Archive of Our Own ^beta

"What are you doing here?" Mozzie asked, suspicion lurking behind his melodramatic surprise.

"I live here." Neal barely looked up from the painting he was working on, determinedly staring at the collection of brush strokes on his canvas.

"I'm aware of that, but I haven't seen you here over the weekend in months."

"Has it been that long?"

"Uh, yes. So what's going on that you're not at the House of Suits?"

It was true, Neal had fallen into the habit of packing a small bag on Friday morning and heading out to Brooklyn after work, then coming home late Sunday evening or Monday morning before work. He'd let himself get too comfortable and now he had to pay for that mistake. "I think you'll be seeing me a lot more, Moz."

"Did they kick you out? I knew you shouldn't have trusted them!" Mozzie flailed his arms around, looking ready to take the subway out to Brooklyn and kick Peter's ass. Or try."

"No. No, I left but there was no reason to stay. It's just...over." Neal's heart hurt at the memory of Peter's angry face, jaw tense, eyes hard. And Elizabeth might have been looking at Neal with her wide., compassionate eyes, but she stepped closer to Peter and that said it all. They'd tried, but they were fighting for something that couldn't be changed. Peter and Elizabeth should be a duo, and Neal should be alone, and that was that.

Mozzie walked around behind Neal and took in the painting, large brush strokes in a disordered, darkened rainbow swirling around an empty space in the center of the canvas. Energy circling a formless void. He patted Neal's shoulder then just held on. "I'm going to open a bottle of wine. Come drink with me when you're ready."

He left, returning to the main room of the apartment, and Neal continued staring at his canvas. He squeezed some black paint onto his palate and painted a circle in the white space at the center of the swirling colors. He loaded his brush with paint again and started in the center of the circle, painting a tightly coiled spiral of black, thick lines that would dry into a visible, palpable spiral in the solid, inky black. He peered into that dark space until he felt himself falling in. His head ached to match his heart, and he was more than ready for some of Mozzie's wine.

~~~

Neal slept restlessly--pain, alcohol and loneliness making for uncomfortable bedfellows--and woke to the clock telling him it was 10 o'clock Sunday morning. He could hear Mozzie talking out in the main room and other, more muted voices responding, and he groaned. He wasn't in any mood for guests but he needed coffee, and he needed the bathroom and he just didn't care if he looked like shit.

He pulled on his robe and left his bedroom, squinting his eyes against the too-bright morning light, and shuffled to the bathroom, just a few feet from his door. Brushing his teeth and washing his face left him feeling more human but he had a headache only coffee could appease so he braced himself for having to interact with Moz's guests for as long as it took to get past them to the little galley kitchen. Familiar voices filtered into Neal's fuzzy consciousness and he went still but he was too late. The voices had all gone quiet, and when Neal looked up he saw Mozzie, Peter and Elizabeth all trying not to stare at him.

Traitor, he thought in Mozzie's general direction, then he ducked into the kitchen and poured himself a mug of coffee. He inhaled the rich scent of it, took a sip and held it in his mouth, willing the caffeine to move directly to his brain and wake him up, then walked out to stand halfway between the table and the door to his bedroom. "I'm not having this conversation right now."

"Do you want us to come back later?" El asked. She was clearly upset, and Neal hated to see it. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and not talk and know that everything would be okay. He also wanted to tell her that there was no point in talking, now or later. Peter was looking down at the table, whatever he was feeling hidden from sight.

Neal sighed and looked down at his bare feet then back up at El's imploring gaze. "Just give me a chance to get dressed. Okay?"

"Okay." El gave Neal a tense smile then looked away.

Mozzie stood up, his chair squeaking against the floor. "And I am urgently required elsewhere."

Traitor, Neal thought again as he turned around and went back to his bedroom, the sounds of Mozzie's departure behind him.

In the sanctuary of his room, Neal was swamped by the desire to open the window and run down the fire escape, but he shook his head and pulled off his robe; running away wouldn't get him anywhere. He finished off his coffee and then dressed slowly, pulling on underwear and socks, dark jeans and a thick black turtleneck, shoes and his watch. He ran his fingers through his hair until it was less of a disaster and more artfully tousled then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was no point in hiding and no reason to be scared. The relationship might be over, but he knew that Peter and El would never be cruel the way Kate and Vincent had been. His heart would be broken, but they wouldn't tear him apart any further.

And they weren't going to leave until he talked to them, so he shook himself, trying to look more relaxed than he felt, and walked out into the main room. El and Peter had moved and were sitting across from each other at one end of the table rather than next to each other. They clearly wanted him to sit at the end of the table between them, and he thought about refusing--sitting at the far end to put some distance between them--but he didn't have it in him to be that hostile.

When Neal sat down, Peter looked up and the emotion in his eyes wasn't the anger Neal expected; it was discomfort and sorrow, and Neal wanted to touch his face, kiss away the sadness. But then he remembered the anger that had burned in Peter's eyes the day before, and he didn't know what he wanted. "So, what are we talking about here?"

"Neal, we didn't mean for you to leave." El reached out to take his hand, frowning when he twitched it away from her. "It was just an argument."

"It didn't feel that way to me." Neal glanced over at Peter.

"I was angry," Peter said, twining his fingers together, then putting his hands flat on the table, and Neal felt like there was something he should notice but his mind was too unfocused. "I was angry and I overreacted, but I don't know what made you think it was anything more than that. It seemed like you were angry too, but I didn't think that meant you wanted to give up on--on what we have."

"What do we have?" Neal asked quietly. "I love the both of you, so much, and I thought things were going to work out this time, but now I look around and I see a 'we' and a 'me.' You have a home, and I'm the visitor. You have a marriage, and I'm the person filling the empty spot in your bed. I thought we were going to find a home together, that everything would change, but now it doesn't seem like you want that." Neal looked straight at Peter, and Peter looked away.

"We do want it," El said, drawing Neal's attention back to her side of the table. "On paper, yes, Peter and I own the house, but you're not a visitor. You haven't been a visitor for a very long time, and I thought you knew that." She inhaled sharply and brushed away the tears forming in her eyes.

"This is my fault." Peter's voice sounded steady but brittle, like he was fighting to keep his emotions in line. "It's the house. That's what the fight was about, and I wish you would accept that we feel like it's your home too, but...I understand that you don't." Peter looked down at his hands. "I'm not good at change. It's hard for me to look at other people's houses and think about living in them, and I want wherever we live to be perfect for all of us. You think I'm just saying no to every house we look at because I don't want to let you in as a full part of this relationship."

It wasn't a question, but Neal nodded. "It feels that way. And I can't--I can't be in that situation. I'm not asking you to change."

"I'm already changing, and I'm sorry that it took you walking out the door for me to let go of the past."

Something in Peter's tone of voice made Neal's throat go dry. "What do you mean?"

"Look at our hands," El said, and with a jolt of shock Neal realized that they were missing their yellow and rose gold braided wedding rings.

"No, no! It was just a fight. You can't let this--"

Peter produced a small, rectangular box and put it down in front of Neal, silencing him. Neal stared at the box, as they all held their breath.

"Open it," Peter said softly, and with trembling hands Neal pried open the lid to reveal three simple gold engagement rings: one rose, one yellow, one white. He kept staring until his eyes burned and he had to blink away tears.

"I bought these a while ago but I wanted to wait until we all agreed on a house. Which was a bad idea, apparently."

"I didn't know," El added. "It was a surprise to me too, when Peter showed them to me last night. This morning I called the realtor and left her a message that our house should go on the market immediately."

"And I'm going to be a lot more open to the houses we look at because otherwise Mozzie might end up with two additional roommates, plus a dog."

Neal felt almost dizzy, his heartache from the night before clashing in his head with the love he was feeling, and he swallowed hard against his dry throat.

"Neal? Say something?"

Neal could never deny El. "I--I don't want you doing this just for me."

"This is for all of us." Peter moved his hand closer to Neal's but didn't quite touch him. "We need you, and I think you need us. That last night? It was a nasty argument, but as angry as I was it didn't mean that I don't love you. El and I have loved each other for ten years, but sometimes we get tired and stressed and pushed outside of our comfort zones, and we fight."

"And then we have really good make-up sex," El added, smiling. "Always."

Neal sat and thought for a moment, trying to understand. "My mother and I never fought because she didn't care enough about anything to fight for or against it. And before," Neal knew that El and Peter would understand he was talking about Kate and Vincent, "a fight was always the end of something, and there wasn't any making up. There was silence. Punishment. I don't really understand how to fight with somebody I love and then just move on."

"Will you let us teach you?" Peter sounded truly steady then, patient and solid, and Neal looked over to see him holding out the white gold ring. Feeling the moment stretched taut within him, Neal held out his hand and felt something relax inside his chest as the cool metal slid onto his finger. It fit perfectly.

Neal plucked the rose gold ring from the box and held it out for El, and his breath caught as she let him slide it onto her slim finger. Neal expected that El would reach across the table and offer the yellow gold ring to Peter, but she paused and nodded to Neal. He took the third ring from the box and watched as it gleamed warm in the morning sunlight when Peter met him halfway and accepted the ring.

Peter and El took each other's hands across the table and then reached out to hold hands with Neal, their fingers twined together in a complete circuit. The black pit that had opened up inside Neal filled with light, and the swirling chaos settled into peace. For the first time he believed that no matter where they ended up living, they would be together. Always.