[fic: white collar] Shadows
This is one of those things I'm going to start worrying about having posted very soon. I wasn't really trying to write this; it just sort of... happened. May be OOC.
Title: Shadows
Characters/Pairing: Neal/El/(Peter)
Rating: T
Word count: 750
Warnings: Very oblique discussion of depression/SI
Notes: For the square "scars" on my hc_bingo card.
Summary: It's easier to share secrets in the dark.
- - -
Peter's breathing is low and quiet, occasionally hitching in a soft snuffle. It's still a new enough sound that Neal can't filter it out, but he doesn't mind. It's been too long since he lay beside someone under the safe warmth of a quilt and just listened to them sleep, safe in the gentle darkness.
There's a quiet creak from the door hinges, and Neal half sits up as he realises what must have woken him. "El?" he whispers.
"Hey." She doesn't go back to her side of the bed, slipping in next to him instead. He wraps his arms around her, and she nestles against him. "Mmm. You're warm."
"You're cold." He strokes his hands up and down her night-chilled arms, from her wrists to the thin strips of her nightgown and back again. She sighs happily, her breath humming against his skin like a cat's purr. It's a bit squashed for space, with Peter asleep right against Neal's back, but he doesn't mind. Not at all.
"This is nice," El whispers, echoing his thoughts.
"Yeah." He shifts a little, to get more comfortable, and keeps the fingers of one hand stroking gently over El's skin, learning the angles and curves of her arm and wrist, down to the palm of her hand.
That's how he finds them. Faint, straight imperfections which have been invisible to his eye. But his hands are more sensitive, his hands are what he trusts, and the movement of his fingers falters to a stop over those well-hidden lines.
She shivers. She doesn't speak, but the shiver runs through her whole body and into him.
He tries to move away, to pretend that nothing's happened, but she interlocks her fingers with his. "I'm sorry," she whispers.
"What for?" He was half asleep but he isn't now, even though Peter's breathing against him continues undisturbed.
"You weren't supposed to - I don't know. Never mind."
He wants to hold onto her more tightly. He wants to cry. "Why did…" He trails off.
"Does it matter?" She's facing away from him. Her eyes will be wide open, as his are, staring into the dark.
He's touching old ghosts. He can feel them, pressing in - but no, those belong to him. "I guess not," he whispers.
"I thought you might understand." No surprise in her soft voice. She curls close against him again, still tense. She is soft and warm and Neal is suddenly, startlingly aware of how much he loves her. It clenches his heart tight, like a vise.
"Does Peter know?" But Neal's already sure of the answer. This is something she would never have told Peter; so convinced he can save everyone from themselves if he only tries hard enough.
"It was a long time ago. It… doesn't matter now."
Neal knows the shape of that lie, the taste of it on his tongue. He hears an echo in his ears of Peter insisting that lying to someone won't protect them.
But it will. It will.
"I understand," he says, and El relaxes.
"I love you," she murmurs, barely above a breath.
"I love you, too." His voice is a little desperate. "El -"
"Shh." She slides her arm carefully out of the light hold of his fingers, and he moves at the same time, obscuring her actions from both of them as he reaches to pull the duvet further over them. He's cold now, too.
She's silent for so long that he thinks she's fallen back to sleep, but she speaks at last. "I didn't want you to know, either."
"You didn't want to remember."
"Yes." She breathes out a laugh. "Tell me you haven't done the same."
Neal presses his face into her hair. "I wouldn't lie to you."
A pause. "Yes, you would."
He smiles sadly, but any words of contradiction would be hollow. "Sometimes… some things are too important."
"Do you mean the truth, or the lies?"
He has to consider that, searching for what's honest here. "Both, I guess."
"If you need to talk," she whispers, "I'll listen. To whatever you want to say."
"Love you," he whispers again, which isn't an answer. And is. He holds her close, her skin smooth and warm and unbroken beneath his hands.
And they let Peter sleep on, his breaths rising and falling, undisturbed.
- - -
Posted at http://frith-in-thorns.dreamwidth.org/79045.html with
comments.
Title: Shadows
Characters/Pairing: Neal/El/(Peter)
Rating: T
Word count: 750
Warnings: Very oblique discussion of depression/SI
Notes: For the square "scars" on my hc_bingo card.
Summary: It's easier to share secrets in the dark.
- - -
Peter's breathing is low and quiet, occasionally hitching in a soft snuffle. It's still a new enough sound that Neal can't filter it out, but he doesn't mind. It's been too long since he lay beside someone under the safe warmth of a quilt and just listened to them sleep, safe in the gentle darkness.
There's a quiet creak from the door hinges, and Neal half sits up as he realises what must have woken him. "El?" he whispers.
"Hey." She doesn't go back to her side of the bed, slipping in next to him instead. He wraps his arms around her, and she nestles against him. "Mmm. You're warm."
"You're cold." He strokes his hands up and down her night-chilled arms, from her wrists to the thin strips of her nightgown and back again. She sighs happily, her breath humming against his skin like a cat's purr. It's a bit squashed for space, with Peter asleep right against Neal's back, but he doesn't mind. Not at all.
"This is nice," El whispers, echoing his thoughts.
"Yeah." He shifts a little, to get more comfortable, and keeps the fingers of one hand stroking gently over El's skin, learning the angles and curves of her arm and wrist, down to the palm of her hand.
That's how he finds them. Faint, straight imperfections which have been invisible to his eye. But his hands are more sensitive, his hands are what he trusts, and the movement of his fingers falters to a stop over those well-hidden lines.
She shivers. She doesn't speak, but the shiver runs through her whole body and into him.
He tries to move away, to pretend that nothing's happened, but she interlocks her fingers with his. "I'm sorry," she whispers.
"What for?" He was half asleep but he isn't now, even though Peter's breathing against him continues undisturbed.
"You weren't supposed to - I don't know. Never mind."
He wants to hold onto her more tightly. He wants to cry. "Why did…" He trails off.
"Does it matter?" She's facing away from him. Her eyes will be wide open, as his are, staring into the dark.
He's touching old ghosts. He can feel them, pressing in - but no, those belong to him. "I guess not," he whispers.
"I thought you might understand." No surprise in her soft voice. She curls close against him again, still tense. She is soft and warm and Neal is suddenly, startlingly aware of how much he loves her. It clenches his heart tight, like a vise.
"Does Peter know?" But Neal's already sure of the answer. This is something she would never have told Peter; so convinced he can save everyone from themselves if he only tries hard enough.
"It was a long time ago. It… doesn't matter now."
Neal knows the shape of that lie, the taste of it on his tongue. He hears an echo in his ears of Peter insisting that lying to someone won't protect them.
But it will. It will.
"I understand," he says, and El relaxes.
"I love you," she murmurs, barely above a breath.
"I love you, too." His voice is a little desperate. "El -"
"Shh." She slides her arm carefully out of the light hold of his fingers, and he moves at the same time, obscuring her actions from both of them as he reaches to pull the duvet further over them. He's cold now, too.
She's silent for so long that he thinks she's fallen back to sleep, but she speaks at last. "I didn't want you to know, either."
"You didn't want to remember."
"Yes." She breathes out a laugh. "Tell me you haven't done the same."
Neal presses his face into her hair. "I wouldn't lie to you."
A pause. "Yes, you would."
He smiles sadly, but any words of contradiction would be hollow. "Sometimes… some things are too important."
"Do you mean the truth, or the lies?"
He has to consider that, searching for what's honest here. "Both, I guess."
"If you need to talk," she whispers, "I'll listen. To whatever you want to say."
"Love you," he whispers again, which isn't an answer. And is. He holds her close, her skin smooth and warm and unbroken beneath his hands.
And they let Peter sleep on, his breaths rising and falling, undisturbed.
- - -
Posted at http://frith-in-thorns.dreamwidth.org/79045.html with
comments.