A Glimpse Into Grief

by wineskin

My first and probably last fic; needed to get this out so I could resume my life. A post series finale look at Peter mourning the death of his friend over the course of a year. Will probably come to 4 chapters. All of the usual disclaimers apply; I own nothing.

5. A Day In May

Peter knew all the firsts would be particularly difficult and they were; Neal's birthday, Christmas, the day his sentence would have officially ended and the anklet would have come off for good - that was a bad, bad, day, not to mention the recent anniversary of his death. Peter could hardly make it out of bed that day so raw was the pain; awful memories that had finally started receding returned with a vengeance, wounds that had started healing ripped wide open as he re-lived every minute of that day. Peter had tortured himself, staring at the clock on his night table, marking off the final hours Neal had remaining on the earth, 6,5,4,3,2,1, and then, a gunshot, and then, 'you're my best friend', and then nothing. Huge sobs wracked his body, his face buried in his pillow to stifle horrible sounds. Elizabeth had given him a wide berth knowing he just wanted to get through the day without speaking to a soul, but somehow, she knew instinctively when his pain would be too much for him to bear on his own. She crept into their room and much like she had done a year ago, lay down on the bed beside him and held him for all she was worth.

But today was just a random Thursday, an average day at the office filled with meetings; nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to give him pause where Neal was concerned, and yet he woke up feeling sad and he couldn't shake it off, which is how he came to find himself taking a detour on his way home from work, pulling into a certain cemetery and standing in front of a certain headstone. Grief would pummel him mercilessly on the big red letter days but on those run-of-the-mill ones, when it was just about juggling a wife, a baby, and a career, grief would get him then too, the bitch; it was a quieter grief, not as in-your-face, just a familiar dull ache in his chest reminding him of his loss, causing Peter to see his friend's face everywhere he looked.

He brushed off some leaves and debris that had fallen on top of the headstone, then pulled out his hanky to polish it which was mostly unnecessary; the maintenance crew did an excellent job maintaining the grounds and the graves. It was a very calming place and Peter often found his burden a little lighter, a little easier to bear after spending time with him here. He traced his fingers over the name engraved on the marble stone.

"Hey bud, missing you today."