Guys Like Us

Cheride

Neal, happily ever after isn't for guys like us.

It's a lesson I've been trying to teach him for years. Neal Caffrey has always been a quick study, but on this one topic, I've never been able to get through to him. From the minute he met Kate, my teachings began to fall on deaf ears. He'd gone to prison for her—allowing himself to be captured just for the chance he could see her one more time. He'd broken out of prison for her, convinced she was "the one." Then he'd shackled himself to the suits, believing he'd find a way to get back to her again. Kate was Neal's happily ever after, and he chased after her the way any good fairy-tale prince would do.

And now, here he is, an envelope full of a new life and his princess waiting somewhere with a winged chariot. Happily ever after is almost within his grasp.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised; if anyone can break all the rules and still come out ahead, it's Neal. Really, he shouldn't even be here with me now. After all, the rule is no goodbyes, but that's one I'm glad he's breaking just this once.

He remembers the Chinese curses, one of the many unimportant things I've taught him along the way. These certainly are interesting times, and he's finally found what he's been looking for.

But I can see that it isn't everything he'd hoped it would be. He understands now what I've been trying to teach him all along: the life we live is a solitary one, and attachments lead to heartache. When I ask if he's going to say goodbye to the suit, he can't even answer through his pain. Every con man gets his heart broken once, though this is not the heartbreak I'd thought he'd face. To get everything he's ever wanted, he has to give up everything he never knew he could have.

I reach toward him, wanting to . . . I don't even know what. So I let my hand fall, and for once, I can't find the right words—not even someone else's. What is there to say? Wish him luck? Thank him for everything? Tell him I wish he could stay? None of that will make things any easier on either of us, so I just tell him to send me a postcard and trust that he hears the rest of it, anyway. Neal has always been good at hearing what people don't say.

It's hard for him to walk away—maybe harder than it is for me to let him. I can see it in his eyes and in the way his shoulders hunch against more than the cold. But he does it, even when it hurts us both. That's something else I taught him: leave when you have to. It's what guys like us do.

Standing alone on an empty sidewalk, I wish he hadn't learned that lesson quite so well.

~END~


I just listened to the most recent episode of the White Collared podcast tonight about "Out of the Box," and this scene wouldn't leave my head.

Thanks for reading!