chapter 3
Do not own. Thank you again for all the reviews everyone! I hope you like this chapter. please keep reviewing. I work faster that way!!!
Two hours seemed like an eternity. Peter knew how to be a patient man when necessary. It was a requirement in law enforcement. He wasn't required to be patient when it came to family.
Peter kept one hand barely steady on the wheel as he made a call.
"She's gone."
it was all he could find to say. El, God bless her, knew. She always did. peter could tell by her sniffles she tried so desperately to mask that she was dreading what Peter's next words might be,
"Neal wasn't hurt."
That was enough for her. it always was. Peter knew he didn't deserve her and wondered when he ever would.
He hung up the phone silently craving the comfort and peace he would have for two hours before he re-entered his friend's private hell.
Neal never realized how quiet his apartment was till this very moment. He could hear himself breathe, yet he couldn't hear his heart beating. It had become numb. Neal removed his jacket and shoes. His bare feet padded across the floor till he reached his counter. His graceful fingers traced the wood till he reached the wine glasses. He pulled one out and grabbed the first bottle he could find. He needed something to dull this ache. His fingers ran down the curves of the bottle. He decided he should see what poison he had chosen. His heart seized in his throat. the Bourdeux...
In a whirlwind of fury and grief, the glass left his hand, shattering against the French doors. The sound was a familiar one...exploding...flames...
Neal grabbed one after another until there weren't any glasses left. He sank bone weary to the floor as the tears spilled down his stretched out his long legs in front of him oblivious to everything including the shards of glass wedged in his fingertips.
Peter bit his lower lip as he prepared to knock on Neal's door when he noticed it was partially opened. He knew Neal was inside from the rapid movement his vision caught. What he didn't expect to find was the sight that greeted him upon entrance. Neal was squatting down in a barely lit room surrounded by torn newspapers...perhaps some books....Peter thought. Neal's bare back cast dark shadows. Nimble fingers covered in what could have been blood and clay worked feverishly on what was the most beautiful piece of art Peter had ever seen. The sculpture was about a foot tall, fluid in its motion, sleek, a breath of life. Its wings were arched in flight. Delicate fingers reached up toward the heavens in forgiveness. The flowing garment wrapped around her, barely covering the angel's breasts. There was no face, perhaps there was not meant to be one, but Peter knew who it was meant to be.
Neal wouldn't have even realized Peter's presence if it weren't for a small gasp that escaped his lips.
A dark head turned to see its guest. His face still covered in ash, his eyes stood a stark contrast to the surroundings. Neal didn't trust his own voice at the moment. He barely trusted his own hands as he worked.
"The door...ah..." Peter felt as if he had intruded upon a very spiritual moment.
Neal stood up shakily, nearly falling over if it weren't for Peter. Peter could smell the alcohol on Neal before he even noticed the bottle gripped in his hand. His lifeline...
"It's been two hours."
Peter's hand clasped around Neal's forearm unaware of the soothing motion his fingers provided.
Neal grinned as his blue eyes looked to the bottle clutched tightly in his hand.
"I'd offer you a glass, Peter, but as you can see..."
He gestured the floor at his feet.
Peter took note of the bare feet surrounded by fragments of glass.
"Neal..."
The name was lost on his lips as Neal pulled away walking through the glass as if it were nonexistent. He stopped in front of his masterpiece. Before Peter could say a word, he whispered.
" Some of my best work."
Peter looked to the sculpture. Neal's best work, Neal's work...not a copy....
Before Peter could speak, Neal grabbed the Bourdeux hiding behind the angel. His fingers caressed it like a lover.
"Do you remember what I told you this was, Peter? It was a promise."
His eyes studied it intently tracing the map 's lines.
"I broke that promise."
His head shot up and his solemn gaze met Peter's.
"I'm sorry about what I said earlier, Peter. It wasn't your fault."
He faced his angel...his own self recriminations....
"It was mine."
In an instant, Neal's own arm was poised , bottle in hand about to strike the statue.
Flashes of what could be and what was about to happen made peter move faster than he thought possible. In that one moment if Neal destroyed this...this entity that defined his tragedy in his life...Peter feared it would be the death of Neal as he knew him.
Strong hands clasped Neal's wrists in mid air. Blue eyes sought out brown.
"Don't."
Neal blinked barely registering the word...its true meaning and saw the blank look in the kid's beautiful eyes. Peter's own eyes softened as his hands touched Neal's shoulders.
Neal slowly lowered his arm. His body shook knowing that destroying this piece he would be destroying himself. The same hands that helped him stand would now hold him when he fell.
"Don't."
With that one word, Neal came undone.
Well, it is my fave so far. Hope you like. Pleaser review!!!! Up next, The aftermath of this follows Neal through the night. June wasn't home at this point but she and Moz will make an appearance a few chapters in.