Moments to Build On - Part 3
Title: Moments to Build On
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Peter/Elizbeth, Peter/Neal
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Off screen Non canon death of a canon charcter (brief non graphic description), mentions of miscarriage, alcohol usage, mentions of homophobic reactions
Word count: 14,000
Summary: Pete and Elizabeth meet Neal on their first date. AU in which Peter is an accountant, Elizabeth is a girl who likes him back, and Neal's the server turned friend. But when tragedy strikes, Peter realizes what their friendship really means to him.
Notes: This was written for the
whitecollar_bb. This should have been longer. It didn't get anywhere near the amounts of love it deserved. beta credit goes to genrectats and (it's been too long bud, since we've worked together) Sol - thanks to these two incredible girls that kept my head in the game even when I was sure there was no possible way this was getting done.
Thank you so so much to
kaylashay for this artwork, it's beautiful! Her art post is HERE - go check it out and leave love!
It took two weeks though, before Neal heard from him again. He worried and waited and more than once fought the urge to call Peter’s office and ask him for lunch. He didn’t have much practice in the way of friends. He’d never been close to anyone in school. And when he’d moved out on his own he’d hung out with a crowd that weren’t friends so much as fellow travelers on a dark road. By the time he found his way out of that tunnel he’d been too preoccupied with just surviving to spend time nurturing friendships. So really, he had no idea what he was supposed to be doing - if anything. Leave it to him to feel clingy when he hadn’t even called.
But what if Peter was waiting for him to call?
How on earth could a friendship be so complicated? Neal knew, of course, because he knew himself and he knew his heart and he was aware of it’s demented little crush that promised to blossom into something embarrassing. But he also knew he’d get over it. Probably. But until then, should he call?
Turns out he didn’t have to. He thought he spotted him in on the sidewalk outside the restaurant windows as he handed over his section to the oncoming shift. He frowned when he was still standing there, hunched into his jacket 20 minutes later as he exited the building. “Peter?”
“Hey. Hi.” His smile was lopsided and slightly embarrassed.
“Were you going in?” Neal reached for the door handle as if he didn’t know he’d been standing in the rain for almost a half hour. Like his wet jacket and dripping hair wouldn’t have given it away.
“No. No, I, um, I can’t, I…” He held his hands up as if the fend something off and took three steps back.
Neal immediately pulled his hand away from the door and closed the new distance between them. “It’s ok.” He was using the same voice he would use on a spooked animal but couldn’t help it. “Is there - do you need…” He waved his hand as words failed him.
“A friend. I think.” Peter hung his head. “I was walking , trying to - and I just kind of found myself here.”
Neal swallowed the sigh that built in his chest and nodded instead. “Drinks?”
Peter nodded and Neal stepped past him, leading the way back to his apartment.
Neal unlocked the door and pushed it open, sending a silent thank you to whatever God was listening that’d he’d, for some reason, gotten sick of staring at the sink of dishes and had run them through the dishwasher that morning before work. Everything else was in it’s usual state of disarray but it didn’t bother him. That mess was part of who he was; tubes of paint, brushes drying, books and papers strewn across the coffee table. He waved a hand around. “It isn’t much.”
“It’s beautiful.” His tone of voice was that of honesty.
Neal blushed a little; he knew how lucky he was, it was a wonderful place that he wouldn’t be able to afford if not for the generosity of his landlady. She had discovered him selling his paintings in a crappy stall at a flea market and had fallen in love with one of his pieces. It was on the mantle downstairs and he was in the fourth floor apartment with a million dollar view and rent that was less than a fourth of what it should have been. “It is.” He didn’t try to hide his pride as he took it in from Peter’s point of view. “It really is.”
Peter stood awkwardly just inside the door, his eyes roaming over everything. Neal watched the question form in his mind before it crossed his lips. “How…?” He stopped himself and had the decency to look taken aback by his own words. “I mean…”
Neal shushed his with a wave of his hand. “My landlady is beyond amazing. I trade art for partial rent and she swears one day I’ll be famous and what I’ve given her will more than cover what I can’t pay now.” He shrugged. “Personally I think she’s full of shit, but I’ll enjoy the view until she comes to her senses.” When Peter laughed and visibly relaxed he shrugged out of his jacket. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into what Peter assumed was the bedroom area.
Peter took advantage of his disappearance and studied his shelves; books and CD’s mostly. Reproductions of small art pieces. He turned in a circle to take it all in and noticed the lack of television and a easel with a half finished piece. He wandered over and stared, a lump forming somewhere under his rib cage. When he heard Neal coming back he quickly turned away from the painting and smiled when he appeared. Neal’s eyes flicked from him to the painting and back.
“Sadness captures.” He was dressed in jeans and a plain white tshirt and something caught in Peter’s throat at the exposed innocence. He offered no other explanation. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah.” He glanced down at his suit, which probably cost more than Neal’s entire wardrobe. “I feel overdressed.”
“Sorry I don’t have anything nicer.” Neal huffed a laugh.
“No! That’s not what I meant. You look good. Nice. I’d like to be wearing less - I mean, I didn’t mean… oh hell..” He trailed off again and his cheeks lit up. “You look comfortable. I look like I just drove my BMW home from my job and now am going to go have a martini.” He rolled his eyes.
Neal laughed outright at that and brushed past him, bumping his shoulder as he went. “You look nice too.”
--
Neal led them away from his building, Peter just half a step behind and Neal could practically feel his mind working. They walked past a bar and he heard Peter’s footsteps slow. He glanced over his shoulder and stopped at the questions on Peter’s face. “Oh, when I said drinks; I meant coffee.” He offered a soft smile. “Alcohol disguises the pain but it doesn’t begin to heal it.”
Peter came to a complete stop at that, his face suddenly angry and a little betrayed. “I am not an alcoholic.”
“No. But I am. And trust me, feeling is better than masking.”
Peter pressed his lips together and remained silent. Neal turned away again and led them to a coffee shop. He held the door open and Peter stepped in in front of him. It was a quiet place with bookshelves and overstuffed chairs. There was jazz on low and the strong bitter scent of freshly ground beans in the air. They approached the counter and the man behind the register broke out in a smile. “Neal, welcome back!” His eyes roved over Peter and his grin grew. “Who’s your new friend?”
Neal raised one eyebrow. “This is Peter and I will take my usual.”
Peter cleared his throat. “Make that two?” His coffee usually came from the cart outside his office or the espresso machine behind his secretary's desk. Whatever the ‘usual’ was, he could at least pretend to appreciate it if it was disgusting. It was better than mumbling through an order like a fool.
The guy behind the counter sighed and arched the eyebrow with that was pierced with a delicate silver ring. He punched a couple buttons on the register and Neal swiped a card so fast that Peter almost missed it. He almost objected but Neal shot him a glare and he thought better of it.
Jake, his nametag said Jake, pulled two cups from behind the counter and poured black coffee into each. “Still waiting to try something a little more exciting, I see.”
“You’re all the excitement I need.” Neal threw back. Clearly this was a running joke and Peter was amused.
There were only a couple other people sprawled with laptops and ipads and Neal maneuvered them away from them. Peter dropped into a chair and Neal settled into the one right beside him. He took a sip of the coffee and sighed. “Thanks.”
When Neal glanced over, Peter looked sheepish. “For what?”
“Understanding.” He swirled his cup. “Not many people understand the pain of… muted pain. They want me to get drunk and make me forget. But I don’t think that’s why I came today. But I don’t… I mean.” He stumbled over his words.
“Depression doesn’t care who you are, Peter. It doesn’t give a shit about success or failure or loss or love. It doesn’t care if you fall into a bottle to cope. It doesn’t care if you cry and rage or keep everything inside. It can find you no matter how well everyone around you thinks you’re handling things.”
“You always seemed so…”
Neal’s laugh was low. “You caught me on an upswing of a really bad time.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but close enough for now. “And sometimes I can still feel it breathing down my neck. But I work on it, everyday.” He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable. He didn’t talk about himself very well.
But Peter let it drop with a nod. “Well, thank you. For knowing what I didn’t need.”
--
Their friendship grew easily after that,starting with a phone call the next day; Peter’s voice hesitant. Neal chewed on his lip to stop his grin from blooming and he met the man outside his apartment building an hour later. They talked as they walked; Neal carried most of the conversation, talking about art and the history of some of his favorite pieces. Peter nodded and followed along with enthusiasm, but he was a math guy - art kind of made his head hurt. But that didn’t stop him when Neal mentioned an upcoming exhibit he was planning on attending that weekend. “Would you mind if, I mean, would you like some company?”
That stopped Neal and he shrugged. He hadn’t really had, well, this in a long time. Someone willing to just be his friend without expecting something in return. “If you want.” He kind of felt a teenage girl at the prospect of a first date. Which was ridiculous.
“Yeah.” Peter turned away and continued the steady pace they’d been keeping. “I’d like that.”
--
Neal could tell Peter was bored. He’d stare at a painting with a slight frown on his face; to anyone from a distance it would look like he was studying brushstrokes or color composition. But Neal could see the empty glaze in his eyes and knew his mind was five thousand miles away. He nudged his shoulder. “This is one of my favorites of his work.”
Peter blinked and looked over at him briefly before flicking his glance back toward the painting. “It’s kind of sad.”
“Yeah. Therein lies the beauty of it. Sadness captures.” He repeated the words from earlier that week and something cold unfurled in Peter’s chest, stretching its wings and warming. ”It hurts and it reminds.” Neal slipped his hands in his pockets and walked away, letting the whorls of color speak for themselves. When Neal glanced over his shoulder again the faraway look was gone but Peter was still staring, one hand to his chest and a near unreadable expression on his face.
--
“Thank you.” Peter had double parked outside his building and his voice was a low. “E… I’ve been to a few before, I kind of miss it.” He took a deep breath and looked up with a sad smile. “I had a good time.”
Neal’s heart squeezed and he swallowed hard. “Thank you for joining me. Art is always better when you are sharing it with someone.” He pushed the door open and stood. He leaned back in. “Even the parts that hurt. Goodnight, Peter.”
“Goodnight Neal.” He sat there until the light in Neal’s window flicked on. And then he sat a little longer - the idea of home feeling lonelier than it had in awhile.
--
They went to museums. They went to ball games. Neal had his first up close with a hockey puck and Peter discovered that opera was actually better live. They discussed their jobs and Neal’s art and the winter that was already chilling the air in early October. Peter talked about his childhood, Neal didn’t. Neal went on dates with men who weren’t good enough and Peter declined every offer in his direction.
They ate takeout on Neal’s living room floor and perfectly grilled steak on Peter’s back deck. They talked about everything. Except Elizabeth. They didn’t talk about her. Peter would stumble sometimes and half her nickname would slip out, not even a whole syllable; more like a noise but Neal always knew it for what is was and would wait, patiently, for the day when Peter let the thought out.
--
Six months passed in a blur and Neal watched the first anniversary of her death approach in the lines of Peter’s face. He aged years with every passing day but Neal was absolutely helpless to stop the onslaught of pain as it caught up with him.
Neal knew he hadn’t dealt with it, he knew he’d been using Neal as an escape. Neal expected the day to be hard and painful. He also expected his calls to go unanswered and his knocks to be ignored.
What he didn’t expect was a very very drunk Peter Burke laying on his buzzer at 7pm.
“Jesus, Peter.” He met him halfway down the hall and could smell the tequila before he even got to him.
“M’sorry.” He slurred and stumbled into him. “I didn’t mean to get so, I just wanted a drink. Just one.” He sighed and stopped trying to support himself, luckily they’d made it to Neal’s couch. “And then I just didn’t want to remember.” His head dropped to Neal’s shoulder.
“It’s ok.” Neal ran a hand down his back and Peter shuddered. “It happens, sometimes.” He tipped him back and Peter flopped against the back of the couch. “I’m going to get you some water. Stay here.”
He made it into the kitchen before he started shaking, his hands first as he held the glass under the tap. As he set the glass down on the counter he noticed the tremble in his arms. He ran his hands over his upper arms and took a deep breath. He could do this part, this was Peter. He started a pot of coffee, returned to the living room, and found Peter with his eyes closed and his jaw clenched. “You ok?”
Peter only nodded.
“Drink this.” He sat again and touched the cool glass to the other man’s hand. Peter jumped and pried his eyes open.
“Thank you.” He took a long swallow before he dropped his head back down. “I miss her.”
“I know.” Neal leaned back and stared straight ahead.
“Don’t know why I came here.” He sighed again and Neal heard the turn of his head.
It didn’t matter what had brought him here, truth was; Neal was glad it was him he allowed himself to run to. He cared about his man. He looked over as Peter sat up, the weight of the grief on his shoulders giving his posture a slump that made him seem impossibly breakable. Neal’s heart ached but he tamped down on those feelings - he wanted to help him. Not fall for broken man. A broken unattainable man who wanted nothing if it wasn’t his wife, if it wasn’t Elizabeth, if it wasn’t it wasn’t the other half of his shattered soul.
The silence between them grew as Neal waited for the dam to break. “Do you know why I fell in love with El?”
“Tell me?” Neal slid a hand over and covered his arm.
“She was smart. And funny. And she got me - she always had the right words or smile or hug. She always knew what I needed when even I couldn’t figure it out. I’m not an easy man to love, Neal, I am stubborn and dense and and…” He reached for the glass of water and took another drink.
“But she loved me. She gave my life wonder and grace and I let her see me, even the parts I wished were different and she embraced all of me, all the time. Even when we fought, even when I was stubborn and mean and selfish and wrong - she never walked away without telling me that she loved me. That we were worth it and that she was coming back. She always told me she was coming back, because she loved me - even at my absolute worst. And now she’s gone.. And all I can think is that I have to live the rest of my life without her. I have to face this, “ He clutched at his chest. “everyday. This pain of my other half, missing and gone. And I don’t know how to breathe without her and it hurts. Neal, every breath hurts.”
Neal sucked air and for a moment he felt the pain in his own chest. He slid his hand down until he caught Peter’s fingers between his own. “Someday, someday you’ll think of her and realize her haven’t thought of her in a week, or two. And it’ll still hurt here -” He leaned and tapped at Peter’s chest. “ - But you’ll smile because you loved her, because you were loved by her. And someday, it’ll be the love that you remember I won’t tell you it’s ok, or that you will be ok. It hurts because it mattered. And that’s important, that it mattered. She mattered and it’s ok to not be ok because you matter too. And it’s ok to feel. But Peter, you have to know that someday, it’s going to be ok to be ok again.”
Peter swiped angrily at the wetness in his eyes and blinked in Neal’s direction. He had turned on the couch and had his head cocked gently to the side and Peter laughed bitterly as he wiped at his eyes again. “I’ve already cried too much.” He was suddenly feeling much too sober.
“There’s no such thing as too many tears for someone you loved.”
Neal’s steady gaze burned and Peter felt everything he’d not been saying rising to the surface. “I cried so much, right after she - after we found out. She didn’t. She held my hand and made me laugh with tears on my cheeks and promised an anniversary in Italy. And when they told us to go home and enjoy what days we had left - still she laughed. She laughed and we danced and she wrote goodbyes to all her friends. She was so frail and so sick. I’d catch her in the bathroom throwing up what little dinner she’d eaten and it was her comforting me.” He swallowed down a sob that threatened to escape.
“We’d go to sleep at night and she’d tell me stories of when she was a kid or a teenager. Stories I didn’t know. She’d smile and I’d wait until she was sleeping and then I’d cry again because I wanted all her stories. I wanted a lifetime to gather them all.” He breathed hard but steady, the overwhelming urge to talk about it had given way to the release and he squeezed tight to the fingers entwined with his, thankful.
“And then one day the stories stopped and she didn’t wake up. She was gone for three days before her body gave up. And I cried. I held her hand and I told her I loved her and I cried and I told her it was time to let go.” Another deep breath and he felt calm. “Once - once she was gone I stopped crying. I went back to work and I talked to her at night and I thought I was ok because I had finally stopped crying.” He stopped and frowned, his air shuddering through to his lungs and the stone weight of tears centered on his chest, a familiar painful ache.
“I’m not ok.” He said it like a statement before turning watery eyes to Neal. “Am I?”
Neal turned so they were facing and clasped both his hands. “You will be.”
And for the first time that Neal had seen, possibly the first time since her death, a cry escaped from Peter and he looked shocked by it, ashamed even. But Neal slid an arm over his shoulder and applied just the gentlest of pressure. That’s all it took, Peter crumpled against him and Neal did his best to curl himself around Peter’s larger frame. “I’ve got you.” A hand over his hair and down his back, tense muscles shaking. “I’ve got you.”
In time he anguish turned to quiet sobs and shaking breaths and eventually he pulled away and gave a weak smile. He searched Neal’s face for a sign that he was uncomfortable or embarrassed. He looked for signs of pity. Finding none, he relaxed and this time the air in his lungs was cleansing. “Thank you.”
Neal shrugged with one shoulder and stood, gathering the empty glass. “Anytime.” He turned toward the kitchen.
“I should go.” Peter stood.
“No.” Neal turned back. “You should stay. You’re in no shape to get home.. Let me change the sheets and I’ll take the couch.”
Peter’s eyes moved around the room and he gave in surprisingly easily. “You might as well sleep in your own bed. I don’t sleep much anyway.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “And your couch looks a lot more comfortable than mine.” A smile, weak but real. “El bought ours for sitting, not for sleeping. But I can’t…” His eyes flooded with tears again but Neal was quick to reach out.
“You’re taking the bed. And there’s a TV in there, if you need…” What? A distraction? Something to stare at until the sleep in his eyes burned worse than the tears? He shrugged again and pulled the other man into a hug, Peter somehow both strong and limp in his arms. Neal did his best to ignore the twist in his heart.
--
He was still awake an hour later, staring a hole in the dark ceiling. His body was already complaining about the couch but the low sounds of the TV was some sort of odd comfort, letting him know he had done the right thing. He shifted again and gave up; getting to his feet. He peered into the bedroom and he walked by and his breath instantly caught in the view. Peter was sound asleep and Neal was awed by the vulnerability of him with his face relaxed and arms clutching at the pillow pressed to his chest.
He watched for just a moment, his air caught and his heart suddenly full to bursting before padding the rest of the way down the hall to the bathroom. When he hit the couch again a few minutes later he slept almost instantly, in giving peace, he found it.
--
“I think I should get a dog.” Peter greeted him on a windy spring morning, the sun barely over the horizon.
“Mornin’ Peter.” Neal yawned and scratched at his cheek. “Is early.”
“I know.” Peter was practically bouncing. “Will you come with me to the shelter?”
Neal blinked blearily at him and it took a minute for his mind to catch up. “To find a dog. At 6am?”
“Well.” Peter grinned and tried to look charming but it only earned him a scowl. “I figured that I’d feed you first.”
“Pancakes.” Neal turned and walked away, Peter caught the door as it dropped behind him. “And bacon.” Peter’s grin grew.
--
“So they open at 8.” Peter shoveled hash browns into his mouth.
Neal cut a chunk off his stack of pancakes and nodded. “What kind of dog are you looking for? Anything in particular?”
“I don’t know. Something smart.” Peter glanced at his watch. “I think I’ll know him when I meet him.”
“Or her.” Neal raised his fork. “Don’t be sexist.”
“Or her.” Peter agreed.
--
Surprisingly calm brown eyes followed Peter around the room and he was smitten by the golden pup before he even reached his kennel. He stopped and knelt down, only then did the puppy approach the bars. “Hey fella.” He wiggled his fingers through the bars and was rewarded with a lick.
Neal knelt beside him. “I thought you wanted a dog. He’s kind of still a baby.”
The puppy cocked his head at Neal like he was listening and then gave Peter a look that he interpreted as ‘Can you believe him?’
“No, buddy,I can’t.” Peter answered with a grin before turning to Neal. “I’m pretty certain it’s this one.”
Neal watched the puppy try to nuzzle his way to Peter through the bars. “I think you’re right.”
--
“Satchmo?” Neal scrubbed a hand across the dog;s ears. “Do you have a big mouth boy?”
The dog yawned in response and Peter laughed. “El loved Louis Armstrong. It seems fitting to name him after a love’s love.” He let a whistle and the dog trotted over, Peter took his face in hand and looked him right in the eye. “What do you think? How does Satchmo sound?”
Satchmo woofed in response and wet Peter’s chin with his tongue.
Neal grinned as he watched. “Satchmo it is.”
--
“I have date.” Peter dropped grumpily onto the couch. “Again.”
“Clinton?” Neal didn’t even look up, he was engrossed in a book.
“Of course.” Peter sighed and nudged Neal’s leg with his knee. “Feel sorry for me.”
Neal looked up and offered him the saddest look he had. “I’m sorry that your friend wants you to be happy.”
“Neeaaal.” Peter groaned.
“Ok, I am genuinely sorry. Peter, if you’re not ready for dating then you need to be straightforward with him. Stop blaming the women.”
“I think - “Peter paused. “Aren’t I ready?”
“Well, I don’t think you’re going to have three consecutive bad dates with three separate women all hand picked by someone who has known you for years.” Neal had set the book aside and was trying to gauge how deep to take the conversation. He’d been dreading it since Peter had shown up moaning about a fiery redhead named Emily.
--
“Who names a redhead Emily, anyway? What were her parents thinking? Neal, she ordered vegan pasta and wanted me to call her Emmy.” Peter had cease knocking more than a month ago and Neal had stopped caring about a week after that. He just snorted sympathetically and handed over the last half of his beer.
“So no second date?” He got up and pulled two fresh beers from the fridge.
Peter’s eyes grew huge. “No. No. She turned green and bolted the moment I ordered my steak medium rare.” There was a smirk at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think she’ll be calling.”
Neal popped the top off his beer and leaned back into the couch. “Was it at least a decent steak?”
“And the vegan pasta wasn’t half bad either.” Peter laughed.
--
“Not everyone can be as perfect as - “ Neal bit his tongue. “I just mean, their flaws are going to be more visible if you’re actively looking for them.”
“I know.” Peter dropped his head miserably.
“What about Ashley?” Neal thought back. “She seemed nice and she ordered the steak, right?” His lip raised in a smirk.
“And then she instagramed it! She photographed her food. From a height. For a better angle. For social media so she could share her completely remarkable looking steak with her” friends”. Peter made air quotes and a face. “I can’t take someone seriously when they’re more involved with people in cyberspace then they are with the actual date.”
“Mmhmm.” Neal nodded along with his rant. He didn’t disagree completely but.. “And Gwen?”
“She just wanted to get laid.” Peter sighed.
“Hallelujah!” He threw his hands up. “And did you…?”
“No!” Peter shook his head hard. “I don’t… I don’t do casual sex.”
“I know but -”
“But nothing. That’s not who I am. And now I’ve got a date with Katie on Friday.”
Neal put on his best serious face. “What do we know about Katie?”
“She’s a veterinarian, specializes in exotics. That’s how Clinton knows her, she takes care of those little squirrely things he has. No kids, never married. She’s originally from Oklahoma but transplanted here when she was 18. She plays country music in her office and, according to Jones, smells like sunshine.” Peter rolled his eyes. “I’m sure she’s lovely.”
“She kind of sounds your type.” Neal was watching him carefully, trying to gauge the other man’s reaction while trying to sort through the tangle of his own feelings.
“I should cancel.”
Neal tried to ignore the surge of relief, pressed it away because hiding forever wasn’t the happiness he wanted for his friend. “You should give her a chance. It’s almost been two years, Peter. You’re not meant to be alone forever.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “So, Friday. What do I wear?”
Part 4
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Peter/Elizbeth, Peter/Neal
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Off screen Non canon death of a canon charcter (brief non graphic description), mentions of miscarriage, alcohol usage, mentions of homophobic reactions
Word count: 14,000
Summary: Pete and Elizabeth meet Neal on their first date. AU in which Peter is an accountant, Elizabeth is a girl who likes him back, and Neal's the server turned friend. But when tragedy strikes, Peter realizes what their friendship really means to him.
Notes: This was written for the
whitecollar_bb. This should have been longer. It didn't get anywhere near the amounts of love it deserved. beta credit goes to genrectats and (it's been too long bud, since we've worked together) Sol - thanks to these two incredible girls that kept my head in the game even when I was sure there was no possible way this was getting done.
Thank you so so much to
kaylashay for this artwork, it's beautiful! Her art post is HERE - go check it out and leave love!
It took two weeks though, before Neal heard from him again. He worried and waited and more than once fought the urge to call Peter’s office and ask him for lunch. He didn’t have much practice in the way of friends. He’d never been close to anyone in school. And when he’d moved out on his own he’d hung out with a crowd that weren’t friends so much as fellow travelers on a dark road. By the time he found his way out of that tunnel he’d been too preoccupied with just surviving to spend time nurturing friendships. So really, he had no idea what he was supposed to be doing - if anything. Leave it to him to feel clingy when he hadn’t even called.
But what if Peter was waiting for him to call?
How on earth could a friendship be so complicated? Neal knew, of course, because he knew himself and he knew his heart and he was aware of it’s demented little crush that promised to blossom into something embarrassing. But he also knew he’d get over it. Probably. But until then, should he call?
Turns out he didn’t have to. He thought he spotted him in on the sidewalk outside the restaurant windows as he handed over his section to the oncoming shift. He frowned when he was still standing there, hunched into his jacket 20 minutes later as he exited the building. “Peter?”
“Hey. Hi.” His smile was lopsided and slightly embarrassed.
“Were you going in?” Neal reached for the door handle as if he didn’t know he’d been standing in the rain for almost a half hour. Like his wet jacket and dripping hair wouldn’t have given it away.
“No. No, I, um, I can’t, I…” He held his hands up as if the fend something off and took three steps back.
Neal immediately pulled his hand away from the door and closed the new distance between them. “It’s ok.” He was using the same voice he would use on a spooked animal but couldn’t help it. “Is there - do you need…” He waved his hand as words failed him.
“A friend. I think.” Peter hung his head. “I was walking , trying to - and I just kind of found myself here.”
Neal swallowed the sigh that built in his chest and nodded instead. “Drinks?”
Peter nodded and Neal stepped past him, leading the way back to his apartment.
Neal unlocked the door and pushed it open, sending a silent thank you to whatever God was listening that’d he’d, for some reason, gotten sick of staring at the sink of dishes and had run them through the dishwasher that morning before work. Everything else was in it’s usual state of disarray but it didn’t bother him. That mess was part of who he was; tubes of paint, brushes drying, books and papers strewn across the coffee table. He waved a hand around. “It isn’t much.”
“It’s beautiful.” His tone of voice was that of honesty.
Neal blushed a little; he knew how lucky he was, it was a wonderful place that he wouldn’t be able to afford if not for the generosity of his landlady. She had discovered him selling his paintings in a crappy stall at a flea market and had fallen in love with one of his pieces. It was on the mantle downstairs and he was in the fourth floor apartment with a million dollar view and rent that was less than a fourth of what it should have been. “It is.” He didn’t try to hide his pride as he took it in from Peter’s point of view. “It really is.”
Peter stood awkwardly just inside the door, his eyes roaming over everything. Neal watched the question form in his mind before it crossed his lips. “How…?” He stopped himself and had the decency to look taken aback by his own words. “I mean…”
Neal shushed his with a wave of his hand. “My landlady is beyond amazing. I trade art for partial rent and she swears one day I’ll be famous and what I’ve given her will more than cover what I can’t pay now.” He shrugged. “Personally I think she’s full of shit, but I’ll enjoy the view until she comes to her senses.” When Peter laughed and visibly relaxed he shrugged out of his jacket. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into what Peter assumed was the bedroom area.
Peter took advantage of his disappearance and studied his shelves; books and CD’s mostly. Reproductions of small art pieces. He turned in a circle to take it all in and noticed the lack of television and a easel with a half finished piece. He wandered over and stared, a lump forming somewhere under his rib cage. When he heard Neal coming back he quickly turned away from the painting and smiled when he appeared. Neal’s eyes flicked from him to the painting and back.
“Sadness captures.” He was dressed in jeans and a plain white tshirt and something caught in Peter’s throat at the exposed innocence. He offered no other explanation. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah.” He glanced down at his suit, which probably cost more than Neal’s entire wardrobe. “I feel overdressed.”
“Sorry I don’t have anything nicer.” Neal huffed a laugh.
“No! That’s not what I meant. You look good. Nice. I’d like to be wearing less - I mean, I didn’t mean… oh hell..” He trailed off again and his cheeks lit up. “You look comfortable. I look like I just drove my BMW home from my job and now am going to go have a martini.” He rolled his eyes.
Neal laughed outright at that and brushed past him, bumping his shoulder as he went. “You look nice too.”
--
Neal led them away from his building, Peter just half a step behind and Neal could practically feel his mind working. They walked past a bar and he heard Peter’s footsteps slow. He glanced over his shoulder and stopped at the questions on Peter’s face. “Oh, when I said drinks; I meant coffee.” He offered a soft smile. “Alcohol disguises the pain but it doesn’t begin to heal it.”
Peter came to a complete stop at that, his face suddenly angry and a little betrayed. “I am not an alcoholic.”
“No. But I am. And trust me, feeling is better than masking.”
Peter pressed his lips together and remained silent. Neal turned away again and led them to a coffee shop. He held the door open and Peter stepped in in front of him. It was a quiet place with bookshelves and overstuffed chairs. There was jazz on low and the strong bitter scent of freshly ground beans in the air. They approached the counter and the man behind the register broke out in a smile. “Neal, welcome back!” His eyes roved over Peter and his grin grew. “Who’s your new friend?”
Neal raised one eyebrow. “This is Peter and I will take my usual.”
Peter cleared his throat. “Make that two?” His coffee usually came from the cart outside his office or the espresso machine behind his secretary's desk. Whatever the ‘usual’ was, he could at least pretend to appreciate it if it was disgusting. It was better than mumbling through an order like a fool.
The guy behind the counter sighed and arched the eyebrow with that was pierced with a delicate silver ring. He punched a couple buttons on the register and Neal swiped a card so fast that Peter almost missed it. He almost objected but Neal shot him a glare and he thought better of it.
Jake, his nametag said Jake, pulled two cups from behind the counter and poured black coffee into each. “Still waiting to try something a little more exciting, I see.”
“You’re all the excitement I need.” Neal threw back. Clearly this was a running joke and Peter was amused.
There were only a couple other people sprawled with laptops and ipads and Neal maneuvered them away from them. Peter dropped into a chair and Neal settled into the one right beside him. He took a sip of the coffee and sighed. “Thanks.”
When Neal glanced over, Peter looked sheepish. “For what?”
“Understanding.” He swirled his cup. “Not many people understand the pain of… muted pain. They want me to get drunk and make me forget. But I don’t think that’s why I came today. But I don’t… I mean.” He stumbled over his words.
“Depression doesn’t care who you are, Peter. It doesn’t give a shit about success or failure or loss or love. It doesn’t care if you fall into a bottle to cope. It doesn’t care if you cry and rage or keep everything inside. It can find you no matter how well everyone around you thinks you’re handling things.”
“You always seemed so…”
Neal’s laugh was low. “You caught me on an upswing of a really bad time.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but close enough for now. “And sometimes I can still feel it breathing down my neck. But I work on it, everyday.” He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable. He didn’t talk about himself very well.
But Peter let it drop with a nod. “Well, thank you. For knowing what I didn’t need.”
--
Their friendship grew easily after that,starting with a phone call the next day; Peter’s voice hesitant. Neal chewed on his lip to stop his grin from blooming and he met the man outside his apartment building an hour later. They talked as they walked; Neal carried most of the conversation, talking about art and the history of some of his favorite pieces. Peter nodded and followed along with enthusiasm, but he was a math guy - art kind of made his head hurt. But that didn’t stop him when Neal mentioned an upcoming exhibit he was planning on attending that weekend. “Would you mind if, I mean, would you like some company?”
That stopped Neal and he shrugged. He hadn’t really had, well, this in a long time. Someone willing to just be his friend without expecting something in return. “If you want.” He kind of felt a teenage girl at the prospect of a first date. Which was ridiculous.
“Yeah.” Peter turned away and continued the steady pace they’d been keeping. “I’d like that.”
--
Neal could tell Peter was bored. He’d stare at a painting with a slight frown on his face; to anyone from a distance it would look like he was studying brushstrokes or color composition. But Neal could see the empty glaze in his eyes and knew his mind was five thousand miles away. He nudged his shoulder. “This is one of my favorites of his work.”
Peter blinked and looked over at him briefly before flicking his glance back toward the painting. “It’s kind of sad.”
“Yeah. Therein lies the beauty of it. Sadness captures.” He repeated the words from earlier that week and something cold unfurled in Peter’s chest, stretching its wings and warming. ”It hurts and it reminds.” Neal slipped his hands in his pockets and walked away, letting the whorls of color speak for themselves. When Neal glanced over his shoulder again the faraway look was gone but Peter was still staring, one hand to his chest and a near unreadable expression on his face.
--
“Thank you.” Peter had double parked outside his building and his voice was a low. “E… I’ve been to a few before, I kind of miss it.” He took a deep breath and looked up with a sad smile. “I had a good time.”
Neal’s heart squeezed and he swallowed hard. “Thank you for joining me. Art is always better when you are sharing it with someone.” He pushed the door open and stood. He leaned back in. “Even the parts that hurt. Goodnight, Peter.”
“Goodnight Neal.” He sat there until the light in Neal’s window flicked on. And then he sat a little longer - the idea of home feeling lonelier than it had in awhile.
--
They went to museums. They went to ball games. Neal had his first up close with a hockey puck and Peter discovered that opera was actually better live. They discussed their jobs and Neal’s art and the winter that was already chilling the air in early October. Peter talked about his childhood, Neal didn’t. Neal went on dates with men who weren’t good enough and Peter declined every offer in his direction.
They ate takeout on Neal’s living room floor and perfectly grilled steak on Peter’s back deck. They talked about everything. Except Elizabeth. They didn’t talk about her. Peter would stumble sometimes and half her nickname would slip out, not even a whole syllable; more like a noise but Neal always knew it for what is was and would wait, patiently, for the day when Peter let the thought out.
--
Six months passed in a blur and Neal watched the first anniversary of her death approach in the lines of Peter’s face. He aged years with every passing day but Neal was absolutely helpless to stop the onslaught of pain as it caught up with him.
Neal knew he hadn’t dealt with it, he knew he’d been using Neal as an escape. Neal expected the day to be hard and painful. He also expected his calls to go unanswered and his knocks to be ignored.
What he didn’t expect was a very very drunk Peter Burke laying on his buzzer at 7pm.
“Jesus, Peter.” He met him halfway down the hall and could smell the tequila before he even got to him.
“M’sorry.” He slurred and stumbled into him. “I didn’t mean to get so, I just wanted a drink. Just one.” He sighed and stopped trying to support himself, luckily they’d made it to Neal’s couch. “And then I just didn’t want to remember.” His head dropped to Neal’s shoulder.
“It’s ok.” Neal ran a hand down his back and Peter shuddered. “It happens, sometimes.” He tipped him back and Peter flopped against the back of the couch. “I’m going to get you some water. Stay here.”
He made it into the kitchen before he started shaking, his hands first as he held the glass under the tap. As he set the glass down on the counter he noticed the tremble in his arms. He ran his hands over his upper arms and took a deep breath. He could do this part, this was Peter. He started a pot of coffee, returned to the living room, and found Peter with his eyes closed and his jaw clenched. “You ok?”
Peter only nodded.
“Drink this.” He sat again and touched the cool glass to the other man’s hand. Peter jumped and pried his eyes open.
“Thank you.” He took a long swallow before he dropped his head back down. “I miss her.”
“I know.” Neal leaned back and stared straight ahead.
“Don’t know why I came here.” He sighed again and Neal heard the turn of his head.
It didn’t matter what had brought him here, truth was; Neal was glad it was him he allowed himself to run to. He cared about his man. He looked over as Peter sat up, the weight of the grief on his shoulders giving his posture a slump that made him seem impossibly breakable. Neal’s heart ached but he tamped down on those feelings - he wanted to help him. Not fall for broken man. A broken unattainable man who wanted nothing if it wasn’t his wife, if it wasn’t Elizabeth, if it wasn’t it wasn’t the other half of his shattered soul.
The silence between them grew as Neal waited for the dam to break. “Do you know why I fell in love with El?”
“Tell me?” Neal slid a hand over and covered his arm.
“She was smart. And funny. And she got me - she always had the right words or smile or hug. She always knew what I needed when even I couldn’t figure it out. I’m not an easy man to love, Neal, I am stubborn and dense and and…” He reached for the glass of water and took another drink.
“But she loved me. She gave my life wonder and grace and I let her see me, even the parts I wished were different and she embraced all of me, all the time. Even when we fought, even when I was stubborn and mean and selfish and wrong - she never walked away without telling me that she loved me. That we were worth it and that she was coming back. She always told me she was coming back, because she loved me - even at my absolute worst. And now she’s gone.. And all I can think is that I have to live the rest of my life without her. I have to face this, “ He clutched at his chest. “everyday. This pain of my other half, missing and gone. And I don’t know how to breathe without her and it hurts. Neal, every breath hurts.”
Neal sucked air and for a moment he felt the pain in his own chest. He slid his hand down until he caught Peter’s fingers between his own. “Someday, someday you’ll think of her and realize her haven’t thought of her in a week, or two. And it’ll still hurt here -” He leaned and tapped at Peter’s chest. “ - But you’ll smile because you loved her, because you were loved by her. And someday, it’ll be the love that you remember I won’t tell you it’s ok, or that you will be ok. It hurts because it mattered. And that’s important, that it mattered. She mattered and it’s ok to not be ok because you matter too. And it’s ok to feel. But Peter, you have to know that someday, it’s going to be ok to be ok again.”
Peter swiped angrily at the wetness in his eyes and blinked in Neal’s direction. He had turned on the couch and had his head cocked gently to the side and Peter laughed bitterly as he wiped at his eyes again. “I’ve already cried too much.” He was suddenly feeling much too sober.
“There’s no such thing as too many tears for someone you loved.”
Neal’s steady gaze burned and Peter felt everything he’d not been saying rising to the surface. “I cried so much, right after she - after we found out. She didn’t. She held my hand and made me laugh with tears on my cheeks and promised an anniversary in Italy. And when they told us to go home and enjoy what days we had left - still she laughed. She laughed and we danced and she wrote goodbyes to all her friends. She was so frail and so sick. I’d catch her in the bathroom throwing up what little dinner she’d eaten and it was her comforting me.” He swallowed down a sob that threatened to escape.
“We’d go to sleep at night and she’d tell me stories of when she was a kid or a teenager. Stories I didn’t know. She’d smile and I’d wait until she was sleeping and then I’d cry again because I wanted all her stories. I wanted a lifetime to gather them all.” He breathed hard but steady, the overwhelming urge to talk about it had given way to the release and he squeezed tight to the fingers entwined with his, thankful.
“And then one day the stories stopped and she didn’t wake up. She was gone for three days before her body gave up. And I cried. I held her hand and I told her I loved her and I cried and I told her it was time to let go.” Another deep breath and he felt calm. “Once - once she was gone I stopped crying. I went back to work and I talked to her at night and I thought I was ok because I had finally stopped crying.” He stopped and frowned, his air shuddering through to his lungs and the stone weight of tears centered on his chest, a familiar painful ache.
“I’m not ok.” He said it like a statement before turning watery eyes to Neal. “Am I?”
Neal turned so they were facing and clasped both his hands. “You will be.”
And for the first time that Neal had seen, possibly the first time since her death, a cry escaped from Peter and he looked shocked by it, ashamed even. But Neal slid an arm over his shoulder and applied just the gentlest of pressure. That’s all it took, Peter crumpled against him and Neal did his best to curl himself around Peter’s larger frame. “I’ve got you.” A hand over his hair and down his back, tense muscles shaking. “I’ve got you.”
In time he anguish turned to quiet sobs and shaking breaths and eventually he pulled away and gave a weak smile. He searched Neal’s face for a sign that he was uncomfortable or embarrassed. He looked for signs of pity. Finding none, he relaxed and this time the air in his lungs was cleansing. “Thank you.”
Neal shrugged with one shoulder and stood, gathering the empty glass. “Anytime.” He turned toward the kitchen.
“I should go.” Peter stood.
“No.” Neal turned back. “You should stay. You’re in no shape to get home.. Let me change the sheets and I’ll take the couch.”
Peter’s eyes moved around the room and he gave in surprisingly easily. “You might as well sleep in your own bed. I don’t sleep much anyway.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “And your couch looks a lot more comfortable than mine.” A smile, weak but real. “El bought ours for sitting, not for sleeping. But I can’t…” His eyes flooded with tears again but Neal was quick to reach out.
“You’re taking the bed. And there’s a TV in there, if you need…” What? A distraction? Something to stare at until the sleep in his eyes burned worse than the tears? He shrugged again and pulled the other man into a hug, Peter somehow both strong and limp in his arms. Neal did his best to ignore the twist in his heart.
--
He was still awake an hour later, staring a hole in the dark ceiling. His body was already complaining about the couch but the low sounds of the TV was some sort of odd comfort, letting him know he had done the right thing. He shifted again and gave up; getting to his feet. He peered into the bedroom and he walked by and his breath instantly caught in the view. Peter was sound asleep and Neal was awed by the vulnerability of him with his face relaxed and arms clutching at the pillow pressed to his chest.
He watched for just a moment, his air caught and his heart suddenly full to bursting before padding the rest of the way down the hall to the bathroom. When he hit the couch again a few minutes later he slept almost instantly, in giving peace, he found it.
--
“I think I should get a dog.” Peter greeted him on a windy spring morning, the sun barely over the horizon.
“Mornin’ Peter.” Neal yawned and scratched at his cheek. “Is early.”
“I know.” Peter was practically bouncing. “Will you come with me to the shelter?”
Neal blinked blearily at him and it took a minute for his mind to catch up. “To find a dog. At 6am?”
“Well.” Peter grinned and tried to look charming but it only earned him a scowl. “I figured that I’d feed you first.”
“Pancakes.” Neal turned and walked away, Peter caught the door as it dropped behind him. “And bacon.” Peter’s grin grew.
--
“So they open at 8.” Peter shoveled hash browns into his mouth.
Neal cut a chunk off his stack of pancakes and nodded. “What kind of dog are you looking for? Anything in particular?”
“I don’t know. Something smart.” Peter glanced at his watch. “I think I’ll know him when I meet him.”
“Or her.” Neal raised his fork. “Don’t be sexist.”
“Or her.” Peter agreed.
--
Surprisingly calm brown eyes followed Peter around the room and he was smitten by the golden pup before he even reached his kennel. He stopped and knelt down, only then did the puppy approach the bars. “Hey fella.” He wiggled his fingers through the bars and was rewarded with a lick.
Neal knelt beside him. “I thought you wanted a dog. He’s kind of still a baby.”
The puppy cocked his head at Neal like he was listening and then gave Peter a look that he interpreted as ‘Can you believe him?’
“No, buddy,I can’t.” Peter answered with a grin before turning to Neal. “I’m pretty certain it’s this one.”
Neal watched the puppy try to nuzzle his way to Peter through the bars. “I think you’re right.”
--
“Satchmo?” Neal scrubbed a hand across the dog;s ears. “Do you have a big mouth boy?”
The dog yawned in response and Peter laughed. “El loved Louis Armstrong. It seems fitting to name him after a love’s love.” He let a whistle and the dog trotted over, Peter took his face in hand and looked him right in the eye. “What do you think? How does Satchmo sound?”
Satchmo woofed in response and wet Peter’s chin with his tongue.
Neal grinned as he watched. “Satchmo it is.”
--
“I have date.” Peter dropped grumpily onto the couch. “Again.”
“Clinton?” Neal didn’t even look up, he was engrossed in a book.
“Of course.” Peter sighed and nudged Neal’s leg with his knee. “Feel sorry for me.”
Neal looked up and offered him the saddest look he had. “I’m sorry that your friend wants you to be happy.”
“Neeaaal.” Peter groaned.
“Ok, I am genuinely sorry. Peter, if you’re not ready for dating then you need to be straightforward with him. Stop blaming the women.”
“I think - “Peter paused. “Aren’t I ready?”
“Well, I don’t think you’re going to have three consecutive bad dates with three separate women all hand picked by someone who has known you for years.” Neal had set the book aside and was trying to gauge how deep to take the conversation. He’d been dreading it since Peter had shown up moaning about a fiery redhead named Emily.
--
“Who names a redhead Emily, anyway? What were her parents thinking? Neal, she ordered vegan pasta and wanted me to call her Emmy.” Peter had cease knocking more than a month ago and Neal had stopped caring about a week after that. He just snorted sympathetically and handed over the last half of his beer.
“So no second date?” He got up and pulled two fresh beers from the fridge.
Peter’s eyes grew huge. “No. No. She turned green and bolted the moment I ordered my steak medium rare.” There was a smirk at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think she’ll be calling.”
Neal popped the top off his beer and leaned back into the couch. “Was it at least a decent steak?”
“And the vegan pasta wasn’t half bad either.” Peter laughed.
--
“Not everyone can be as perfect as - “ Neal bit his tongue. “I just mean, their flaws are going to be more visible if you’re actively looking for them.”
“I know.” Peter dropped his head miserably.
“What about Ashley?” Neal thought back. “She seemed nice and she ordered the steak, right?” His lip raised in a smirk.
“And then she instagramed it! She photographed her food. From a height. For a better angle. For social media so she could share her completely remarkable looking steak with her” friends”. Peter made air quotes and a face. “I can’t take someone seriously when they’re more involved with people in cyberspace then they are with the actual date.”
“Mmhmm.” Neal nodded along with his rant. He didn’t disagree completely but.. “And Gwen?”
“She just wanted to get laid.” Peter sighed.
“Hallelujah!” He threw his hands up. “And did you…?”
“No!” Peter shook his head hard. “I don’t… I don’t do casual sex.”
“I know but -”
“But nothing. That’s not who I am. And now I’ve got a date with Katie on Friday.”
Neal put on his best serious face. “What do we know about Katie?”
“She’s a veterinarian, specializes in exotics. That’s how Clinton knows her, she takes care of those little squirrely things he has. No kids, never married. She’s originally from Oklahoma but transplanted here when she was 18. She plays country music in her office and, according to Jones, smells like sunshine.” Peter rolled his eyes. “I’m sure she’s lovely.”
“She kind of sounds your type.” Neal was watching him carefully, trying to gauge the other man’s reaction while trying to sort through the tangle of his own feelings.
“I should cancel.”
Neal tried to ignore the surge of relief, pressed it away because hiding forever wasn’t the happiness he wanted for his friend. “You should give her a chance. It’s almost been two years, Peter. You’re not meant to be alone forever.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “So, Friday. What do I wear?”
Part 4