I am a hurt/comfort fan. Its what I like to read and what I like to write. My Neal is more open; my Peter is kinder. So if that's not your thing, then my stories (generally) may not be for you. With that said, this story is a departure from my usual. It is my Reward to Neal Caffrey for tormenting, torturing and otherwise abusing him during my last few stories. Neal will not be physically injured in this story (there will still be emotion and angst), but he will get to be the hero. It was fun to write and I hope you enjoy reading it, even if it is a bit of a switch from my normal style.
I own nothing but the mistakes for which I accept all responsibility.
Chapter One
Even though she had known for a little over eight months it didn't lessen the emotional response when Elizabeth saw Neal walking jauntily down the Parisian sidewalk towards were she was lying in wait, a flower in his pocket and a smile on his face, very much alive.
When Peter had finally admitted the truth, he had made her promise to keep it a secret; had made her promise that she would let it go and let them all live the lives they had began. Neal had started over as Nathan Clay in Paris; he and Elizabeth had started over with a family. She balked at that at first but knew in her heart it was safer for Neal Caffrey to be dead, not only for him but for them as well. She only occasionally wanted to reach out to him-to hear his voice or to ask about some recent Art Exhibit she knew had opened in Europe. But all she had to do was to look at her own Neal, remember all the danger that Neal Caffrey had brought into their lives, to stifle that impulse.
It was harder for Peter. As much as Neal had been a fixture in her life, he had become such a part of Peter's that losing him had been like losing a piece of himself. It had broken her husband's heart in a way that she had never seen. She hurt so for Peter that it took her mind off of thinking about how Neal must have felt, knowing that he would die before ever gaining his freedom. That had haunted Peter terribly, and often she would find him sitting alone in the spare room, having too much to drink and holding the anklet. Neal's suffering was over, she told herself, and had been for months. Peter's however continued day after day.
They had Neal and Elizabeth knew Peter loved his son and was happy to be a father, but there was a sadness that had seeped into his soul that no amount of baby coos and milestones could wipe away. Watching him suffer had been almost as bad as her own grief at losing the bright and charming con man who had become such a part of their lives.
But then something changed; when she looked back she realized it was the last time that they had seen Mozzie. He had dropped by unexpectedly and Peter had found a bottle of wine that had mysteriously appeared on their doorstep. It was that evening that a clue had been left. Peter had pieced together the truth; Neal was not dead but had pulled off the greatest con of his life. It was soon after Mozzie's visit that she saw a marked change in Peter. He was different. The sadness suddenly faded from his demeanor and sometimes a smile would appear on his face with no apparent reason. He held himself straighter, walked with more energy and had a gleam in his brown eyes that Elizabeth had long grown used to living without. Had it been any other man she would have suspected he was having an affair. There were slip ups but not with unexplained phone calls (he had plenty of that with his job) or mysterious notes or the lingering of perfume on his shirt. It was his attitude about his former CI and friend. He wasn't heartbroken about his death anymore. It was almost as if a switch had been flipped; his grieving was over. It made no sense at all.
Finally Elizabeth confronted him and he told her that Neal was alive. The smile never left his face in a mix of happiness that his friend was alive and the pride he always had when Neal did something brilliant. He related the details of Neal's plan so quickly that later, she had to ask him to tell her again, slower, so she could understand him. He confided that keeping the news to himself had been the hardest thing he had ever done. But then he had made her promise her silence, and promise to let Neal live his life as Nathan Clay, and she had reluctantly agreed.
It did make everything in life better; the knowledge that Neal was alive. It was as if the black cloud that hovered over the Burke house had been swept away and the sun was bright and warm. They talked about him often, his many exploits, and theorized about how he was doing and what he was doing. She knew well enough that Peter would have his ears on the ground for even a whisper from Interpol that indicated Nathan Clay had inherited some of Neal's perchance for criminal behavior. She asked him once what he would do if he found out that Neal had continued his questionable pursuits in Europe and he replied, "As long as he isn't in my jurisdiction, it will never be my problem."
And now she was in Paris to break the promise she had made to Peter. Neal was almost to her table. His smile was bright and easy; his dark hair a little longer than she remembers, sticking out from beneath a black fedora. He might have left Neal Caffrey behind in New York but he hadn't left his sense of style. He hadn't changed in two years but she knew she had. Losing Neal, and Peter's mourning, had been hard on her. Then little Neal came along and caring for a new baby was an exhausting job. Now at twenty months, he was a toddler, she was back to work, and that presented all new challenges. However, none of those things had taken the toll that the last two weeks had. It had been two weeks since Peter had been taken.
Neal was almost to her. When he was nearly beside her, oblivious to her presence, she lowered the magazine she had been hiding behind and called out, "Neal!"
He jerked to a stop so suddenly that the person walking behind him bumped into him, apologized and moved on. Neal stared at her in what could only be described as shock; the smile having vanished from his face. Any other time she would have found it amusing to see Neal so taken off guard; so unable to mask the quick emotions that washed across his face. Surprise, fear and even anger. She stood up, stepped around the small table, and wrapped him in a hug. He stood stiffly and Elizabeth could feel the tension in his frame; feel his heart pounding through his shirt. A small sob escaped her lips and she heard Neal's breath catch in his throat. After a moment, she felt his arms wrap around her hesitantly, embracing gently. She hadn't been held in two weeks and even though it wasn't Peter's arms around her, she knew that it was the arms of someone who could bring Peter back to her. She felt such relief that the tears fell down her face unbidden.
They stood there for what seemed like hours, right in the path of traffic, before she felt Neal's arms loosen their grip. He placed his hands on her shoulders, and stepped back, searching her face with intense blue eyes. His face had lost all color; he was deathly pale.
"What's wrong, Elizabeth?" he asked, "Where is Peter?"