Once Upon a Night
Spectral moonbeams illuminated Neal's midnight journey through the hallways of June's house, the pale light reflecting off the porcelain pallor of his exposed chest. The pitter-patter of his bare feet on the mahogany floor echoed off the walls. His tired, red-rimmed eyes swept the hall, staring warily at the shadows that seemed to be watching him. The green light of his anklet broke up the shadows as he neared them, and he let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. These were not like the shadows of his nightmare that had imprisoned him in their darkness and refused to let him go, that taunted him with images of Kate, of his abandonment by the one he loved, that had left him silently screaming in his bed, bathed in perspiration and desolation.
Neal entered the kitchen, not bothering with turning on the lights, and ran a hand through his black, feathery hair, slightly damp from sweat. He shuffled over to a cupboard, popped it open and pulled out a glass. Yanking on the tap, Neal quickly filled the class with sloshing water. He silently pulled out a chair from the rustic breakfast table in a secluded nook of the kitchen, and tiredly fell into it. Greedily, he gulped down the water when he slowly raised the glass to his lips. The cool liquid soothed his sore throat.
When he finished the glass, a sigh escaping his lips, he exhaustedly lowers his arm and the empty glass clinked as it hit the wooden tabletop. A lone bead of water dripped down his chin and fell. The droplet splattered into a million different tiny beads as it connected with the oak table, the moonlight that refracted through the empty glass made them look crystalline. It was beautiful. It was beautiful, like Kate.
More crystal puddles joined the one on the table as tears rushed from Neal's eyes and slid down his face. Odd sounds forced their way out of his mouth, resembling laughter. He thought it was absolutely hilarious that his floodgates had been torn open by a tiny drop of water and now he was feeling more than he had in months. The tears still streaked down his face as he limply, laid his head down beside the empty glass, his eyes blearily fixed on the miniature lake his tears had created. His head was spinning with thoughts of Kate, of his confusion over her disappearance, of the empty Bordeaux bottle, of his purpose now that he was alone, and the pain left in her absence. His bare back heaved as he raggedly sucked in air, and gradually the torrent of emotion calmed to a manageable, steady trickle. Neal blinked away the last, straggling tears, looked past the empty glass, out the window and to the moon. He felt refreshed, clean and peaceful in the wake of his breakdown. He could think clearly for the first time since he had left jail.
Red, white and blue flashing lights filled the room, colouring the pale moonbeams and obscuring Neal's view of the night sky. Neal slowly sat up and silently looked out the window just in time to see the tail end of a police car speed by. He stood up, took his glass over to the sink and quietly left the room. He was an FBI consultant, he had a purpose; he caught the guys who ruined lives, who framed innocent men, who killed people. He was not alone; he had Peter, Elizabeth and Mozzie. He would not give up on Kate; he would not give in to the shadows of his heart. He sank into the welcoming sheets of his bed and closed his eyes, knowing that tomorrow was would be the day Neal Caffery would return.