White Collar - The Grip of the Past
Title: The Grip of the Past
Author: semisweetsoul
Characters: June, Neal.
Genre: Hurt Comfort
Rating: G
Summary: June misses Byron on the night of their fiftieth wedding anniversary.
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1,382
Disclaimer: I owe nothing that seems familiar to you. Please, don't sue.
A/N: Written for the
month_of_june, and a square on my hc-bingo card. A few days late, my apologies.
Also available at the AO3.
The Grip of the Past
The glowing red light of the alarm clock indicated close to midnight, and sleep would not welcome her in its arms. There were nights when she had the most peaceful and reassuring dreams and times when the loss of her husband came back biting. On such moments, after trying to conjure up some better thoughts, she mapped out her struggle against insomnia. Her luck resided in her environment. Her huge house offered her many memories and reasons to feel proud of her past, and remember the good part of living with Byron.
It took her fifteen minutes to decide against waking Neal. The boy needed his sleep and as much as she could use the comfort of a friend, she believed she could win that fight on her own. She could check on Bugsy. Often, he settled on the living-room carpet, near the fireplace. Watching an animal lost in the depth of slumber could prove rather soothing. Only, tonight she had another idea. She needed to go back to the journey of her love story, fill her mind with the images of her husband's smile, her daughters’ first steps, or her grandkids' milestones. The realization that today would have marked their wedding anniversary had dawned upon her; her subconscious was playing her. She would go to the living room pick up the photo album and peruse her former life. Although, he wasn’t gone that long, it felt like her life had changed considerably. She had lost a husband, but found a surrogate son in the person of Neal, and a good friend in Mozzie. Those two had filled the void that Byron had left. Without them her days would resemble her nights, lost in the grip of nostalgia and melancholy.
As she was about to light the lamp sitting on her bedside table, she heard a faint noise coming from downstairs that alarmed her. It sounded as if someone was moving a piece of furniture. Could her brain be playing her another trick? After all, so late at night, her mind couldn’t be as clear as in the early hours of the day. She stopped moving, and listened. Despite her age, she still had a keen sense of hearing. This time, she perceived voices. She jumped out of her bed and approached the door, hoping she would recognize the intonations of the people conversing in her living-room. Their whispering prevented her from catching the topic of their discord. Any other person finding strangers into her home would have called the police, instead, June calling upon her sense of bravery decided to intervene. She looked around in search of a weapon that she could use to defend herself and her possessions.
It didn’t occur to her to call Neal for help until she had reached the middle of the stairwell. Going back two stories up seemed like beating a retreat-not something an Ellington would do, even consider. She kept advancing on tiptoe, a bow for sole weapon. Never had she been so glad Samantha started cello practice! She came to a halt when her eyes caught on a glow, its halo casting shadows on the portrait of Byron hung on the wall. What kind of thief would break into a house without a flashlight? Sure, these days, cell phones could emit enough light, but the white sort with hues of blue as Neal explained to her once. She had perfect vision ever since her cataract operation and she saw yellow in that flicker. Candle, maybe? What kind of thief would break into a house by candlelight? It made no sense. No sense at all.
While she tried to analyze the strangeness of the situation, and determine the best way to enforce her plan, music started to resonate. Loud, strong music. These people had lost all objectivity and decency. They invited themselves in her house to play her piano in the middle of the night. They must have thought the inhabitants of the house had gone away for a vacation. Looking at the bow in her hands, she smiled. She couldn’t have picked a better item! Enough of this joking, she had to put a stop to this. She quieted the voice in her head warning her of the imminent danger, the possibility of finding herself face to face with a gun.
She walked the last few steps ready to defend herself. Her frustration gave her the energy to regain control of the premises. No one could disturb a moment she chose to share with Byron. It didn’t matter he didn’t belong to this world anymore. She liked to keep her promises, no matter what. When she made it to the living-room, she couldn’t believe her eyes. She had to hold the banister to keep her balance. Her hand over her mouth stifled the gasp the surprise had provoked. Tears started to form in her eyes, but she didn’t fight them. She advanced in the path of candles aligned on the floor.
Neal clasped his hands in hers. “Happy anniversary June!”
She didn’t want to leave his arms, and when they parted he wiped her cheek. Through the mist of emotions she felt, she made out many familiar faces, her children and grandchildren, her friends from the bridge club, her domestic staff, even Mozzie had come. Peter and Elizabeth Burke stood in a corner half-embarrassed, half-impressed. Impressed that she was! They had remembered her wedding anniversary. Byron had promised to make their fiftieth wedding anniversary wonderful. Alas, fate had decided otherwise. Around her stood the most important persons in her life, and if she didn’t get fifty wonderful years with her husband, she got fifty candles and fifty persons who remembered the importance of that date to her.
Piano chords filled the room and her heart. She imagined Byron flush against her, listening to his favorite son-in-law play-whoever played the piano won Byron’s favor-and tried to recapture the mildness of his being. As much as she loved them all, appreciated the comfort their presence brought her, she felt the need to escape, to leave them together honor her marriage. She slipped away, her exit undetectable in the penumbra. Her handkerchief, embroidered with Byron’s initials, lay soaked in her hands from the river of tears she had cried.
When Neal came close to her, she turned her head, the sight of her eyes reddened and swollen, such a picture of inelegance. Never would she let him see her so vulnerable.
“You don’t have to hide from me, June.”
She knew he was right, but her self-esteem sent her the opposite message. “How did you know I was here?”
“You always retreat in the atrium when you’re upset.”
“You know me too well, young man.”
He retrieved his pocket square from his suit jacket and handed it to her. Wearing Byron suits had more than one benefit! She dabbed the tears from her eyes and cheeks. “I’m not very presentable, am I?”
“You look fine for someone that got dragged out of bed so unexpectedly.”
“You’re nice.”
“No, just honest.”
Neal’s ways to make her smile again remain a mystery. She suspected he didn’t like people in distress, but instead of fearing them and leaving them deal with their own problems, he made sure to make them smile and erase their worries. She saw so much of Byron in Neal, and she liked to believe that Byron had arranged them to meet, a guardian angel sending someone to protect her.
“Come with me, there's something you should see.”
They walked back into the house, and she sat on the couch while everyone started singing. She recognized the melody and couldn’t help humming along to the Beatles’ song renamed for the occasion, ‘Hey June!’
After the improvised choir had finished its recital, they shared a cake and sipped champagne or fruit juice, and immortalized the moment with a good number of pictures.
When she found herself alone in her huge home, after everyone had left, and Neal had returned to his apartment, it hit her straight in the heart. She felt the brunt of the shock that the perfect fifty years Byron had promised her stopped at forty-seven, and that despite the luck she had that much time; it still would never be enough.
The End
Author: semisweetsoul
Characters: June, Neal.
Genre: Hurt Comfort
Rating: G
Summary: June misses Byron on the night of their fiftieth wedding anniversary.
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1,382
Disclaimer: I owe nothing that seems familiar to you. Please, don't sue.
A/N: Written for the
month_of_june, and a square on my hc-bingo card. A few days late, my apologies.
Also available at the AO3.
The Grip of the Past
The glowing red light of the alarm clock indicated close to midnight, and sleep would not welcome her in its arms. There were nights when she had the most peaceful and reassuring dreams and times when the loss of her husband came back biting. On such moments, after trying to conjure up some better thoughts, she mapped out her struggle against insomnia. Her luck resided in her environment. Her huge house offered her many memories and reasons to feel proud of her past, and remember the good part of living with Byron.
It took her fifteen minutes to decide against waking Neal. The boy needed his sleep and as much as she could use the comfort of a friend, she believed she could win that fight on her own. She could check on Bugsy. Often, he settled on the living-room carpet, near the fireplace. Watching an animal lost in the depth of slumber could prove rather soothing. Only, tonight she had another idea. She needed to go back to the journey of her love story, fill her mind with the images of her husband's smile, her daughters’ first steps, or her grandkids' milestones. The realization that today would have marked their wedding anniversary had dawned upon her; her subconscious was playing her. She would go to the living room pick up the photo album and peruse her former life. Although, he wasn’t gone that long, it felt like her life had changed considerably. She had lost a husband, but found a surrogate son in the person of Neal, and a good friend in Mozzie. Those two had filled the void that Byron had left. Without them her days would resemble her nights, lost in the grip of nostalgia and melancholy.
As she was about to light the lamp sitting on her bedside table, she heard a faint noise coming from downstairs that alarmed her. It sounded as if someone was moving a piece of furniture. Could her brain be playing her another trick? After all, so late at night, her mind couldn’t be as clear as in the early hours of the day. She stopped moving, and listened. Despite her age, she still had a keen sense of hearing. This time, she perceived voices. She jumped out of her bed and approached the door, hoping she would recognize the intonations of the people conversing in her living-room. Their whispering prevented her from catching the topic of their discord. Any other person finding strangers into her home would have called the police, instead, June calling upon her sense of bravery decided to intervene. She looked around in search of a weapon that she could use to defend herself and her possessions.
It didn’t occur to her to call Neal for help until she had reached the middle of the stairwell. Going back two stories up seemed like beating a retreat-not something an Ellington would do, even consider. She kept advancing on tiptoe, a bow for sole weapon. Never had she been so glad Samantha started cello practice! She came to a halt when her eyes caught on a glow, its halo casting shadows on the portrait of Byron hung on the wall. What kind of thief would break into a house without a flashlight? Sure, these days, cell phones could emit enough light, but the white sort with hues of blue as Neal explained to her once. She had perfect vision ever since her cataract operation and she saw yellow in that flicker. Candle, maybe? What kind of thief would break into a house by candlelight? It made no sense. No sense at all.
While she tried to analyze the strangeness of the situation, and determine the best way to enforce her plan, music started to resonate. Loud, strong music. These people had lost all objectivity and decency. They invited themselves in her house to play her piano in the middle of the night. They must have thought the inhabitants of the house had gone away for a vacation. Looking at the bow in her hands, she smiled. She couldn’t have picked a better item! Enough of this joking, she had to put a stop to this. She quieted the voice in her head warning her of the imminent danger, the possibility of finding herself face to face with a gun.
She walked the last few steps ready to defend herself. Her frustration gave her the energy to regain control of the premises. No one could disturb a moment she chose to share with Byron. It didn’t matter he didn’t belong to this world anymore. She liked to keep her promises, no matter what. When she made it to the living-room, she couldn’t believe her eyes. She had to hold the banister to keep her balance. Her hand over her mouth stifled the gasp the surprise had provoked. Tears started to form in her eyes, but she didn’t fight them. She advanced in the path of candles aligned on the floor.
Neal clasped his hands in hers. “Happy anniversary June!”
She didn’t want to leave his arms, and when they parted he wiped her cheek. Through the mist of emotions she felt, she made out many familiar faces, her children and grandchildren, her friends from the bridge club, her domestic staff, even Mozzie had come. Peter and Elizabeth Burke stood in a corner half-embarrassed, half-impressed. Impressed that she was! They had remembered her wedding anniversary. Byron had promised to make their fiftieth wedding anniversary wonderful. Alas, fate had decided otherwise. Around her stood the most important persons in her life, and if she didn’t get fifty wonderful years with her husband, she got fifty candles and fifty persons who remembered the importance of that date to her.
Piano chords filled the room and her heart. She imagined Byron flush against her, listening to his favorite son-in-law play-whoever played the piano won Byron’s favor-and tried to recapture the mildness of his being. As much as she loved them all, appreciated the comfort their presence brought her, she felt the need to escape, to leave them together honor her marriage. She slipped away, her exit undetectable in the penumbra. Her handkerchief, embroidered with Byron’s initials, lay soaked in her hands from the river of tears she had cried.
When Neal came close to her, she turned her head, the sight of her eyes reddened and swollen, such a picture of inelegance. Never would she let him see her so vulnerable.
“You don’t have to hide from me, June.”
She knew he was right, but her self-esteem sent her the opposite message. “How did you know I was here?”
“You always retreat in the atrium when you’re upset.”
“You know me too well, young man.”
He retrieved his pocket square from his suit jacket and handed it to her. Wearing Byron suits had more than one benefit! She dabbed the tears from her eyes and cheeks. “I’m not very presentable, am I?”
“You look fine for someone that got dragged out of bed so unexpectedly.”
“You’re nice.”
“No, just honest.”
Neal’s ways to make her smile again remain a mystery. She suspected he didn’t like people in distress, but instead of fearing them and leaving them deal with their own problems, he made sure to make them smile and erase their worries. She saw so much of Byron in Neal, and she liked to believe that Byron had arranged them to meet, a guardian angel sending someone to protect her.
“Come with me, there's something you should see.”
They walked back into the house, and she sat on the couch while everyone started singing. She recognized the melody and couldn’t help humming along to the Beatles’ song renamed for the occasion, ‘Hey June!’
After the improvised choir had finished its recital, they shared a cake and sipped champagne or fruit juice, and immortalized the moment with a good number of pictures.
When she found herself alone in her huge home, after everyone had left, and Neal had returned to his apartment, it hit her straight in the heart. She felt the brunt of the shock that the perfect fifty years Byron had promised her stopped at forty-seven, and that despite the luck she had that much time; it still would never be enough.
The End