Chapter 7:
That night, a happy Peter had come home. A Peter who had forgotten – even if it were for just a few hours – the trouble he was in, and definitely would be in some time very soon. A Peter who, for this time, didn't mind the black SUV with tinted windows that followed him around and parked a few meters away from his house. A Peter who was eager to go home, kiss his wife and tell her Neal was back. The thought of her face lighting up at that news only brightened his mood.
He walked up the steps to his front door and opened in. "Honey?" he called out while quickly closing the door and entering the living room. He was then caught of guard by what he saw.
A few feet from where he was standing he saw their dark dining room lit up by the candles on the beautifully decked table. A deep red tablecloth covered the table and placed diagonally on it was a smaller, off white, squared cloth. There was a candleholder, shaped like an abstract pile of twigs, filled with deep red, lit candles. He recognized their wedding china and was surprised that instead of wineglasses, there were regular drinking glasses next to the plates- with beer! Oh, and the food smelled delicious.
His wife then appeared from the kitchen and smiled at her dumbfounded husband. "Hi hun, welcome home." She walked up to him, planted a kiss on his lips, and took his hand into hers, guiding him towards the table.
On his way, Peter managed to articulate a "Hi, hun," in his turn. Het lets himself be seated on the chair, but when Elizabeth was about to put his napkin on his lap, he stopped her.
"El?"
"Yes?"
"What- what's going on?" He hoped he hadn't insulted her, he was just really curious.
Luckily, she smiled and placed her hand on his cheek, rubbing it with her thumb. "I have something to tell you."
Peter then remembered he had some news of his own to share and for a moment, he was worried she already knew and that's what he owed tonight to.
"So do I."
"Well, you go first then."
As much as Peter wanted to tell her, he was just too damn curious to find out what news his wife was talking about. "No, no," he quickly glanced over to their phone, knowing Elizabeth would get it, "you go ahead."
Elizabeth nodded and suddenly felt not so sure about the speech she's prepared for tonight, "You wanna eat something first? You probably do, you've had a long day. I'll go get the soup, be right back!" and then she disappeared into the kitchen again.
Her nervous rambling, though cute, had made Peter even more suspicious. He put his napkin back on the table and followed her into the kitchen.
"El?"
"Hm?" She tried to sound as casually as she could, but her high pitch gave her away.
Peter walked over to her and put his hands over hers, slowly and gently releasing her fingers from the ladle. He then turned her around, placed his arms on her lower back and with narrowed eyes, analyzed his wife's expression.
"Talk to me, what's going on?"
She took a deep breath and looked into her husband's eyes. She knew he wouldn't be mad, disappointed or sad, but she couldn't help but feel unsure. Well, obviously, it's not like this has happened to them before: After twelve years, El almost always knew what to expect from her husband. Not knowing now, was both exciting and terrifying at the same time.
"Okay, okay," she mumbled, mostly to herself, and then looked up into his eyes, "Honey, we're… we're pregnant!" It was like those words inevitably came with flutters in her stomach and with a bright smile on her face. She couldn't help but be ecstatic about this pregnancy. Of course, of course; they hadn't planned it and they had discussed about not having children, it was a conscious choice. But now, there was this baby – their baby – growing inside her and it was all she could do from jumping up and down with joy.
Peter heard the words, but for a moment didn't know their meaning. He stared into her eyes – not looking, not seeing, but just directing – as his brain seemed to be jammed for a moment. Elizabeth's nudge seemed to shake him up a bit and put things back into motion; slowly but surely, her once empty words gained meaning. Pregnant… preg-nant. Them. They were. Pregnant.
Wow.
That night, a very content Neal was lying on his mattress. His hands were folded underneath his head and he was staring at the ceiling with a smile on his face: Today was good.
For just the moment, he let himself enjoy and savor the good, and try to forget the bad.
He had seen Peter today; the friendly enemy who had become his friend, his mentor and even his family. The person who had been chasing him for years with the one goal to put him in jail, had – in only two years time – become the person who would fight to keep him out of it.
But that wasn't the reason why he was happy to see him: Neal had missed him. He would never admit it, but he had missed acting irresponsibly around him and knowing he would always be there to rescue him or set him straight. He had missed the reason that Peter would – sometimes subconsciously – give him in times he needed it. He had missed the admiration he felt for Peter's respect for the law, for his dedication to his job, for Peter's choice of life, his marriage, his home.
He had also seen Sara today. He'd given Peter a message to pass on to her, knowing only she could decipher it. She came to visit him and they had lunch. Nothing happened, but it was good to just be around her again. To feel familiarity and comfort, things he had missed while he was gone. Things he would appreciate more from now on. They laughed at stories of how Mozzie's literal translation of his enigmatic English to Spanish had, unintentionally, scared most people away. And they daydreamed at stories of the beautiful view he woke up to every morning. He had noticed her distance, for sure, but knew that he couldn't expect otherwise.
Yes, today was really good.
Neal hadn't realized he was slowly drifting off to a calm sleep until he heard the knocking on the door. His heart raced and for a moment, it seemed the lump that had formed in his throat was going to suffocate him. His mind was racing to try and remember the escape strategy Mozzie had given him – just in case. He quietly got up from his lying position on the mattress and bent down on his knees and hands to look under the door. By the shadows he could tell there was only one person on the other side of that door, and his heart somewhat calmed down.
Then came the second, much softer, round of knocking: Da-dum, Da-dum, Da-dum. Neal let out a relieved sigh and laughed at himself while standing up to open the door.
"Couldn't stay away?"
"I find comfort in the fact that people here don't tend to give you strange looks and walk away when you recite poetry."
Neal let out a short laugh at the hidden message behind Mozzie's words: He had missed New York as well, though he'd never admit it with those words.
Mozzie stepped into the apartment and looked around for a moment before turning around to face his friend - who had closed the door and turned around himself. He tried to analyze Neal's facial expression, his eyes, his mood, before he would ask the questions he's been dying to know the answer of.
"So… Is it true?"
Neal raised his shoulders and gave Mozzie a confirmative nod before relaxing them again.
"She's really pregnant?" Mozzie's voice was high with surprise at the confirmation. Even though he knew, having it confirmed was something different.
At this, Neal nodded again.
"So… you're staying?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"I don't know. But I got Peter on my side…. And Sara."
"Really? She didn't try to kill you when she saw you?"
"Well, she did throw her brush at me, but I'd hardly call that an attempt on my life. Plus, I was, at the time, merely a figure in the darkness of her bedroom." His mischievous grin was an answer to Mozzie's amused "aha"-look.
"What did she say?"
"She said that even if she was pregnant, she wouldn't tell me."
"Ouch"
"Yeah."
"Wait, I don't get it… Then how do you know if it's true?"
Neal decided he has had enough fun, he tried to stop his smile that instantly wanted to spread across his face at the thought of Elizabeth's pregnancy. "It is Mozz, only… Sara's not the one who's pregnant," he stopped then, for himself; to enjoy Mozzie's expression, and for Mozzie; to let him absorb his words, "Elizabeth is."
"Wait- what? How? I…. But then why did the Suit-? I mean…" he tried to search for the right words and the right order to ask his questions. Instead he threw his hands in the air in defeat, and concluded that, in this case, it'd be best to just listen, "Okay start at the beginning."
Neal smiled: Having Mozzie back filled the one missing spot that just fifteen minutes ago, stopped him from being completely happy. Now, however, he could fully breathe again: His family was complete.
That same night, a very conflicted Sara was staring at her TV screen. Images of Grace Kelly in the arms of her lover in the movie "Dial M for Murder" danced before her eyes, but her mind was nowhere near the tragedy that was surely going to happen.
Instead, her mind had filled itself with images of Adam – of her and Adam together, laughing and flirting while working on cases. The Organized Crime detective that had helped her out in cases for almost a year now, had recently made a move and asked her out three days ago. And she had accepted, thinking it was time to try and walk the straight line in her romantic life. Under the impression that maybe the reason her previous relationships didn't work, was because her exes were on the wrong side of the law. And, yes, she had accepted under the assumption that Neal was gone, for good.
But then there was Neal, occupying the other half of her mind, who was now back. And who was staying. The person she spent years chasing for the one goal to put him behind bars. The same person who, now, belonged on the very short list of people she would do anything in her power for, to save.
She was pulled out of her thoughts when her doorbell rang and her jump almost caused her to spill her wine.
One look at the security screen had revealed that there were three NYPD agents on her steps. What the hell were they doing here? Was Neal involved? Did they find him?
But as reason slowly came to her – for it wouldn't be the NYPD at her doorsteps if Neal was involved, it'd be the FBI and the Marshalls – she drew a deep breath to calm down her pounding heart. She took a step away from the security camera and towards her door, straightening her dress in the process and taking another mouthful of fresh oxygen before opening her front door.
"Good evening officers, how may I help you?" She leaned against her door and showed them her perfect smile.
"Miss Sara Ellis?"
"Yes?"
Then, everything happened quickly; the officer standing right across from her took two quick steps and grabbed her arm, turning her around. Sara felt how her wrists were being brought together and felt the cold, hard steel of cuffs embrace them.
She was under arrest, sure, it wouldn't be the first time her drive and passion for theft recovery had gotten her into trouble. But she knew she would always get out. That there was always someone she could call to get the charges to drop within a matter of hours, if not minutes.
It was for that exact reason that Sara didn't protest her arrest – even though this detective didn't look familiar to her. It was for that exact reason, too, that Sara didn't worry about her fate or how much trouble she was possibly in.
No, the worry came after the cuffs were pressed tight into her skin and she was being handled roughly and the detective's grip around her arm was so tight, she knew it would bruise.
Yes, worry came with the words that would continue to echo endlessly in her mind:
"Sara Ellis, you're under arrest for arson and murder in the first degree. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can not afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights?"
