![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
STORY: A Family (From Afar) For Christmas (Neal) (#1 Allison Caffrey Chronicles)
Summary: Feeling a tad too lonely in Paris, Neal makes an impromptu trip to London for the holidays.
Notes: Written for Hurt/Comfort Advent 2016 over at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
whitecollarhc. Part of my “Allison Caffrey Chronicles”, prequel to the other stories, leading up to events that were mentioned in Chapter 3 of “Of Second Chances”. Oh, and the hotel mentioned can really be found in London. Unbetaed, so if you spot any grammar errors or typos, please let me know and I’ll fix them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
London, Claridge Hotel
Standing at the large window of his suite, Nicholas Beauchamp let his gaze sweep out over the city. The weather seemed as undecided and down for the count as he felt. To be honest, he couldn’t even name a valid reason for him being here in London. Except for feeling like he was crushed alive.
Christmas a year ago, he was on the other side of the pond, living a good life as Neal Caffrey, (slightly) reformed con man. He had friends (on both sides of the law), had a security net to fall back in times of need. But then, the Panthers came into town, brought Matthew Keller along, and in the end, everything went down the drain, so to speak. Sure, the FBI managed to catch pretty much all of the Panthers, but for the dear price of Neal Caffrey’s life. Or at least, that was what he wanted everyone to believe.
You see, the Panthers didn’t take it lightly if one of them decided to play a double game. And while Neal and Peter managed, somehow, to get their focus on Matthew Keller for being the mole, Neal knew that once they realized who it really was, no one only slightly related to him in some way would ever be safe again. Not Peter, not Elizabeth, not Mozzie, not June, hell, he couldn’t even give a guarantee for Clinton, Diana, or Sara.
So he did what he was apparently best at – he ran. And while he was at it, Neal let everyone, including Mozzie, believe that he was dead, gone for good. June, the only one who knew parts of his plan, helped him to get to Toronto and on a flight to Paris, while Peter and the rest of his “family” were trying to come to terms with this sad turn of events. At this time, Neal considered it all to be his biggest con, and he was absolutely sure that he wouldn’t miss a damn thing of the last few years (well, he might miss Elizabeth and June, but that’s all).
As it turned out in the last few months, life and fate have means and ways of proving you wrong. Sure, Nicholas Beauchamp thrived in his job, climbing the corporate ladder of Louvre security very fast, resulting in him being named Head of Security just the other day. There was a more than close friendship to a young woman named Fabienne, who even had invited him to spend the holidays with her and her large family at the family farm near La Rochelle.
And yet, Neal felt empty inside. First of all, he couldn’t quite feel proud at what Nicholas had accomplished. Well, he did, to a certain degree, but it was a shallow feeling compared to what coursed through him whenever he and Peter had a breakthrough in a case. Maybe, so the nagging little voice in his head suggested with heavy sarcasm, it was because what he and Peter did was “right”, not a con on so many unassuming people.
And exactly those feelings brought him here, to the King George suite on the top floor of the Claridge. Seeing how everyone else around him got into the Christmas spirit (some of them by the hour, it seemed), hearing words like “family” and “together” on a daily basis (at least) – all those things more or less forced Neal to face all the emotions he thought he had buried back in New York, along with the stolen body from the morgue who resembled him enough to fool anyone in case they had an open casket. Which in turn send him almost head first into the downward spiral commonly known as depression – and brought back his familiar “fight or flight” response to emotionally tasking situations.
Leaving his spot at the window, Neal finished dressing and made his way down to the lobby of the hotel. In any other case, he would have marveled at the beautiful architecture and interior design, but even though this was his first stay at this hotel, he couldn’t bring himself to pay any attention to it.
“Mr. Beauchamps,” the receptionist began, “do you want me to call a taxi for you? Or would you prefer one of our limousines for your trip into town?”
“No, thanks,” Neal returned with a smile, “I prefer to take a walk. You’ll never know what you might find.” He tipped a finger to the side of his head. “And I need to clear my mind, so strolling around the streets of London might do a better job.”
“Very well, Mr. Beauchamps.” Neal was about to turn away from the reception, when the older man pressed one of the hotel’s business cards into his palm. “Take this with you, just in case.” Seeing Neal’s slightly puzzled look, he added. “I’ve heard from other guests that it makes getting back to the hotel a bit easier.”
Neal only nodded a thanks before heading out of the door and right into the busy streets of the British capitol.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Somehow, Neal couldn’t say how exactly, he ended up in front of the office building holding the London branch of Sterling Bosch. And no, he had absolutely no intention to drop back into Sara’s life, not with the Panther’s threat still not completely gone. Sure, there were rumors that Woodford and others leaders were killed in their respective prisons (mostly by inmates), but surprisingly enough for a society that usually wants to know every single detail about anything, Neal couldn’t find solid proof for these rumors to be true. And he couldn’t just call Peter and ask the man responsible for their arrests. At least, not now, and probably not for a long time coming.
There was a lovely coffee shop right opposite the office building, and Neal didn’t have to think twice to walk in. The light drizzle, actually a mix of rain and some snowflakes, got heavier by the second, shrouding his current surroundings in a multitude of grey. Once inside, Neal sat down by the large window front, watching the people bustling and hurrying by.
“Hi!” A young girl suddenly appeared at Neal’s table, jerking him back into reality. “What can I get for you?”
“Do you have any Italian roast?”
“Yeah, I think it comes from a small factory near Milan, but I can ask my boss if you want…”
“No, no, as long as it’s Italian roast, it’s perfectly fine for me,” Neal stopped her with a smile.
“Anything else? We have freshly made cakes and some holiday-spiced cookies.”
“No, just a cappuccino and a glass of water, please.”
“Okay!” And with that, the young girl was gone, and left Neal to go back to watch the building across the street.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the end, he didn’t have to wait too long. Maybe 15 or 20 minutes later, he saw her, capturing his eyes as always, even across the distance. From what he could tell, Sara still was as beautiful as he remembered her. And to his immense joy, she looked as if she had put on some weight, giving her a healthy glow.
Suddenly, Neal’s feet had a will of their own, and he found himself paying for the coffee before heading out of the coffee shop and hailing a cab. And even though a voice piped up in his head, warning him that he was already bordering on stalking with this behavior, he ordered the cab driver to follow the car holding her.
Her car stopped a short drive later, in front of a rather large building, built at the zenith of the Victorian era. Neal didn’t get out, he didn’t want to spook her (or put her in danger), but he had to see her, just for a little while longer. The cab driver didn’t say a word, and Neal had the hunch that as long as he was getting paid, he wouldn’t ask any questions about Neal’s motive.
Sara went into the building, only to return a few minutes later. Neal sat up straight when he recognized and realized what she was carrying on her arm. Apparently, Sara had a family of her own now, if the way she interacted with the child in her arms was any indication. Sure, it hurt Neal to see this all, but on the other hand, he was happy for her. If anyone, next to Peter and El, deserved a loving family, it was Sara. He even envied the man who got to spend his life with her and the child, knowing that if their lives back in New York went any different, he himself would be this truly lucky guy.
Having seen enough for one day, Neal gave the driver the address of the hotel. He was ready to hole up in his suite, with no desire to interact with anyone than the hotel staff for the next few hours.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For the rest of his stay, Neal continued with this pattern. He would walk around town, end up at the coffee shop and wait for Sara to leave work. Then he would follow her to the kindergarten, where she would pick up her little daughter (as he learned on the second day), and even to the apartment block she lived in, before heading back to the hotel, where he would spend the rest of the day in solitude. He knew it was nothing else but a pity party on his behalf, but he came to the conclusion that this was exactly what he deserved. Sipping his wine, Neal reasoned that someone like him, who put others through so much pain as he did, letting them all believe that he was dead while he was starting anew somewhere else, had to have a backlash from karma coming his way. But, he also reasoned, it also was high on time to end this charade, once and for all. The first thing he would do once the New Year had begun was to work up the nerve and call Peter or Mozzie – and he would deal with any kind of reaction from them all, as long as it meant for all the loneliness, the pain to end.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The End
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Notes: Written for Hurt/Comfort Advent 2016 over at
whitecollarhc. Part of my “Allison Caffrey Chronicles”, prequel to the other stories, leading up to events that were mentioned in Chapter 3 of “Of Second Chances”. Oh, and the hotel mentioned can really be found in London. Unbetaed, so if you spot any grammar errors or typos, please let me know and I’ll fix them.London, Claridge Hotel
Standing at the large window of his suite, Nicholas Beauchamp let his gaze sweep out over the city. The weather seemed as undecided and down for the count as he felt. To be honest, he couldn’t even name a valid reason for him being here in London. Except for feeling like he was crushed alive.
Christmas a year ago, he was on the other side of the pond, living a good life as Neal Caffrey, (slightly) reformed con man. He had friends (on both sides of the law), had a security net to fall back in times of need. But then, the Panthers came into town, brought Matthew Keller along, and in the end, everything went down the drain, so to speak. Sure, the FBI managed to catch pretty much all of the Panthers, but for the dear price of Neal Caffrey’s life. Or at least, that was what he wanted everyone to believe.
You see, the Panthers didn’t take it lightly if one of them decided to play a double game. And while Neal and Peter managed, somehow, to get their focus on Matthew Keller for being the mole, Neal knew that once they realized who it really was, no one only slightly related to him in some way would ever be safe again. Not Peter, not Elizabeth, not Mozzie, not June, hell, he couldn’t even give a guarantee for Clinton, Diana, or Sara.
So he did what he was apparently best at – he ran. And while he was at it, Neal let everyone, including Mozzie, believe that he was dead, gone for good. June, the only one who knew parts of his plan, helped him to get to Toronto and on a flight to Paris, while Peter and the rest of his “family” were trying to come to terms with this sad turn of events. At this time, Neal considered it all to be his biggest con, and he was absolutely sure that he wouldn’t miss a damn thing of the last few years (well, he might miss Elizabeth and June, but that’s all).
As it turned out in the last few months, life and fate have means and ways of proving you wrong. Sure, Nicholas Beauchamp thrived in his job, climbing the corporate ladder of Louvre security very fast, resulting in him being named Head of Security just the other day. There was a more than close friendship to a young woman named Fabienne, who even had invited him to spend the holidays with her and her large family at the family farm near La Rochelle.
And yet, Neal felt empty inside. First of all, he couldn’t quite feel proud at what Nicholas had accomplished. Well, he did, to a certain degree, but it was a shallow feeling compared to what coursed through him whenever he and Peter had a breakthrough in a case. Maybe, so the nagging little voice in his head suggested with heavy sarcasm, it was because what he and Peter did was “right”, not a con on so many unassuming people.
And exactly those feelings brought him here, to the King George suite on the top floor of the Claridge. Seeing how everyone else around him got into the Christmas spirit (some of them by the hour, it seemed), hearing words like “family” and “together” on a daily basis (at least) – all those things more or less forced Neal to face all the emotions he thought he had buried back in New York, along with the stolen body from the morgue who resembled him enough to fool anyone in case they had an open casket. Which in turn send him almost head first into the downward spiral commonly known as depression – and brought back his familiar “fight or flight” response to emotionally tasking situations.
Leaving his spot at the window, Neal finished dressing and made his way down to the lobby of the hotel. In any other case, he would have marveled at the beautiful architecture and interior design, but even though this was his first stay at this hotel, he couldn’t bring himself to pay any attention to it.
“Mr. Beauchamps,” the receptionist began, “do you want me to call a taxi for you? Or would you prefer one of our limousines for your trip into town?”
“No, thanks,” Neal returned with a smile, “I prefer to take a walk. You’ll never know what you might find.” He tipped a finger to the side of his head. “And I need to clear my mind, so strolling around the streets of London might do a better job.”
“Very well, Mr. Beauchamps.” Neal was about to turn away from the reception, when the older man pressed one of the hotel’s business cards into his palm. “Take this with you, just in case.” Seeing Neal’s slightly puzzled look, he added. “I’ve heard from other guests that it makes getting back to the hotel a bit easier.”
Neal only nodded a thanks before heading out of the door and right into the busy streets of the British capitol.
Somehow, Neal couldn’t say how exactly, he ended up in front of the office building holding the London branch of Sterling Bosch. And no, he had absolutely no intention to drop back into Sara’s life, not with the Panther’s threat still not completely gone. Sure, there were rumors that Woodford and others leaders were killed in their respective prisons (mostly by inmates), but surprisingly enough for a society that usually wants to know every single detail about anything, Neal couldn’t find solid proof for these rumors to be true. And he couldn’t just call Peter and ask the man responsible for their arrests. At least, not now, and probably not for a long time coming.
There was a lovely coffee shop right opposite the office building, and Neal didn’t have to think twice to walk in. The light drizzle, actually a mix of rain and some snowflakes, got heavier by the second, shrouding his current surroundings in a multitude of grey. Once inside, Neal sat down by the large window front, watching the people bustling and hurrying by.
“Hi!” A young girl suddenly appeared at Neal’s table, jerking him back into reality. “What can I get for you?”
“Do you have any Italian roast?”
“Yeah, I think it comes from a small factory near Milan, but I can ask my boss if you want…”
“No, no, as long as it’s Italian roast, it’s perfectly fine for me,” Neal stopped her with a smile.
“Anything else? We have freshly made cakes and some holiday-spiced cookies.”
“No, just a cappuccino and a glass of water, please.”
“Okay!” And with that, the young girl was gone, and left Neal to go back to watch the building across the street.
In the end, he didn’t have to wait too long. Maybe 15 or 20 minutes later, he saw her, capturing his eyes as always, even across the distance. From what he could tell, Sara still was as beautiful as he remembered her. And to his immense joy, she looked as if she had put on some weight, giving her a healthy glow.
Suddenly, Neal’s feet had a will of their own, and he found himself paying for the coffee before heading out of the coffee shop and hailing a cab. And even though a voice piped up in his head, warning him that he was already bordering on stalking with this behavior, he ordered the cab driver to follow the car holding her.
Her car stopped a short drive later, in front of a rather large building, built at the zenith of the Victorian era. Neal didn’t get out, he didn’t want to spook her (or put her in danger), but he had to see her, just for a little while longer. The cab driver didn’t say a word, and Neal had the hunch that as long as he was getting paid, he wouldn’t ask any questions about Neal’s motive.
Sara went into the building, only to return a few minutes later. Neal sat up straight when he recognized and realized what she was carrying on her arm. Apparently, Sara had a family of her own now, if the way she interacted with the child in her arms was any indication. Sure, it hurt Neal to see this all, but on the other hand, he was happy for her. If anyone, next to Peter and El, deserved a loving family, it was Sara. He even envied the man who got to spend his life with her and the child, knowing that if their lives back in New York went any different, he himself would be this truly lucky guy.
Having seen enough for one day, Neal gave the driver the address of the hotel. He was ready to hole up in his suite, with no desire to interact with anyone than the hotel staff for the next few hours.
For the rest of his stay, Neal continued with this pattern. He would walk around town, end up at the coffee shop and wait for Sara to leave work. Then he would follow her to the kindergarten, where she would pick up her little daughter (as he learned on the second day), and even to the apartment block she lived in, before heading back to the hotel, where he would spend the rest of the day in solitude. He knew it was nothing else but a pity party on his behalf, but he came to the conclusion that this was exactly what he deserved. Sipping his wine, Neal reasoned that someone like him, who put others through so much pain as he did, letting them all believe that he was dead while he was starting anew somewhere else, had to have a backlash from karma coming his way. But, he also reasoned, it also was high on time to end this charade, once and for all. The first thing he would do once the New Year had begun was to work up the nerve and call Peter or Mozzie – and he would deal with any kind of reaction from them all, as long as it meant for all the loneliness, the pain to end.
The End
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~