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just something I whipped up last night when the plot bunny provided by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kanarek13 (both her post of screencaps and a comment on that entry) wouldn't let go of me. A heartbroken Neal finally realising where, or better to whom, he belongs.
Summary: Post Season 6. Neal has everything he ever wanted in Paris – well, not everything. He has to make another life-changing decision if he ever wants to fill the void that once was his heart.
Notes: Inspired by the new Armani – Made to Measure video, the screencaps and a well-placed plot bunny bykanarek13, who I also dedicate this story to. Don’t get confused when I’m switching between Nicolas and Neal – it’s always the same man we’re talking about. Title is, as most of you might have already recognized, a (hopefully) clever twist of Matt’s TV movie “The Normal Heart.” Artworks (if you want to call it that way) made by me. Unbetaed, so if you spot any typos and such, just let me know.
Disclaimer: Not mine, otherwise you would have seen that happen on screen.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A lot of people say that experiencing a rain shower in Paris is something special. Well, that might be true, absolutely. Nicolas Bourquain, head of security at the Musée de Louvre, and sipping a café au lait right now while gazing out of the window of his office, would agree to that. And yet, it was just a rainy day like in any other city when you were on your own.
Almost a year ago, Nicolas arrived here in Paris. Before that day, everyone knew him as Neal Caffrey, the world’s best con man/forger/thief in personal union. But several days prior to stepping out of the main building at Charles de Gaulle and into a new life, Neal had to make the probably hardest decision in his whole life. Sure, he still told himself that this was his biggest con, and that he could shed the mask of “Neal Caffrey” just like that, but somewhere deep down, a voice was piping up, incessantly and nagging. And that voice, sounding a lot like a weird mash-up of Peter, Mozzie and Ellen, told him straight away that he was a runner-up for the title of the “world’s biggest idiot”, just for thinking that. For thinking that you could leave your “family”, no matter if of blood or not, behind like that, to let them mourn for you while you were starting anew somewhere else.
It wasn’t that Neal/Nicolas led a solitary life here in Paris. He had a steady career; worked his way up to head of security quite under a year (wherein his former plans to rob the Louvre certainly came into use). He, or better Nicolas, had made a lot of new friends, but every time they met, Neal couldn’t shake the feeling that they were not his, Neal’s, friends, just those of a character he was “playing.” And Amelie, the young, lovely waitress at his favorite café, was an equally lovely companion for certain hours. She probably would call it “love”, but like with the friends, Neal was sure that she was in love with Nicolas, not with the true Neal hidden beneath this new mask.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For the first few months, he tried to block out everything even remotely connected with New York. Sure, he couldn’t really escape that at work, where he was bound to run into tourists from the Big Apple on a regular base. Or where he had to attend meetings about exchanges between the Louvre and any of the big museums over there and his expertise on any matters of security was needed. But as soon as his workday was over, he was keen on becoming a full-fledged French citizen. He only spoke French, watched French TV only (and turned the TV mute as soon as any report about the US started) and only read the French magazines and newspapers (most of them at the café where he stopped every day before going into work)
But then, the “anniversary” of Neal’s death rolled around, and it became more and more difficult for Nicolas to block it out. The other day, a family of three walked into the Louvre while he was down at the security point at the main entrance, and for a fleeting second, Nicolas thought that Peter and El were here, with their little baby. But then the woman turned around and the treacherous part of his heart got disappointed when she didn’t resemble El at all.
He also slipped up more often when introducing himself. More than once, he almost told someone that his name was Neal Caffrey. For his luck, no one noticed it, and for that, Nicolas was thankful to any deity that was just on duty in that moment. What the heck was going on with him?
In the same time, he became more and more distant. To his co-workers, to his friends, to Amelie. It was easy, especially with his friends, who took his (trained) speech about having a lot to do at work for true. His co-workers chalked it up to the new responsibility he got with being head of security. But Amelie… she was the hardest to convince that he needed more time for himself. And while Nicolas only acted to feel sorry for her, Neal truly felt it. He wished he wouldn’t have to do it, but it was the only way to get to the bottom of his real problems. And so, they broke up.
Spring came to the city, and in late May, Nicolas took a week of vacation. He had a good assistant, Patrice, and a bunch of excellent security officers, who all would go and excel themselves to keep the museum safe in his absence, of that he was sure.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He drove out of Paris, to a small cottage about three hours north of the city. Like his first apartment in Paris, this cottage belonged to June, the most formidable woman he ever had met – and up until last week the only person on this earth to know that he still was alive. Last week, he called his long-time friend Mozzie, but his brother in everything but blood didn’t quite show the reaction Neal was expecting. Even across the Atlantic Ocean, Neal practically could feel the anger and feeling of betrayal Mozzie was directing at him. And he couldn’t even blame him – after everything they went through together, leaving Mozzie out of it was the ultimate betrayal.
After unpacking and showering, Neal took a seat at the table out on the wooden porch that run almost around the whole house. Without him really realizing it, he not only put a bottle of wine and a glass on the table, but also his sketching pad and a pack of charcoal sticks. Only when he came back with some bread and cheese to snack on it, he saw it – and it was like a turning a switch inside of him. Without stopping to eat or drink, Neal poured everything into the paper, finishing only when there was nothing left in him, except for tears and a big heap of heartache and longing.
For the first time in years, he cried, letting all the feelings he suppressed for so long out of their cage and roaming freely in his body and mind. Absently-minded, he grabbed the bottle of wine, only to notice that he not even had opened it. Somehow, that triggered another round of tears, but this time, it was a short-lived one. Neal caught his breath and picked up the pad. He was quite surprised (or not at all) to see that every single sketch was of his former life in New York. The first one was Peter, laughing about something Neal couldn’t remember, happiness evident in his eyes. Then came Elizabeth, as beautiful as ever, and with the small baby bump that she had right before Neal’s “death.” Mozzie, June, Diana, her son Theo, Clinton and the rest of the Harvard Crew followed, all of them in such great detail as if they were sitting here at the table with him. Even Sara and Alex had found their way into the pages of the pad, and with every drawing, Neal’s heart felt more and more empty, like a giant black hole that threatened to swallow him whole within the near future. He knew he had to do something against it, but his mind was equally empty in regard to ideas. Deciding that he wouldn’t get anything done in that matter tonight, he drank the last of the wine, put the glass and the dish back in the kitchen, and went to bed.
The next morning came way too soon for his liking. Neal had spent the better part of the previous night with tossing and turning, both his heart and mind running wild with images and ideas and emotions. That nagging voice was also back in full mode and told him that it was so easy solving his current problem – call Peter, tell him the truth, and get back to New York as soon as possible. But the rational part of Neal knew that he was only at the beginning of a long, hard and tricky road – of which he had no idea where it might end.
For the rest of his vacation, the days were equally spent with plotting his return to New York and coming up with a clever way to cut his ties here. A small part of Neal wanted to stay here, the part that still wanted to prove it to himself that we was capable of staying on the straight and narrow, but the better part of him just wanted to end this longing for his family. And all of a sudden, Neal realized that this certain feeling was with him all the time, ever since he boarded the plane in Toronto, maybe even before. The Burkes, Mozzie, June and her children, Diana, Theo, Clinton – they were his family, and Neal didn’t want anything more than being back with them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seven days after his departure, Neal arrived back in Paris, and for the first time in a year, it didn’t feel like home to him. Getting that feeling so strong was what made him sure of his decision. All that was left to do was to hand in his resignation, emptying the apartment of all his personal effects, arranging the transport of them back to New York and finally hopping on a plane with the same destination.
To say that the board of directors was surprised of his resignation would be an understatement. Within a few hours, he had a personal talk with every single one of them, and all of them offered him effectively the world, if only he would stay and continue his excellent work. But all of them got the same answer to their offers – he just couldn’t (and wouldn’t) go on with his life when a better part of his heart was somewhere else and the small part still beating inside of him only wanted to be reunited with said missing part. In the end, they all showed empathy for him, and Neal was sure that in no time, they all had forgotten of him. As a final wish, Neal asked them to promote Patrice to the job, but he couldn’t bring himself to really care about his successor.
Cleaning out his apartment was a quick affair, except for the many paintings he had. And no, he answered to the sudden appearance of Peter’s voice in his head, not one of them is stolen. They all were original Caffrey’s, ranging in their topics from the legendary Paris skyline to scenes of a daily life, like a child feeding the doves at Opéra Garnier or a young woman reading a book in Jardin de Luxembourg, to some abstract paintings that Neal couldn’t really explain without revealing too much about his past.
Fortunately, Alex wasn’t as miffed about his “death” as Mozzie, and she was more than willing to help him get back to “his” city. In no time, she had arranged a legal transport for all his belongings, promising that she would personally oversee it and make sure that every single item would arrive in New York in one piece.
Later that day, Neal made his way to the little café he had grown fond of over the last 12 months. Saying “au revoir” to Amelie and her family was definitely the hardest part of it, but compared to leaving his other family behind in New York, it was nothing. If anything, it was a feeble attempt to replace something made of gold with something made of metal that was only painted in gold.
Surprisingly enough, Amelie and her family were very understanding. Amelie’s mother, another quite remarkable woman he now had the honor to know, told him straight away that she had seen it in his eyes the moment he first ordered a coffee here. With a round of hugs and wishing him well, they sent him finally off.
Just outside the café, Neal felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out – and all but threw it away upon seeing the name on the display. For reasons he couldn’t remember or explain, Neal had programmed both Peter’s and Elizabeth’s mobile number in his own new mobile. And now, Peter’s name was flashing on the display.
“Peter?”
“It’s really you.”
“Yeah, it is. Listen, Peter…”
“Stop. I’m on my way to La Guardia as we speak, and I’m on the next flight to Paris. I want, no, I need to see you with my very own eyes to really believe it.”
“Peter, stop.” Neal turned around to look out for a taxi. “Stay wherever you are.”
“Why? The Panthers are all behind bars, they can’t find you. And believe me when I tell you that they are locked up really nice.”
“Supermax, I presume?”
“Yes, and all of them in solitary imprisonment.”
“Good to know.” Neal paused, got the attention of a taxi driver and flagged him down to his position on the sidewalk. “Cause I’m coming…,” he was tempted to say ʻhome’, but part of him wasn’t sure if New York (and the Burkes) still was it, “…over to New York.”
“Really?” For a second, Peter sounded like a little boy who couldn’t believe what he just got told.
“Yes, really.” Neal paused again, trying to reign the storm of emotions that was about to start in. He also told the driver his destination. “Aéroport de Charles de Gaulle, s’il vous plaît.” For several seconds, only static could be heard between Paris and New York. “Tell me one thing, Peter: boy or girl?”
Apparently, Neal’s question had surprised Peter, since the man took again several moments to answer.
“A boy, and we named him...”
“Don’t tell me now. I want to see the boy to assert the damage you might have done with the name.”
Both men chuckled, and for a heartbeat or two, Neal felt like the whole last year never ever had happened. But the moment was over as quick as it had started, and he was back in reality, with not only the Atlantic Ocean, but also a proverbial mountain of betrayal and lies and hurt between them.
“So, you’re really coming over? For good?”
Neal pondered his answer for a moment. Should he really tell Peter that it was for good? What if Peter and El and their baby were better off with him staying here in Paris?
“Maybe. I might have to test the waters before I make a final decision.”
“Yeah, but this time, Neal, you talk to me, before you jump headfirst into the next mayhem, okay?”
“Okay.” In the meantime, the taxi had pulled up at Charles de Gaulle. Neal exited the car, paid the driver and made his way into the airport.
“Alright, Peter, I have to hang up. I’m at the airport now. Oh, by the way, does El know?”
“No, I’m calling you from the car. And I have absolutely no idea how to break it to her that you’re still alive.”
“Oh, I have faith you will come up with something. And I hope and pray that you have learnt anything from me, at least in this department.”
Neal had found the airline desk he had been looking for and, after ending the call to Peter, paid the ticket that would take him back to the Big Apple.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Several hours later, Neal Caffrey, once known for keeping his cool in almost every situation, resembled more a whole bunch of energizer bunnies on speed than a human being. At some point during the flight, he practically felt the familiar and oh-so-missed call of New York. Mozzie used to refer to her as a “lady”, and now this lady was singing her song to a lost son.
Finally, the plane touched down on U.S. soil, and Neal was one of the first out of the plane. Part of him was more than excited to be back in “his” city, but another part of him was unsure of what the future might hold for him. While passing the security gate, the thought “it’s now or never” crossed his mind.
A few minutes later, Neal had gathered his luggage (just a larger sport bag) and made his way out of the check-out area into that part of the airport where families, drivers and other people were waiting for the passengers. Just outside the doors, he stopped dead in his tracks, causing an elder man to almost bump into him. Muttering an apology to the man, Neal kept on staring at the scene in front him. Not only that Peter was waiting him, next to him were also Elizabeth, who was holding a beautiful baby boy, and, to Neal’s big surprise, Mozzie.
All of a sudden, his feet had a life of their own, and before his mind could catch up, Neal felt himself engulfed in one big hug. Even the baby tried to copy the adults, but all it managed was to put one of his pudgy hands on Neal’s cheek.
Needing air, Neal pulled himself, more than reluctant, from the hug and took several big gulps of air. Somehow, his airway, no, his whole chest felt constricted, but Neal wouldn’t want to exchange that feeling for anything. He finally chanced a look at his “family”, and somehow he knew that the tears on their faces were mirrored on his own, if the sudden dampness on his cheeks was anything to count for.
“Oh my god!”
With a speed he didn’t know she possessed, Elizabeth handed the baby over to Peter before enveloping Neal in another hug. He reciprocated as good as he could, but as soon as he felt her shaking, he pulled back, trying to get a look at her face.
“Elizabeth, look at me.”
She did as told, and Neal clearly could see the tracks of tears down her cheeks. On its own volition, his thumb was suddenly there and wiped them away.
“It’s okay, El, I won’t go away again. I promise.”
He glanced up to Peter and Mozzie, and the look on his friends’ faces told him that they were more than happy with his decision.
The End
kanarek13 (both her post of screencaps and a comment on that entry) wouldn't let go of me. A heartbroken Neal finally realising where, or better to whom, he belongs.Summary: Post Season 6. Neal has everything he ever wanted in Paris – well, not everything. He has to make another life-changing decision if he ever wants to fill the void that once was his heart.
Notes: Inspired by the new Armani – Made to Measure video, the screencaps and a well-placed plot bunny by
kanarek13, who I also dedicate this story to. Don’t get confused when I’m switching between Nicolas and Neal – it’s always the same man we’re talking about. Title is, as most of you might have already recognized, a (hopefully) clever twist of Matt’s TV movie “The Normal Heart.” Artworks (if you want to call it that way) made by me. Unbetaed, so if you spot any typos and such, just let me know.Disclaimer: Not mine, otherwise you would have seen that happen on screen.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A lot of people say that experiencing a rain shower in Paris is something special. Well, that might be true, absolutely. Nicolas Bourquain, head of security at the Musée de Louvre, and sipping a café au lait right now while gazing out of the window of his office, would agree to that. And yet, it was just a rainy day like in any other city when you were on your own.
Almost a year ago, Nicolas arrived here in Paris. Before that day, everyone knew him as Neal Caffrey, the world’s best con man/forger/thief in personal union. But several days prior to stepping out of the main building at Charles de Gaulle and into a new life, Neal had to make the probably hardest decision in his whole life. Sure, he still told himself that this was his biggest con, and that he could shed the mask of “Neal Caffrey” just like that, but somewhere deep down, a voice was piping up, incessantly and nagging. And that voice, sounding a lot like a weird mash-up of Peter, Mozzie and Ellen, told him straight away that he was a runner-up for the title of the “world’s biggest idiot”, just for thinking that. For thinking that you could leave your “family”, no matter if of blood or not, behind like that, to let them mourn for you while you were starting anew somewhere else.
It wasn’t that Neal/Nicolas led a solitary life here in Paris. He had a steady career; worked his way up to head of security quite under a year (wherein his former plans to rob the Louvre certainly came into use). He, or better Nicolas, had made a lot of new friends, but every time they met, Neal couldn’t shake the feeling that they were not his, Neal’s, friends, just those of a character he was “playing.” And Amelie, the young, lovely waitress at his favorite café, was an equally lovely companion for certain hours. She probably would call it “love”, but like with the friends, Neal was sure that she was in love with Nicolas, not with the true Neal hidden beneath this new mask.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For the first few months, he tried to block out everything even remotely connected with New York. Sure, he couldn’t really escape that at work, where he was bound to run into tourists from the Big Apple on a regular base. Or where he had to attend meetings about exchanges between the Louvre and any of the big museums over there and his expertise on any matters of security was needed. But as soon as his workday was over, he was keen on becoming a full-fledged French citizen. He only spoke French, watched French TV only (and turned the TV mute as soon as any report about the US started) and only read the French magazines and newspapers (most of them at the café where he stopped every day before going into work)
But then, the “anniversary” of Neal’s death rolled around, and it became more and more difficult for Nicolas to block it out. The other day, a family of three walked into the Louvre while he was down at the security point at the main entrance, and for a fleeting second, Nicolas thought that Peter and El were here, with their little baby. But then the woman turned around and the treacherous part of his heart got disappointed when she didn’t resemble El at all.
He also slipped up more often when introducing himself. More than once, he almost told someone that his name was Neal Caffrey. For his luck, no one noticed it, and for that, Nicolas was thankful to any deity that was just on duty in that moment. What the heck was going on with him?
In the same time, he became more and more distant. To his co-workers, to his friends, to Amelie. It was easy, especially with his friends, who took his (trained) speech about having a lot to do at work for true. His co-workers chalked it up to the new responsibility he got with being head of security. But Amelie… she was the hardest to convince that he needed more time for himself. And while Nicolas only acted to feel sorry for her, Neal truly felt it. He wished he wouldn’t have to do it, but it was the only way to get to the bottom of his real problems. And so, they broke up.
Spring came to the city, and in late May, Nicolas took a week of vacation. He had a good assistant, Patrice, and a bunch of excellent security officers, who all would go and excel themselves to keep the museum safe in his absence, of that he was sure.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He drove out of Paris, to a small cottage about three hours north of the city. Like his first apartment in Paris, this cottage belonged to June, the most formidable woman he ever had met – and up until last week the only person on this earth to know that he still was alive. Last week, he called his long-time friend Mozzie, but his brother in everything but blood didn’t quite show the reaction Neal was expecting. Even across the Atlantic Ocean, Neal practically could feel the anger and feeling of betrayal Mozzie was directing at him. And he couldn’t even blame him – after everything they went through together, leaving Mozzie out of it was the ultimate betrayal.
After unpacking and showering, Neal took a seat at the table out on the wooden porch that run almost around the whole house. Without him really realizing it, he not only put a bottle of wine and a glass on the table, but also his sketching pad and a pack of charcoal sticks. Only when he came back with some bread and cheese to snack on it, he saw it – and it was like a turning a switch inside of him. Without stopping to eat or drink, Neal poured everything into the paper, finishing only when there was nothing left in him, except for tears and a big heap of heartache and longing.
For the first time in years, he cried, letting all the feelings he suppressed for so long out of their cage and roaming freely in his body and mind. Absently-minded, he grabbed the bottle of wine, only to notice that he not even had opened it. Somehow, that triggered another round of tears, but this time, it was a short-lived one. Neal caught his breath and picked up the pad. He was quite surprised (or not at all) to see that every single sketch was of his former life in New York. The first one was Peter, laughing about something Neal couldn’t remember, happiness evident in his eyes. Then came Elizabeth, as beautiful as ever, and with the small baby bump that she had right before Neal’s “death.” Mozzie, June, Diana, her son Theo, Clinton and the rest of the Harvard Crew followed, all of them in such great detail as if they were sitting here at the table with him. Even Sara and Alex had found their way into the pages of the pad, and with every drawing, Neal’s heart felt more and more empty, like a giant black hole that threatened to swallow him whole within the near future. He knew he had to do something against it, but his mind was equally empty in regard to ideas. Deciding that he wouldn’t get anything done in that matter tonight, he drank the last of the wine, put the glass and the dish back in the kitchen, and went to bed.
The next morning came way too soon for his liking. Neal had spent the better part of the previous night with tossing and turning, both his heart and mind running wild with images and ideas and emotions. That nagging voice was also back in full mode and told him that it was so easy solving his current problem – call Peter, tell him the truth, and get back to New York as soon as possible. But the rational part of Neal knew that he was only at the beginning of a long, hard and tricky road – of which he had no idea where it might end.
For the rest of his vacation, the days were equally spent with plotting his return to New York and coming up with a clever way to cut his ties here. A small part of Neal wanted to stay here, the part that still wanted to prove it to himself that we was capable of staying on the straight and narrow, but the better part of him just wanted to end this longing for his family. And all of a sudden, Neal realized that this certain feeling was with him all the time, ever since he boarded the plane in Toronto, maybe even before. The Burkes, Mozzie, June and her children, Diana, Theo, Clinton – they were his family, and Neal didn’t want anything more than being back with them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seven days after his departure, Neal arrived back in Paris, and for the first time in a year, it didn’t feel like home to him. Getting that feeling so strong was what made him sure of his decision. All that was left to do was to hand in his resignation, emptying the apartment of all his personal effects, arranging the transport of them back to New York and finally hopping on a plane with the same destination.
To say that the board of directors was surprised of his resignation would be an understatement. Within a few hours, he had a personal talk with every single one of them, and all of them offered him effectively the world, if only he would stay and continue his excellent work. But all of them got the same answer to their offers – he just couldn’t (and wouldn’t) go on with his life when a better part of his heart was somewhere else and the small part still beating inside of him only wanted to be reunited with said missing part. In the end, they all showed empathy for him, and Neal was sure that in no time, they all had forgotten of him. As a final wish, Neal asked them to promote Patrice to the job, but he couldn’t bring himself to really care about his successor.
Cleaning out his apartment was a quick affair, except for the many paintings he had. And no, he answered to the sudden appearance of Peter’s voice in his head, not one of them is stolen. They all were original Caffrey’s, ranging in their topics from the legendary Paris skyline to scenes of a daily life, like a child feeding the doves at Opéra Garnier or a young woman reading a book in Jardin de Luxembourg, to some abstract paintings that Neal couldn’t really explain without revealing too much about his past.
Fortunately, Alex wasn’t as miffed about his “death” as Mozzie, and she was more than willing to help him get back to “his” city. In no time, she had arranged a legal transport for all his belongings, promising that she would personally oversee it and make sure that every single item would arrive in New York in one piece.
Later that day, Neal made his way to the little café he had grown fond of over the last 12 months. Saying “au revoir” to Amelie and her family was definitely the hardest part of it, but compared to leaving his other family behind in New York, it was nothing. If anything, it was a feeble attempt to replace something made of gold with something made of metal that was only painted in gold.
Surprisingly enough, Amelie and her family were very understanding. Amelie’s mother, another quite remarkable woman he now had the honor to know, told him straight away that she had seen it in his eyes the moment he first ordered a coffee here. With a round of hugs and wishing him well, they sent him finally off.
Just outside the café, Neal felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out – and all but threw it away upon seeing the name on the display. For reasons he couldn’t remember or explain, Neal had programmed both Peter’s and Elizabeth’s mobile number in his own new mobile. And now, Peter’s name was flashing on the display.
“Peter?”
“It’s really you.”
“Yeah, it is. Listen, Peter…”
“Stop. I’m on my way to La Guardia as we speak, and I’m on the next flight to Paris. I want, no, I need to see you with my very own eyes to really believe it.”
“Peter, stop.” Neal turned around to look out for a taxi. “Stay wherever you are.”
“Why? The Panthers are all behind bars, they can’t find you. And believe me when I tell you that they are locked up really nice.”
“Supermax, I presume?”
“Yes, and all of them in solitary imprisonment.”
“Good to know.” Neal paused, got the attention of a taxi driver and flagged him down to his position on the sidewalk. “Cause I’m coming…,” he was tempted to say ʻhome’, but part of him wasn’t sure if New York (and the Burkes) still was it, “…over to New York.”
“Really?” For a second, Peter sounded like a little boy who couldn’t believe what he just got told.
“Yes, really.” Neal paused again, trying to reign the storm of emotions that was about to start in. He also told the driver his destination. “Aéroport de Charles de Gaulle, s’il vous plaît.” For several seconds, only static could be heard between Paris and New York. “Tell me one thing, Peter: boy or girl?”
Apparently, Neal’s question had surprised Peter, since the man took again several moments to answer.
“A boy, and we named him...”
“Don’t tell me now. I want to see the boy to assert the damage you might have done with the name.”
Both men chuckled, and for a heartbeat or two, Neal felt like the whole last year never ever had happened. But the moment was over as quick as it had started, and he was back in reality, with not only the Atlantic Ocean, but also a proverbial mountain of betrayal and lies and hurt between them.
“So, you’re really coming over? For good?”
Neal pondered his answer for a moment. Should he really tell Peter that it was for good? What if Peter and El and their baby were better off with him staying here in Paris?
“Maybe. I might have to test the waters before I make a final decision.”
“Yeah, but this time, Neal, you talk to me, before you jump headfirst into the next mayhem, okay?”
“Okay.” In the meantime, the taxi had pulled up at Charles de Gaulle. Neal exited the car, paid the driver and made his way into the airport.
“Alright, Peter, I have to hang up. I’m at the airport now. Oh, by the way, does El know?”
“No, I’m calling you from the car. And I have absolutely no idea how to break it to her that you’re still alive.”
“Oh, I have faith you will come up with something. And I hope and pray that you have learnt anything from me, at least in this department.”
Neal had found the airline desk he had been looking for and, after ending the call to Peter, paid the ticket that would take him back to the Big Apple.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Several hours later, Neal Caffrey, once known for keeping his cool in almost every situation, resembled more a whole bunch of energizer bunnies on speed than a human being. At some point during the flight, he practically felt the familiar and oh-so-missed call of New York. Mozzie used to refer to her as a “lady”, and now this lady was singing her song to a lost son.
Finally, the plane touched down on U.S. soil, and Neal was one of the first out of the plane. Part of him was more than excited to be back in “his” city, but another part of him was unsure of what the future might hold for him. While passing the security gate, the thought “it’s now or never” crossed his mind.
A few minutes later, Neal had gathered his luggage (just a larger sport bag) and made his way out of the check-out area into that part of the airport where families, drivers and other people were waiting for the passengers. Just outside the doors, he stopped dead in his tracks, causing an elder man to almost bump into him. Muttering an apology to the man, Neal kept on staring at the scene in front him. Not only that Peter was waiting him, next to him were also Elizabeth, who was holding a beautiful baby boy, and, to Neal’s big surprise, Mozzie.
All of a sudden, his feet had a life of their own, and before his mind could catch up, Neal felt himself engulfed in one big hug. Even the baby tried to copy the adults, but all it managed was to put one of his pudgy hands on Neal’s cheek.
Needing air, Neal pulled himself, more than reluctant, from the hug and took several big gulps of air. Somehow, his airway, no, his whole chest felt constricted, but Neal wouldn’t want to exchange that feeling for anything. He finally chanced a look at his “family”, and somehow he knew that the tears on their faces were mirrored on his own, if the sudden dampness on his cheeks was anything to count for.
“Oh my god!”
With a speed he didn’t know she possessed, Elizabeth handed the baby over to Peter before enveloping Neal in another hug. He reciprocated as good as he could, but as soon as he felt her shaking, he pulled back, trying to get a look at her face.
“Elizabeth, look at me.”
She did as told, and Neal clearly could see the tracks of tears down her cheeks. On its own volition, his thumb was suddenly there and wiped them away.
“It’s okay, El, I won’t go away again. I promise.”
He glanced up to Peter and Mozzie, and the look on his friends’ faces told him that they were more than happy with his decision.
The End
