White Collar Fic: The Third Cake
Title: The Third Cake
Author: Soteriophobe
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke [Gen]
Word count: 406
Warnings/Spoilers: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR SEASON FINALE. I repeat, major spoilers for the season finale!
Notes: I wrote this episode tag/drabble for whitecollar100 for the “touch” prompt, but it got a wee bit long. Apparently I can't even wait a day after the finale to start in on the ficcing, damn plot bunnies.
Summary
Peter returns home.
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When the hearing is recessed, Peter walks out.
He ignores Kramer, bleating arguments at him, attempting to engage his ire. He ignores Diana, asking if he is okay. His phone rings and, after a quick check, he ignores that too - has no interest in speaking to anyone on the other end. It isn't El, and it isn't Neal. It will never be Neal, not ever again.
Neal left. Neal is gone. He let Neal go.
He walks robotically to his car, gets in. He does not head back to the office to finish up paperwork, to answer questions; he has no words and no time and no energy to give to anyone right now. He has spent so long staring into the abyss, it seems now that the abyss is staring into him; worse, it has slithered inside of him, swallowed his breath and heart and bones, blurred the sharp edges of his mind. He feels hollowed-out, overcome, like he is sinking in the black water of a wide sea.
He has no memory of the drive home. Suddenly, he is just sitting in his driveway. He does not feel inclined to move, and the sun sets before he manages to leave the car and walk inside.
In the kitchen are Elizabeth's cakes, waiting innocently on the countertop for a party that will never happen. He stares at them soundlessly.
Suddenly: searing emotion, a flood of memories. The entire house and everything in it seems to tower around him, reminding him that Neal was once there but isn't there anymore and never will be there again.
No more stakeouts in his Taurus; no more FBI all-nighters at the kitchen table; no more breakfasts or lunches or dinners or beers. No more bickering, or confessing, or brilliant-breakthrough-making. No more Caffrey. No more Neal.
If the day's events had been foretold to him two years ago, he would have laughed at the absurdity. If someone had told him, the proud day he caught Neal Caffrey, that he would soon let the conman go again-…well.
So strange, how people wander into your life and touch it in such a way that it becomes so much more extraordinary. So frightening, that they can wander out just as quickly and leave you a stranger to yourself.
He slumps against the counter and slides to the floor, eyes stinging-but-the-tears-won't-come, the shadows within him growing dense again.
He misses his friend.
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