Author: BatmanSwiss
Rating: G
Spoiler: 4x10
Characters: Neal, James
Author's Note: Week 4 entry for the White Collar LAS community. I made it through another week! :) This week's theme- "out of it", with a 400 word limit.
Out of the Past (and Into the Future)
The brush moved swiftly across the canvas, bringing life to the once-bland surface. Neal lost himself to the motion, letting the events of the past few days empty from his mind. He needed to find peace, to regain a sense of normalcy. Each stroke carried him further out of the present. Neal let himself be carried away for awhile.
He never heard the knock at his door, or the slight creak as it swung open.
James Bennett moved tentatively into the room. The landlady had assured him that Neal was here, but James had received no answer when he knocked. She must have known that Neal was expecting him, because she motioned for him to enter anyway.
As she turned to leave, she had whispered a warning. "Neal has a life here. He has given up everything and lost even more while trying to keep it. Don't you dare jeopardize that."
A noise from the balcony reminded him of his purpose. Two nights ago, he had been sitting on that balcony when Neal received the call from his handler. He left shortly after, wanting to give Neal time to deal with the news, and had promised that he would stay close for a few more days before going back underground. If Neal wanted to know the truth, he would give it to him. He owed his son that much at least.
Earlier that morning he had received a text from Neal, simply saying, "my place, sunset".
James wandered over to the balcony, expecting to find Neal waiting for him. Instead, he was seated in front of an easel, facing the skyline. James took only a moment to appreciate the view before turning to the canvas.
The live view had been beautiful, but the image being carefully crafted on the canvas was breathtaking.
Not wanting to interrupt, James took a seat in the corner to capture the best view of his son's work. He was not an artist- the hard calluses covering his hands were proof of that. Neal must have inherited the talent from his mother. She had the most delicate hands, and to this day he could not look at a piano without seeing Lizzy's beautiful fingers glide across the keys.
A look up found Neal staring at him. It was time for both of them to move out of the past, and maybe move forward, together.