AN: A two for one, I guess you could say.
Title: Brother
Prompts: acting, brother
He stared at the phone on the table, it's screen brightly proclaiming, "ONE MISSED CALL-WALKER". There was an unpleasant feeling twisting up in his gut, and his hand shook a little as he picked up his wine glass, taking a long sip. If he looked in a mirror he was pretty sure he'd see his own terrified expression staring back at him. His masks were gone. And that wasn't good.
When he had been a young kid, his mother had enrolled him and his brother in acting class. In hindsight, that was probably the worst decision she had ever made in her life. She probably should have just enrolled both of them in ballet with their sister, but being a nine year old boy at the time, he was sure he would have pitched a fit at having to wear tights and prance around.
But, his parents had been big on the arts, his mother having been an art history professor at a local college, while his father had preferred music. He vividly remembered many a night spent in the study, sitting on his mother's lap as she quietly lectured the three of them about Degas, Renoir, Dali, Cezanne, and hundreds of other artists, while the dulcet tones of Sinatra, his father's favorite, backed her up.
He'd always been mesmerized by art. The vibrant colors swirling across canvases, or sharp lines defining more than boundaries, fascinated him. However, out of his siblings, he was the only one who felt that way. His brother, and sister, would have preferred to go play outside, climb trees, play in the mud. Which he enjoyed also, but those activities could never compare to the art lessons. He would rather be covered in paint than mud any day.
He figured his mother had gotten a little frustrated at their apparent lack of interest, and in a fit of pique just picked another art for both of them to study. Surprisingly, it had worked and they all seemed to find a niche of their own. His brother with acting, his sister with dancing, and him with painting. Of course, seeing how much fun his brother was having forced him to beg for her to enroll him also, which she did, thankfully.
His sister had loved dance, eventually going on to pursue it in college. But he and his brother, well, they had put their acting skills to good use, just in different ways. Not necessarily good ways though.
He ended up using his acting skills to con people. However, to be completely fair, so did his brother. Just in a different way. A better way. A way he wished he could have. And he was, he figured. Now. After countless illegal acts and almost four years in prison.
Looking at the flashing screen, and the name, he had to put his head in his hands. The last time she had called, hadn't been, well, good. It never was when he talked to her alone. He took a deep breath, and scrubbed his face tiredly, staring at the innocent looking phone. After a moment's contemplation, he snatched it, and hit the talk button and put it on speaker before could change his mind. It hadn't even rang once before it was picked up. He picked up the distress in her voice immediately, and swallowed hard.
"Neal? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"It's Bryce isn't it?" he asked, voice flat, devoid of emotion. He knew he might be getting this call sometime. That didn't make it any easier.
"I couldn't-" the woman choked on her words, sounding tortured. "I tried, Neal. I swear, I tried. It was- was too late. We couldn't do anything for him, Neal."
"Just tell me Sarah. I need to hear it."
"Bryce is- Bryce is dead. Oh my god, I'm so sorry, Neal."
He'd unconsciously been holding his breath, and it left his body in a loud whoosh when he heard her say that. Leaning back in his chair, he looked up at the ceiling as the sounds of Sarah breaking down filled the room. A single tear fell from his eye, streaking down his face, followed by another, and another. He closed his eyes, face screwing up in pain. The pain of a brother who just lost a part of himself. Again.
No amount of acting would be able to hide that emotion.
It was late. Past his bedtime. Peter didn't need a clock to tell him that. But the current case was consuming his attention, and he just wanted check a few more things before he went up stairs and crashed like El had a few minutes ago.
He had just pulled up the FBI logon screen, and was half way through typing his password, when a quiet knock startled him. He glanced towards the front door, puzzled and a little annoyed. Who the hell would possibly be calling so late? Quickly, he got up from the table and headed towards the front door. Before he could even open it, he recognized the familiar form through the side window. Neal.
As swiftly as possible, he undid the deadbolt, and slid the chain aside, the metal making a tinkling noise that caused him to wince. He put a hand on the door knob and turned it as quietly as he could, the door opening and letting in the cool night breeze.
"Neal! What do you…" he trailed off, shocked as he finally took in his consultant's appearance.
The normally styled hair was in disarray, and he still had on the outfit he'd been wearing earlier that day, albeit wrinkled beyond what he thought the man would ever find acceptable. What drew his attention the most though, was the man's face. The normally bright grey eyes looked dead. They were so bloodshot that for a moment he thought the man had been drinking, but then he realized that those were tears streaking down his face, and that was out of place.
"Neal, are you- are you okay?"
The man shook his head, and a fresh wave a tears fell causing Peter to just stand frozen in the doorway and stare. "Do you mind if I…come in? I need to- I need to tell you something Peter. Please."