Fic: No Galatea (White Collar, Neal/Sara, PG-13)
Title: No Galatea
Fandom: White Collar
Wordcount: ~775
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): Neal/Sara
Notes: Written for darkpalace, for the Neal/Sara Thing-a-Thon. Her prompt was "Neal decides to draw (or paint) Sara." Spoilers through season 4.
Summary: Sara doesn't need Neal to create her, and she can't be captured, but that doesn't stop Neal from wanting to keep a piece of her close.
After they begin dating, Neal starts sketching Sara. Never a full portrait, but the little details that catch his eye, that capture his attention: the curve of her wrist, or the way her hair falls across her shoulders.
Neal knows he could ask her to pose, but he hesitates. Idle drawings tucked away in his sketchbook are one thing. But asking her to pose would be inviting her to see more of Neal than he's prepared to show. It's true that art is a reflection of the artist, but Neal prefers to mirror others.
When they break up, Neal can't be surprised. It's not as if he thought they'd be together forever. However, it hurts more than he expected. He'd known that following the treasure where it led would lose him everyone he's come to know in New York, but seeing Sara walk away makes it tangible.
He flips through his sketchbook, tracing his finger along the lines of her body. He remembers touching her, holding her, running his hands along her body as if he were willing her into being from so much clay. But she was whole and complete before him, and she would be whole and complete after him. She has never needed him to shape her. She has created herself.
If he runs, he'll leave everything behind, even the sketchbook. He'll leave behind the pieces of her he tried to capture, and eventually even the memories will fade. It's not the consolation it might once have been.
Getting back together is easier than Neal thought it would be. It's easy to laugh and flirt over dinner. It's easy to fall into bed, remembering the ways she likes to be touched. He'd say it's like nothing has changed, but that's not true. They've opened up in the time in between. They've shown more of themselves, and what they have now is better than before.
So, when she tells him that she's leaving, it brings a fresh kind of pain to a familiar wound.
“Let me draw you,” he asks in the safety and quiet of his apartment. Sara is looking away from him, her eyes lingering on the view outside. The setting sun lights up her hair and catches in the crystal of her wine glass. It's a moment Neal wants to capture forever.
Sara looks at him. “All right,” she says after a moment of hesitation. She grins saucily, though he can see the sadness in her eyes. “Do you want to reenact Titanic?”
Neal matches her grin. It's so simple for them to pretend. “You can keep your clothes on. Just stand there like you were, with your head turned.”
Sara is a better model than Neal would have guessed. She keeps silent and still. It's slightly unnerving to see her without without the life and motion that make her who she is, even if it's only for a short while.
While he sticks to drawing with pencil, Neal tries to commit the colors to memory--the gold of her hair, the light in her eyes. He can see wanting to paint this.
Once he's done, Neal sets the sketchbook down. “Finished.”
The stillness around Sara breaks. She comes over to him and leans down. “Do I get to see?”
Neal holds the sketchbook up. Sara brushes her fingers over the blank space on the paper. “It's beautiful,” she says softly.
Neal gazes at her. “Yeah, beautiful.” He's not talking about the drawing. There are words hovering behind his lip, words that he hasn't spoken since Kate. Words that are too big to risk, and yet too small to express what he feels. But there's no point in saying any of them. Not when they have only a few days before there's an ocean between them.
If he asked her to stay, she would say no. He needs that. He needs to know that she can say no to him, that she will always have the strength to walk away. It's a special kind of trust he gives her.
He kisses her and begins to unbutton her blouse as she responds hungrily. This has always been the easy part. It's easy to sink into her embrace and forget everything but the feel of her skin against his.
His eyes fall to the drawing, and he knows that there are some things that can't be put down on paper, some things that can't be copied. Those are the moments you have to keep the closest.
Meeting Sara's eyes, Neal can see that she knows it too. It's what they share, and it's what they'll hang on to, until the end.
Fandom: White Collar
Wordcount: ~775
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): Neal/Sara
Notes: Written for darkpalace, for the Neal/Sara Thing-a-Thon. Her prompt was "Neal decides to draw (or paint) Sara." Spoilers through season 4.
Summary: Sara doesn't need Neal to create her, and she can't be captured, but that doesn't stop Neal from wanting to keep a piece of her close.
After they begin dating, Neal starts sketching Sara. Never a full portrait, but the little details that catch his eye, that capture his attention: the curve of her wrist, or the way her hair falls across her shoulders.
Neal knows he could ask her to pose, but he hesitates. Idle drawings tucked away in his sketchbook are one thing. But asking her to pose would be inviting her to see more of Neal than he's prepared to show. It's true that art is a reflection of the artist, but Neal prefers to mirror others.
When they break up, Neal can't be surprised. It's not as if he thought they'd be together forever. However, it hurts more than he expected. He'd known that following the treasure where it led would lose him everyone he's come to know in New York, but seeing Sara walk away makes it tangible.
He flips through his sketchbook, tracing his finger along the lines of her body. He remembers touching her, holding her, running his hands along her body as if he were willing her into being from so much clay. But she was whole and complete before him, and she would be whole and complete after him. She has never needed him to shape her. She has created herself.
If he runs, he'll leave everything behind, even the sketchbook. He'll leave behind the pieces of her he tried to capture, and eventually even the memories will fade. It's not the consolation it might once have been.
Getting back together is easier than Neal thought it would be. It's easy to laugh and flirt over dinner. It's easy to fall into bed, remembering the ways she likes to be touched. He'd say it's like nothing has changed, but that's not true. They've opened up in the time in between. They've shown more of themselves, and what they have now is better than before.
So, when she tells him that she's leaving, it brings a fresh kind of pain to a familiar wound.
“Let me draw you,” he asks in the safety and quiet of his apartment. Sara is looking away from him, her eyes lingering on the view outside. The setting sun lights up her hair and catches in the crystal of her wine glass. It's a moment Neal wants to capture forever.
Sara looks at him. “All right,” she says after a moment of hesitation. She grins saucily, though he can see the sadness in her eyes. “Do you want to reenact Titanic?”
Neal matches her grin. It's so simple for them to pretend. “You can keep your clothes on. Just stand there like you were, with your head turned.”
Sara is a better model than Neal would have guessed. She keeps silent and still. It's slightly unnerving to see her without without the life and motion that make her who she is, even if it's only for a short while.
While he sticks to drawing with pencil, Neal tries to commit the colors to memory--the gold of her hair, the light in her eyes. He can see wanting to paint this.
Once he's done, Neal sets the sketchbook down. “Finished.”
The stillness around Sara breaks. She comes over to him and leans down. “Do I get to see?”
Neal holds the sketchbook up. Sara brushes her fingers over the blank space on the paper. “It's beautiful,” she says softly.
Neal gazes at her. “Yeah, beautiful.” He's not talking about the drawing. There are words hovering behind his lip, words that he hasn't spoken since Kate. Words that are too big to risk, and yet too small to express what he feels. But there's no point in saying any of them. Not when they have only a few days before there's an ocean between them.
If he asked her to stay, she would say no. He needs that. He needs to know that she can say no to him, that she will always have the strength to walk away. It's a special kind of trust he gives her.
He kisses her and begins to unbutton her blouse as she responds hungrily. This has always been the easy part. It's easy to sink into her embrace and forget everything but the feel of her skin against his.
His eyes fall to the drawing, and he knows that there are some things that can't be put down on paper, some things that can't be copied. Those are the moments you have to keep the closest.
Meeting Sara's eyes, Neal can see that she knows it too. It's what they share, and it's what they'll hang on to, until the end.