Part 01: Reunion

Suddenly he saw him. The slim figure of a man in an expansive suit with a fedora on his head. Peter would have recognized this man, his posture everywhere. The back of the man was turned to him, but nonetheless he was unique. Under the trees of the beautiful alley to the Louvre it seemed to be expectant. Peter blinked twice, but the figure didn't vanish. Maybe he looked to the glass pyramid or over the people waiting in long rows to finally enter the famous art museum. Maybe he only looked right before his feet, lost in his thoughts. Peter squared his shoulders, gave a slight cough and stood up from the bench he leaned on.

In this moment the figure a few feet away from him moved. One hand in the pocket of his jacket, the other swung casually at his side, his steps with a spirited nonchalance and noticeable swiveling hips, which was well-known to Peter.

He went to a side wing of the museum. One of the security guards greeted him politely, opened the cord-barrier and without slowing down the man moved through, greeting back friendly. He stopped at small door for just a moment, activated a hidden touch-pad and went into the building.

Fascinated, but nostalgic Peter stared at the place where the man disappeared. What now? How should he reach out for him? At least, was it really wise to get in contact? Questions Peter didn't know how to answer. Automatically he slowly went into the direction of the people waiting to buy a ticket. Was that really reasonable? What did he expect? Meeting his old partner in that enormous building at random? Peter studied the waiting people. There were a lot of Asian, some European and some African. A little cross-section of all humans, waiting peacefully in front of a museum with incredible art works.

Now he understood a little bit of the excitement El and especially Neal felt, when talking or just thinking about art. It was not only the pictures themselves, it was more what they initiated. The feelings they inspired, hope, dreams, memories. Even if Peter just had this perception, he knew he would not feel the same as a visitor of the galleries. His thoughts were disrupted.

"Sir?" A man from the security stood next to him on the other side of the cord. Peter looked at him with a little cock of his head.

"Monsieur Carnes would like to talk to you." The man spoke English with a nice soft French accent. "Please."

His politeness was perfect. "Monsieur-," just in time Peter stopped his question. He only nodded in confirmation.

With subtle movements the guard opened the barrier, let Peter cross and closed it instantly again.

"This way, Sir, please. If you like to follow me."

They went to the door at the side wing, which was opened not long ago. Again it swung open and Peter followed through a few hallways and stairs in a part of the museum, where a new exhibition was arranged. There were no visitors. The French knocked at a door on the second floor and opened without waiting for an answer. He nodded short and let Peter go in.

Like in Cap Verde the FBI agent suddenly stood in front of Neal and didn't know how to control his feelings. The fedora lay on a small table, Neal's suit was pristine, his hair was a bit longer, but styled carefully as always and his shining blue eyes shimmering as well. His face looked not one day older, than the day he "died". An innocent smile on his lips. Again Peter was overwhelmed by his feelings. He went the few steps towards the younger man and hugged him, pulled him close and wanted him never let go. Slowly Neal's hands moved up and he responded the hug.

"Hello Peter."

The agent couldn't speak. A suppressed sobbing let his body shake. Like an answer he heard a quiet, relieved sigh at his shoulder, then there were some words, spoken equally quiet.

"I'm here, Peter. I won't run. We can talk, if you forgive me."

"I forgave you a long time ago, Neal."