Timestamp Meme
I've finished a meme, so I'm starting a new one. (Don't you love summer?)
Head over to my AO3 page (the Masterlist is missing a few things), and pick a fic, any fic. I will write at least 300 words (probably much more) of a timestamp ( Read more... )
Head over to my AO3 page (the Masterlist is missing a few things), and pick a fic, any fic. I will write at least 300 words (probably much more) of a timestamp ( Read more... )
Neal had been found unconscious in an abandoned factory by the river. Peter's team had done the legwork, but it had taken six months of following leads to dead-ends and backtracking and picking the threads back up. There had been four false positives - derelict buildings with heat signatures that turned out to be homeless animals huddled together for warmth.
There were signs of long-term abuse, wounds that hadn't healed before they were broken open again, bruises upon bruises upon bruises. Peter stayed with him in the hospital until he regained consciousness. Then, Neal had been all but catatonic, responding sluggishly to commands and refusing to speak.
Five weeks after his rescue, Neal had made a lot of progress. He would speak when spoken to, and he no longer flinched when Peter or Elizabeth or one of their friends touched him.
He'd also started to sketch again, which was what he was doing sitting on the far end of the couch, using Elizabeth's laptop stand as a desk. Peter was on the other end, beer in one hand as he watched the game. Whenever Peter would grumble or cheer, Neal would crack a smile and glance up at the TV. The Yankees were up by a couple of points, runs, whatever, so Peter was in a pretty good mood.
A loud commercial startled Neal, and Peter scrambled for the remote. "Why do the commercials have to be ten times louder than the game?" Peter muttered and shot an apologetic look at his friend.
Neal shrugged and examined his sketch. He'd accidentally drawn a long, dark line when he'd jumped and now he needed to figure out what to do about it. It looked unsalvageable.
"What are you working on?" Peter asked, leaning closer.
"Just trying out a new technique." Neal flipped to the next clean page in the book and folded the one he'd been working on underneath.
Peter tapped the remote against his palm for a moment. "Do you feel up to a walk down to the park later? Satchmo needs the exercise."
Neal glanced over at the lab, who raised his head in response to his name. He was lazing on his dog bed and had been napping the afternoon away.
"What do you say?" Peter tried again.
"Okay. After the game?"
Peter smiled. "Sounds good."
(TBC)
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Peter gave Neal the leash as they headed out of the house. Neal raised an eyebrow but clipped it to Satch's collar and steered the lab toward the sidewalk.
It was a gorgeous day, sunny but not too humid, which meant that there were a lot of people on the sidewalks. Neal kept his head up and let Satchmo lead the way to the Fort Greene Park, but he was also careful to stay close to Peter.
They sat on a park bench and watched Satchmo run with the other dogs for a while. Neal leaned his head back and smiled as the sun warmed his face.
"I didn't think I'd ever feel this again," he said quietly. "I never thanked you. For finding me."
"You shouldn't thank me. It took six months. That's…" Peter took a shaky breath and had to look away, "unacceptable."
"No one else could have done it. Not Mozzie, not the Marshals, no one."
Peter was quiet for a moment before he choked out, "Six months!"
Neal tentatively placed his hand on Peter's back and was surprised that the other man was trembling. "Peter-"
"No." Peter pulled away and stood, pacing away a few steps before turning back and wiping at the tears on his face. "I'm sorry, Neal. I'm so damn sorry that you were stuck there with that psychopath for so long."
Eyes were starting to turn in their direction, and it made Neal's skin crawl. He hunched in on himself on the bench and took a deliberate deep breath. "Peter, please, can we talk about this at home?"
Peter seemed to snap back to himself. He nodded briskly and called for Satchmo.
There were fewer people out and about on the walk back, which was quiet until Neal put his hand on Peter's arm to stop him. "None of it was your fault. I was the one who tried to play Rebecca-Rachel. I was the one who fell for her, and I was the one who agreed to get the diamond for her."
"Because Mozzie-"
"No!" Neal startled himself with the volume of his voice, but he kept talking. "It's my fault. Damien was a hired gun, and when he couldn't get Rachel or the diamond for his share of the money, he took me. None of that has anything to do with you."
"I wish it were that simple-"
"It is!"
Peter frowned and shook his head. "No, it's not. And if you're blaming yourself, then we have a bigger problem here. I think it's time we sat down with the Bureau psychiatrist."
Neal took a step back and bit his lip. He'd been assigned Bureau doctors for months, but he had yet to talk to any of them. He hadn't felt safe or comfortable or even ready to talk about what had happened.
"Together, if you want. All I'm asking is that you try," Peter said.
"Together," he echoed. "Okay."
Peter smiled. "I'll set it up."
(end)
A/N: I forgot to mention that I named cowboy-boots-guy from the finale Damien.
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That was a great afternoon treat. Poor Neal and poor Peter, so much guilt and angst to go around.
I'm really enjoying with you're doing with this dare I say 'verse. I would love to read more!
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The ending with their agreement to seek help together was sad but hopeful.
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