(no subject)
Sorry this is so late, everyone. Despite its lateness, it was written in a rush in a stolen hour at work and then I realized I have no net access there so can't post, and then emailed our long-suffering mod E, and then got caught in traffic on my way home and am now just throwing it up there. So it’s not like I can say it was worth the wait. (I hope it still makes some sense--this 24 hour thing is hard, man! I am a terrible running the con con!) As always, all mistakes are my fault and will possibly be fixed one day, hopefully. The concept, in part, is as a result of a conversation two years ago with my good friend B. You can blame her. She was, as they say, just asking for it.
(P.S. I haven’t watched the premiere. PLEASE DON’T SPOIL ME! Also, if this conflicts with canon, and it will, consider it very very AU. Of course.)
On Wednesday
“And then, Peter, I grew wings and flew away!” said Neal with a flourish, taking a long sip of his wine as Peter burst out in laughter.
“Ah, I should have known you wouldn’t tell me what really happened. Ah well,” Peter said, still chuckling as he drained the last few dregs of his beer and stood. “The real version was probably a lot more boring.”
“Are you ever going to tell him the truth?” asked Mozzie, after Peter had been shown out and they’d had the obligatory five minute chat by the door as Peter donned his coat and grabbed his umbrella for the dash out to the car.
“Probably not,” said Neal bluntly, as he sat back down. “Et tu, Moz? Aren’t you the one always saying-“
“Well,” said Moz, not looking at Neal. “You know, it’s the Suit. He’s kind of-“
“No,” said Neal. “You know how it is-break one rule, and it’s a slippery slope until you break them all. Peter would, ironically, appreciate that.”
“You made the rules, Neal,” said Moz quietly. “You can change them whenever you like.” You made them after Adler, Moz didn’t say, because he’d told Neal not to trust the man, or Kate, and Neal had anyway. Even Moz had to admit that saying I told you became gauche after a while.
“More wine, Moz?” asked Neal, getting up again. “I’ve got this fantastic Merlot-“
Moz let the subject be dropped. Besides, tomorrow was Wednesday, and Neal was always in a weird mood until afterwards. Timing, as Mozzie often told Neal, was everything.
******************
Every second Wednesday, Neal had decided, after the plane had blown up, taking Kate with it. After he’d escaped in so many ways that Peter hadn’t even known, even if he still loved Kate, even if he’d known what she’d really done.
Sometimes, he longed to tell Peter what Mentor had really been after, what Adler had really wanted, why his mother had really gone into WitSec, and why Neal had really run away on his 18th birthday.
Sometimes, he just didn’t want to be so alone. Moz was great, but -
It didn’t matter. After tonight, he’d feel more settled, the ache in his back would be assuaged, and he’d be okay for another few days until the yearning started to build again. He couldn’t get away with less than every two weeks, not if he actually wanted to stay healthy (it had taken months to build himself back up after that second stint in prison, when the ache had been constant and unbearable, the yearning oppressive, without the weekly visits from Kate to provide him with the relief he needed)--but he couldn’t really risk any more, either. Not here. Not in the center of Manhattan, not in the middle of one of the busiest cities in the world. It was a blessing he’d found June, that she’d recognized him immediately, and that she’d given him this sanctuary to use.
(Her son had had wings, she told him, but he’d died young; once, long ago, she and Byron had built the loft he now used with their own child in mind. Sometimes, when June looked at him, Neal could see the layers of loss in her eyes.)
He’d decided on every second Wednesday, after days of trying to figure out which day the fewest people might be paying attention, and finally just giving up. Wednesday was as good a day as any.
(In any event Wednesday was Mercury’s day-and Mercury was the god of financial gain and eloquence, luck, and trickery. Basically, the conman’s god blessed with speedy flight: what better day to choose. Besides, Mercury had wings too, and Neal could use all the luck he could get.)
He left a few minutes early this Wednesday-it had been a long week, and he was bone tired. Peter had left early too, muttering something about Elizabeth and pot roasts and missing some kind of dinner that El had planned with neighbours on Sunday, but Neal hadn’t been paying much attention. After a week like the one he’d had, which had involved a lot of running and hiding in cramped places, he needed his Wednesday night. He thought, maybe, that tonight he’d do more than just stretch and soar; he thought, maybe, that tonight he’d fly up a bit-not for long, not too much, but just a bit. Just a bit, because he’d been so good for so long.
They’re your own rules, Neal, he heard Moz saying, the same thing he’d been saying for months, ever since Neal had gotten the anklet off, Peter had gotten out of jail, things had stabilized and Neal had seemed like he was going to stabilize too. You can break them whenever you want..
So, tonight he would. Just a little. A tiny risk.
It would be fine.
************************************
It was more than fine, thought Neal, laughing soundlessly as he darted through clouds and currents and danced on air, it was glorious.
At least, until he drew close enough to see Peter on his terrace, watching him. For one wild moment, Neal thought he could fly away-run, run and never look back, or at least, stay aloft long enough that he could later laugh at Peter, tell Peter he was crazy, tell Peter he’d just gone out to get milk or cream or-
But Peter wasn’t laughing or pointing or looking shocked or angry. He just looked tired and resigned and somewhat sad.
When Neal landed, furling his wings and throwing on his shirt, he said, “I didn’t want to intrude on your privacy, Neal. I’ve tried to respect it, to let you come to me, even against the rest of the F.B.I., even when it became absurd.”
Kramer, Peter didn’t say, but suddenly Neal saw it, clear as day-why Peter had intervened, why he’d protected Neal, why he’d tracked Neal down afterwards.
It was both anticlimactic and not. Neal felt cold and hot all at the same time, trying to process, to understand. Peter had known. Peter had maybe always-
“Who else knows,” asked Neal, from lips frozen in the cool night air.
“Hughes, of course,” said Peter promptly. “Diana. Elizabeth, but I didn’t need to tell her. Not Jones, but a couple others have been asking questions, and I think Jones has guessed anyway. Lauren knew, of course, but then she had an older sister who was winged. She and Sara used to talk about it, it was something they had in common, older sisters who flew away.”
“Sara thought it meant I’d leave her. She never trusted me.”
“Yes.” Peter agreed.
“But then she left me instead.” Neal couldn’t help the trace of bitterness, even though he knew he was being unfair.
“Your sentence was up months ago, Neal. You could have followed her to England. You didn’t.” Peter’s voice was even.
“If you knew, why didn’t you say anything?” asked Neal instead, turning the subject away from dangerous territory. “Why didn’t you report me? You know what they would have done if they’d-“
“Neal,” said Peter gently. “Do you really think I’d have told you to run when Kramer was suspicious if I’d really wanted them to clip your wings or worse yet, chip you? Do you really?”
“But why?” whispered Neal. “Why wouldn’t you? You never trusted me, and - “
“I didn’t trust you, that’s true,” replied Peter, “when you first got out of prison. When you lied to me about Kate. When you helped Mozzie hide the U-boat treasure. But Neal-I helped you run from Kramer. I tried to protect you from James. You earned my trust in all the ways that matter but aside from that, I never, ever wanted to see you hurt or harmed. I never trusted you at first--but now it's you who still doesn't trust us. Even though you know--you should know--that neither of us-not me, and certainly not Elizabeth-ever want to see you caged.”
It was so surreal. Neal had imagined-for years, he’d thought of it, played it out in his head-telling Peter, wondered what he’d say, how he’d react. And here they were, talking about it, calm as anything, and Neal didn’t-
“How long have you known?” he asked. Why now? he wondered, a thousand questions tumbling through his brain. “How long-“
“Neal. Elizabeth knew as soon as she met you. You can guess why. Didn’t you see it?”
And suddenly, Neal knew. Neal knew, and-
Peter smiled, then, and Neal felt the world around him moving, shifting, the impossible becoming real-
Peter was still smiling, patiently, kindly, no expectation at all but everything on offer and--and Neal didn’t know what to say. What to do. He'd hoped--he'd wanted--he didn’t know--
Peter held out his hand. “Come on, Neal. It’s Wednesday, isn’t it? El’s waiting for you at home. She says it’s a beautiful night to fly.”
********************************
And now, I tag hoosierbitch with the tag, "falling softly".
(P.S. I haven’t watched the premiere. PLEASE DON’T SPOIL ME! Also, if this conflicts with canon, and it will, consider it very very AU. Of course.)
On Wednesday
“And then, Peter, I grew wings and flew away!” said Neal with a flourish, taking a long sip of his wine as Peter burst out in laughter.
“Ah, I should have known you wouldn’t tell me what really happened. Ah well,” Peter said, still chuckling as he drained the last few dregs of his beer and stood. “The real version was probably a lot more boring.”
“Are you ever going to tell him the truth?” asked Mozzie, after Peter had been shown out and they’d had the obligatory five minute chat by the door as Peter donned his coat and grabbed his umbrella for the dash out to the car.
“Probably not,” said Neal bluntly, as he sat back down. “Et tu, Moz? Aren’t you the one always saying-“
“Well,” said Moz, not looking at Neal. “You know, it’s the Suit. He’s kind of-“
“No,” said Neal. “You know how it is-break one rule, and it’s a slippery slope until you break them all. Peter would, ironically, appreciate that.”
“You made the rules, Neal,” said Moz quietly. “You can change them whenever you like.” You made them after Adler, Moz didn’t say, because he’d told Neal not to trust the man, or Kate, and Neal had anyway. Even Moz had to admit that saying I told you became gauche after a while.
“More wine, Moz?” asked Neal, getting up again. “I’ve got this fantastic Merlot-“
Moz let the subject be dropped. Besides, tomorrow was Wednesday, and Neal was always in a weird mood until afterwards. Timing, as Mozzie often told Neal, was everything.
******************
Every second Wednesday, Neal had decided, after the plane had blown up, taking Kate with it. After he’d escaped in so many ways that Peter hadn’t even known, even if he still loved Kate, even if he’d known what she’d really done.
Sometimes, he longed to tell Peter what Mentor had really been after, what Adler had really wanted, why his mother had really gone into WitSec, and why Neal had really run away on his 18th birthday.
Sometimes, he just didn’t want to be so alone. Moz was great, but -
It didn’t matter. After tonight, he’d feel more settled, the ache in his back would be assuaged, and he’d be okay for another few days until the yearning started to build again. He couldn’t get away with less than every two weeks, not if he actually wanted to stay healthy (it had taken months to build himself back up after that second stint in prison, when the ache had been constant and unbearable, the yearning oppressive, without the weekly visits from Kate to provide him with the relief he needed)--but he couldn’t really risk any more, either. Not here. Not in the center of Manhattan, not in the middle of one of the busiest cities in the world. It was a blessing he’d found June, that she’d recognized him immediately, and that she’d given him this sanctuary to use.
(Her son had had wings, she told him, but he’d died young; once, long ago, she and Byron had built the loft he now used with their own child in mind. Sometimes, when June looked at him, Neal could see the layers of loss in her eyes.)
He’d decided on every second Wednesday, after days of trying to figure out which day the fewest people might be paying attention, and finally just giving up. Wednesday was as good a day as any.
(In any event Wednesday was Mercury’s day-and Mercury was the god of financial gain and eloquence, luck, and trickery. Basically, the conman’s god blessed with speedy flight: what better day to choose. Besides, Mercury had wings too, and Neal could use all the luck he could get.)
He left a few minutes early this Wednesday-it had been a long week, and he was bone tired. Peter had left early too, muttering something about Elizabeth and pot roasts and missing some kind of dinner that El had planned with neighbours on Sunday, but Neal hadn’t been paying much attention. After a week like the one he’d had, which had involved a lot of running and hiding in cramped places, he needed his Wednesday night. He thought, maybe, that tonight he’d do more than just stretch and soar; he thought, maybe, that tonight he’d fly up a bit-not for long, not too much, but just a bit. Just a bit, because he’d been so good for so long.
They’re your own rules, Neal, he heard Moz saying, the same thing he’d been saying for months, ever since Neal had gotten the anklet off, Peter had gotten out of jail, things had stabilized and Neal had seemed like he was going to stabilize too. You can break them whenever you want..
So, tonight he would. Just a little. A tiny risk.
It would be fine.
************************************
It was more than fine, thought Neal, laughing soundlessly as he darted through clouds and currents and danced on air, it was glorious.
At least, until he drew close enough to see Peter on his terrace, watching him. For one wild moment, Neal thought he could fly away-run, run and never look back, or at least, stay aloft long enough that he could later laugh at Peter, tell Peter he was crazy, tell Peter he’d just gone out to get milk or cream or-
But Peter wasn’t laughing or pointing or looking shocked or angry. He just looked tired and resigned and somewhat sad.
When Neal landed, furling his wings and throwing on his shirt, he said, “I didn’t want to intrude on your privacy, Neal. I’ve tried to respect it, to let you come to me, even against the rest of the F.B.I., even when it became absurd.”
Kramer, Peter didn’t say, but suddenly Neal saw it, clear as day-why Peter had intervened, why he’d protected Neal, why he’d tracked Neal down afterwards.
It was both anticlimactic and not. Neal felt cold and hot all at the same time, trying to process, to understand. Peter had known. Peter had maybe always-
“Who else knows,” asked Neal, from lips frozen in the cool night air.
“Hughes, of course,” said Peter promptly. “Diana. Elizabeth, but I didn’t need to tell her. Not Jones, but a couple others have been asking questions, and I think Jones has guessed anyway. Lauren knew, of course, but then she had an older sister who was winged. She and Sara used to talk about it, it was something they had in common, older sisters who flew away.”
“Sara thought it meant I’d leave her. She never trusted me.”
“Yes.” Peter agreed.
“But then she left me instead.” Neal couldn’t help the trace of bitterness, even though he knew he was being unfair.
“Your sentence was up months ago, Neal. You could have followed her to England. You didn’t.” Peter’s voice was even.
“If you knew, why didn’t you say anything?” asked Neal instead, turning the subject away from dangerous territory. “Why didn’t you report me? You know what they would have done if they’d-“
“Neal,” said Peter gently. “Do you really think I’d have told you to run when Kramer was suspicious if I’d really wanted them to clip your wings or worse yet, chip you? Do you really?”
“But why?” whispered Neal. “Why wouldn’t you? You never trusted me, and - “
“I didn’t trust you, that’s true,” replied Peter, “when you first got out of prison. When you lied to me about Kate. When you helped Mozzie hide the U-boat treasure. But Neal-I helped you run from Kramer. I tried to protect you from James. You earned my trust in all the ways that matter but aside from that, I never, ever wanted to see you hurt or harmed. I never trusted you at first--but now it's you who still doesn't trust us. Even though you know--you should know--that neither of us-not me, and certainly not Elizabeth-ever want to see you caged.”
It was so surreal. Neal had imagined-for years, he’d thought of it, played it out in his head-telling Peter, wondered what he’d say, how he’d react. And here they were, talking about it, calm as anything, and Neal didn’t-
“How long have you known?” he asked. Why now? he wondered, a thousand questions tumbling through his brain. “How long-“
“Neal. Elizabeth knew as soon as she met you. You can guess why. Didn’t you see it?”
And suddenly, Neal knew. Neal knew, and-
Peter smiled, then, and Neal felt the world around him moving, shifting, the impossible becoming real-
Peter was still smiling, patiently, kindly, no expectation at all but everything on offer and--and Neal didn’t know what to say. What to do. He'd hoped--he'd wanted--he didn’t know--
Peter held out his hand. “Come on, Neal. It’s Wednesday, isn’t it? El’s waiting for you at home. She says it’s a beautiful night to fly.”
********************************
And now, I tag hoosierbitch with the tag, "falling softly".