Trick Shot To The Heart
I love the way your stories
Seem to fall from your lips
With just enough slobber
So that it sparkles and drips
So. He goes to Paris.
(Stop looking at him like that. It's just this once.)
It's the first time he leaves the country since he was caught. The first time since the anklet. The first time without Kate.
It's a lot of new things; one of them being he plans on coming back.
"Have fun, okay?" Elizabeth says, hugging him close.
Peter looks at him disapprovingly, full of pride and apprehension. He rests a warm hand on Neal's shoulder and it makes him think of all the moments his father was never there.
"But not too much fun," Peter says, eyes piercing. Knowing, maybe.
Neal just grins, excitement bubbling under his skin.
"No promises."
Laughter ringing in his ear, little wrapped box pressed into his hand at the last minute, Neal is off. Comfortably seated in first class, he orders a glass of Sparkling and waits. He hates waiting.
His glass arrives, nicely chilled, and Neal places the present on his table gingerly like it might explode.
Even Peter couldn't have gotten that past security.
No, it's something more dangerous.
If anyone could find a way to make Neal stop, to make him fly right past Paris, even past Alex in Berlin, then it would be Peter. Agent Peter Burke and his goddamn guilt-tripping.
He doesn't want to open it.
Like a child holding an unopened report card, knowing he's failed and dreading the black-on-white proof.
So. Neal doesn't open it.
(Later. When he lands, really.)
"Welcome to JetBlue airlines and thank you…"
Neal tunes out the overly cheerful flight attendant's voice; at this point in his career, he could give this speech. Well. He has.
But that's beside the point.
He stuffs the present in the deepest corner of his brief case and orders another glass.
Neal is not a nervous flier.
When the engines roar to life he isn't braced for it. There's a rush of static and Neal can't get enough air.
(She had such a beautiful smile.)
"Sir? Sir, are you alright?"
What a stupid question, Neal thinks and opens his eyes to the worried face of the flight attendant.
She helps him back into his seat, attempting to buckle him in.
Neal slaps her hands away with unnecessary force. He's not helpless.
"Yeah. I'm fine."
Thankfully, she leaves.
"If you need anything, just ask."
He falls asleep somewhere over the Atlantic and doesn't stir until the flight attendant shakes him awake.
Neal opens his eyes with the definite sense of having been cheated.
Swallowing down an angry 'what now?' with difficulty, Neal smiles gratefully and hopes that a little bit of his apology comes through. She's a pretty blonde thing and when she lingers at his side hopefully, he considers it.
Somewhere outside the window though, is the Eiffel Tower and an empty seat at a table waiting for him to fill it.
In the end, Neal closes his eyes, grabbing at the edges of his dream. He's always had vivid dreams.
(This one feels familiar.)
Neal spins the queue in his fingers, looking for flaws.
"You doubt me?"
He smiles at the sound of the voice, faking hurt and full of amusement. He lets his silence answer the question and the amusement doubles.
"Never," Neal finally says, forcing his voice flat.
His chest feels tight, fluttering with anticipation and it takes all the restraint he has to force back a wide, sloppy grin. The edges of his mouth quirk up anyway.
A low, humming chuckle.
"We'll have to do something about that then, won't we?"
I really don't mean to keep doing this. Starting stuff that I probably won't finish.
You have been warned.