fandomweekly | [#014] I Should Have Been Away (White Collar)

Theme Prompt: #014 – Time of Need
Title: I Should Have Been Away
Fandom: White Collar
Rating/Warnings: PG, Spoilers for the end of the series likely.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 999
Summary: Sara gets herself in a tough situation on a train, but someone is there to come to her rescue. A follow up to this fic.

Neal came and went, and Sara expects to never see him again.

Part of the complications that come with being legally dead – you can’t really keep yourself in the same circles, as much as you may want to. Sara may live in Europe now, which is a much different place than New York, but some connections are internationally renowned. Some connections can’t be undone, especially when there’s a chance you may find a picture of yourself somewhere where you can’t take it back.

Neal’s never been the kind of person to expect those he cares about to give up their lives and wants just for him. Not unless wanting him is more than the sum of everything else. Whirlwind romance may be one of his hallmarks, may have been his story with Kate, but he always knew that Sara was her own woman, and always would be.

Doesn’t mean she didn’t miss him. Doesn’t mean she didn’t wish things could be different. But they both knew that the life they dreamed of, the one he drew up so eloquently in a proposal that wasn’t a proposal, isn’t one that they could have. Not with the choices they’d already made for themselves.

As she settles in her seat on the train back to London from Paris, the reclaimed artwork tucked neatly into a tube beside her, she finds herself thinking of him again as the scenery drifts past her, Neal had always loved Paris, and she lets herself get absorbed into the countryside long enough for someone to make their way into the aisle and she holds out a hand to stop them.

“I’m sorry, this seat’s taken.”

She looks up into the eyes of a face she’s seen before, even if she can’t place it well. The high cheekbones and sharp eyes are definitely not the face of someone she could misconstrue for someone else. His eyebrows raise ever so slightly at her response, before amusement tips his features all the same.

“My apologies,” he says, the French accent tinging his words. “I’ll be sure to find another seat, then.”

In that very moment, as he turns and walks away to find the other seat, where she recognizes him from suddenly clicks into place. Not because she had direct contact with him by any means, but because he’s been constantly lingering around the building the painting was stolen from – possibly because he worked there.

Sara had suspected there was an inside man involved, but she didn’t know how to prove it. Now, she was trapped on a train with him for three hours. If he was a thief worth his salt, he would have all of her information. All he had to do was buy his time, and he could easily get rid of her, and the painting would be his again. She waits just as long as her nerves would allow. Just long enough for him to seem settled, open a newspaper, and hopefully give her the room to move past him towards the sleeping cars and find someplace to lay low.

About halfway through the trip, she rises to her feet, gathering her things and making her way to the back of the train. She can hear chairs squeaking behind her, and the sound of footsteps following her as she goes. Picking up her feet, she tries to move faster down the narrow hallways of the train, keeping the distance between herself and then men pursuing her, but that only seems to encourage them to move faster.

Just as she rounds the corner, she feels a pair of hands grab her from the right, yanking her into one of the sleep cabins on the train and slamming the door behind her. Her hand comes up on instinct, yanking the baton she had been clutching out of her purse, and slamming it down against her attacker’s back, which he takes with a muffled groan. She’s about to bring her hand down again, but the man is prepared this time, taking advantage of the sudden rock of the train and his larger size to push her back against the far wall, one hand covering her mouth to stop her from making noise, and the other catching her wrist to keep her from attacking him again. It’s then that she has a moment to take in his face, realize that she recognizes it, and relax, ever so slightly.

Neal Caffrey. Swooping in to come to her rescue.

The softness hits her eyes first, as she isn’t free to talk, but when he feels her relax, he releases her, holding his finger to his lips as they wait. She can hear the rustle of footsteps outside the cabin, followed by instructions in French to find her, not allow her to get off the train with the painting. A rattle hits the air, indicating that they’re trying the door to their cabin, and when they find it locked they knock.

“Yes?” Neal responds, in flawless French. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, monsieur. Apologies.”

With that, they seem to move on, and he finally relaxes completely, flashing Sara that smile that always manages to make her melt. “Sorry about surprising you like that. It just looked like you could use a hand.”

Sara’s mostly just stunned that another coincidence has come to pass. Another time Neal manages to show up magically to save her. There are so many questions she wants to ask but for the moment, she’s simply grateful that he’s here. Letting her bags drop to the floor, she takes a step forward and wraps her arms around his neck. He holds her back tightly, one hand coming up to soothe against her back.

“You really gotta stop showing up like this for me, Caffrey,” she sighs, before looking at him fully. “Someone might think you’re stalking me.”

“You do have a strange way of saying thank you.”

She laughs before leaning in to kiss him, just the once. “Thank you.”