Frozen in Time, White Collar, G,
Oct. 22nd, 2010 03:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
veronicasleepsTitle: Frozen in Time
Prompt:Paint
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
veronicasleeps
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Neal/Peter(/Elizabeth)
Word count: 300
Warnings/Spoilers: No spoilers,
Summary:"He looks at the canvas and the paint and the readily visible brush strokes that come together in this piece of art, and he takes it all in. It is beautiful, he thinks."
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
whitecollar100
+
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry?”
“The painting, it’s beautiful isn’t it?”
Peter doesn’t answer at first, he turns his attention back to the painting in front of him and looks at the canvas and the paint and the readily visible brush strokes that come together in this piece of art, and he takes it all in. It is beautiful, he thinks.
“I don’t know much about art.” He says instead when the other man starts to leave.
The man, Park, his museum name tag says, steps closer to the painting.
“You’ve been standing here for an hour now, just staring,” he says and gestures at the painting, “you must have an opinion about it.”
“He had incredible skill, the painter. Did you know he was in prison for a long time?”
Yes, Peter does know. Intimately so.
He stares at the painting blindly, at the model’s beauty, at her smiling face and her lovely hair, at the folds of the bright blue dress captured in paint for all eternity, and it makes him feel a little better, soothes the pain a bit.
It’s like a window into the past, like she is just in front of him, frozen in time, where nothing can ever touch her, and for a moment he wishes that he could just step right into the paint, and join her in her laughter.
“Peter,” a different voice interrupts Park’s rambling and a shiver goes through Peter’s body, because he knows what that means. “It’s time to go.”
Neal grabs his hand, softly, and squeezes it.
“The funeral starts in an hour.” He whispers, and he gently leads Peter away from the painting and from Park and away from the little brass plate underneath that reads ‘Elizabeth’ and towards a tombstone that will read the same.
+
Prompt:Paint
Author:
veronicasleepsRating: G
Characters/Pairings: Neal/Peter(/Elizabeth)
Word count: 300
Warnings/Spoilers: No spoilers,
off-screen character Death
Summary:"He looks at the canvas and the paint and the readily visible brush strokes that come together in this piece of art, and he takes it all in. It is beautiful, he thinks."
Notes: Written for
whitecollar100+
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry?”
“The painting, it’s beautiful isn’t it?”
Peter doesn’t answer at first, he turns his attention back to the painting in front of him and looks at the canvas and the paint and the readily visible brush strokes that come together in this piece of art, and he takes it all in. It is beautiful, he thinks.
“I don’t know much about art.” He says instead when the other man starts to leave.
The man, Park, his museum name tag says, steps closer to the painting.
“You’ve been standing here for an hour now, just staring,” he says and gestures at the painting, “you must have an opinion about it.”
“He had incredible skill, the painter. Did you know he was in prison for a long time?”
Yes, Peter does know. Intimately so.
He stares at the painting blindly, at the model’s beauty, at her smiling face and her lovely hair, at the folds of the bright blue dress captured in paint for all eternity, and it makes him feel a little better, soothes the pain a bit.
It’s like a window into the past, like she is just in front of him, frozen in time, where nothing can ever touch her, and for a moment he wishes that he could just step right into the paint, and join her in her laughter.
“Peter,” a different voice interrupts Park’s rambling and a shiver goes through Peter’s body, because he knows what that means. “It’s time to go.”
Neal grabs his hand, softly, and squeezes it.
“The funeral starts in an hour.” He whispers, and he gently leads Peter away from the painting and from Park and away from the little brass plate underneath that reads ‘Elizabeth’ and towards a tombstone that will read the same.
+
