White Collar Fic: This Flesh and Bone
This is my day-after-watching-the-finale instant reaction fic. Also I wrote most of it while sitting in a waiting room. Take that as you will.
Many thanks to
iulia for audiencing, and to
frostfire for eventually conceding that I didn't have to write the porn. (There is no porn.)
post-"Out of the Box". Neal/Peter/Elizabeth-ish.
Nothing explicit. 1700 words.
They're a Pietà.
This Flesh and Bone
Kate is dead.
Kate is dead and that’s all there is. Kate is dead and he can smell the flames. Kate is dead.
It's not fair, Neal thinks, and then realizes he can think. It's not fair. He ought to be in denial. He's pretty sure he was promised denial.
Kate is dead.
Neal realizes he can see and hear, and then realizes he couldn't see or hear before--unconscious or blinded and deafened by the blast, but Peter's voice echoes in his ears, and he can still remember the sight of the flames. He can feel Peter's arms around him, holding him back when he tried to run to Kate.
It's not only the memory of Peter's arms around him. There are arms around him now, though they're not Peter's arms. From a long way off Neal can hear something that isn't Peter, either, something that he feels as much as hears. Someone is holding him--Elizabeth is holding him--and Elizabeth is crying.
They're a Pietà. Neal is lying across Elizabeth's lap and she's holding his upper body in her arms, his head resting limply against her shoulder. Elizabeth is weeping. Neal can see enough to recognize his surroundings. He's in Peter and Elizabeth’s bedroom, the Sanctum Sanctorum. He is, in fact, lying on Peter's bed, in Elizabeth's arms, and Elizabeth is holding him and crying.
It's strange that Elizabeth is crying. Elizabeth never cries; it's one of Peter's favorite things about her. Kate is dead, but Kate and Elizabeth never even met. Something else must be wrong, and Neal suspects it's something obvious, but he's still not thinking very well. He feels numb and frozen, and only Elizabeth's arms around him, the shaking of Elizabeth's body as she sobs, only those things are real.
Those and one other thing. He can also hear the one thing he's always listening for. He can still hear Peter's voice, not shouting now but speaking steadily in a low, defeated tone. Neal hates nothing as much as people making Peter sound like that; Neal is going to break whoever has dared to make Peter talk like he's lost, just as soon as he remembers how to walk and talk and smile.
Neal closes his eyes to concentrate on Peter's words, so he can work out who he has to destroy and how to do it.
"Yeah," Peter is saying. "I saw the paperwork myself, they were both supposed to go undercover, on OPR's books. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't listen to me. You know how he was about Kate."
Kate is dead. Neal's going to have to stop being like that about Kate, now. Peter seems to think he's already stopped. Peter does know him better than anyone, but Neal's not sure Peter's right about this one. If he wasn't like that about Kate anymore he wouldn't be like this. He would feel something.
"I can't believe it either," Peter says. "Always thought he had nine lives. If I hadn't seen it happen I'd never believe Neal was dead."
Elizabeth's sobbing intensifies at that, and she folds down over him, her forehead resting on his shoulder. He can feel her tears dripping onto his chest. Elizabeth is crying, and Peter is talking, and Neal is lying here motionless.
It doesn't make sense. What Peter said makes sense: of course Peter would never believe Neal was dead if he hadn't seen it. But it doesn't make sense because Neal is right here, listening.
It explains why Elizabeth is crying, though. It explains why he's not in denial, why he feels nothing. It explains why Peter sounds so defeated.
Neal is dead. He's dead and he's still here, with Peter and Elizabeth, instead of wherever Kate is. Even in death he belongs to Peter, and Peter never wanted to see him go off with Kate.
"It was what he wanted," Peter is saying. "He was with Kate. Hell, even if he'd known he might have gotten on that plane--he was such a goddamn romantic, this had to be his idea of a grand finale. Up in flames with his one true love."
Peter says it like Peter's not a romantic, but if Peter's saying that then he never really understood Neal, and possibly has never understood romance, either. Neal is a romantic, but he hates tragedies. Hated tragedies--no, still hates them, wherever he is now, however it works. He never wanted to go up in flames with Kate. He wanted to settle down with her. He didn't want to die like that. He didn't want to die at all.
"Yeah," Peter says. "Let me know." He slaps his phone down on the dresser like a man who misses being able to hang up a receiver.
Elizabeth catches a shaky breath and straightens up a little before she says, "Was that all right?"
Peter says, "That was great, El." But Peter hates it when Elizabeth cries, and Neal knows Elizabeth is really crying--he can feel her still shaking with it. Her tears are still wet on his shirt, above his heart.
Her hand comes up to Neal's head, brushing back his hair. Neal looks up at her and then looks for Peter just as Peter sits down on the bed, so close that Neal can feel the warmth of his body. He studies Neal with a strange lack of recognition, not like he doesn't know who Neal is, but like he doesn't think Neal is looking back. Because Neal is dead.
"Now I guess we wait and see what blows up next," Peter says, and he doesn't sound defeated anymore, which would make Neal smile if Neal could remember how, if his body were still his own and not just a thing for Elizabeth to hold. "If the conspiracy's small enough we'll be all right. And if it's big enough we'll probably never know what hit us."
Peter's hands settle on Neal's cheeks, his thumbs tugging at Neal's eyelids. Neal lets Peter look, willing Peter to see that he's really here, that he's a little bit glad that Peter has somehow managed to keep him even after death.
"I didn't want to die," Neal whispers.
Peter frowns and leans closer, like he can almost hear, almost see that Neal's still there, and his hands slide down to Neal's shoulders.
"I didn't want to die like that," Neal repeats. "I didn't want to die at all. Dying for love's not romantic, Peter, dying just means I'll never kiss her or anyone else ever again, and I didn't want that, I wanted--"
Neal raises his head enough to kiss Peter. It's not a great kiss. Peter isn't responding, isn't giving Neal any sign that he really feels it, really knows that Neal is there, but Neal's mouth feels alive where it touches Peter's, and that's something.
Peter's hand is on his chest, gently pushing him back, and Peter looks him in the eye like he's really there. Peter's giving him an entirely familiar What am I going to do with you? look.
Elizabeth's voice sounds like it's wavering between laughter and tears as she says, "Well, honey, it's better than a fugue state."
Peter looks away from Neal to shoot a glare at Elizabeth, but his gaze softens when it comes back to Neal, still lying in Elizabeth's arms, still able to feel the unevenness of her breathing. "I'm not sure it isn't a fugue state. He thinks he's dead."
Neal frowns, licks his lip, runs that back in his mind.
"I'm not actually dead," he says. It should be one of the more obvious statements he's ever made, but he's honestly not sure it's true.
Peter smiles a little bit, and it's Neal's smile, the one just for him--the one that's mostly visible by the way Peter tries to suppress it. That's when Neal knows it's true. If Neal were dead Peter would never, ever smile that smile again.
"You're not dead, Neal. You're in shock. You're going to have plenty more time to kiss people."
Neal looks up at Elizabeth, who is smiling now even though her eyes are wet. Elizabeth ducks her head and kisses Neal's forehead, and her hair falls down over his face. It's Peter's hand that brushes Elizabeth's hair away, even as Elizabeth lifts her head.
Neal looks from one of them to the other and tries to think of what he should be asking them. Kate is dead. Neal isn't. Neal's in Peter and Elizabeth's bedroom, in their bed. There must be a lot of questions he should ask, but his brain is still only managing one thought at a time. Neal says, "Can I kiss you?"
Elizabeth raises her eyebrows at Peter, still smiling, and she says, "Yes, Peter, who exactly is Neal going to have plenty of time to kiss?"
Peter gets the look on his face that means he knows he's outnumbered and outmaneuvered.
Peter never told Neal not to kiss him. Peter hadn't even pulled away until after Neal had gotten a pretty good start on kissing himself back to life, like some upside-down Prince Charming. And Elizabeth was right there the whole time with her arms around Neal, and she's not angry and she's not laughing, either. Better than a fugue state, that's what she said, which means better than doing nothing. Neal is more or less always of the opinion that kissing is better than doing nothing; he's glad to find out Elizabeth agrees even when Neal's kissing her husband.
Peter sighs, leans in and kisses Neal's forehead in the same spot where Elizabeth kissed him. "You can kiss anybody you want once you've convinced me you're compos mentis to choose who you want to kiss, Caffrey. Until then, you just be a good boy and don't go away on us again."
As if anybody could be judged non compos mentis for kissing Peter. As if Neal has any intention of going anywhere.
Neal tugs, and then realizes he's holding on to Peter's shirt. "Don't you go away."
Peter sighs, and then shifts around to lean his shoulder against Elizabeth's, both of them folded over Neal. They would make a terrible sculpture now, all backs turned and heads bent, faces visible only to each other.
"I'm not going anywhere, Neal," Peter says. "Even if I had anywhere I dared to go right now, trust me, I have no intention of leaving you alone in bed with my wife."
This entry was originally posted at http://dira.dreamwidth.org/540373.html. There are currently
comments there.
Many thanks to
iulia for audiencing, and to
frostfire for eventually conceding that I didn't have to write the porn. (There is no porn.)
post-"Out of the Box". Neal/Peter/Elizabeth-ish.
Nothing explicit. 1700 words.
They're a Pietà.
This Flesh and Bone
Kate is dead.
Kate is dead and that’s all there is. Kate is dead and he can smell the flames. Kate is dead.
It's not fair, Neal thinks, and then realizes he can think. It's not fair. He ought to be in denial. He's pretty sure he was promised denial.
Kate is dead.
Neal realizes he can see and hear, and then realizes he couldn't see or hear before--unconscious or blinded and deafened by the blast, but Peter's voice echoes in his ears, and he can still remember the sight of the flames. He can feel Peter's arms around him, holding him back when he tried to run to Kate.
It's not only the memory of Peter's arms around him. There are arms around him now, though they're not Peter's arms. From a long way off Neal can hear something that isn't Peter, either, something that he feels as much as hears. Someone is holding him--Elizabeth is holding him--and Elizabeth is crying.
They're a Pietà. Neal is lying across Elizabeth's lap and she's holding his upper body in her arms, his head resting limply against her shoulder. Elizabeth is weeping. Neal can see enough to recognize his surroundings. He's in Peter and Elizabeth’s bedroom, the Sanctum Sanctorum. He is, in fact, lying on Peter's bed, in Elizabeth's arms, and Elizabeth is holding him and crying.
It's strange that Elizabeth is crying. Elizabeth never cries; it's one of Peter's favorite things about her. Kate is dead, but Kate and Elizabeth never even met. Something else must be wrong, and Neal suspects it's something obvious, but he's still not thinking very well. He feels numb and frozen, and only Elizabeth's arms around him, the shaking of Elizabeth's body as she sobs, only those things are real.
Those and one other thing. He can also hear the one thing he's always listening for. He can still hear Peter's voice, not shouting now but speaking steadily in a low, defeated tone. Neal hates nothing as much as people making Peter sound like that; Neal is going to break whoever has dared to make Peter talk like he's lost, just as soon as he remembers how to walk and talk and smile.
Neal closes his eyes to concentrate on Peter's words, so he can work out who he has to destroy and how to do it.
"Yeah," Peter is saying. "I saw the paperwork myself, they were both supposed to go undercover, on OPR's books. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't listen to me. You know how he was about Kate."
Kate is dead. Neal's going to have to stop being like that about Kate, now. Peter seems to think he's already stopped. Peter does know him better than anyone, but Neal's not sure Peter's right about this one. If he wasn't like that about Kate anymore he wouldn't be like this. He would feel something.
"I can't believe it either," Peter says. "Always thought he had nine lives. If I hadn't seen it happen I'd never believe Neal was dead."
Elizabeth's sobbing intensifies at that, and she folds down over him, her forehead resting on his shoulder. He can feel her tears dripping onto his chest. Elizabeth is crying, and Peter is talking, and Neal is lying here motionless.
It doesn't make sense. What Peter said makes sense: of course Peter would never believe Neal was dead if he hadn't seen it. But it doesn't make sense because Neal is right here, listening.
It explains why Elizabeth is crying, though. It explains why he's not in denial, why he feels nothing. It explains why Peter sounds so defeated.
Neal is dead. He's dead and he's still here, with Peter and Elizabeth, instead of wherever Kate is. Even in death he belongs to Peter, and Peter never wanted to see him go off with Kate.
"It was what he wanted," Peter is saying. "He was with Kate. Hell, even if he'd known he might have gotten on that plane--he was such a goddamn romantic, this had to be his idea of a grand finale. Up in flames with his one true love."
Peter says it like Peter's not a romantic, but if Peter's saying that then he never really understood Neal, and possibly has never understood romance, either. Neal is a romantic, but he hates tragedies. Hated tragedies--no, still hates them, wherever he is now, however it works. He never wanted to go up in flames with Kate. He wanted to settle down with her. He didn't want to die like that. He didn't want to die at all.
"Yeah," Peter says. "Let me know." He slaps his phone down on the dresser like a man who misses being able to hang up a receiver.
Elizabeth catches a shaky breath and straightens up a little before she says, "Was that all right?"
Peter says, "That was great, El." But Peter hates it when Elizabeth cries, and Neal knows Elizabeth is really crying--he can feel her still shaking with it. Her tears are still wet on his shirt, above his heart.
Her hand comes up to Neal's head, brushing back his hair. Neal looks up at her and then looks for Peter just as Peter sits down on the bed, so close that Neal can feel the warmth of his body. He studies Neal with a strange lack of recognition, not like he doesn't know who Neal is, but like he doesn't think Neal is looking back. Because Neal is dead.
"Now I guess we wait and see what blows up next," Peter says, and he doesn't sound defeated anymore, which would make Neal smile if Neal could remember how, if his body were still his own and not just a thing for Elizabeth to hold. "If the conspiracy's small enough we'll be all right. And if it's big enough we'll probably never know what hit us."
Peter's hands settle on Neal's cheeks, his thumbs tugging at Neal's eyelids. Neal lets Peter look, willing Peter to see that he's really here, that he's a little bit glad that Peter has somehow managed to keep him even after death.
"I didn't want to die," Neal whispers.
Peter frowns and leans closer, like he can almost hear, almost see that Neal's still there, and his hands slide down to Neal's shoulders.
"I didn't want to die like that," Neal repeats. "I didn't want to die at all. Dying for love's not romantic, Peter, dying just means I'll never kiss her or anyone else ever again, and I didn't want that, I wanted--"
Neal raises his head enough to kiss Peter. It's not a great kiss. Peter isn't responding, isn't giving Neal any sign that he really feels it, really knows that Neal is there, but Neal's mouth feels alive where it touches Peter's, and that's something.
Peter's hand is on his chest, gently pushing him back, and Peter looks him in the eye like he's really there. Peter's giving him an entirely familiar What am I going to do with you? look.
Elizabeth's voice sounds like it's wavering between laughter and tears as she says, "Well, honey, it's better than a fugue state."
Peter looks away from Neal to shoot a glare at Elizabeth, but his gaze softens when it comes back to Neal, still lying in Elizabeth's arms, still able to feel the unevenness of her breathing. "I'm not sure it isn't a fugue state. He thinks he's dead."
Neal frowns, licks his lip, runs that back in his mind.
"I'm not actually dead," he says. It should be one of the more obvious statements he's ever made, but he's honestly not sure it's true.
Peter smiles a little bit, and it's Neal's smile, the one just for him--the one that's mostly visible by the way Peter tries to suppress it. That's when Neal knows it's true. If Neal were dead Peter would never, ever smile that smile again.
"You're not dead, Neal. You're in shock. You're going to have plenty more time to kiss people."
Neal looks up at Elizabeth, who is smiling now even though her eyes are wet. Elizabeth ducks her head and kisses Neal's forehead, and her hair falls down over his face. It's Peter's hand that brushes Elizabeth's hair away, even as Elizabeth lifts her head.
Neal looks from one of them to the other and tries to think of what he should be asking them. Kate is dead. Neal isn't. Neal's in Peter and Elizabeth's bedroom, in their bed. There must be a lot of questions he should ask, but his brain is still only managing one thought at a time. Neal says, "Can I kiss you?"
Elizabeth raises her eyebrows at Peter, still smiling, and she says, "Yes, Peter, who exactly is Neal going to have plenty of time to kiss?"
Peter gets the look on his face that means he knows he's outnumbered and outmaneuvered.
Peter never told Neal not to kiss him. Peter hadn't even pulled away until after Neal had gotten a pretty good start on kissing himself back to life, like some upside-down Prince Charming. And Elizabeth was right there the whole time with her arms around Neal, and she's not angry and she's not laughing, either. Better than a fugue state, that's what she said, which means better than doing nothing. Neal is more or less always of the opinion that kissing is better than doing nothing; he's glad to find out Elizabeth agrees even when Neal's kissing her husband.
Peter sighs, leans in and kisses Neal's forehead in the same spot where Elizabeth kissed him. "You can kiss anybody you want once you've convinced me you're compos mentis to choose who you want to kiss, Caffrey. Until then, you just be a good boy and don't go away on us again."
As if anybody could be judged non compos mentis for kissing Peter. As if Neal has any intention of going anywhere.
Neal tugs, and then realizes he's holding on to Peter's shirt. "Don't you go away."
Peter sighs, and then shifts around to lean his shoulder against Elizabeth's, both of them folded over Neal. They would make a terrible sculpture now, all backs turned and heads bent, faces visible only to each other.
"I'm not going anywhere, Neal," Peter says. "Even if I had anywhere I dared to go right now, trust me, I have no intention of leaving you alone in bed with my wife."
This entry was originally posted at http://dira.dreamwidth.org/540373.html. There are currently
comments there.