s2309 | Fic: Talking To The Moon

Title: Talking To The Moon
Characters (Pairings): Neal Caffrey (Neal/Sara).
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 301
Spoilers: Mild spoilers for S04E16
Disclaimer: White Collar is Jeff Eastin's brainchild. Not mine.
Summary: Looking for absolution.
Author's Note: Title from the Bruno Mars song of the same name. Written for Challenge #7 - Weekly Quick Fic 3, and the prompts Exit and Perception, over at

writerverse.
This is stupid and cliched and I adore it okay. I can't seem to shake my fascination with drunk!Neal. Whatever. Self indulgent fic FTW.
Part of the Amis Amants 'verse. For more in this verse, click here.
P.S. - K13 made art for this fic for my birthday! It's also at the end of the fic.

Neal stumbles his way to the terrace, more than a little drunk. There are problems to be solved and broken things to be fixed, but for now, for this one night, he's not going to be responsible for them. Even though he is responsible, for all of them. Which is precisely why he's taking another large gulp straight from the mouth of a rather expensive bottle of wine. Which is all rather confusing.

He stops thinking about it.

There are tears threatening, but he shoves them into his throat and lets that ache build and build till it strains against his skin and tries to eat its way out. He doesn't let it.

He wants... company, he wants... understanding, he wants... forgiveness, he wants. His body is trembling from how much he wants, but he can think of no one who would care to listen to even half a word he has to say.

Except, maybe, someone who doesn't know. Someone who's already left his life. Someone who probably isn't coming back.

"Hey, Sara," he whispers, looking up at the moon. "Are you there?" Then he laughs at himself, an edge of cruelty to the mirth. "Of course you aren't. Of course not. Why would you be?"

And then, pleading, "Listen anyway."

He pours his heart out to a person that he usually shies away from exposing himself to, he talks till he's hoarse and his body is shaking less and the unformed aching tears are more manageable, he lays down on the recliner and closes his eyes and confesses some more. And just before he falls asleep, exhausted and spent, he thinks he hears a voice whisper back, "I understand, it's okay," and in his dreams, he feels a hand on his cheek and a tender kiss on his forehead.