Hey guys! I'm back with another Neal & Sara fic! It's been a while and I hope that this will do them justice.
I hate that they're not together anymore. And I hate even more that she's not part of White Collar anymore. I wish they would bring her back for the next season. I honestly think that the reason that the show is ending is because of Hilarie Burton's departure.
Anyways, I hope you enjoy~
P.S: I had this chapter all set up in my head and then it got away from me.
Disclaimer: I do not own White Collar nor any of the characters.
After hearing second hand from Peter that the alleged ex-con that charmed his way under her skin and into her heart fled to another country without so much as a word of goodbye broke the steel-faced, badass, and fearless insurance investigator.
She had made her way into her apartment and immediately opened the middle cabinet above the kitchen counter, took out a glass, and poured herself a glass of scotch.
It was only until after downing her fourth glass of the stinging liquid that she noticed the small piece of white paper on her small circular table.
Curious, she stripped herself of her heels and jacket and picked up the card. When she had flipped it over, she nearly broke completely.
It read,
I love you.
It wasn't signed, but she knew who it was from the moment her eyes laid on the soft and cursive style of the words. Neal.
The last stroke of the 'u' had been thicker than the rest of the note as if he was hesitating whether not he should write something else or even give her the note at all. The period that ended his last words to her was imperfect, – so unlike him – its ink was dragged out slightly like a 'Q' and its composition: only a small black blotch.
She was never that girl who dwelled on ex-boyfriends and weeped over the disappointment and pain that heartbreak brought, but this time was different. For the first time in her life, she had allowed herself to cry. Over a guy, no less.
Unconsciously, she had steadied herself on the side of the kitchen counter to keep from falling, but it didn't help. She slid down against the oak wood as she held the paper in her hands, her eyes closed, head thrown back, and tears streaming down her face.
She knew that getting involved with him was a terrible idea, horrendous even, but the pull that radiated from him was just too hard to struggle against. And soon she had reluctantly let him pull her in; close. Too close. He was just too irresistible. But she would never admit that to anyone, let alone him.
She gave an empty snort of laughter at that.
The irony in their relationship was astounding. To be honest, she was surprised how long they had lasted.
The insurance investigator who never found a home in neither the white nor black, but instead preferred to live in the gray – never fully bright and never fully dark – who made a living recovering stolen treasures and returning them safely back to their rightful owners and the alleged "reformed" con-man who lied and smiled for a living while he was the one to steal such said items.
It was odd how similar they were. More so even how they were polar opposites.
Riddled with dark pasts, they were both forced to stray off the path they most wanted to stay and they had desperately tried. Neal had always wanted to be an artist – a genuine one. He'd told her so. In some ways, he had. She'd told him that she had wanted to be a musician – a cellist. She was nowhere even close to that dream. Her twelve year old self would've been so disappointed. But she loved what she did. Some days more than others, but sometimes, she wondered what it would be like to be the one on stage rather than in the audience. Maybe he would've been in the audience, entranced by her performance as she created a melodic world for him to escape in.
They both had an array of masks and a closet full of skeletons to match.
They were both opinionated and passionate.
They controlled their emotions.
They had hearts of gold.
They wanted to change the world, if only just a little.
But she was socially accepted. He was not.
She was on the "good" side. He was on the "bad."
She was calculating and methodical. He was more of a dive-in head first type of guy.
She was a workaholic. He loved to have fun.
She was sentimental. He was quick to move on. (Maybe it was because he grew up in Wit Sec.)
She was steel-faced. He wore his heart on his sleeve.
Maybe that's why she loved him. And he, her. Maybe that's why they fit together perfectly, like yin and yang; peanut butter and jelly; wine and glass.
She just hoped that wherever he was, he was safe. Because the fact of the matter was that he had hurt her, but that didn't mean she didn't care for him – she would always care for him.
A/N: Reviews are much appreciated!