A/N: Based upon Tigeress79's "Animula"; takes place after her Chapter 38.
Chapter title from a poem by E.E. Cummings
Live By Love Though the Stars Walk Backward
Reclining on his chaise lounge, Neal was enjoying a quiet evening on the patio. Sipping an expensive wine, he watched the sky darken and the stars began their celestial shine. His thoughts wandered to the man residing with him these past few weeks.
Earlier in the day, Peter had laughed over some silly caper Neal had related, a noise so filled with rare amusement and light abandonment that Neal had laughed too, and felt sincerely happy his new companion was feeling more comfortable in his presence. It was a far cry from the first early days when Peter staunchly believed Neal meant him intentional harm.
Swirling the wine around his glass, the conman watched the French chardonnay reflect the dim lights. His thoughts were interrupted when Peter stepped onto the balcony, a water glass in his hands, vigilant eyes fixed on Neal.
"I finished analyzing Cheng's stock options," said Peter.
Seeing him, Neal smiled.
"You caught me, Peter. I'm starting a bit early tonight." He pointed to the night sky. "Look at all that beauty. It's just too nice a night to waste inside."
Peter followed his gaze, remaining silent, only nodding in affirmation.
Neal studied his face.
"Sit down and join me. It's a fabulous evening." As Peter hesitated, he added, "We can discuss what you found."
He assumed the re-phrasing would make Peter more willing to accept, believing the invitation included a directive. Sighing inwardly, Neal made a sweeping gesture with his free hand, indicating the empty lounge chair beside him. Peter's trust still seemed fragile, his friendship inaccessible.
Shooting him a cautious look, Peter placed his glass next to some d'oeuvres on Neal's table and sat down, folding his arms across his chest.
"Would you like a drink of something more substantial? Some wine? You're well enough now to partake. This," he held up his goblet, "is Montrachet of Cote de Beaune."
"No. I─"
"You don't know what you're missing. This vintage has the finest taste of chardonnay grapes, possessing a rich lemon and citrus palate. If Mozzie hadn't depleted my stock, I could have offered you a taste of Domaine de la Romanee-Conti Montrachet." Neal shook his head. "One of the priciest but most flavorful white wines in the world."
Peter shot him that look.
"Let me guess, you must be more of a connoisseur of what… blue-collar beer?"
Peter uttered a sound of exasperation, secretly perturbed Neal had surmised a fondness for a forbidden item Elizabeth had introduced into his life.
"Am I right?" Neal inquired.
"I already told you Animula aren't allowed alcohol."
"Rules, Peter. Let's not specify rules." Lifting the glass to his lips, he paused. "Well, I'm afraid I don't have any beer in stock. I'll pick some up tomorrow."
Peter threw up his hands in mock defeat. There were some things now he let lie.
Sitting side by side, a comfortable silence followed. Peter twisted his water glass around in his palms, beginning to relish the warm Manhattan evening, surprised to find he really enjoyed the capacity to relax in his owner's presence. It was an agreeable yet disturbing feeling. He reminded himself to be careful not to lower his guard; this wasn't Elizabeth at his side. Despite Neal's words to the contrary, he still held no illusions he wasn't more than an expensive new bauble in the inventory. He was Neal's useful asset to gain admittance to Cheng and his circle of associates.
The conman did take good care of him, Peter inwardly admitted. Intent on enjoying the respite, as long as Neal held his contract, Peter couldn't quite trust Neal wouldn't tire of the burden. If he continued to prove his value, maybe… just maybe his plan to acquire a bargaining monetary chip would succeed.
"Unbelievable," declared Peter as he reached down and ran one hand over fine wood grain.
"What?" Neal glanced at him.
"Even your chaise lounges are the finest quality." Peter sat up, shaking his head, continuing to stroke the recliner's wooden slats. "Teak wood, contemporary design, natural fiber bed cushion that's amazingly soft. Tell me Neal, do you always have the very best in everything?"
"Why not?" replied Neal, in a faux-hurt voice. "Better me than the obnoxious plutocrats who have no real appreciation for the finer things in life. I'm sure you met too many of them to count."
"Good point," Peter conceded. Gazing upward, he pointed at the sky. "What a view you enjoy. Even with the city lights, the night sky and the stars are amazing."
"I take delight in the overall splendor. I don't believe any painter has been able to replicate it."
Peter lay back. Looking over at Neal, weighing the sincerity he saw there, he realized the man was, momentarily, sharing a personal insight.
"I'm sure you've heard there are more stars in the universe than grains of sand on all the beaches on Earth," Peter replied. "The calculations are pretty straightforward once you've arrived at your base values."
Neal grinned at Peter, a trace of amusement in his blue eyes.
Peter hesitated for a moment but pushed on.
"I see the Earth as a sort of beautiful abstract artwork. An uncountable number of galaxies, each containing millions of stars with each their own planets."
"Do you enjoy astronomy or is the evening beginning to make you wax poetic?"
"Both I suppose, although I do enjoy reading astronomical journals and scientific periodicals."
Was that a boyish hint of excitement sounding in Peter's voice, thought Neal. Interesting.
"Neal, one recent feature contained a fascinating article about a Navigators sextant used primarily for celestial navigation. This new sextant allows for a greater observation of the stars."
"Have you ever used one? A sextant?" quietly asked Neal.
Peter shook his head. "I never had the privilege."
Neal studied his companion's face. The previous excitement had faded from his eyes as a distant look began to replace it.
"Non est ad astra mollis e terries via," Peter admitted, his voice losing animation.
"There is no easy way from the earth to the stars." Neal shot him a questioning look. "Seneca?"
"Yes."
"Quoting stoic Latin philosophers, Peter?"
"Maybe it's just the right night for it. He believed humans strive to surmount impossible challenges." Peter smile didn't quite make it to his lips. "Animula? Well, I tried… tried once. For a short time I actually touched a star."
Putting down his drink, he stood up, moving slowly to the railing, gazing up into the night sky. Leaning against the barricade, he grabbed the railing as sadness threatened to buckle his knees. Even after two years, Elizabeth's loss was still fresh in his mind. He had treasured her memory during the long years of pain and abject loneliness. Now, knowing she still loved him was overwhelming; he knew he would never recover if he lost her again.
Peter wondered where El was at this moment. Was she standing under the night sky? Was she thinking of him? He wanted desperately to know that she was recovering from the travesty of her life.
Neal got up and came over to Peter. He saw the man's hands were clenched in a white-knuckled grip around the railing.
"Heavy thoughts, Peter?"
"Heavy thoughts," Peter echoed, his eyes fixed on a place only he knew.
"Care to share? It might help."
"I don't know─"
Peter's answer was cut short.
"Neal! Hey, Neal," came a voice from the doorway.
Mozzie strode on to the patio, carrying a camouflaged duffel bag over one shoulder.
"Wine and food?" Mozzie looked stricken. "Why didn't you call me?"
Before Neal could answer, an emotion flickered behind Peter's golden eyes. For an instant, it looked like regret at the interruption, than it was gone, clouded over by hollowness.
"Spur of the moment, Moz." Neal smiled. "Help yourself. You know where the glasses are."
"Okay," replied the little guy, his eyes darting from one man to the other. "What have you two been discussing?"
"Not much," Peter said vaguely. He checked his watch, turning to Neal. "It's late for me and we didn't talk about the stocks. If you'd rather wait, I'll turn in and continue my research in the morning."
Neal nodded as Mozzie cocked his head.
"Hey! Don't leave on my account."
"I had a long day," Peter told Mozzie on his way out the door, "I should get some rest."
Neal and Mozzie watched him go. Feeling suddenly weary himself, Neal turned back to his chaise lounge and sat down.
"What's going on?" asked Mozzie, putting down his bag and crossing his arms over his chest. "What's wrong with Golden Eyes?"
"Peter's still recovering, Moz. He's easily exhausted."
"Pity," replied Mozzie, nodding sympathetically. "He did look a bit listless. I'll guess I'll have to wait for my chess rematch."
Neal turned his attention to his friend's duffel bag. "Information about Renner?"
"Neal, I know I told you I'd find out what I could about Peter's old owner but something else came up. Something much more important. First, promise you'll hear me out."
"Fine. What's so important?"
Mozzie's eyes lit up, excitement spreading across his face. "Now that Peter's gone, I can tell you my news."
"Moz… I want to help Peter, not─"
"Then you need to hear what I have to say."
That got Neal's attention.