[ for peter ]

[notgoingtorun]

The island was different.

But this wasn't the old west, like the last time Neal woke up to everything being changed.

This was New York. Home. He never thought that he'd see home again -- when he left, he had no expectation of ever seeing New York again. He'd run, and he'd left behind everything he knew, because the alternative -- staying, Kramer, DC -- was worse.

For just a moment, he thought that he was back in the real New York, but that illusion was shattered the instant he stepped outside and began seeing familiar faces -- familiar island faces.

He did his best to ignore it, and pretend instead that he was home. It was a fantasy he would keep up for as long as it was feasible. He didn't realize exactly how much he yearned for home until it came back to him, in the island's slightly altered form. Neal had went out and outfitted himself in what felt most natural to him -- suit, tie, shoes, wool coat, cashmere scarf. It was almost like stealing, except for the fact that everyone was doing it and no one was going to get in trouble for it. The clerks at the stores just waved him off when he tried to pay for anything, anyway.

Neal found himself roaming the city, feet taking him down familiar paths, until he found himself standing outside of the Guggenheim. There was a familiar tug, deep down, pulling him towards it, for reasons less sedate than just browsing, but he ignored it, hands clenched into tight fists in his pockets.

All because he could take something didn't mean he was going to.

Probably.

Comments

[agentsuit]

There's a stabbing heartbreak that comes along with the joy of seeing a familiar skyline and being in a house that's not-quite his own, but pretty damn close as far as he's concerned. Except that El's not there and neither is Satchmo and he hasn't mustered up the will to head to the FBI offices just yet.

Instead, he's started searching for Neal in all the usual places. Part of him, that nagging part, keeps expecting to see Mozzie at every turn. He doesn't, though, and eventually he finds Neal standing outside of the Guggenheim. "Neal," he says warningly. "Whatever you're thinking, I wouldn't."

[notgoingtorun]

Neal knew Peter would have found him eventually. He always did.

"I'm just thinking..." He rocks back on his heels, then falls gently back to level again. "That it's a beautiful day in the city." Neal casts a glance towards Peter, smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"And I'm wondering what their security's like," he adds in a rush of words, because he know Peter expects the truth out of him but that doesn't mean he likes the fact that he gives it up so easily these days. "Perhaps they could use the assistance of New York's best White Collar team. To test it."

Not because he thought the walls of his new home could use a Picasso or a Magritte to spice things up.

[agentsuit]

"Of course you are. And you're not thinking about whether they'll let you in to test out those systems and possibly steal an item or two in the process," Peter says with all the wariness that's come of knowing Neal for this long and tracking him down for even longer.

He presses a hand to Neal's back and guides him away from the building. "Not today."

[notgoingtorun]

"Is it stealing when everything here is actually free?" he asks, only somewhat rhetorically, but he's already turning away, letting Peter nudge him away from the siren's call of the museum.

Not today, Peter says. He hasn't ruled out tomorrow, then, or the day after next.

"This is weird," he says as they step away from the museum. "New York, here. It's like a forgery by your average con. It's close, but it's not quite right." In other words, it's not a Caffrey-level forgery. He thinks he's alright with that.

[agentsuit]

"Weird doesn't begin to cover it," Peter promises, given that he's explored the city before coming here to find Neal. "My home isn't there. Where my house should be, there's someone else's house instead. I knocked on the door and someone else answered."

Which means that El isn't there, which means that Neal has likely noticed by now.

[notgoingtorun]

"Neither is June's," he admits. There's just a hint of hurt in his voice, and he pushes it away, because he can't let himself feel vulnerable over a fake version of New York.

But June's isn't there, and neither are any of the other places he frequented. He'd sat for a while in an abandoned warehouse which, in his version of the city, served as one of Mozzie's lavishly appointed safehouses, but here, was just an empty building. "It's not right. It's downright mean, almost."

Almost. There's enough of the city here though that he feels like he can breathe. The the way he left New York hurt -- no goodbyes, never any goodbyes for a con man -- and it's almost like he's getting a chance to say goodbye to the city this time around, even if there are faces he sorely misses.

He changes topics, trying to get away from New York, away from what's not there, from who they're missing. "You should be proud to know that I actually did try to pay for some of these things." His fingers pluck at the lapel of his coat, expensive even by his standards. It's not a vintage hand-me-down from Byron's closet, that's for sure.

[agentsuit]

Which means that the likelihood of Mozzie and June and El being anywhere near here are slim. It's not something Peter wants to focus on too tightly. "You tried, did you?" Peter notes wryly, shaking his head as he gestures to the sidewalk to give Neal the opportunity to lead the way. "Come on. I want to go to the FBI offices."

[notgoingtorun]

"Waved a credit card at them and everything," Neal confirmed. He doesn't confirm whose name the credit card was in. He had tried. It wasn't his fault that no one here believed in money. It was a good thing, too, because he would have burned through his credit limit in no time flat.

"Peter, please don't tell me you're thinking about work." Neal shook his head, but turned to head in the office's direction, anyway. He had to admit that he was mildly curious about what they were going to find. "I'm pretty sure this all counts as vacation time."

[agentsuit]

"And here I thought the island was vacation enough," Peter remarks, not slowing down his pace any. He doubts that Diana or Jones will be there, but he has to try. And even if they aren't there; well, then, he can still volunteer his services. "Besides, what else am I going to do? Sit around and mope in Central Park because I can't find any of my friends? Sounds like a pretty pathetic vacation to me."

[notgoingtorun]

Neal clearly did not share Peter's work ethic, or, at least, his passion for working at a legitimate job. But still, he knew that changing Peter was next to impossible.

That didn't mean that he wasn't fascinated by the idea of trying, even if Neal's idea of vacation would eternally be miles away from Peter's.

"Moping? No, no, no, Peter. You go and do all the things you never got to do in the real New York because you were too busy with work. You go to a nice restaurant, catch a show, see a museum. I don't think there's even going to be any white collar crime in fake New York."

Neal could create some, if Peter were that bored.

He wasn't going to freely offer that up, though. See, he was so much better with boundaries these days.

[agentsuit]

"Without El," he finishes Neal's sentence for him. It hadn't been open-ended, but he needs to finish it to explain why he doesn't want to go to a nice restaurant or catch a show or see any museums. "Neal, I can't do any of those things, in New York City no less, without wondering why the hell El isn't right there at my side. The one thing I can do is work."