Title: She Walks in Beauty.

Summary: It wasn't the first time he painted Kate -Neal lost count a long time ago of the number of times he had painted or sketched her over the years- but it was the first time since what happened in the hangar.

Characters: Neal Caffrey.

Warnings: Canonical character death. Heavy angst and grief.

Notes: Set early in season 2.

...

Neal put down his paintbrush and palette with trembling hands and forced himself to take a breath.

With the painting finished, this should have been the time for Neal to start sorting his tools and paints and clean up after himself, but not this time. Not when he couldn't move, let alone take his eyes away from the finished portrait on the easel before him.

His tired eyes traced every inch without missing any detail. He stared at the long, silky threads of dark hair floating as an unseen burst of wind played with them. A familiar striped mulberry purple and grey sky scarf was wrapped around the elegant column of a pale neck, and a golden round pendant adorned a delicate ear. The head was tilted slightly upward, and the soft, coral blush lips were curled at the corner into something that was not quite a smile. There was the suggestion of a soft pink blush on the one cheek visible, and thick dark lashes framed a pale blue eye that didn't quite match the color in his memory.

Neal wasn't ready yet to meet Kate's large and expressive eyes or even attempt to capture everything he saw in them, so the image that took shape under his brush was of her profile as she looked at the horizon, only the left side of her face visible. The background was only an afterthought- a blurred and faded mix of muted colors. Darkness and light with no clear definition.

It wasn't the first time he painted Kate -Neal lost count a long time ago of the number of times he had painted or sketched her over the years- but it was the first time since what happened in the hangar. It took a few tries, but he finally managed to bring her back to life on a canvas.

It was nice, Neal thought detachedly, to remember her like this instead of seeing her shrouded in angry red flames and thick black smoke every time he closed his eyes for longer than a minute.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, simply staring at Kate's image. His fingers itched to caress the curve of her jaw or thread through her lavender-scented hair. It wasn't the threat of still-wet paint that stopped him, though; What kept him from reaching out was the cruel knowledge there would be no warm flesh or soft hair under his fingertips.

Neal clenched his still trembling hands and bowed his head. He had to reach for the wooden stool when he felt his legs would not be able to hold him anylonger.

"Hey," Neal whispered hoarsely, blue eyes glued to the portrait. He chuckled humorlessly a moment later. "I know this is stupid, I do. I just- I miss you. I miss talking to you," he admitted softly. "I don't expect you to talk back, so don't worry. I'm not that far gone yet."

The smile that should have accompanied the words never formed on Neal's lips, and despite the words he had just spoken, he found himself at a loss. Neal knew she wasn't really here to listen to him, but he still couldn't decide what he should say- what he wanted to tell her.

They spent the last three years with a bulletproof panel separating them as they talked about nothing but the future. They spent so many hours there, making plans and building the life they would share once Neal was out of prison, and all of that was taken from him, just like Kate had been.

Neal thought of all the stories he had planned to tell her once they were finally together and away from prying ears. Neal wanted to share with her all the places he visited while they were apart and describe in detail all the things he saw and the many jobs he pulled thinking of her-

But Kate was gone now. They ran out of time before they could even start their life together.

Neal had tried and failed to find the words to describe the pain, but it was like nothing he had ever felt before. It was crushing and crippling, and he feared it might consume him entirely at any moment. That pain was the only thing that reminded him he was still alive.

Sometimes, he wished it had been him instead of her. Others, Neal wished with all his heart he had been in that plane with her.

His eyes welled up with tears, and before Neal could even try to get himself under control, a single sob escaped from his mouth, breaking the dam and leaving only shattered remains behind. It was the first time Neal wept openly, and every time he tried to stop, he only cried harder.

Neal had no idea how much time passed, but when he finally pulled himself together he was left drained and hollow, unable to do anything but stare at the canvas with glassy and swollen eyes before he finally summoned the strength to look away. He caught a glimpse of the skyline through the loft's French doors behind his easel and was surprised to see the first hint of the coming dawn.

He took a deep breath and wiped his face with the backs of his hands.

Another moment passed before he finally forced himself to get back to his feet, keeping his gaze carefully away from the portrait as he started cleaning up after himself, taking special care with his supplies before putting them back where they belonged. There were freckles of dry paint on his hands and forearms, but he ignored them as he put on a shirt, leaving the buttons undone.

Neal eyed the half-empty bottle of red wine he abandoned on the table before she started painting. He turned around, rummaged in the cupboard for a glass, and filled it with water from the tap instead. His head was already pounding slightly, so the last thing he needed right now was alcohol. He leaned against the counter as he drank, looking through the closed French doors at the slowly receding darkness outside. All at once, he knew what he wanted to tell Kate. He couldn't talk about their past together or apart, or the future that would never be, but he could tell her about the present. His present.

He left the empty glass on the counter and moved toward the portrait, his gaze immediately drawn to Kate's face.

"I wish you could see where I'm living now," Neal started as he sat back on the stool, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lip. "I know you would love it. The view alone is breathtaking. It almost makes up for all the years I spent locked up. Almost. And June, my landlady, is a wonderful lady. You would have liked her. Even Moz is a bit in love with her, I think. They just started a book club of which I'm not a member yet, and they have spent many afternoons playing Parcheesi and sharing mimosas."

Neal warmed up the topic with every word, losing some of the tension in his aching shoulders.

"I met her in a thrift store, of all places. Right after I got out of prison. We chatted up for a bit, and then she offered me a closet full of her late husband's old clothes- some of them Devore suits, along with a little guest room in her home." Neal paused. "Peter thought I conned her- he probably still does, but June is far too smart to fall for any of that. The truth is, she met a kindred spirit and decided to lend a hand.

"She and her husband had a very interesting and not entirely legal past."

Neal sucked in a breath and fell silent. He didn't talk about Byron or the fact he had the opportunity to enjoy life with the person he loved when he was out of prison. He didn't mention either that when he passed, he left June with a big family and memories of the lifetime they shared. Neal didn't begrudge June and Byron their lives or happiness, but it was hard to stop from wishing he'd had the fortune to have even a fraction of what they shared.

He had no doubt it was because of her own history that June understood him and his need to find Kate in a way Moz and Peter never would.

"She has a pet as well," Neal finally continued with forced cheer. "A small pug called Bugsy. I walk him out and look after him sometimes when June is away. He's not the kind of dog I would have chosen for myself, but he's a good boy, and you know how much I love dogs."

Neal said nothing else, lost in the memory of the many conversations he and Kate shared about the dog they would one day owe. He wanted something big and playful and loving, while she was more partial to something small and elegant. The last time they talked about it, five or maybe six months before her last visit, Neal had been close to convincing her there was no reason they couldn't each have what they wanted. He also offered the argument that a cat could be a better fit for her. Maybe a grey tabby cat with yellow eyes, just like the one she had when she was a little girl.

Elbows resting on his knees, Neal buried his fingers in his hair and squeezed his eyes shut. He should have known nothing good would come out of doing this. It had been a stupid idea from the start.

He scrubbed a hand across his face before standing up. He traced Kate's face with his eyes one more time. Neal still couldn't believe she was gone and he was never going to see her again.

"I love you," Neal whispered thickly as tears blurred his vision.

He gripped the frame of the large canvas with white-knuckled fingers and pulled it off the easel even as the tears ran down his cheeks. Neal stood there for a moment, unsure what to do with the portrait. He wasn't going to dispose of it- he couldn't, but it was clear it was a bad idea to leave it out here.

In the end, he took the painting to the hidden back room turned walk-in closet. Neal crouched down and propped it carefully against one of the shelves, forcing himself to let go of it. He couldn't put it in storage like the rest, but once the paint was dry he would find somewhere else for it.

Neal felt a pang in his chest when he saw her there on the floor in the semi-darkness, but he still walked away. As soon as he was outside he leaned on the closed door at his back with eyes closed and just breathed.

It was too late to go to sleep now. Or early, Neal supposed. Not that he would have been able to sleep even if he had the time anyway. Between the nightmares and the endless thoughts running through his head, sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time was a luxury he couldn't indulge in anymore.

It was the less he deserved.

...

a/n: Neal is in a pretty bad place right now, but we all know it will get better. Also, I don't know anything about art, so there's that.

Now, I will start by saying I'm not a Neal/Kate shipper, and even now I'm ambivalent about whether she loved him or not (most of the time I believe she did, and yet, I don't think they would have lasted long together even if she stayed alive. I think even Neal was guilty of loving the idea of her more than she loved her, so yeah. Not a great foundation for a good relationship.) That being said, this is a story about grief and loneliness, not romance, so that's why I didn't add the official Kate/Neal tag.

Thank you so much to all the people who have continued to read this, and a special shout out to these who have left me comments. Also, if you enjoy the collection, you should know I have a few other WC short fics posted as well. Just in case you may want to check them out too. #Sorynotsorry. 😉

Title from the poem of the same name by Lord Byron because we all know Kate loved the classics.