Author's Note: Hi! So I'm new to this fandom and this is my first actual attempt at a these characters. I've never written slash, or pre-slash as this is, so I'm a little nervous. This is unbetaed because well, I don't currently have a WC beta. This came rushing out as in the middle of a dream that I don't quite remember and was written as it is simply because Neal wouldn't get out of my head. I hope you enjoy and I hope you'll tell me if you do! I also hope you'll tell me if you don't. I don't quite have a handle on these characters and I wasn't expecting my first attempt to be so... ah you'll see. All feedback is good feedback because it tells me where I went wrong and where I went right. So please take a moment to let me know!
Disclaimer: These are my boys - but they belong to someone else. I'm not staking claim, I'm just grateful that you let me take them out and play with them whenever the urge strikes.
It's in the way he says your name, somewhere between a promise and a prayer. It's just your name but it's hurt and it's worry and it's pride, but it is it pride for what you've done or pride for what you haven't? How can he take your name on his tongue and change what it means, change who you are without changing a letter, without changing the way it sounds?
Neal.
There's sadness in there, there's worry and hurt and your heart skips a beat because you did that yourself, you put that pain in his heart, into his blood and his lungs, into the air of his breath when your name rushes out.
Neal.
There is the one that screams anger without a raise in his tone. Your apology lodges somewhere under your ribs and it hurts and you don't know why because all he said was your name but you heard the disappointment. And now he's going off with another lecture because why shouldn't he, you fucked up again. But you don't hear another word, not really, because those words don't matter anyway. You heard it all already in your name as he spat it at you.
Neal.
Sometimes there's humor like your name tickles somehow. It's a laugh he can't let out because what you dd was wrong but it was right and he knows that you know and that you'll do it again because you just smile a little brighter and slip your hands in your pockets and it'll be ok again, this time. He doesn't approve but your secret, lost in the grey area, is wrapped up tight and safe in your name.
Neal.
There's the one that begs Trust Me full of hope and a friend. And you do trust him, doesn't he know? But there's so many words, too many truths to unveil. When your name is combined with the weight of his hand on your shoulder, your hair, your knee; your walls start to crumble and those long ago pains threaten to fall. As much as you trust him, you find comfort in the sound of your name too much this way to risk it with truth.
Neal.
There's the one that sounds happy, relieved, unguarded; as it slips passed his smile and touches his eyes. He's happy you're here. Grateful he caught your and brought you into his life. And if you're honest so are you because nobody has quite said your name like that. Like love, Like family.
Neal.
There are so many Neal's in the head of one man. A quiet resignation when there's something you have to do. A whisper of fear and or doubt because you have to do it alone and your name wants to come along, it begs in his voice, wants to help and to heal and protect. And you take it along with you, just your name - as a guardian and a promise - even as the giver stares holes in your back as you walk away.
Neal.
It's a question sometimes, an unspoken accusation. Tinged with awkward and doubt. He doesn't know how to ask without blaming but there's no blame in your name and you know it, you feel it and when you claim your innocence he nods, thankful that he didn't have to ask. And there's belief in your name now as he sends you away.
Neal.
How can he hold you captive with one little word? Does he know the messages he conveys with the one syllable - the one you hear a hundred times a day? Does he realize you only really listen anymore really only hear it when it's coming from him? You're supposed to be the one with the silver tongue, the one whose words command attention. Does he know? Does he know how he makes your name feel?
Neal.
And last night there was that case, that one it took too much of him to solve, and too many beers to erase and now your name is drawn out and rolled off his tongue. He laughs as he says it like it's his own private joke and you're grinning back because you're happy he's here. Genuinely happy when he picks up his phone and it's his wife that he calls instead of a cab. He tells her he's spending the night on your couch, "Neal's Couch". Even when he's talking to her your name sounds like life. It's late and he's drunk but his hands touching yours and when it slips from his lips there's a longing behind it and you can tell he's not sure he knows what it means.
Neal.
And this morning there was something new in your name like he'd never spoken it before, like suddenly it tastes different against his tongue and your try to ignore it and so does he and you're not sure that's a good thing because there was fear and confusion and little helplessness that scares you and he frowns when he says like he doesn't know why everything is different in the new light.
Neal.
Morning turns into day and work moves along and he's still looking at you like he realized something new. Your name curiously absent from his lips like maybe he found his power and it overwhelms him. But he catches your gaze before looking away too quickly but not quite quick enough because his eyes hold the word he mouth refuses to say and you feel it, you see it reverberating around in his head and you know what it means and right now, my god, it means everything.
Neal.
And when he offers you a ride home with a shushed subdued tone you're tempted to say no thank you, to escape but there's a way he avoids meeting your eye and you get in the car expecting to be dropped off at your door without a word. You lean your head back on the seat and close your eyes. The ride silently full of the words he can't say. You expect him to go home and find answers in the arms of his wife, and you're sure that tomorrow with those answers in place you'll go back to waiting - waiting for those moments when he uses your name.
Neal.
So when the home he pulls up at isn't your home, but his, and the house is dark, "El's at her sisters tonight." He tells you in a voice that's unsure. Your name has never sounded like this when he asks if you'd rather go home like it's just dawning on him that maybe you don't want to be here. That maybe he should have asked. But you're glad that he didn't because you might have said no but here's where you want to be and your seatbelt is off before he finishes his question and he's smiling, to himself he thinks, as he follows you out of the car. But it's not to himself because you hear it in your name that you haven't heard all day.
Neal.
And then you're on his couch with your hat in your hands and he's in the kitchen with promises of wine. And a lamp switches on and then there's a stem in your hand and he's sitting beside you, not across the room like you expected but close, so close, too close, settled against you shoulder to knee. And you risk a glance and he's eyes closed, head back, throat exposed and you can see your name throbbing in time to the quick beat of his pulse. You take a drink but forget how to swallow as your name leaves his lips and his fears follow shortly. And he's saying those things. Those things that start with your name and your heart is thundering in your ears as your ease the beer bottle from the too tight grip of his hands and he's looking at you like maybe he's never seen you before and then your fingers are on his face and he's sighing your name in to your palm and you hold it there knowing what is means and it's ok because he's ok and then you know, you know what your name tastes like and it's coffee and beer and something like spearmint but mostly of something that's all him and now with your name it's all yours. And it's against your lips and his fingers flutter against your jaw and your ears and find home with a clutch at the hair at the back of your head. And you give back as good as you get, showing him how good a name can feel, his a low murmur against his ear because you know, you've always known that you'd wind up like this because you've heard the future every time he's ever said your name.
Neal.
That is all.
AN: Thank you guys so much for reading. I'm sorry about the awkward grammar. Once again, I'm new to this fandom and reviews are love. Concrit is perfecly acceptable and appreciated!