be thousands of miles away, alone, doing nothing. No, we don’t,” Mozzie said strongly.
“At least come and meet Neal. His first birthday is October 23rd,” Peter pressed, looking at Neal. “We… We’d very much like you to be there.”
“I can’t…”
Peter bent forward – Mozzie wasn’t sure if at that point it was the wine or the jetlag that was making the Suit’s movement sluggish – and he pointed a finger at Neal. “You owe us at least that.”
“Yes, you do,” Mozzie echoed, pointing his own finger at Neal. “You owe us a great deal.”
“Mozzie, you’re drunk.”
“So were you when you thought you could just abandon us like that. That was… That was….” Why were words suddenly getting so difficult to find? “That was wrong. You may think you’ve understood everything about family, but you haven’t. Playing magic tricks on your family is rude.”
Peter nodded vigorously. “What he said.” He patted Mozzie on the back. “Wise man, this Mozzie.”
Neal shook his head. “Guys, you’re both drunk.”
“Doesn’t mean we’re wrong,” Mozzie said.
Neal looked down. “I know.”
“The real flaw in your reasoning,” Peter said, “it’s that you left that life you’d worked so hard to build to protect it, but that life doesn’t exist unless you actually live it. Otherwise it’s just my life.”
Really, the Suit was impressively deep when he had too much to drink.
What Mozzie and Peter didn’t seem to understand was that Neal wasn’t sure that, if he’d ever come back to New York, he’d have the strength to leave again. When he first left everything behind, he was determined not to ever look back. Start over, he was good at it. He had experience. That’s what he had done his whole life, and it had worked rather well for him in the end. He was a like a shark, swimming in the ocean of life. He had to keep swimming to stay alive. Each time he had stopped moving, each time he had tried to hold back the past, that’s when things had derailed, and people had been hurt.
And yet, somehow, Peter and Mozzie had managed to convince him he should at least visit them once, shaking his already wavering will with thoughts of home. And there Neal was, two months later, standing on the Burkes’ stoop.
He stood there a long time, afraid he was making a terrible mistake.
Suddenly the door opened and Elizabeth appeared on the threshold.
“Come on in, Neal. You’re not going to turn around now,” she said, stepping aside to let him in. She smiled warmly, but something in her eyes made Neal tense.
She gave him a long and warm hug. Then, catching Neal off guard, she slapped him.
“This is for making my husband cry. I know Peter is just way too happy to have you back to really think about what you’ve done, but someone has to tell you. You let him believe he had lost his brother, that he had failed his son.”
“That’s not –“ Neal tried, but El’s finger cut him off.
“You were dead, Neal. You died under his watch, during one of his cases. You were his responsibility. Even worse, he had made you part of his family. How do you think he felt? It shouldn’t have been your decision to make. You caused a lot of pain, Neal. Heck, we even named our son after you,” Elizabeth said, gesturing toward the middle of the living room.
The other Neal was there, sitting on a play mat and surrounded by all sorts of toys. Satchmo was looking over him from a respectful distance. Little Neal was a beautiful little boy, with big blue eyes and fair hair. A real Little Prince, Neal thought tenderly.
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth.”
“I know you are, Neal. And I know why you did what you did. And I am grateful that you made sure Peter would be safe.”
Neal looked up and smiled tentatively.
“Just don’t do anything like that ever again,” Elizabeth said.
The door opened and Peter rushed in, almost crashing into Neal. “Oh, Neal!” he cheered, happy to see his friend. “I wasn’t expecting you so early.”
Before Neal could say anything, he found himself buried in Peter’s arms.
But a babbling cut their effusion short. Peter pulled away and looked at his son over Neal’s shoulder. His face morphed into the most tender expression of love Neal had ever seen. He kissed Elizabeth and walked to his son.
“Hey kiddo, daddy’s home,” Peter said as he sat down next to Neal.
At the sight of his father, a broad smile illuminated Neal’s face. “Da,” he said.
Peter bent over and put a delicate kiss on the baby’s cheek, before tickling him, making him chuckle.
The image of Peter – still in his suit and dress shoes – sitting on the floor to play with his son, was fascinating, and grown-up Neal felt all fuzzy inside.
“He’s totally nuts about his son,” Elizabeth said lovingly. “You’ll have to fight with little Neal now, to get Peter’s attention…”
Neal felt a lump in his throat. He looked at Elizabeth.
“Of course you still have your spot in this family,” she said, taking his arm. “On one condition: you promise me not to ever disappear on us again.”
Neal wanted to argue that even as a reformed criminal, even with a new identity, his past could come back and haunt him at any time, but Elizabeth’s look told him any argument he would find would be swept away.
“Come and see Uncle Neal,” Peter was saying to the baby, taking him in his arms as he stood up and walked back to Neal.
“Neal, this is Uncle Neal. Neal, this is little Neal.”
“Hi, little Neal,” Neal said, and as little Neal stared at him with his big blue eyes, he knew he would never have the will to leave again. This was the family he had fought so hard to build and protect, his family, his life, and he was right where he belonged.
“You have my word,” he whispered to Elizabeth.
Later, as they were enjoying a drink on the patio while Peter was preparing his barbecue, Neal took out a gift from the inside pocket of his jacket and, after flattening the wrinkles of the wrapping paper, he handed it to Peter.
“Neal’s birthday isn’t until tomorrow,” Peter said.
Neal shook his head. “It’s for you.”
“Me? It’s not my birthday,” Peter protested as he tore open his gift.
Neal shrugged. “Do we need birthdays to make gifts?”
“The Little Prince?” Peter read. “Isn’t it a kid’s book?”
“It’s a French classic. I thought you might like it. It’s a story of an aviator lost in the desert,” he said casually.
Peter nodded. “I know it. There’s baobabs. I bet you like the elephant in the hat.”
Neal looked at Peter, trying not to betray how emotional he was feeling inside. “Actually my favorite is the part with the fox, who asked The Little Prince to tame him. Apprivoiser in French, which is a much better word. It means establishing ties, as the fox explains to the Prince. And how by taming him, the Little Prince would give a special meaning to the color of wheat fields for the fox.”
“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye,” Peter quoted. “I like that one too.”
Peter put the book on the table and checked on the barbecue. “It’s also about finding a way home,” he said after a while.
“And I think I’ve found it,” Neal whispered.
FIN.
Additional note: Here is chapter 21 of The Little Prince.
Author: Aragarna
Characters: Peter, Neal, Mozzie, Elizabeth, Little Neal
Genre: angst and fluff, hugs and tears and love. In short, reunion fic, mostly a feel good fic.
Rating: gen, general audience.
Word count: 3900
Spoilers: for the entire show, especially 6x06.
Beta credit: Many thanks to my friend
anodyneer, who betas faster than her shadow. ;)Summary: Peter runs to Paris to find Neal.
Author's Note: This is my take on what happened after the screen turned black. Consider this my head canon. Also my own therapy. I know a lot of people have posted their own version faster than me, which I haven't read because I didn't want to be influenced by someone else's take. I hope you'll still like mine. Title is from The Little Prince.
The Color of the Wheat Fields
It was a warm and sunny day at the end of the summer, and the famous Place Montmartre, on top of the hill of the same name, was packed with tourists wandering around the little stands of the painters, or enjoying a drink at one of the numerous café terraces. Peter started walking around the place, searching every face and trying to keep his heart beat in check. It had to be the place.He heard his laugh before he caught sight of him. Peter turned around, and his heart thumped hard against his chest. Neal was right there, seated at his small easel, drawing the portrait of a young tourist that had visibly fallen for the Caffrey spell. Neal sure hadn’t lost his touch. And he looked damn good under his fedora. Only Neal Caffrey would wear a fancy suit and a fedora while sketching tourist portraits in the streets.
Standing twenty feet away, Peter kept looking at his friend, flirting and all smiles with the tourists. Somehow he couldn’t persuade himself to move closer. He was afraid that if he’d lose contact, if he’d blink, the spell would break, and Neal would be gone, once again.
But Neal didn’t disappear. Probably sensing his insisting gaze, the young man looked up and, as he caught sight of Peter, a soft smile brushed his lips. He put down his drawing pad and his charcoal and stood up.
Peter didn’t register stepping closer, but somehow he found himself holding Neal tightly in his arms. Or, more precisely, clinging to Neal’s strong, warm, living body. Neal’s hold was just as strong as his. Peter had forgotten how much he had missed it. Tears were falling down his cheeks and his throat was so tight from the emotion that he couldn’t say a word. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the wave of completeness and relief that hit him.
“Get a room,” someone said, and as Neal laughed, his voice wavered.
They pulled away slowly. Peter swept away his tears with the back of his sleeve and put his hands on Neal’s shoulders. He cleared his throat, but didn’t trust he wouldn’t burst into tears again if he tried to say something, so he just smiled.
Neal patted him gently on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Peter.”
He tilted his head and invited Peter to follow him. They walked down a couple of side streets, away from the busy crowd of Montmartre. As they walked side by side, a strange feeling caught Peter at the throat. He had a hard time processing everything, that it was all real.
Neal led them to a small café and they sat at the terrace. Neal ordered a pint of beer for Peter and a glass of wine for himself. Peter kept staring at him, taking in the fact that the friend he thought he had lost forever was sitting right next to him at a small terrace, in Paris, and looking perfectly alive.
“I suppose that’s four and oh,” Neal said finally to break the silence.
Peter smiled and looked away.
“Are you okay?” Neal asked, getting concerned at Peter’s silence.
Peter cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “I am. I am, now. Damn it, Neal, I thought you were dead. We all thought you were dead.”
Neal looked down. “I’m sorry.”
“Do you know how much…” Peter swallowed the lump in his throat. “How much we missed you?”
“I’m sorry, Peter,” Neal repeated.
Peter reached out and touched his arm. “It’s okay, Neal. I’m just glad you’re alive.”
He patted Neal’s arm, as if to prove himself that the young man was indeed alive, real. He leaned back on his chair. “You’re alive…” he said again in a whisper.
Peter couldn’t help staring at Neal, trying to read all the little details of the past year in the lines of his face, in his slightly longer hair, his new hat, his more modern suit. Has he been happy? Alone? Safe? Struggling? But Neal had put on a mask that Peter had a hard time reading through.
“Why?” he asked finally, unable to hold any longer the question that had been reeling in his mind for the long seven-hour transatlantic flight.
“To keep you safe. I’ve caused way too much pain to the people I loved. I couldn’t let it happen to you and your family.”
Peter shook his head. He’d figured that part. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“If I had told you my plan, would you have let me go?
“After everything we’ve done together, you didn’t trust me?” That was the one thing that hurt the most. That Neal wouldn’t tell him. That he wouldn’t trust him enough to share his plan and instead had left him in the dark, mourning his loss.
“I trust you, Peter. I do. I know you would have kept your word. But I also know you’d do anything to protect me.”
“Yes, I’m your friend.”
“And even if you had let me go, you would still have kept an eye on me. You would have gotten in trouble for me. You’ve done enough for me, Peter. I don’t want anything to happen to you, or your family, because of me.”
“I would only have gotten in trouble if you had gotten in trouble. Did you get in trouble?”
Neal smiled and shook his head. “I didn’t. But I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t. I couldn’t be sure the Panthers wouldn’t find me and go after me.”
“So, why now?”
“The Panthers have been sent away for good, and they seem confident enough Keller was the rat. I think it is safe enough now.” Neal looked at Peter and his eyes sparkled. “I knew – well, I was hoping – that the minute you’d put it all together, you’d come and find me. So, I couldn’t risk sending you a sign too soon.”
“You thought I might not come and find you?”
“Well, I was a little afraid you’d be mad at me,” Neal said in a small voice, looking down.
“Oh I am. I must have rehearsed the lecture I was going to give you half a dozen times in my head over the Atlantic. You did pull a hell of a con on me. And you lied to me. Don’t argue. You pretended to be a corpse, right in front of me. That’s the worse lie you’ve ever told me. And I…” Peter chased the painful memory. “So, yes, I’m mad at you. But I…” He cleared his voice. “I’m just so glad you’re alive.”
Neal took a sip of his wine and looked pensively at the glass.
“I missed you too,” he admitted. “At first, I thought I could do it. Disappear for good and start over, with a new life, a new identity. I needed it. I needed to start fresh. Be my own master and decide by myself what I wanted to do with my life. You know?”
Neal’s gaze locked on Peter’s. It was begging for understanding and forgiveness. And even if Peter had the heart to be angry, that would have been enough to forgive his friend. But the truth is, Peter didn’t actually seem able to be angry. Despite his initial decision to show his total disapproval of the plan and tell Neal how the betrayal hurt, now that Neal was here, all Peter could feel was joy, relief, completeness. And he didn’t want to ruin it. He nodded, and Neal went on.
“But I… I also realized that I didn’t want to be dead to you forever. As time passed I realized that my master plan had a flaw.”
“Oh, you think?”
“I did what I had to, to protect my family, but that cut me completely from it, and life just didn’t have the same interest. No matter how hard I tried to fill my new life, it was still missing something, because that’s not the life I had fought so hard to build. That life was still existing, but without me.”
“So, what did you fill your new life with?” Peter asked, as casually as possible.
Neal smiled softly. “You’re wondering if I went back to the life.”
“Did you?”
Neal looked away and turned pensive. “I cased Le Louvre. And the Musée d’Orsay. And Beaubourg. All of them. Even the Elysée. Security at Le Louvre was a joke. Seriously it’d be a crime not to rob it. On the contrary, Orsay’s new security is top-notch, though probably not impossible. That would have been a nice challenge. But as I was walking down the Impressionist aisle, I saw Degas’ sculpture of a young dancer…”
Neal paused and took another sip of his wine.
“And?” Peter pressed.
“And I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do that to you. So, instead, I sent Le Louvre an anonymous tip about all their security flaws…”
Peter felt the tears threatening again. He fought them back and smiled.
“I never got a chance to tell you,” he said softly. “I’m proud of you, Neal.”
He let it sink in before adding with a smirk, “Well except for that stupid faking-my-death thing.”
Neal shot him a small smile. They clinked their glasses and finished their drinks in a companionable silence.
--------------------------------------------------------------
“How is the family life?” Neal asked as they were walking back to his place.
Peter immediately perked up. “Ohhh, it’s so wonderful. Neal is…” He paused and looked up at the original Neal.
Neal suddenly felt a lump in his throat. “You named your son Neal?” His voice wavered and he bit his lip.
Neal knew, intellectually, that his death would hurt his friends. And that his reappearance might hurt just as much. But the glimpses he was seeing, no matter how much they tried to hide it – maybe precisely because they tried to hide it – shook him more than he expected. Neither Peter nor Mozzie expounded much about their own pain. But Neal could feel it, in Mozzie’s distance, in Peter’s tight hug, the way they both kept looking at him. But the most telling – and most moving for Neal – was the way they both couldn’t talk about it, waving off any mention of their past grief. And now, Peter had named his son after him.
Peter shrugged it off. “It seemed right. I know it might sound odd, but it helped us move on. Of course now, I find myself with two Neals… Just when I thought my hands couldn’t be more full… But you must have a new name, now?”
“Theodore Neal Parker. I know Ellen Parker wasn’t Ellen’s real name but that’s how I’ve always known her. I wanted to go with Peter Parker, but even in France it might have sounded a little too fake.”
Peter chuckled. “Right. Though given your ability to jump from high buildings, that might have been appropriate.”
“But for you, it’ll always be Neal.”
Peter seemed to ponder things for a moment until he broke into a sweet laugh and patted Neal in the back. “What a sappy pair we make.”
They walked down the narrow streets of Paris, side by side. The scenery couldn’t be more different, and yet, it felt to Neal like he was back in New York. Peter, by being at his side again, had brought a part of home with him.
“Speaking of Theodore, where’s the original one?” Peter asked.
Neal plastered on his most innocent look. “Who?”
Peter tilted his head. “I know Mozzie is here.”
Neal smiled. “He’s drinking all of my little wine collection. That’s his way to get back at me. He ran to Paris to see me, and now he’s giving me the silent treatment.”
“It’s been really hard on him, you know,” Peter said softly. “You were like a brother to him.”
Neal wondered if Peter was only talking about Mozzie.
“You know,” Peter went on, “when Boothe kidnapped you and it looked like you had run, Mozzie was convinced you couldn’t have run, not without him.”
Neal’s heart felt heavy. He felt cold inside and he shivered despite the warm evening. It appeared he had seriously underestimated his friends’ attachment to him. He wasn’t sure he deserved such faithful friends.
“Hey, it’s all behind us now. You’re here,” Peter said.
“Is it really?
Peter put a hand on Neal’s shoulder. Neal almost flinched. He had missed that warm and grounding contact.
“It is, if we decide it is.”
--------------------------------------------------------------
Mozzie poured himself another generous glass of wine. This Côte du Rhone was truly delicious. That Judas, Neal, surely hadn’t lost his tastes in matter of exquisite nectar.
Paris. Of all the places he could have run to, Neal picked precisely the one Mozzie was dreaming of going with him. And not only did he run to Paris, but he ruined all of Mozzie’s dreams of doing Le Louvre by telling them all their weaknesses. It’s one thing to give up one’s life style, but did he really have to ruin it for all the honest people of the profession?
If he wasn’t so happy that Neal wasn’t dead, Mozzie would kill him himself. Damn, it was a brilliant con. Neal Caffrey’s greatest con. Not that Mozzie will ever admit it to Neal. If Neal wanted Mozzie’s praise, he should have shared it with him.
Mozzie took a long sip and let the alcohol calm his heart and heal his wounds.
The door suddenly opened, taking him out of his reverie, and Neal appeared at the door, followed by the Suit.
“Suit,” he said, giving Peter a light nod.
“Moz’,” Peter nodded back.
“That was fast,” Mozzie commented, honestly impressed that Peter was only twenty-four hours behind him.
Peter smiled. “And that’s only because I had to get approval from El and kiss my little boy goodbye before hopping on a plane.”
“And because you took a commercial flight with the plebeians.”
The Suit frowned, wondering what the hell he was talking about and Mozzie smiled, satisfied with this little effect. Peter was such a funny and easy target.
They all sat for a dinner quickly fixed by Neal – as ‘quickly fixed’ a dinner as Neal could do, that is. At first, it was a little awkward to all of them to find themselves together again. After a year of trying to move on, it wasn’t that easy to fall back into the past, especially when none of them wanted to talk about it. But by the time they opened a second bottle of wine – Mozzie’s third – the three of them had finally fallen back into their old comfortable companionship. The conversation naturally turned to the adventures of baby Neal, and on that topic, Peter was incredibly loquacious. It was obvious that his kid was his most precious treasure, and this expression of paternal love tickled something in Mozzie’s orphan heart.
“Will you come back?” Peter suddenly asked Neal, shooting him a feverish look.
Mozzie turned to Neal, holding his breath, for a second regaining hope. He’d tried to convince Neal all day, with no luck, but maybe the Suit would be more persuasive. Peter always had a very special influence on Neal.
But Neal shook his head and looked down. “I don’t think it’d be a good idea…”
“Come on, the Panthers are in jail. You said it yourself, it’s safe now. And you wouldn’t be in any more danger in New York than in Paris. If anything, those guys are European, there’s a bigger chance someone would report you to them here than in New York where they didn’t really have any contact.”
“That’s not…”
“Let it go, Suit,” Mozzie snapped, vaguely bitter. “He doesn’t want to come home.”
“You don’t understand,” Neal said in a low voice.
“Why you would rather be thousands of miles away, alone, doing nothing. No, we don’t,” Mozzie said strongly.
“At least come and meet Neal. His first birthday is October 23rd,” Peter pressed, looking at Neal. “We… We’d very much like you to be there.”
“I can’t…”
Peter bent forward – Mozzie wasn’t sure if at that point it was the wine or the jetlag that was making the Suit’s movement sluggish – and he pointed a finger at Neal. “You owe us at least that.”
“Yes, you do,” Mozzie echoed, pointing his own finger at Neal. “You owe us a great deal.”
“Mozzie, you’re drunk.”
“So were you when you thought you could just abandon us like that. That was… That was….” Why were words suddenly getting so difficult to find? “That was wrong. You may think you’ve understood everything about family, but you haven’t. Playing magic tricks on your family is rude.”
Peter nodded vigorously. “What he said.” He patted Mozzie on the back. “Wise man, this Mozzie.”
Neal shook his head. “Guys, you’re both drunk.”
“Doesn’t mean we’re wrong,” Mozzie said.
Neal looked down. “I know.”
“The real flaw in your reasoning,” Peter said, “it’s that you left that life you’d worked so hard to build to protect it, but that life doesn’t exist unless you actually live it. Otherwise it’s just my life.”
Really, the Suit was impressively deep when he had too much to drink.
--------------------------------------------------------------
What Mozzie and Peter didn’t seem to understand was that Neal wasn’t sure that, if he’d ever come back to New York, he’d have the strength to leave again. When he first left everything behind, he was determined not to ever look back. Start over, he was good at it. He had experience. That’s what he had done his whole life, and it had worked rather well for him in the end. He was a like a shark, swimming in the ocean of life. He had to keep swimming to stay alive. Each time he had stopped moving, each time he had tried to hold back the past, that’s when things had derailed, and people had been hurt.
And yet, somehow, Peter and Mozzie had managed to convince him he should at least visit them once, shaking his already wavering will with thoughts of home. And there Neal was, two months later, standing on the Burkes’ stoop.
He stood there a long time, afraid he was making a terrible mistake.
Suddenly the door opened and Elizabeth appeared on the threshold.
“Come on in, Neal. You’re not going to turn around now,” she said, stepping aside to let him in. She smiled warmly, but something in her eyes made Neal tense.
She gave him a long and warm hug. Then, catching Neal off guard, she slapped him.
“This is for making my husband cry. I know Peter is just way too happy to have you back to really think about what you’ve done, but someone has to tell you. You let him believe he had lost his brother, that he had failed his son.”
“That’s not –“ Neal tried, but El’s finger cut him off.
“You were dead, Neal. You died under his watch, during one of his cases. You were his responsibility. Even worse, he had made you part of his family. How do you think he felt? It shouldn’t have been your decision to make. You caused a lot of pain, Neal. Heck, we even named our son after you,” Elizabeth said, gesturing toward the middle of the living room.
The other Neal was there, sitting on a play mat and surrounded by all sorts of toys. Satchmo was looking over him from a respectful distance. Little Neal was a beautiful little boy, with big blue eyes and fair hair. A real Little Prince, Neal thought tenderly.
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth.”
“I know you are, Neal. And I know why you did what you did. And I am grateful that you made sure Peter would be safe.”
Neal looked up and smiled tentatively.
“Just don’t do anything like that ever again,” Elizabeth said.
The door opened and Peter rushed in, almost crashing into Neal. “Oh, Neal!” he cheered, happy to see his friend. “I wasn’t expecting you so early.”
Before Neal could say anything, he found himself buried in Peter’s arms.
But a babbling cut their effusion short. Peter pulled away and looked at his son over Neal’s shoulder. His face morphed into the most tender expression of love Neal had ever seen. He kissed Elizabeth and walked to his son.
“Hey kiddo, daddy’s home,” Peter said as he sat down next to Neal.
At the sight of his father, a broad smile illuminated Neal’s face. “Da,” he said.
Peter bent over and put a delicate kiss on the baby’s cheek, before tickling him, making him chuckle.
The image of Peter – still in his suit and dress shoes – sitting on the floor to play with his son, was fascinating, and grown-up Neal felt all fuzzy inside.
“He’s totally nuts about his son,” Elizabeth said lovingly. “You’ll have to fight with little Neal now, to get Peter’s attention…”
Neal felt a lump in his throat. He looked at Elizabeth.
“Of course you still have your spot in this family,” she said, taking his arm. “On one condition: you promise me not to ever disappear on us again.”
Neal wanted to argue that even as a reformed criminal, even with a new identity, his past could come back and haunt him at any time, but Elizabeth’s look told him any argument he would find would be swept away.
“Come and see Uncle Neal,” Peter was saying to the baby, taking him in his arms as he stood up and walked back to Neal.
“Neal, this is Uncle Neal. Neal, this is little Neal.”
“Hi, little Neal,” Neal said, and as little Neal stared at him with his big blue eyes, he knew he would never have the will to leave again. This was the family he had fought so hard to build and protect, his family, his life, and he was right where he belonged.
“You have my word,” he whispered to Elizabeth.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Later, as they were enjoying a drink on the patio while Peter was preparing his barbecue, Neal took out a gift from the inside pocket of his jacket and, after flattening the wrinkles of the wrapping paper, he handed it to Peter.
“Neal’s birthday isn’t until tomorrow,” Peter said.
Neal shook his head. “It’s for you.”
“Me? It’s not my birthday,” Peter protested as he tore open his gift.
Neal shrugged. “Do we need birthdays to make gifts?”
“The Little Prince?” Peter read. “Isn’t it a kid’s book?”
“It’s a French classic. I thought you might like it. It’s a story of an aviator lost in the desert,” he said casually.
Peter nodded. “I know it. There’s baobabs. I bet you like the elephant in the hat.”
Neal looked at Peter, trying not to betray how emotional he was feeling inside. “Actually my favorite is the part with the fox, who asked The Little Prince to tame him. Apprivoiser in French, which is a much better word. It means establishing ties, as the fox explains to the Prince. And how by taming him, the Little Prince would give a special meaning to the color of wheat fields for the fox.”
“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye,” Peter quoted. “I like that one too.”
Peter put the book on the table and checked on the barbecue. “It’s also about finding a way home,” he said after a while.
“And I think I’ve found it,” Neal whispered.
FIN.
Additional note: Here is chapter 21 of The Little Prince.
It was then that the fox appeared.
"Good morning," said the fox.
"Good morning," the little prince responded politely, although when he turned around he saw nothing.
"I am right here," the voice said, "under the apple tree."
Who are you?" asked the little prince, and added, "You are very pretty to look at.""I am a fox," the fox said.
"Come and play with me," proposed the little prince. "I am so unhappy."
"I cannot play with you," the fox said. "I am not tamed."
"Ah! Please excuse me," said the little prince.
But, after some thought, he added:
"What does that mean--'tame'?"
"You do not live here," said the fox. "What is it that you are looking for?"
"I am looking for men," said the little prince. "What does that mean--'tame'?"
"Men," said the fox. "They have guns, and they hunt. It is very disturbing. They also raise chickens. These are their only interests. Are you looking for chickens?"
"No," said the little prince. "I am looking for friends. What does that mean--'tame'?"
"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. "It means to establish ties."
"'To establish ties'?"
"Just that," said the fox. "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world . . ."
"I am beginning to understand," said the little prince. "There is a flower . . . I think that she has tamed me . . ."
"It is possible," said the fox. "On the Earth one sees all sorts of things."
"Oh, but this is not on the Earth!" said the little prince.
The fox seemed perplexed, and very curious.
"On another planet?"
"Yes."
"Are there hunters on that planet?"
"No."
"Ah, that is interesting! Are there chickens?"
"No."
"Nothing is perfect," sighed the fox.
But he came back to his idea.
"My life is very monotonous," the fox said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat . . ."
The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.
"Please--tame me!" he said.
"I want to, very much," the little prince replied. "But I have not much time. I have friends to discover, and a great many things to understand."
"One only understands the things that one tames," said the fox. "Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me . . ."
"What must I do, to tame you?" asked the little prince.
"You must be very patient," replied the fox. "First you will sit down at a little distance from me--like that--in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day . . ."
The next day the little prince came back.
"It would have been better to come back at the same hour," said the fox. "If, for example, you come at four o'clock in the afternoon, then at three o'clock I shall begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances. At four o'clock, I shall already be worrying and jumping about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is to be ready to greet you . . . One must observe the proper rites . . ."
"What is a rite?" asked the little prince.
"Those also are actions too often neglected," said the fox. "They are what make one day different from other days, one hour from other hours. There is a rite, for example, among my hunters. Every Thursday they dance with the village girls. So Thursday is a wonderful day for me! I can take a walk as far as the vineyards. But if the hunters danced at just any time, every day would be like every other day, and I should never have any vacation at all."
So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near--
"Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."
"It is your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you . . ."
"Yes, that is so," said the fox.
"But now you are going to cry!" said the little prince.
"Yes, that is so," said the fox.
"Then it has done you no good at all!"
"It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the color of the wheat fields." And then he added:
"Go and look again at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a present of a secret."
The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.
"You are not at all like my rose," he said. "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world."
And the roses were very much embarassed.
"You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you--the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or ever sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.
And he went back to meet the fox.
"Goodbye," he said.
"Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."
"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important."
"It is the time I have wasted for my rose--" said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.
"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose . . ."
"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
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no subject
Date: 2014-12-30 10:28 am (UTC)I had to fight tears reading it!
That's a wonderful idea for a season 7 premiere!!! eheeh
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Date: 2014-12-30 12:36 pm (UTC)The image of Peter on the floor with his son is perfect. I can see Peter being so absorbed in the moment, he won’t care about anything else but his son. I am pretty sure little Neal will be the one in charge – he will have all the adults ‘conned’ to do his bidding :D
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Date: 2014-12-30 01:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-30 01:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-30 01:37 pm (UTC)Little Neal sure won't lack attention and love, between his parents and "uncles"...
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Date: 2014-12-30 01:39 pm (UTC)No particular plan for a sequel per se, but sure no intention to stop writing. And there's the Fatherhood series... :)
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Date: 2014-12-30 01:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-30 02:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-30 03:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-30 04:10 pm (UTC)Yeah, maybe Peter wouldn't be so forgiving (or at least would show his disapproval more physically ;) ). But right now I just needed some feel good fluffy angst. And his smile at the end of the episode shows only joy and happiness, and I thought that, after a year of grief, maybe Peter would want to focus more on the good than the bad. And I liked the idea that Elizabeth would be the one to express what Peter wouldn't. It's not necessarily that Peter isn't hurt at some level, but that he doesn't *want* to focus on that.
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Date: 2014-12-30 05:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-30 05:31 pm (UTC)They have to be happy in the end. I can't imagine anything else. Of course Neal has to come back to NY, so that they can continue their shenanigans forever in our hearts, if not on TV.
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Date: 2014-12-30 05:40 pm (UTC)and loved Peter and Neal's reunion
i got a little teary eyed..reading this..thank you for writing this
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Date: 2014-12-30 05:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-30 05:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-30 06:16 pm (UTC)Technically, it's all the show's fault. They're the ones who made Peter cry. I just made sure to get a happy ending. ;)
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Date: 2014-12-30 06:19 pm (UTC)Thank you for this. :)
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Date: 2014-12-30 06:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-30 06:38 pm (UTC)Thank you, I need all the fic like this I can get! :D
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Date: 2014-12-30 06:59 pm (UTC)Peter looking for Neal at Montmartre - of course! Besides what others already commented on, I liked little Neal's birth date: October 23 *smile*
donnataft
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Date: 2014-12-30 07:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-30 07:27 pm (UTC)I do think El wouldn't be afraid to call Neal on what he really did. (That kind of was *me* slapping Neal for making Peter cry LOL)
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Date: 2014-12-30 07:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-30 07:31 pm (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2014-12-30 08:41 pm (UTC)Peter & Mozzie getting drunk together and convincing Neal to come back to NY.
My fave part was when El slapped Neal and told him what she thought -
"This is for making my husband cry. I know Peter is just way too happy to have you back to really think about what you’ve done, but someone has to tell you. You let him believe he had lost his brother, that he had failed his son.”
It was great to see Neal back in NY with his family. :)