OOC: Sorry for the delay. College exams and all. But will be more regular now, Thank you so much for the reviews. And nicedisguise, I hope you don't mind if I employ that idea of yours.
And I slowly go insane…
"No leads? No leads after questioning of fifty-five suspects? "Neal Caffrey's face was flushed, marked with frustration and exasperation. "What is this Peter, a joke? Just how inefficient did we become?" He slammed a file onto Pete's table, causing some loose papers to fly off the glass due to the impact.
"Neal! What is wrong with you?" Burke stood with his back leaned to the bulletproof glass wall that overlooked the city. He stared at the man opposite him, usually impeccably dressed, now with many a stray hair admonishing his slightly unshaven face. Neal Caffrey had never been distraught for as long as Peter had known him, except that one time...when the plane had fallen prey to the flames. He had struggled furiously to break free of Peter's grip, to try and save the woman who had meant, to him, the very reason of existence. But, his façade had soon gained the suave polish that shielded him, and now, Peter could see the same shield on the verge of cracking. "Since when do you let a case get personal?" He crossed his arms before his chest, glaring into the other's eyes.
He was quiet, faltering. "I…I just want to get the painting back where it belongs. That's all." The conman lowered his voice, as well as his eyes. "I just want to do my job, and solve the case."
"Then you'll do well to keep a cool head. I shouldn't have to tell you that getting pissed won't get you anywhere." Burke walked over to the door to his office and opened it. "Now, I suggest you go out and get some air. Calm your brain and come back when you think you can actually work." It was no suggestion, but a statement. Looking at Peter's gaze, Neal didn't bother to argue, no use. He made his way out in silence.
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A soft breeze teased her scented locks as she ran a turquoise comb, touched with camphor, through them. After a few strokes, she placed the comb back inside the small white handbag that lay on the bench, beside her. The sky was a feathery blue, kissed by cotton-y clouds that reminded her of that lovely, lovely dress. It had been so white, and so fragile, and yet had clung to her like a lover that is about to part. Esmerelda closed her eyes and tipped it backwards, letting the breeze touch her thin, white neck.
"Are you always at a strange place at a strange time?"
She opened her eyes to find him standing over her, his blue eyes almost instantly bringing to her mind the ocean that roared by the family's summer house. His face was in shadow, the sunlight cast in beams around his head, almost like the first time she saw the man for whom she made that white, lovely dress.
"Signore Caffrey…" She rose, and like usual held, out her hand. "Is this not the time to be wrong-doers to justice?" There was none of the sarcasm that he had incorporated into the question the previous night, she meant it.
"Taking a break…even men of law need respite….and you need to start calling me Neal." He lowered himself onto the bench, and she followed. "What about you, another bit of experiencing America?"
"Come now, you cannot tease me forever….Neal. I am just, -how do you say it? - getting some air. The hotel room, it was constricted. "Neal saw her shoulders rise slightly and fall. "I'm glad to have come across you; I needed to ask…has any progress been made into the recovery of my painting?"
There was a pause. "No." He replied. "Look, I can give you a lot of fancy jabber, but I think you're smart enough to figure it out sooner or later, so I'm not going to lie. We're getting nowhere. The thief left no clues, and I doubt he's planning to sell it anytime soon or anywhere in the vicinity of New York. It's…pretty much a dead end."
He felt a strange weight within his lungs. A knot threatened to lock his throat as he looked at her. Face lowered, framed by black, her hands were clasped together in her lap, partially clenched. "Aisha..." He reached out to take the tangle of her fingers into his palm. "I promise you, I'll get it back. I'll bring the painting back to you. I don't know why it's so important, but if it is, I'll get it back..." He didn't know why he said these words, didn't know why he promised something when he had lost hope in promises. All he knew was that it hurt to lose something so important, and he could see that to this girl, the painting was as essential as Kate was to him.
Her hands unclenched, and she extracted her fingers from his grip, only to take his hand in both of hers. "Thank you..." It was a soft, almost inaudible whisper. "It's been long since I've been promised something; you make me believe again." She looked at him, and he saw in them what he saw every morning in the mirror.
"I'm glad I do..." Neal let his hand rest in hers, it was comforting. "But…if you believe in me, you'll let me make you smile again."
She looked at him, question written on her face.
"You need to experience America for real, and you need to do so with a true American." He stood up, and took his hand from hers. "No cars, no bowing, no my ladies, only fun…as friends. Does that sound good, Aisha?"
She rose up, and when she looked at him, he saw the smile he had glimpsed last night.
For them, that afternoon was lost in a whirlwind of happiness. Neal was her guide, and he began by showing her Madame Tussaud. He took her for the New York skyride, on which she had been absolutely besieged with delight. "Better than any of those planes, no doubt" she had said. They had rode cable cars, and he had shown her secret little stores that sold old, rare books and beautiful combs, both of which had fascinated her to no end. For lunch, they had clam chowder and vegetables stew (he learnt she ate no meat, she learnt he ate no fish), and had eaten by the fountain in Washington Square Park. He had seen her cast aside demeanor and eticate, and when they had come across a band playing "Sweet Caroline" she had sung along, coaxing him to do the same until he had. They had ended up having drinks the band, and one of the girls asked her how she kept her hair "so dope", to which she had replied with "conditioner, lots and lots of conditioner". Before the evening was over, her coat hung on the crook of his arm and she carried her heeled shows in her hand, walking on the pavement lazily, talking as if the words had no end. He told her about his life as a forger, about Peter, and about his current relationship with the F.B.I, while she spoke of her family. About her father, who taught her how to wield a brush and a pen, about her mother whom she loved the most, and who had passed away with the birth of her brother. He told her about Mozzie, and they laughed over his antics until tears assailed their eyes. Neal promised to introduce them someday; on the condition the she wore nothing expensive when they met. She told him of her brother who had eloped with a second cousin, and whom she had welcomed back into the family with welcome arms. "He loved her…" She said simply. "I couldn't see any wrong in that." By the time they reached the Hilton, the moon had risen high in the star-spangled firmament.
"I guess this is where we part." Neal and Esmerelda stood at the gate, facing each other.
"I suppose so…I...I had a wonderful time, Neal." She said. "I don't remember laughing this much…ever."
He shrugged. "You should try it more; you look pretty cute when you laugh."
She smiled instantly. "Then I should be with you more..."
He smiled back. "I agree..."
At this point, a gust of wind burst against them. It caught her hair and scattered it, and in that moment, when she looked away from him, he could see her cloudy eyes shimmer and sparkle as they hadn't before, catching the moonlight and transforming it into radiance. "You're unbelievably beautiful, Aisha." The words left him before he could stop them, before he could think.
She looked back at him, naked surprise written large. "I…I didn't mean..." He began to apologize when she placed two fingers on his lips.
"When you say that Neal it means something." Esmerelda Gabrielle Rossetti leaned forward, placing her hands on his shoulders and brushed her dewy lips against his right cheek.
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"Neal Caffrey!" Elizabeth Burke almost swooped upon him the moment he walked through her door. "You do know you have a lot of explaining to do, both to my husband and to ME."
Her outburst didn't change the expression on his face. "I'm sorry Elizabeth, I got…detoured. By the way, did you get the chocolates I sent, as the sample?"
"Yes, and they were immaculate. But don't change the subject Neal." She glared at him as he made his way to the dining table, where Peter was sitting with a stormy face, and a glare that could put cruel headmasters to shame. "Where were you all day? Your phone was switched off, and you didn't call once."
"C'mon Elizabeth…" He turned to Peter. "You know where I was, Peter. Just pull up the tracking info. Easy as pie." Caffrey proceeded to help himself to one of the scones placed on the table.
"I know where you were Neal." Peter finally spoke, his voice as grave as his face. "What I want to know is, who were you with."
He stopped chewing, and set the scone back on the plate. Releasing a deep breath, he said, "I was with Esmerelda, ok? I was with her all day."
"Esmerelda Rossetti? The woman whose painting you're trying to recover?"
"Yes. And I met her by accident, I swear. I had gone out to get some air and calm down as Peter told me to, and she was there, sitting on a park bench, looking all…" He stopped, suddenly aware of the presence of the other two people.
"Go on. Looking all what?" Peter leaned forward, his forearms on the table edge. "Looking all beautiful, gorgeous, sexy? Is that what she looked like?"
"Peter, stop, ok? That's not what I was going to say. So, just stop."
"No, you stop, Neal. " He stood up, now visibly angry. "Do you have any inkling an idea of who this woman is? Damn it Neal, she's not your rebound, alright? She's not someone you can get over Kate with."
"I said, stop it!" Neal got up, the force of his rise knocking his chair onto the floor. "What is wrong with you? Kate. You're talking about Kate, Peter. I will never, ever get over Kate. Because she's not a high school prom date I can just kiss and forget." His voice broke, cracked with emotion. "She made me smile today…Esmerelda…Aisha. She made me smile, and I like her, but she's not Kate. No one is."
Elizabeth felt tears sting her eyes, and went forward, taking Neal in her arms. "It's alright." She whispered. "It's alright." She could feel a stain of moisture wetting her shoulder as he buried her face into her dress.
Peter looked, stricken at the raw, relentless pain of his friend. He had opened the wound, and clawed at it until he had burst. "I'm sorry Neal." He saw the younger man's shoulder heave in involuntary convulsions as he heard muffled sobs. "I'm sorry…"
When Neal extracted himself from her, his eyes were brimming pools of blue. Peter couldn't stand it, he couldn't stand to see his sorrow. "Neal, I…"
A steady vibration poked against his left thigh. He sighed exasperatedly and fished out his cell. "It's Jones..." He flicked the receive button. "Yea..?"
Neal and Elizabeth both saw Peter's face darken with fury. Neal felt an icy crawl trail down his spine, and his palpitations grew erratic. "Peter…" his voice was hoarse, "What is it?"
Peter's fist gripped the phone. "One my way.." He hung up. "Grab your coat, Neal. We're leaving."
"Peter, what's wrong? What is it?" His wife questioned anxiously, following her husband to the door. He turned around, looked at her, then Neal and answered, "It's Esmerelda Rossetti. She's in the hospital, in a coma. She was attacked."
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So, is it good? Please let me know. You guys are really great and your reviews really really help me. Love you all, and thanks so much for reading.