Ficlet (White Collar): Underwater
Title: Underwater
Author: cookielaura
Characters/Pairings: Sara Ellis, post- and pre-Sara/Neal
Wordcount: 778
Rating: G
Summary: She told herself that it was better to bathe without him
Notes: A little angsty ficlet written for sheenianni for fandom stocking, and also filling the 'grief' square on my hc_bingo card. Set between seasons 3 and 4.
Sara shut the door to her apartment hard and kicked her heels off, leaving them lying carelessly next to her handbag. She’d felt edgy and irritable for hours. It had been a long, quiet day of catching up with dull paperwork in the office, and there had been far too much time to think. Too much time for her mind to drift away from New York and off around the world, to all the places Neal might have run to, all the places he hadn’t contacted her from. Enough time for her thoughts to turn darker and darker, until she had begun to wonder whether Neal was even alive at all.
She shrugged out of her coat and made her way straight to the bathroom to turn on the bath taps. The sound of water running into the tub soothed her instantly. These days she mostly took showers, but she had always loved baths. When she was a teenager, when her home was fraught with tension, and the air was heavy with unanswered questions, she would lock herself in the bathroom, and lose herself in a book while soaking in the tub for hours. When her parents would start to argue, she would duck her head under the water, so that the shouting became blurred and distant, and the water made a barrier around her.
(There was no need to do that tonight; her apartment was empty and silent.)
She lit a candle and tipped a little jasmine-scented oil into the water, then headed to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. She reached for a small glass, then reconsidered and took a large one. Why not? It was a Friday night, and she had no plans for tomorrow. She could make some, of course. There was a huge city out there filled with places she hadn’t seen yet, people she hadn’t met. One of her colleagues was having a party, and she’d been told there were plenty of eligible men there. Maybe she’d go. But - probably not.
She took her wine back to the bathroom, stripped off and stepped into the bath. It was the perfect temperature, and she waited for the stress in her muscles to begin to melt away, as usual. But her thoughts turned, unbidden, to one of the last baths she’d taken - with Neal, before he’d left. And suddenly the tub felt hard and cold against her back, not like Neal’s body had been: warm, solid yet soft, enveloping her. His arm had been around her stomach, his low laughter vibrating in her ear, his hand tracing patterns on her thigh underneath the water. His lips kissing her wet neck, their legs tangled together in the small space.
(She told herself it was better to bathe without him - she had more room to move.)
She squeezed her eyes shut, annoyed that she couldn’t seem to forget about Neal for more than a few moments, even though it had been two weeks since he’d disappeared, and much longer since they’d been together. She had been stupid to ever let him in, to ever let him past her defenses; and stupider still to risk her job for him the day of his commutation hearing. She had told herself so firmly, right from the start, that Neal was the last person she should ever start to fall for. And now he was gone, as lost to her as Emily was, and she wondered if he’d even thought of her as he was leaving.
There was a part of her that believed that he wasn’t really gone, that he would come back in a few weeks, a few months, a few years. It was the part of her that had believed the same about Emily - and had been disappointed. She hated that part of herself, hated that she couldn’t squash it down far enough.
She wasn’t sure what she was more afraid of - that she was wrong, and Neal wouldn’t come back, or that she was right, and that he would. And she would fall for him all over again, and end up right back here once more, years further down the line. Because as much as she could tell herself she’d never let it happen twice, would never let her defenses down again, she wasn’t sure that was true.
Sara shook her head, set down her glass of wine, and ducked down under the water, letting it engulf her for the first time in years. The walls of silent water rose up around her, and for a moment she was comforted, safe, untouchable. But then she resurfaced, and the walls fell away, leaving her alone.
Author: cookielaura
Characters/Pairings: Sara Ellis, post- and pre-Sara/Neal
Wordcount: 778
Rating: G
Summary: She told herself that it was better to bathe without him
Notes: A little angsty ficlet written for sheenianni for fandom stocking, and also filling the 'grief' square on my hc_bingo card. Set between seasons 3 and 4.
Sara shut the door to her apartment hard and kicked her heels off, leaving them lying carelessly next to her handbag. She’d felt edgy and irritable for hours. It had been a long, quiet day of catching up with dull paperwork in the office, and there had been far too much time to think. Too much time for her mind to drift away from New York and off around the world, to all the places Neal might have run to, all the places he hadn’t contacted her from. Enough time for her thoughts to turn darker and darker, until she had begun to wonder whether Neal was even alive at all.
She shrugged out of her coat and made her way straight to the bathroom to turn on the bath taps. The sound of water running into the tub soothed her instantly. These days she mostly took showers, but she had always loved baths. When she was a teenager, when her home was fraught with tension, and the air was heavy with unanswered questions, she would lock herself in the bathroom, and lose herself in a book while soaking in the tub for hours. When her parents would start to argue, she would duck her head under the water, so that the shouting became blurred and distant, and the water made a barrier around her.
(There was no need to do that tonight; her apartment was empty and silent.)
She lit a candle and tipped a little jasmine-scented oil into the water, then headed to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. She reached for a small glass, then reconsidered and took a large one. Why not? It was a Friday night, and she had no plans for tomorrow. She could make some, of course. There was a huge city out there filled with places she hadn’t seen yet, people she hadn’t met. One of her colleagues was having a party, and she’d been told there were plenty of eligible men there. Maybe she’d go. But - probably not.
She took her wine back to the bathroom, stripped off and stepped into the bath. It was the perfect temperature, and she waited for the stress in her muscles to begin to melt away, as usual. But her thoughts turned, unbidden, to one of the last baths she’d taken - with Neal, before he’d left. And suddenly the tub felt hard and cold against her back, not like Neal’s body had been: warm, solid yet soft, enveloping her. His arm had been around her stomach, his low laughter vibrating in her ear, his hand tracing patterns on her thigh underneath the water. His lips kissing her wet neck, their legs tangled together in the small space.
(She told herself it was better to bathe without him - she had more room to move.)
She squeezed her eyes shut, annoyed that she couldn’t seem to forget about Neal for more than a few moments, even though it had been two weeks since he’d disappeared, and much longer since they’d been together. She had been stupid to ever let him in, to ever let him past her defenses; and stupider still to risk her job for him the day of his commutation hearing. She had told herself so firmly, right from the start, that Neal was the last person she should ever start to fall for. And now he was gone, as lost to her as Emily was, and she wondered if he’d even thought of her as he was leaving.
There was a part of her that believed that he wasn’t really gone, that he would come back in a few weeks, a few months, a few years. It was the part of her that had believed the same about Emily - and had been disappointed. She hated that part of herself, hated that she couldn’t squash it down far enough.
She wasn’t sure what she was more afraid of - that she was wrong, and Neal wouldn’t come back, or that she was right, and that he would. And she would fall for him all over again, and end up right back here once more, years further down the line. Because as much as she could tell herself she’d never let it happen twice, would never let her defenses down again, she wasn’t sure that was true.
Sara shook her head, set down her glass of wine, and ducked down under the water, letting it engulf her for the first time in years. The walls of silent water rose up around her, and for a moment she was comforted, safe, untouchable. But then she resurfaced, and the walls fell away, leaving her alone.