Linger, White Collar, PG
Mar. 19th, 2011 01:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
veronicasleepsTitle: Lingering
Author: veronicasleeps
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Elizabeth
Word count: 200
Summary: For a moment, Neal feels bad about running.
Contains: Implied spoilers for the season finale.
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For a moment, Neal feels bad about running.
Then he pictures Peter’s face - three parts accusation and one part betrayal, and with a frown he touches his ankle where the sense-memory of hard plastic is still left behind on his skin.
He shakes his head, takes the deactivated tracker and places it in the mail box where Peter is sure to find it as soon as he gets home from searching for Neal on the other side of the city.
When he looks up, his eyes meet Elizabeth’s, who is almost hidden in the dark doorway of her house. “Where are you going to go now?” She asks, like a conspirator, as if she plans to keep that secret from her husband.
“Somewhere,” Neal says, quiet and so soft that it’s more breath than words, “Anywhere.”
He touches her arm, chill in the night air, and slides his hand into hers. This contact, he’ll miss it, he thinks. Not just her, but Peter too. “I’m sorry.” Neal presses his lips to her wrist and hopes it will warm her. Hopes it will linger far longer than the phantom clutch that the tracker still has on him.
“I’ll tell him.”
+
Author: veronicasleeps
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Elizabeth
Word count: 200
Summary: For a moment, Neal feels bad about running.
Contains: Implied spoilers for the season finale.
+
For a moment, Neal feels bad about running.
Then he pictures Peter’s face - three parts accusation and one part betrayal, and with a frown he touches his ankle where the sense-memory of hard plastic is still left behind on his skin.
He shakes his head, takes the deactivated tracker and places it in the mail box where Peter is sure to find it as soon as he gets home from searching for Neal on the other side of the city.
When he looks up, his eyes meet Elizabeth’s, who is almost hidden in the dark doorway of her house. “Where are you going to go now?” She asks, like a conspirator, as if she plans to keep that secret from her husband.
“Somewhere,” Neal says, quiet and so soft that it’s more breath than words, “Anywhere.”
He touches her arm, chill in the night air, and slides his hand into hers. This contact, he’ll miss it, he thinks. Not just her, but Peter too. “I’m sorry.” Neal presses his lips to her wrist and hopes it will warm her. Hopes it will linger far longer than the phantom clutch that the tracker still has on him.
“I’ll tell him.”
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