The Last Dance
Dec. 14th, 2012 03:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hurinhouseTitle: The Last Dance
A/N: for the White Collar 100 prompt (#118 dance)
Author: hurinhouse
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: PG
Characters: Neal, Peter
Summary: Just like Fred and Ginger
Disclaimer: Entirely fiction
200 words
He floats with the drugs.
"He stays here, in protective custody."
Drifts from the whispered shouting.
"Whose custody, Peter? You don't have a badge."
Almost forgets that his eyes are as bound as his hands. Tight and soft.
"He can't go back in like this, Reese. It'll be days before those bandages come off."
Doesn't forget this afternoon...
He sits where he collapsed, two lifetimes and a voice box ago, dress shoes and rushed brainstorming behind him. Gritty bits of dirt and gravel dig into his palms but his legs won't hold him. The flames sway with him, hungry devils stretching, hissing in flashes and haze, switching patterns at random. They lick toward him in rolling waves, lulling him like late night jazz and silken flowing hair. He follows the waltz with stinging, hollow eyes.
And then he sees her. The shadow, reaching out to him, grasping for escape. He doesn't feel the heat as he shoves sizzling debris aside, doesn't feel the smoke burning his screaming throat, searing his eyes. But he feels the arms, pulling him away a second time. A last time.
Peter fights for him now but it doesn't matter. He denied Neal his last dance.
A/N: for the White Collar 100 prompt (#118 dance)
Author: hurinhouse
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: PG
Characters: Neal, Peter
Summary: Just like Fred and Ginger
Disclaimer: Entirely fiction
200 words
He floats with the drugs.
"He stays here, in protective custody."
Drifts from the whispered shouting.
"Whose custody, Peter? You don't have a badge."
Almost forgets that his eyes are as bound as his hands. Tight and soft.
"He can't go back in like this, Reese. It'll be days before those bandages come off."
Doesn't forget this afternoon...
He sits where he collapsed, two lifetimes and a voice box ago, dress shoes and rushed brainstorming behind him. Gritty bits of dirt and gravel dig into his palms but his legs won't hold him. The flames sway with him, hungry devils stretching, hissing in flashes and haze, switching patterns at random. They lick toward him in rolling waves, lulling him like late night jazz and silken flowing hair. He follows the waltz with stinging, hollow eyes.
And then he sees her. The shadow, reaching out to him, grasping for escape. He doesn't feel the heat as he shoves sizzling debris aside, doesn't feel the smoke burning his screaming throat, searing his eyes. But he feels the arms, pulling him away a second time. A last time.
Peter fights for him now but it doesn't matter. He denied Neal his last dance.
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Date: 2012-12-14 01:30 pm (UTC)Thank you.
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Date: 2012-12-14 08:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-15 02:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-15 12:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-15 03:12 pm (UTC)