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Peter had been searching for Neal for five years. He had sincerely wondered if Neal really was dead, at several points. Everyone else had already decided that was the case. He was really only being allowed to pursue it as a courtesy given his higher position. He knew people thought he just couldn't let Neal go, thought it was some romantic tragedy.
Well maybe it was. But he hadn't been wrong.
Because he had just caught Neal again. Peter had found him, and Neal was now briefly trapped in a storage container filled with artifacts.
Peter walked across the warehouse, and up to the container. He pulled the bolt, and opened the door.
He frowned. Neal was there, but he was curled up on his side on the floor between crates.
Peter kept himself from rushing in. It had been five years. He didn't know for certain Neal was the same man he had been.
"Neal?"
The figure on the floor jerked slightly. Neal turned his head to look up at Peter. He looked almost the same. Slightly less boyish, hair a little longer, eyes darker.
"Peter?"
"What does this make our record?"
"I don't know," said Neal, sitting up, "I've honestly lost count."
Peter stepped a little closer, but still not into the container, "come on out of there."
Neal nodded, and slowly got to his feet. He shuffled out of the container, and stood in front of Peter. He absently tugged his shirt sleeve further down on his wrist, as he watched Peter warily.
Peter gripped Neal's arm, unbuttoned the cuff, rolled the sleeve back.
Peter had been expecting a lock pick or two strapped to his wrist. Instead there were scars, rippled burns that extended up behind the sleeve.
Peter raised his eyes to meet Neal's, "what happened?"
Neal shrugged a little bit, with the opposite shoulder, eyes anxiously studying Peter's face, "someone thought it was easier to kill me than pay me. They ended up doing neither, but it was close."
Peter saw there were licks of shinier skin on Neal's neck, just above the edge of his collar.
"Oh, god, Neal…" Peter hugged the younger man, "I'm sorry you went through that."
Neal grabbed onto him, immediately and desperately.
Peter's hand on Neal's back, he could feel that the skin there was scarred, too. Neal must have been in so much pain. The way he was holding himself, the way he was moving–he probably still was. He hugged his friend just a little tighter, and said into Neal's ear, "nobody is going to mess with you now."
When he finally let go, there were tears on Neal's cheeks.
Peter cupped Neal's face in his hands, and gently brushed the wet away with his thumbs. Neal's eyes bore into his, red-rimmed and searching.
"Can I kiss you?" asked Peter, voice rough.
Neal's face broke. He threw himself back into Peter's arms. Peter held him, baffled.
"You don't care," said Neal into Peter's chest.
"What? No, of course I care. It kills me that you got hurt before I found you, I–"
Neal shook his head, and then lifted it from Peter's chest, and kissed Peter, desperately, passionately, until Peter stumbled back a step to brace himself against the storage unit.
Neal's hands were moving, searching, starving for every inch of Peter they could reach. When they finally broke apart, Neal was panting, his eyes fixed on Peter's face, like he was trying to convince himself it was really there the second he was no longer pressed to it.
Peter realized what Neal had meant. Peter didn't mind that Neal didn't look the same. Not didn't care he was hurt, didn't mind he was different.
Peter would never, but he couldn't fault Neal for having anxieties. He had had his own. What if Neal hadn't wanted to be found, after all this time?
Instead of trying to convince Neal with words, he turned them around, so that Neal was the one with his back to the wall of the container. He cupped his hand behind Neal's head, cinched his fingers in Neal's hair, and kissed him until Neal was trembling from head to toe, Neal's hands twisting in Peter's clothes, Neal letting out a moan into Peter's mouth.
Neal finally tapped his hand twice on Peter's arm, and Peter broke apart, gulping air.
Neal was limp against the container, face flushed, lips wet.
"Listen to me, Neal," said Peter, huskily, still catching his breath, "it doesn't matter how far you go, or what happens in between. I love you because you challenge me, and care about people, and live for art and joy. Is all that still true?”
Neal nodded.
Peter kissed him again, as tenderly as possible, murmuring into Neal’s lips, “then I love you. And that’s all there is to it.”
Neal kissed him back, melting into Peter’s arms.