Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

You sighed deeply as you sat in front of a random painting, one you didn’t know or care the name or aspects of. Your first thought after bursting out of the FBI building was to find a place of comfort.

Funny how that was surrounded by expensive things you could easily grab and run with.

But then you realized, it used to be Neal. Your home and your comfort used to be with Neal and him alone…

“ Kate sounds like a sweet girl. Too bad that when you killed her, she actually died.”

Had he really gone so far as to try and kill you, though? He did try and help you. But then, why did he leave?

With frustration at your own churning emotions that flickered back between hatred and forgiveness, you stared intently at the painting in front of you. It looked like it was painted wholly by accident — a purple smear across a white canvas. Some kid probably threw some purple paint across and said something deep about it for fast money.

“Stupid,” you muttered to yourself, uncrossing your legs so that you could rest your arms on your knees. The bench was cold against the skin under your skirt but you didn’t quite care. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”

“Actually, the colour represents a quote by Mark Twain. ‘Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.’ Read the plaque.”

The voice made you inhale sharply. Neal.

You looked behind you to see him already sitting down, your eyes caught on his shiny and expensive looking tie clip. You turned your nose with disgust at him, placing your hands down on the metal bench to get up and leave, but he caught your wrist. You whipped back to look at him, meeting large blue eyes that said it all —

‘please’.

You lowered yourself back down.

“You always had an eye for the hidden meaning,” you said resentfully. You refused to look at him, focusing on the circle of white the fluorescent bulb above made. His hand was still around your wrist, warm.

“Maybe because I cared more.”

You had to bite your tongue so that you didn’t say anything back. How dare he? He was the one at fault here — he had no place to mock you.

“Let me go, Neal,” you said, calmly. You tugged, but his grip tightened. His fingers slid into your palm and you had to hold your breath with panic. You didn’t know what to do. Why was he holding your hand like nothing had happened?

“Or what?” His eyes were teasing.

“You know I’m not into this kinky stuff,” you shot back at him, a line you had used while handcuffed in Paris during a dark and sweaty night. It brought a smile to his face, and you had to look away again, but you were smiling too.

“That’s where we met.”

He was right. That one job had either been a gift or a cruel joke… to this day you couldn’t tell.

“What the — what the hell are you doing?!”

“What am I doing? What are you doing?”

He obviously wasn’t security. So why was he crouching in front of the bejewled necklace you were here to steal?

Even through the dim red lights of the Louvre, you saw his eyes narrow suspiciously.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“The hottest person you’ll ever meet. Now give me the jewel.” You saw his eyes flicker with bewilderment as you placed your hand out, gloved fingers beckoning.

“You’re not serious.”

“Yeah, I am. Give me the goodie, pretty boy.”

You saw him shift uncomfortably. Of course he wasn’t going to give you the necklace, only an idiot would. You just needed to get him away —

He gave you the goddamn necklace.

You stared at it, then up at him. Surely it had to be a glass fake. It felt heavy in your hands. The jewels weren’t glass, and the gems weren’t oily. It must be real.

“There. Now go, ‘hottest person I’ve ever met’.”

“But — ”

An alarm blared, cutting you off, and a metal cuff snapped itself around your wrist. You knew the sound before you could even look. The man grinned at you, holding his hand out for the jewelry. Your gaze jerked to your demise, following the chain to an emergency lever that was tipped.

“Y-you know, I’m not really into the kinks,” you stammered, your fingers still wrapped around the diamond necklace. “The way to my heart is through my stomach. Or, unlocking handcuffs.”

“I’ll be sure to make you some good food when you’re in prison.” He snatched the gold chain from your fingers, grinning triumphantly.

“O-oi! Give it back! I’m really good in bed, I promise.” You were desperately babbling, hoping you could latch him here long enough to get him busted with you. You knew you couldn’t pick the lock fast enough.

The man looked you down, smiling. “Yeah, I can see that.”

He then started to back away, his eyes, bluer than any you’d seen before still with yours. And then, before leaving, he said one more thing while saluting you,

“Cheers!”

You stamped your foot. “Dammit!”

“You never even told me your name,” you remembered. “You’re not the gentleman you claim to be.”

“Well, you’re not a classy lady either. You told me you were good at having sex.”

You nearly choked while swallowing, having to press your lips together to suppress a laugh. You turned to look behind you instinctively, but there was only clean empty space. Shaking your head at Neal, you rolled your eyes.

“You’re not allowed to say such vulgar stuff in a museum.”

“There’s nobody around. Besides, the cameras don’t record sound.”

“They don’t, huh? So, if I told you that I was going to rob the museum right now, nobody would know?”

Neal’s lips rose into a small quirky smile that still made your heart jump. “No.”

You laughed again. It felt good to. You hadn’t in a while. You looked down at your right wrist again, where Neal’s fingers had looped in between yours. You exhaled almost sadly.

“Neal…” you started, but he didn’t let you finish. He kissed you instead.

It was furious and close, much more than you had imagined would be acceptable. He pulled you to him, his fingers digging into your smooth and curled hair as you tried to find balance on the chair. He had thrown himself at you, and you felt yourself sliding lower and lower on the seat and closer and closer to him.

You didn’t resist it. Your mind shut down with confusion and lust, your arms riddled with goose bumps as you reached for him. You pulled your hand through his hair, felt his hot back, and ran your fingertips against the rugged outline of his body. His tongue tasted sweet even after all these years. His lips were smooth and soft, tasting mildly of fruit.

And he was all yours.

You had to pull back to breathe, finally remembering to only when you realized the burn in your chest wasn’t desire but rather your lungs telling you that you would die. You gasped for air, Neal divulging in your neck once you had parted from him.

“But… the camera,” you said weakly as his tongue danced across your sensitive skin.

He paused, and then pulled himself back, helping you back into a sitting position as well. “That’s all you can say?” he laughed quietly, pulling a misplaced strand of hair back behind your ear.

“You’re out of practice,” you commented jokingly, trying to calm your racing heart by looking away from Neal back to the painting. “I shouldn’t have clothes on right now.”

“I can fix that for you,” he offered, and you had to succumb to a fit of laughter. You looked away again, your heart and mind settling, and the inevitable dawned itself to you.

Would you take him back?

“Nobody’s been like you,” Neal said, breaking you apart from your thoughts.

“Hm?”

“Kate, and Sara, and Rebecca… none of them were like you.”

You didn’t know why he was listing the names of girlfriends, but it made your chest tighten. You swallowed past the lump forming, focusing on breathing. “Okay.”

“If I had known you were this close the entire time…” his voice was slow and thoughtful, eyes glazed over.

“I don’t know if I’m ready.” You said each syllable deliberately, still wondering if you were making the right choice. He looked up at you with his eyes widening with horror as he realized what you were saying.

“But — ”

“You left me for dead… I might be able to forgive you, but…” you looked away from his disbelief, not wanting to choke up. “I don’t think I can love you again.”

Neal exhaled sharply, and you were afraid to meet his gaze again. You decided you should leave, but Neal placed his hand on top of yours again. You looked back slowly, fearful of what he would say.

“Then at least let me give you this.”

You saw him draw something out a bag you hadn’t seen him hold, and saw it to be a corked bottle. A bottle of wine, and when he flashed the label to you, you had to sigh.

It was the one you and he had shared when you had pledged your love to each other.

“They let you bring that in?” you asked, masking your emotions with another joke.

“We just made out in wide open space. I think they should update their security.”

You stifled a snort, flicking your eyes to the roof. When you looked back down he had already uncorked the bottle, pouring out red wine into a lame plastic cup.

He left it on the bench in between you, just one, and then watched you expectantly. It was an offer. Take me or leave me.

You shakily picked up the glass and took a sip, sweet flavours singing to you exactly like they had before.

You held your cup out to him, where he clinked the bottle lip with it gently. He still watched you anxiously, waiting for words.

You couldn’t help but smile, overwhelming relief and joy flooding through your body. You might not have loved him the same way you did before, but you still loved him. It was definitely there. And seeds of the violet flower still grow.

“Cheers, Neal.”

“Cheers.”