WC Fic: Standing on the Shoulders of Giants, Part 2
Standing on the Shoulders of Giants, Part 2
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
----
It took some weeks for Neal to build his stamina back up, but he did, and was able to run the roughly 5-mile circumference of the island twice without much distress. He put all the weight back on he’d lost during his illness and then some, all of it turning to muscle under the strict regimen Ben, a retired high school teacher and wrestling coach, set up for him.
When a series of early-Winter squalls buffeted the island and made running less than desirable, he and Ben concentrated more on the weight-training, to make Neal's core stronger, so that the rigors of flight would not damage him.
One afternoon, in the aftermath of a particularly hard workout, he sat panting on the weight bench, his arms trembling with the strain of it.
“You’re pushing too hard,” Ben warned.
Neal wiped the sweat from his upper lip with the back of his hand and shook his head slowly. “I’m not pushing hard enough. I’ve been gone too long. I’ve got - I’ve got people waiting for me.”
Ben nodded, then walked over and began to remove weight from the barbell. “I get it, but you hurt yourself now and it will set you back. No more for today, Neal.”
Neal pushed Ben’s hands away from what he was doing, shook his head. “I need to.”
Ben grabbed his wrist and pushed him away, easily. “And I said no.”
Neal snatched his hand away from Ben and got to his feet. “What do you know about it, anyway?” he said, suddenly angry. “You haven’t even tried to get away.” He made an angry noise and went to leave the gym.
There was a sudden blur of movement and Ben was standing in front of him, his hands on his shoulders. Neal blinked at him, wondering how he’d moved so fast, but Ben was talking. “I know plenty, and believe me, Neal, you’re not ready. Don’t you think I want to leave? I had a life too, you know, and a home!” he said angrily, and pushed Neal back into the room.
Neal stood with his hands in fists at his sides, and Ben stepped forward, though he had his own hands up, placating, as if Neal was a spooked horse.
“I know you’re frustrated, Neal, and you want to get out of here. But this is a marathon, not a sprint. We’ll get maybe one shot at getting out of here, and we have to bide our time until you’re strong enough to make a 15-mile flight across to the mainland. You think you’re capable of that? Do you?”
Neal was looking down at his bare feet. “No,” he was forced to admit, sullenly.
“No,” Ben repeated, his voice thickening. “I get it that you’re hurting, kid, I do. I have a family, a daughter and I -“ he stopped talking. In the three months since Neal's arrival, this was the most Ben had shared about his life before the island. Neal could see him tensing, not wanting to share, swallowing the words and the pain and the regret. “We’ve just got to plan it right,” he finished quietly.
Their eyes met and Neal saw Ben’s determination there, as well as the sorrow he’d been too good at hiding the last weeks and nodded. “Sorry Ben,” he mumbled.
“Forget it. Now, go take a hot shower - keep your muscles loose. Then come back and teach me more about how to play chess.”
----
After his shower, Neal found Ben in the great room with a book about chess strategy lying face-down in his lap. He was sitting in a wingback chair in front of a fire he’d built and was staring moodily into the flames. Neal took a seat in the chair opposite him with a copy of Ovid’s works in his hands that he began to read quietly, his legs drawn up beneath him.
“My daughter’s name is Juliet,” Ben began several minutes later, apropos of nothing. Neal looked up and saw there were tears in the older man’s eyes. “My wife - ex-wife - is an English teacher, and Romeo and Juliet is her favorite play.”
“It’s a beautiful name,” Neal supplied, wanting to draw him out.
“And she was a beautiful baby, smart and strong and always getting into trouble. She looks just like her mother, luckily, but her personality - it’s all mine.” He smiled fondly and shook his head, remembering. “And was she her Daddy’s girl. We were almost inseparable when I’d get home after school. She used to say she’d marry me some day, said she was my ‘wifey.’”
“Cute.”
“Yeah. So when my wife and I split up, it just about broke Juliet’s heart.”
“I’m sorry, Ben.”
“Hey, these things happen. But when I’d go to visit with her, to take her for the weekends, she’d cry so much when I left that it broke my heart, and I couldn’t take it. It killed me to see her like that, to think I made her suffer, more than it killed me to be apart from her. So when a job opportunity came up in Chicago, I went for it. I packed up and left Queens, and I only saw her on her winter breaks and two weeks every summer. By the time she was 13, she hated me. Hormones, her mother said, but she never really got over it. And I know why - I went away. Once she turned 18, there were no more visits, and soon enough, no more phone calls.”
Ben worried at the binding on the book’s spine with his thumbnail and was silent for a few minutes. “Then one day, she called me, right out of the blue. ‘Daddy,’ she said, ‘I have something to tell you.’ Daddy - god, she hadn’t called me that in years.
“She told me I was going to be a grandfather, and she wanted her child to know me, and would I come and visit. Well, Neal, I was on the next plane to Orlando, and that’s no lie.”
His next silence lasted several minutes. “That’s when the transformation caught me. I had a connecting flight in Atlanta, I collapsed in the airport, and I don’t even remember most of it. It was weeks later before I even knew my own name, the fevers were so bad. I don’t even know how I survived it, it was too horrible.” He shuddered.
“The scars on your back,” Neal said, realizing now what they were.
Ben nodded. “My wings weren’t surgically liberated like yours were, Neal - they clawed their way out, ripping through skin and muscle and remaking my bones. Like I said, I don’t know how I survived. But I did.”
“And Juliet?”
“I never saw her. I couldn’t - let them have her too.”
“What? Why?”
Ben looked at him and raised his eyebrows. “You know what’s in Atlanta, Neal?” Neal shook his head, he couldn’t begin to guess. “The headquarters for the Centers for Disease Control, and believe me, when they got their hooks into a specimen like me, they didn’t want to let me go.”
“No, Ben, surely not.”
But Ben’s experiences had embittered him, and Neal didn’t think he would change his opinion. “They had to be sure I wasn’t contagious, Neal, and I needed to be studied. They wanted to find out why this had happened to me, and how. Believe me, I wasn’t about to tell them I had a daughter, much less one that was about to have a child of her own, not if they were going to think it was some sort of genetic thing.
“They knew I wasn’t the only seraph in the world - that’s what they call us, did you know?”
Neal nodded.
“Some doctor somewhere used to be an altar boy, maybe, but what else are you going to call it when people start sprouting wings all over the world? And they wanted to see what made me tick, how I had survived the transformation and why, and more importantly, if they could predict when it would happen to someone else. They said they wanted to make sure they didn’t have a worldwide epidemic on their hands.”
“Do they? How many people has this happened to? Keller implied there are others.”
“Who knows? And they’re not telling, Neal, believe me. It’d cause a worldwide panic.”
Neal nodded, believing him. He wasn’t sure himself what he’d do when he got out of here - how would people react to his new state? His friends? Peter and Elizabeth? He was no longer sure he’d find acceptance and solace there if he left, but he couldn’t think of that, he wouldn’t. Being free would always be better - he had to believe that, and he himself hadn’t been truly free in more than eight years.
“How’d you get away?” Neal finally asked.
Ben laughed, bitterly. “I walked out. They started forgetting to secure the ward, so I stole a rain coat and waited for my chance. It came during a Christmas party, and I waltzed out the front door. That was two years ago.”
“What’s happened since? How’d you get here?”
“Matthew found me, pretended to be my friend, got me to trust him,” he said, taking a deep breath and standing; the smile on his face was bitter. “Want to help me with my Sicilian Defense?” he offered, changing the subject and strolling over to the large table at the other end of the room where the chessboard had been set up. “I think I might be able to hold you off for ten whole minutes this time, Neal!”
----
The days got shorter and with them Neal's impatience to use his wings. The weather got colder and wetter, keeping them inside most days, and the great hall was the only space where they could both unfurl their wings completely, and they had lately taken to spending their mornings after breakfast there.
“If you can’t keep yourself aloft, you’ll never fly,” Ben was saying. “We have to strengthen your wings now as much as we’ve focused on the rest of your body. Flap!”
Neal almost laughed, but what other term was there for what they were doing? He stretched his wings out to their full span, primary feathers fanning out like fingers, then retracted them and stretched again. Feeling ready to begin this same workout for one more day, he relaxed the wings slightly and then flapped them, pulling his shoulders into it, feeling the familiar tug across his pecs. Again, he flapped them, and again, and imagined they were like his hands, and that he was cupping them, trying to gather the air beneath them and move it, like he might do in a canoe on a pond.
“Bigger,” Ben called, encouragingly, and Neal lengthened the strokes he was making, tried to make them more graceful.
“Good, just like that. Now - faster.”
Neal picked up his pace, felt his hair moving from the displaced air in the room as the great wings churned at the air. “Faster,” Ben said, and he moved them again and again. “Watch your angle,” Ben said and Neal adjusted himself, bending at the waist more, balancing himself on the balls of his feet. “Good, good. One more and you’ll be up. One more.” Neal closed his eyes and concentrated on his technique, the repetitive movement, the burn in his back muscles. “One more.” In his mind, he was flying, soaring away from here. “One more.”
And then he felt his feet leave the floor.
“Ben!” he shouted, in surprise or alarm, he didn’t really know, but in less than a second he was heading toward the ceiling, and then his head had bashed against it and he forgot himself, stopped moving his wings and fell to the floor. He landed on his feet and fell forward onto his hands and knees, rolled to a stop and lay there, panting.
“You did it!” Ben said from somewhere above him.
“Ow,” Neal told him.
Ben held out a hand and helped Neal to his feet, then slapped him on the back. “You did it, you finally did it!”
Neal beamed back at him.
“Now let’s work on your steering.”
----
That night, their dinner was delivered to the great hall accompanied by a stack of boxes wrapped in colorful paper. Neal approached them suspiciously, an angry look on his face. “What is this? A joke?”
“Merry Christmas, I suppose,” Ben said, inspecting the tags on the boxes. “This one’s for you.”
“Yeah, Merry Christmas and fuck you, Keller,” Neal spat out and stalked to the other side of the big room to look out of the windows.
It was Christmas and he didn’t even notice; he’d missed Thanksgiving too, clearly, but also Peter’s birthday and his own. Being on this island was like being on another planet entirely, and to a certain extent, it made it easier on him, made him miss his people less, because here he was a different Neal, one who didn’t have to worry about loneliness and grief and pain. But today, delivered with their dinner, was a great big pile of reminders of what he’d lost, and he had a sudden urge to hit something.
If Ben was affected by this he showed no sign, carefully unwrapping the gifts - his had been wrapped in Chanukah-themed paper - and regarding them carefully.
“It’s mostly clothes and things,” Ben called to Neal, his voice subdued, trying to soothe him. “You want me to open them?”
“Sure, have at it.” Neal waved his hand dismissively, wondering at what kind of head games Keller was playing.
“Here’s a down vest, like mine,” he called to Neal, narrating as he slowly made his way through Neal's boxes. While they needed less-warm clothing than they had been used to prior to their transformation, the winds on the island were still biting, and often filled with rain and sleet this time of year. “Oh, and some oil paints and canvas. That’s right, you said you used to paint, didn’t you? That’ll be fun - maybe you could teach me?”
“Sure,” Neal said bitterly and stared out the window, though all he could see was the reflection of the room he was in since it was completely dark outside, himself in the foreground and Ben behind him. They had nothing but time, after all.
“Oh, and what’s this?” Ben said, picking up a small, flat item. “Maybe a book or something?” He pulled a corner of the paper back, got a look at what was inside and quickly pulled the paper back into place. “Never mind.”
Neal's eyes rose to look at Ben in the reflection in the windows. “What is it?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Neal turned and could see that Ben’s face had gone pale. “What is it?” he repeated, striding across the room and taking it from Ben. It was heavy, stiff, hard; he doubted it was a book. He ripped the corner of the wrapping back that Ben had started and saw that it was a silver frame, 8”x10”, and inside it…
Inside the frame was a picture of Peter and Elizabeth, sitting at a table in a restaurant, speaking with each other, in the middle of eating a meal. It had clearly been taken without their knowledge, and recently, as the holiday décor behind them made perfectly clear.
“Son of a bitch,” Neal said between gritted teeth, clutching at the frame until he feared he’d break it. He could feel anger and fear growing inside him in equal measure and then he began to shake.
“Neal?” Ben said, trying to defuse the situation.
“This is a warning. Keller’s warning me.”
“What?”
“He’s reminding me that he can - and will - hurt the people I love the most if I try to escape. He. Is. Keeping. Me. In. Line,” he said slowly, his anger becoming so all-consuming he could barely breathe. With a low cry, almost a sob, he stalked down the hall to his room and slammed the door shut. Once inside, he stood in the middle of the room and wept for what he’d lost for the first time in six months.
----
“Neal?” Ben said from outside his door. “I brought you some breakfast, OK? Oatmeal and fruit. And coffee. I’ll just leave it here, by the door.”
Neal lay on his side in his bed and stared at the dresser that stood against the opposite wall, where he’d left the framed photo of Peter and Elizabeth the night before. He must have slept at some point, but he didn’t remember falling asleep, and he didn’t really remember waking up.
In the picture, Peter was looking at Elizabeth as she spoke, his attention on her mouth, his own lips parted in a half-smile. She was gesturing with her fork; she wore that blue dress Neal had helped Peter pick out for their last anniversary. His heart hurt.
“Neal?” Ben called from the other side of the door. “You sure you don’t want any breakfast?”
Neal blinked, realizing some time had elapsed since Ben last knocked. Had he slept again? He didn’t think so.
In the picture, Peter was smiling. He was without Neal and he was smiling. At something his wife was saying. Elizabeth was making her husband smile while they enjoyed a festive dinner at a New York restaurant. Without Neal.
“Hey, it’s a surprisingly nice day outside,” Ben called through the door some time later. “Wind’s out of the southwest, but not too strong.”
“Leave me alone, Ben,” Neal called miserably.
“I will if you want, but I was going to say it’s pretty good flying weather.”
Neal surged out of bed to find his boots.
----
“You sure about this?” Neal said, swallowing uneasily. They stood on the balustrade of the terrace outside the great hall, and had been for the last ten minutes. Neal's wings twitched nervously on his back, unconsciously mimicking the positioning of his arms, which were hanging down and out from his body, fists clenched.
“Mama birds push baby birds out of nests all the time,” Ben pointed out.
“And baby birds go SPLAT all the time.”
“Listen, we’re not all that far up here.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“And I’ll be right behind you. If I need to help you course correct, I’ll be right there.”
“You can’t carry us both.”
“Relax, it’s mostly gliding.”
“OK. Fine. Yes, let’s do this.”
“You ready?”
“No.”
“Terrific. So, just like I told you, OK? Get your wings up.”
Neal unfurled his wings, gave them a shake and extended them fully. They twitched nervously, but the sensation of the wind in his feathers, pulling at the shafts where they were anchored in his flesh felt like finally scratching an itch that had long plagued him. “OK,” he whispered, rising up on his toes.
“Neal? If it gets too hairy, just aim for the ocean, all right?”
“What? Hairy? Why?”
“Nothing, nothing, forget I said anything. Off with you.”
Neal gave Ben a sidelong glance and then looked back out over the ocean. Spreading his wings, he gave a quick flap, then another, and then stepped off of the balustrade.
And he was falling. He flapped his wings desperately, as strongly as he could, and they slowed his descent, but he couldn’t get the proper lift, couldn’t get control of them properly.
“Ben!” he screamed, alarmed.
“Flap, Neal!” Ben shouted. “Extend! Extend!”
Neal tried, and managed to rise just a bit, but it didn’t last, he couldn’t get the rhythm right, and he was still falling, the ground coming up to meet him a lot more quickly than he thought, and he wasn’t nearly close enough to the water to be able to use it to break his fall.
“Ben!” he yelled again, desperate.
He heard wings behind him and knew it was Ben, coming behind him. Somehow, this gave him a bit of confidence. He flapped the wings again and again, but it didn’t seem to help. He felt hands at his waist, tugging, but he was still falling, and now he was bringing Ben down with him. This was it - they were both going to die but at least maybe it was a huge “fuck you” to Keller, he thought morosely.
Soon, Ben’s help seemed to be doing something, and Neal felt their descent slow even more, Ben grunted behind him with the strain of it. “Man, you’re heavy,” he muttered, his hands digging into Neal's flesh painfully. But he was still falling, and he didn’t think he’d be getting the hang of it, and damn, but the water was getting closer… and then he realized what Ben was aiming to do, and he closed his eyes.
“BEEEEEEEEENNNN!!!” Neal shrieked as the man guided him over the ocean and then let him go, to fall more or less harmlessly into the waves with a giant belly flop.
----
“I - I - I w-will ha-ay-ay-ate you f-f-fffffforever!” Neal could barely talk for the chattering of his teeth as Ben helped him up the long flight of stairs in the cliff face and back to the house.
“Come on, you loved it,” Ben said, eyes alight with the hilarity of it. “I know I did. Your face, kid! Oh, I’ll have to bring a camera next time.”
“Th-th-there will be-ee-ee no n-next time.”
“Sure there will. As soon as you’re warm, you’ll want another go. Let’s get you inside for a nice hot shower, eh?”
An hour later, Neal sat with his back to a low fire that Ben had built, wings fanned out to dry. Ben sat behind him, inspecting his feathers and his joints, nodding and making satisfied noises.
“What’s the what?” Neal asked.
“Not a single feather damaged. That’s good. How do they feel?”
“Sore, but in a good way, like after a workout, you know? Also: wet.” He threw Ben a mock-admonishing glare and then smiled. “Thanks for doing this with me today, I needed the distraction.”
“Sure thing, kid. That was a pretty rotten thing Matthew did, and I’m sorry it happened.”
“Keller takes pleasure in my torment, and he has for years.”
“You go back a long way?”
“We kind of came up together.”
“When you were a conman?” Neal had long ago given Ben the basics of his background.
“Yeah. We met working a backgammon tournament in Europe, hit it off. Two American ex-pats with a certain, shall we say, morally flexible outlook on the acquisition of goods and services?” Neal chuckled softly to himself, remembering. “They were good times, for a short while.”
“Were you lovers?”
Neal looked at Ben, surprised.
“What? I’m old, not ancient. I lived in the Village in the 70’s for chrissakes!”
Neal smiled. “OK. But to answer your question, no, we were not lovers. We came close, but then… things changed. He changed, or maybe I did.” He thought for a few seconds and shuddered. “No, he was definitely the one who changed. Anyway, we fell apart. Since then, he’s always been at my heels, harrying me, trying to one-up me, but never really winning. Peter once called him the poor man’s Neal Caffrey.”
“Peter - he’s the one in the photograph.”
“Yes.”
“He’s your lover?”
Neal sighed. “Yes.”
“And the woman?”
“That’s Elizabeth, Peter’s wife.”
“His… wife.”
“Also my lover.”
Ben blinked. “Huh. So… you… and them…”
“Are a threesome, yes.”
“Huh.”
Neal smiled to see his consternation. “Come on Ben, you lived in the Village in the 70’s, for chrissakes.”
Ben gave him a sour look, but pressed on. “So how does that work, exactly?”
“I - I sometimes struggle to describe it, but we’re a family, you know? I love them and they love me.” Neal got a faraway look in his eyes and didn’t speak for an entire minute. “Or at least, they did.”
“What do you mean?” Ben took up a soft bit of chamois he’d gotten from his own room and began to run it along the base of Neal's feathers, rubbing gently to soak up residual moisture.
“That picture,” Neal replied, his voice suddenly flat. He opened his mouth to speak a few times, but found he couldn’t. “They were smiling,” he finally said around a large lump in his throat.
“I see.”
Neal hung his head and tried not to think about it.
“Would you want them to be grieving, then?” Ben ventured after a few minutes.
“Maybe.”
“And you think because they were smiling they weren’t?”
“I want them to miss me as much as I miss them.”
“They do, kid, every day. They miss you in the mornings when the sun comes up and you’re not at the breakfast table. They miss you when they hear your favorite song, or when they make your favorite dinner and you’re not there, or when they buy you a small gift because they know - with all their - that it’s exactly right.” Ben sighed. “They love you, and they will never forget you, until the day they die.”
Neal turned to face Ben, realizing he was talking about more than just Neal's problems, and looked into his face.
Ben went on, not looking at him. “But life doesn’t stop, it goes on, Neal, whether we want it to or not. It goes on and birthdays pass, and stupid bullshit happens at work, and grocery shopping, and if you’re lucky, you can go on and pretend you’re not dying on the inside. And yeah, you smile, because maybe something strikes you as funny once in a while, and you can forget, for a lousy second, how big the hole inside you is.”
Ben caught Neal's eye then, and his face crumpled with a smile, but it didn’t touch his eyes, which revealed to Neal more sorrow and regret than he thought existed in the world.
“Ben, I -“
“They miss you, Neal, believe it.”
----
“I dunno, Ben,” Neal said uneasily, looking down from their perch atop the highest cliff on the southwestern tip of island. The walk up was long and treacherous, with loose rocks underfoot and the way made more difficult by a Spring snowfall the night before. Where they stood, the ground gave way to a sheer cliff face, the ocean roiling and breaking on the beach below. He looked up; the sky was a deep blue, with the occasional cumulus cloud scuttling across it, blown by steady westerly winds.
Ben scoffed. “You’ll be gliding, Neal. You’ve done it a dozen times now.”
“From the terrace at the house, not from up here!” Neal pointed out. The drop below was easily 250 feet, and there would be no relatively safe landing in the waves to break his fall should he not be able to remain aloft.
“You can’t catch thermals from back at the house, Neal, it’s not high enough. That’s going to be the key to making it to the mainland - the ability to glide a good part of the way.”
“I know, but -“ Neal stepped to the very edge and swallowed as he contemplated the long fall.
“You need to learn maneuverability up there - this is the best way for now.”
“I know,” Neal repeated. Still.
“Now sack up and get to it.”
He looked at Ben with a raised eyebrow. “’Sack up’? Really?”
Ben shrugged, winked, and nonchalantly jumped off the cliff sideways; twisting his body in midair, he soared higher on three pumps of his great wings.
“Show off,” Neal grumbled and balanced himself on the balls of his feet with his wings stretched out. Taking a breath, he stepped forward and felt the familiar dropping sensation in his gut as he free-fell for a second, then recovered himself with his wings fully extended. Copying Ben, he churned at the air with his wings and felt a thrill as he maintained his elevation nearly effortlessly.
“Good! That’s good. Now, angle them up like I showed you. And keep your back straight!” Ben called. Neal nodded and hunched his wings up at their joints, as he might have done with his shoulders to carry something heavy, and held them parallel to the horizon. At last, he found himself gliding.
“Ben!” he whooped, flying higher. “Look! Ben!”
“Uh-huh, that’s great, kid, don’t get cocky! Now see if you can get down here - there’s a great column if you can catch it.”
Neal adjusted his hips and wheeled gently back. Almost as soon as he was at the same height as Ben, he felt a sudden lift, as if a pair of hands were cupped gently beneath him, keeping him aloft. He was reminded of a time when he was young and his mother would take him to the Y for swimming lessons; how she would have him float on his back with her hands positioned beneath his shoulders and hips while the water buoyed him up. If he bent too much and began to sink, she’d help him adjust with the barest touch of her fingers. Up here, he felt that level of confidence suddenly, and all he had to do was keep his wings at the proper angle and he was floating on the wave of the thermal effortlessly, letting its ebb and flow carry him.
“It’s magic, isn’t it?” Ben said, his voice sounding nearer than he actually was.
All Neal could do was grin stupidly at him. The exhilaration he was feeling made him speechless.
“Think you can try your hand at gliding across the island now?” Ben asked after several minutes. “The air currents will be a bit gentler, and you’ll need the practice.”
Neal nodded, and followed Ben back over the island. They flew close to each other, Neal a bit slower, still unsure of himself, following Ben’s lead and learning technique through observation and practice that a hundred more hours of Ben drilling it all into his head theoretically would never have accomplished. He felt the air currents beneath him like a wave - it was not unlike bodysurfing - and he finally understood that this was something that he could do, that it was achievable. The thought improved his outlook, if only marginally, and for the first time in months, he actually looked forward to the future.
At length, they flew across the island and out over the ocean beyond it. A high pitched beep soon interrupted Neal’s thoughts, and he turned his head. “Ben?” he called, realizing the sound was coming from the collar he wore.
“We’re getting close to the radius of the collars,” Ben told him. “Time to turn back.”
Nodding, Neal adjusted his angle and attempted to wheel around in a wide arc. But the prevailing winds that had been at their backs worked against him, and he found it difficult. The beeping began to sound louder and faster, amping up his panic. “Ben!” he screamed, feeling himself inching closer to the edge of an invisible barrier the crossing of which would mean his death.
“Dive, Neal!” Ben called to him urgently. “Your momentum will get you through it. Dive! Dive!” With that, Ben demonstrated, pivoting along the axis of his shoulder and rolling, his wings held close to his back. About fifty feet lower, he pulled out of it and came up again, flying effortlessly back towards land with strong movements of his wings.
Holding his breath, Neal followed suit, folding his wings against his body and hoping it was right. He counted to three quickly in his head, then pushed his wings out and arched his back, crying out with the effort. The wind resistance created more drag than he’d calculated for, and the jarring on his back and pectoral muscles as his free fall was halted pulled at him so savagely he thought he’d pass out. Gritting his teeth, and with tears streaming down his face, he flapped ungracefully through the rest of his descent, hitting the sand of the beach at too steep an angle and finally rolling to a stop.
He lay panting and in pain on his back on the beach, staring at the sky that looked so blue and innocent hanging above him. He’d never before considered the perils and risks hidden in its seemingly benign vastness, and though he knew he’d be up and trying again at his first opportunity to conquer it, he found he had a new and begrudging respect for it. With a pained groan, he pushed himself to a seated position and breathed through the sharp pains in his joints, from his shoulders to his wings, even his ribs. He was joined shortly by Ben, who lent a hand under his arm to help him to his feet.
In the distance, standing at the edge of the cliff top garden at the back of the main house, with unexpected clarity at such a distance, he could see Keller watching them, and it was probably his imagination, but he could swear the man was smiling.
----
“Ahhh!” Neal winced as Ben prodded at the muscles and tendons along his right wing and shoulder. Luckily, he had not broken anything, but some of his scapular feathers had been torn away when he’d landed, leaving bloodied abrasions. Ben cleaned them up, applied an antibacterial spray, then stood as he began stowing away the First Aid kit.
“You were lucky you didn’t break any blood feathers. But you did really well.” He closed the First Aid kit with a snap and took a seat across from Neal at the library table in the great hall. “Really well. We’ll try taking off from the ground next week, once you’ve rested up some.”
Neal brightened at Ben’s pronouncement. “You think I’m ready?”
“As ready as you’ll ever be. It wasn’t pretty, but you were maneuvering well out there for your first time. How’d you like it?”
“I don’t - I don’t think I have words for it, really. Hard, definitely - one of the most physically challenging things I have ever done. t would be a cliché to say it was better than sex.” He took a deep breath and gave it serious thought. “II think I’d have to say it was like pulling off a long con. Because… just… there’s this culmination of planning, of physical preparation, of mental readiness, and when it all comes together, it’s like a high, and it lasts well beyond the taking and the having and even the payoff. It’s something that stays with you for a while. There’s not a lot… not a lot of things like it.”
Ben had a faraway look in his eyes. “Just wait until your baby girl smiles at you for the first time,” he said, and rose to go and help their guard set up dinner.
----
“What’s the plan?”
“What do you mean what’s the plan, Ben? What is the plan?”
Ben bent down and picked up a scallop shell from the sand. It was low tide, so the ring of broken shells, dead seaweed and other detritus from the sea was visible; this shell had survived the general destruction. It had a faint lavender color when he brushed the wet sand off. “You’re going solo.”
Neal leaned forward, as if he hadn’t heard properly. “Solo? Today?” Ben nodded. “I’m not ready. I practically fell out of the sky last week.”
“But you didn’t, you recovered. I think you’ve been ready for weeks, but I’ve been too careful. You’ll never really do well with me there, I think. I’m like a crutch or something.”
Neal looked at Ben uneasily.
“Trust me on this, yeah? There comes a time when the baby bird leaves the nest. I think today’s that day for you - for us. If it’s a disaster, then we address it. But I think - I think I’m hindering you more than helping at this point.”
“OK, but I want you to know that I don’t think that’s true,” Neal pointed out.
“Yeah, yeah, Daniel-san, whatever. Get going.”
“Did you just go all Mr. Miyagi on me?”
“What, I’m not allowed the odd pop culture reference?” Neal laughed, then tensed his muscles for takeoff. “And Neal?” Ben called just as he was spreading his wings.
“Yes?”
“Don’t think so much about it - you have the skill, now have fun.”
Neal nodded seriously and took Ben’s advice. Blanking his mind, he stretched his shoulders, took a step forward and just let his body take over. He was airborne in a microsecond, thirty feet off the ground within two seconds, and wheeling back over the beach and Ben’s head with a shouted, “It’s working!” to which Ben made an exaggerated A-OK gesture.
His friend was out of sight seconds later, and Neal climbed high over the island, soaring back and over its interior. Ben’s advice to just let his body take over had been sound, and Neal found it much easier to maneuver, wheeling back and forth in lazy arcs, gliding atop thermals as if it was effortless. He practiced landing and takeoff a dozen times on a stretch of isolated beach on the eastern shore, until he was able to land lightly on his feet. When he needed a rest, he flew up to the cliff top and sat on its edge, legs dangling over, and stared south, imagining the topography of the coastline between here and Manhattan, and what it would take for him to fly that far. When he was rested, he dove off the cliff and let his wings unfurl in midair, then flew back up and out as far as the collar would allow him, testing its limits, memorizing them. Finally, as the sun reached its zenith in the sky, he once more soared atop a thermal that was situated above the main house, and studied its layout, its architecture, the placement of power generators and the movement of security guards. Neal’s senses had only gotten stronger over the last few months, and his eyes could pick out details from the sky that he wouldn’t have thought possible before -a side effect of his transformation, as was increased speed when he ran and hearing that was much more acute than before. He reasoned that if he and Ben were going to plan an escape from this place - and Neal was getting to be a stronger flyer every week - he was going to have to put his skills at casing a target to work once more and learn as much about this island as he could.
Eventually, Neal began to tire, and felt a pang in his stomach that made him hope he hadn’t missed lunch. He changed his direction and headed back to his quarters, coming in for a landing so soft it barely jarred his ankles. “Ben!” he called, striding across the wide terrace toward the great room, “Did you see me? You were so right! Ben?”
“He’s not here,” said a voice from just inside the house. Neal stopped short as Keller appeared, a smirk on his face.
Neal could feel panic rising. Keller, for the most part, had left his two prisoners alone. Seeing him here now was a surprise, and could not bode well. “What did you - if you hurt him, Matthew -“
“Relax, he’s fine. He’s with the doctor - I thought it would be a good idea for the two of you to have a physical, make sure my investments were staying healthy and fit.”
“Physically, we’re just fine,” Neal said.
“So I’ve seen,” Keller went on, ignoring Neal's sarcasm. “I was watching you fly this morning, Neal - you’re getting quite good. It reminded me of Reni’s Saint Michael.”
“Only with a lot less swordplay,” Neal said sardonically.
“And I see you’ve put on the weight you lost when you got sick - that too is… good. To see.” Keller put his hand on Neal's bicep, tentatively, the timbre of his voice lowering a few octaves. Neal looked at him and carefully searched his face. Keller’s pupils were slightly dilated, and there were two spots of color on his cheeks; Neal suddenly realized the man was turned on and froze, wondering what to do about it.
There was no doubt that when they used to run together, Keller had an attraction for Neal. Hell, when they met over a backgammon board in Capri, the eye-fucking they engaged in practically burned down the casino. But that evening did not end with them in bed together - thanks to the appearance of a certain carabinieri who’d been pursuing Keller - and when they’d decided to partner on a job a month later, they both agreed that mixing business with pleasure was a bad idea. Eventually, Neal was thankful for that bit of fate’s interference, but apparently the attraction had never faded for Keller.
“I’ve - been feeling healthy,” Neal replied to Keller’s comment, easing the wariness in his body language with an effort. “You need a lot of upper body strength to fly, as it turns out. And a lot of protein.” He strode into the house, past Keller, making his way to the table, where his lunch waited for him. He served himself some salad and salmon, forcing himself to eat though he tasted none of it. “I’ve been meaning to tell you - whoever you’ve got cooking for us is quite talented,” Neal said, aware he may be babbling.
“I’ll convey your compliments,” Keller said, moving closer to the table and keeping his eyes on Neal's body.
Neal's wings fluttered along his back, betraying his uneasiness. He cleared his throat and rose. “I should go and shower.” He took a step towards the long hallway where the bedrooms were and Keller stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Keller -“
“You ever stop to wonder what we could have been, Neal?” Keller’s eyes wouldn’t meet Neal's; he rubbed circles into Neal's bare bicep with his thumb.
Neal saw the flash of vulnerability on the man’s face and knew he’d have to nip this in the bud. “Not even once.”
“That’s too bad. We could’ve been something amazing.”
“I doubt it. You lack something I find rather vital in a lover: a conscience.”
Keller’s eyes flashed as they came up to meet Neal's. “You think you’re better than me,” he accused. “You think because an FBI agent fucks you, it redeems you? Washes away the stain?”
Despite his best intentions not to let his emotions get the better of him, Neal could not control the anger in his voice. “No, I think I’m redeemed by my actions and my words. I’m not the one holding two men captive against their will, hoping to sell them to the highest bidder.”
“Maybe I can be persuaded to keep you instead.”
“You think you get to have me after all that’s happened? It doesn’t work that way!” Neal pulled his arm away and tried to move past Keller.
“Oh, I already have you,” Keller replied, his voice a low growl. He took Neal's arm again and forced him around roughly, pulling him in for a hard kiss, their teeth clashing.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Neal said, indignantly, pushing him away.
Keller laughed, a barking, bitter sound, and suddenly Neal could see anger in his eyes, and lust and something un-nameable, deep and dark. “Look at you - you think you have a choice here,” he shook his head and pulled the slim remote for the shock collar Neal wore from his jacket pocket and waggled it between thumb and forefinger.
Neal could feel the blood drain from his face and he suddenly wanted to vomit. “So that’s how you want to play it? I’m disappointed in you, Matthew.” He wished he could have kept the quaver out of his voice.
“You think I care? Get on your knees.”
“Matthew -“ Neal held his hands up, palms out, trying to reason with him. The sudden, excruciating pain that assailed him when Keller depressed the button on the remote demonstrated the futility in that.
Neal fell to his hands and knees, trying and failing to suppress a scream. But the pain was over soon - sooner than when Keller had used it last time, and for that Neal was grateful. “I - I don’t -“ Neal panted, trying to catch his breath, but there were black dots floating in front of his eyes and he was afraid he would pass out. A hand at the back of his head, pulling him to his knees by the hair, soon revived him. Neal screamed again, his back bowed, the stimulation his nerves had just suffered from the collar making the pain in his scalp all the more excruciating.
“Please,” he gritted out through clenched teeth, “Matthew!”
“Shut up.” Keller pushed him to the floor, where he lay, limp and unresponsive, unable to move a muscle as spasms wracked his body. He almost didn’t feel Keller on him again, was almost unaware of what was happening until Keller was pushing his pants down.
----
Neal sat atop the cliff, arms hugging his knees to his chest, his wings wrapped around himself. He wasn’t cold - it was a long time since he’d felt cold - but he found their downy softness comforting.
So pretty like that.
He closed his eyes against the memory of Keller’s words, his hands on Neal's body.
And you’re mine.
But he wasn’t, he wasn’t. He’d get out of here; it was just a matter of time. And patience.
I’ve always wanted to see you like this.
“No,” he said out loud and tossed his head, as if he could banish the memory from his mind.
It hadn’t been the first time in his life Neal had been backed against a wall, and it wasn’t going to be the last. He’d survived prison and he’d survive this. As the throbbing in his muscles from the shock collar being used on him faded, he told himself if he played his cards right, maybe he could turn this into an advantage. As the bruises on his throat and on his hips blossomed and became darker, he reasoned that Keller’s feelings for him might be something he could use, something to be played into, a means to an end. And as he banished Keller’s clumsy, whispered endearments from his memory, he reminded himself that, if nothing, four years in prison had taught him to be patient and he could be patient now. Someday soon there’d be an opportunity to escape, and when it came he was going to be ready - they would be ready, he and Ben.
A sound off to his right made him jump, and Neal realized that Ben had arrived. He forced himself to relax.
“There you are, I’ve been looking for you for hours,” Ben said exasperatedly, alighting on the warm rock nearby, grinning.
I’ve waited so long, said Keller’s voice in his head, unbidden, unwanted, and Neal shuddered, tuning Ben out.
“Neal, I’m talking here!” Ben said, a laugh in his voice, and Neal finally turned his face to look at him. The laughter died. “What happened?”
Neal couldn’t answer, didn’t yet trust his voice. Ben’s eyes drifted to the bruises on Neal's throat. “Did Matthew do that? That son of a bitch. I knew it - I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Oh, kid -”
Neal shook his head. “I won’t talk about it.”
“Neal -“
“NEVER, Ben,” Neal gritted out from between clenched teeth.
Something Ben saw in his face made the older man decide not to pursue the topic. “I’m sorry, Neal,” he said simply, his voice cracking, and Neal looked away, back out to sea.
It would be the last time they’d ever speak of it, because if Neal thought about what Keller had done to him, he knew he couldn’t believe the web of lies and self-delusion he would have to spin for himself. He needed to believe that he could use Keller’s sadistic affection to gain something, any advantage, to use in their escape. And to do that, he’d have to believe that he needed to, in a twisted way. It was the only way he was ever going to live through this.
----
May’s cool breezes gave way to June’s bright sun and July’s still waters. During those months, Neal felt his body get stronger, his stamina increase, and his skill as a flyer soon surpassed Ben’s. In addition, he noticed other changes in his body, very likely a result of whatever genetic mutation he’d undergone. He could move faster, was perhaps ten times stronger, and his sight and hearing were as acute as an eagle’s.
By late August, the winds began to pick up again, and with them the general activity level on the island.
It would have been difficult not to notice it, as more staff began to arrive, more infrastructure was shipped in for security and communications, and more supplies. From his now customary spot gliding high above the island, the delivery of expensive wines, furnishings for the main house, and other luxuries were unmistakable to Neal's keen eye.
Neal had spent the last months strengthening his body to withstand the flight to the mainland as well as learning as much as he could about the security measures Keller had in place, anything he could use in their escape. He now knew the layout of the main house like the back of his hand, knew he could find his way to Keller’s bedroom in the dark if he had to, which was where the man stored an extra key to the silver collars Neal and Ben wore. He also knew the names and schedules of all of the guards by heart, and was on a first name basis with most of them.
He thought of Peter and Elizabeth daily, but he rarely spoke of them to Ben, nor did he keep the photo Keller had given him at Christmas in the open. He’d take it out to look at whenever he was feeling desperate, letting their happy smiles fortify him, but the rest of the time he kept it in the top drawer of his dresser in his bedroom.
He also painted - stunning landscapes from around the island in a variety of styles, from pointillism to photo-realism - to pass the time. He never wanted for supplies of the highest quality; Keller, on the occasions he’d sent for Neal - when he’d abused him, been cruel to him - was driven by guilt or gratitude, Neal really didn’t care, to be very generous afterwards. Initially, Neal rejected these gifts, but soon reasoned that perhaps some beauty could be derived from the ugliness.
He was just sketching a portrait of Ben flying against the sunset using oil pastels when the man in question appeared in the doorway of the great hall, panting, face lit up with excitement.
“Calm yourself, old man, I wouldn’t want you to have a heart attack,” Neal kidded, a smile on his lips.
“Hardy-har-har,” Ben replied sarcastically - they both knew he was as strong and as fit as Neal, and certainly the stronger flyer, though Neal was more willing to take risks. “Listen, I finally found out what all the hubbub’s about around here.”
“Spill.”
“There’s going to be an auction, in the main house, with all kinds of high-end mucky-mucks showing up.”
“An auction? Here? Do you know what’s on the block?” Neal had a queasy feeling in his stomach - Keller had not made a secret of the fact he intended to sell Neal and Ben someday, but Neal thought he’d have waited until he had other seraphs to offer, so he could make a big statement, the sick bastard.
“It’s supposed to be a secret, but Joe the guy from Vegas thinks it’s art; there have been a lot of large wooden crates arriving, and he said he got a look inside one.”
“What did he see?”
“Jesus in a boat, he said. Oh, and one with a big tree.”
Neal thumbed through the card catalog in his brain, landed on Unsolved Art Crimes and came up with the Gardner Museum heist in 1990. “Rembrandt’s ‘Storm on the Sea of Galilee’? Really?” He whistled, low.
“How the hell should I know? Jesus in a boat, he said. And what - you have a photographic memory for every painting, ever?”
“No, just the ones that have been spectacularly stolen.”
“Why does it matter, anyway?”
“I suppose it doesn’t.” Neal paused to wonder how Keller had gotten his hands on a cache of art easily worth over $500 million on the black market, and stolen over twenty years ago.
“I think - and correct me if I’m wrong here, kid, because you are the expert and everything - that you are missing the whole point.”
Neal lifted an eyebrow. “And that would be?”
“Lots of people here means lots of distractions. Could be the chance we’ve been waiting for.”
“It also explains all the extra security I’ve been seeing on recon. We’ll have to plan this right. Did Joe say when this auction is?”
Ben shook his head. “He wasn’t exactly talking to me at the time.” With his small stature, Ben had proven to be skilled at sneaking around once Neal taught him the basics.
“OK, that’s our first priority. Our second will be mapping out our plan and making sure it works.”
Neal strode across the room to one of the larger wooden panels, one that had recently been adorned with one of Neal's landscapes - the view from the cliff, his favorite place. It had been framed by Keller, one of his more recent gifts. Neal removed the painting and set it on the floor against the wall, then eased his fingertips along the panel’s edge until they gained the right amount of purchase. Pushing and pulling at the same time, he felt it give and then eased it out of its slot.
On its back side had been taped a hand-drawn map of the island as well as a floor plan of the main house that included as many details of the security, electrical and communications systems as Neal and Ben had been able to personally confirm. Neal carried it over to the big table in the middle of the room and he and Ben pored over it.
“I think it’d be most likely they’d hold the auction on the terrace by the infinity pool, don’t you?” Neal said, chewing a thumbnail.
“I have no opinion.”
Neal went on as if Ben hadn’t spoken. “It’s the largest space, plus the views will impress his guests - he’ll want that.”
“Who are these guests likely to be?”
“Good question. These are stolen artworks, so it’ll be people for whom price won’t be an issue. They’ll have to be capable of paying for the art too. We can assume a fair mix of powerful business types and very likely some actual criminals.”
“So - personal security for them, right?”
“Yes,” Neal agreed, impressed that Ben had been thinking tactically. “Which either helps or hinders us, it’s hard to tell at this point. We’ll have to plan for it either way.”
They stood together for several more minutes, Neal studying the map as if the solution to the puzzle would present itself, Ben watching Neal intently. “You really think we can pull this off?”
“It may be our only shot, Ben.”
----
A week later, Neal was reading in one of the big wing chairs in the library when the two guards who brought them their food entered to set it up. One of them was new, and kept throwing awed yet fearful glances over at Neal as if he might attack at any moment. Neal ignored them both.
“What? He’s just a man - he ain’t gonna bite or nothin’,” their usual guard, Travis said.
“You sure?” The new guy crossed himself and Neal had to shake his head at the irony. “I hear they can fly.”
“So? Bird got wings, they fly. Don’t you think a man with wings ought to fly?” Neal could not argue with that logic.
“Yeah, but -“
“But what? Look, they just people like you and me, only the boss has got ‘em here for safe-keepin’. Like, so no one hurts ‘em or nothin’, you got it?”
“I suppose. What’s going to happen next Friday when all the people come for the big party?”
“Shit, that’s above my pay grade, so it’s definitely above yours. Mind your bidness and put out that silverware, Jake, and be careful you don’t put the vinegar-ette too close to the soup, ya heathen - the heat’ll make it break!”
“Oh, sorry!”
“Dinner’s on, Neal,” Travis called when they were done. “I’ll be back after 8:00 to pick up the dishes.”
“Thanks, Travis,” Neal said, marked his place in the book he was reading, rose, and stretched his wings out to their full span, primaries reaching out like fingers. The new guy watched, eyes wide, but knees quaking, and hid behind Travis, who laughed.
“Quit fucking with the new guy, Neal.”
“Killjoy,” Neal chided, folded his wings along his back, and approached the table as the two men left.
Minutes later, when Ben came to join him, Neal filled him in on the latest detail.
“Friday? Neal, that’s six days away. Are we going to be ready?”
“Ben, I’ve been ready for this since the day I got here.”
Part 3