conning | I've been here, I've been there // Honey, I been somehow everywhere

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for: norton folgate

I've been here, I've been there // Honey, I been somehow everywhere

Neal isn't really sure what's going to happen when the Admiral sends them home. To his home. Where by now, somewhere in the world, Kate is alive and healthy. It's strange to think of her somewhere unknown and not feel the immediate need to go find her. To save, protect, avenge her. It's also strange that even knowing she's out there, even seeing proof, Neal can't shake the guilt of killing her, either. It feels like things should have shifted, that some monumental internal change should have taken place. He still feels the things he always had, but with new knowledge counter it.

It's all swirling in his brain when Norton meets him in his cabin. Still roiling there when Neal squeezes his hand and tells thin air that they're ready.

It snaps to background when, on his next blink, Neal and Norton find themselves in the conference room of the FBI's New York City White Collar division, and Neal is still holding Norton's hand. The door from the office floor swings open and admits a small flood of people in the forms of Peter, Diana, Jones, and... Mozzie?

All four of them stop dead, seeing Neal and a stranger at the far end of the room, plus whatever Norton chose to bring. Neal stares at all of them, bemused.

"I knew it! I told you." Mozzie says, pointing at Neal. He glares at Peter and company in triumph.

Peter's jaw works for a moment before he takes a deep breath, clearly trying to focus on being relieved instead of furious. "Neal. Who's your friend?"

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He wrinkles his nose at that. "They do keep you on a short leash."

It makes him ponder the sticky situation Neal is in. Even though he's graduated and not dead, he's not free if he comes home.

"What do you plan to do after...long term, I mean? What with your home being rather unwelcoming to you?"

"Yeah they do." There's a quiet bitterness in it. He hasn't let that particular beast out of its cage a lot around Norton, but it's not a new sentiment. It's just more potent at this particular moment than usual.

He breathes in deep, biting the corner of his lip. "That's what I thought I'd use my deal for. Not the one that Malcolm gave me. The one that, hopefully, I'll be able to get myself. Get free and clear of all of this, the FBI's control."

"You'll get your deal. I know you will." The thought is bittersweet. Neal deserves to be free, but once he gets his deal he'll have no reason to remain on the Barge. He'll be able to come back home for good and start a new life here. Norton doesn't dwell on it, however, and focuses instead on enjoying the present, despite tracking anklets, FBI, and kidnappers.

"Can I get a smart phone while I'm here? I'd like to be able to send you electronic text messages." He may not understand emojis terribly well, but he'd have a fun time sending them to Neal from across the room of his flat anyway. And, if they have to split up, it would give him a way to stay in contact, or for Neal to contact him if an emergency should arise.

Neal's thoughts go there, too. To the fact that at some point, if he sticks it out long enough, if he manages to help someone else get their life back, he'll get his, too. He'll get his, and he can come back here, and live it. He looks down at their linked hands, then up at Norton's face, trying to sort out how he feels about that prospect. It's not the pure and simple victory it might have been six months ago.

The question, though, makes Neal grin. He loves Norton's fascination with technology, and the assiduously correct way he refers to it. "Absolutely. It's a matter of practicality if nothing else. Maybe we can ask the Admiral to keep them functional when we go home."

"I've never had one of my own before. Only borrowed one once when I was briefly in..." He glances at the cab driver. He's sure that cabbies in New York are as used to bizarre conversations as cabbies in London are, but all the same he maybe shouldn't talk about running around in 2018 when it's currently 2014. "...Cardiff. That was right before I came to the Barge."

“If I remember correctly I’ve got at least two burners just at my apartment.”

Two ‘burners’ of an acceptable quality, anyway. Neal almost kisses Norton, almost moves to do it, but catches himself before he does more than lean in a little. This time when he points, it’s at the Flatiron building. “Madison Square Park is right across from that, it’s where they put the Christmas tree every year.”

He tries to spend the rest of the ride, short as it is, playing tour guide, pointing out the things that can be seen from their route and talking about the things that can’t. When they climb out of the cab at June’s house, Neal takes a moment to study the building and orient himself to where they are.

He tweaks one of the buttons on Norton’s jacket, a brief and subtle touch. “We can trust June. Not with time travel and aliens immediately, maybe, but with the important things.”

A little teasing, a little true.

Norton puts aside all thoughts of the future and delightedly takes in the sights of New York. And when they reach Neal's home, Norton ogles the building at well. He knew from Neal's cabin that he had nice digs, but the cabin on the Barge doesn't do justice to the full force of the exterior. It's like a posh Kensington property.

And best of all, from what Neal says, it's a proper home where they can be their proper selves (mostly). He grins.

"God bless understanding landladies."

"Understanding landladies who regularly played cards with the Rat Pack." He grins at Norton. "So sooner or later I do want to introduce her to the idea that you're very familiar with the world of her 20s. If anyone other than Mozzie would believe it... I think it would be her."

He draws in a deep breath and leads the way up to the front door, palming his key and letting them both inside when he gets there. It feels almost strange to do it, like he should still be knocking or ringing the bell to let June know he's back. Except for her, he was never gone.

"June?" He takes Norton's hand as soon as they're safely over the threshold and the door is closed behind them. "June, are you home?"

"Upstairs, dear," she calls, her voice slightly muffled by the distance.

Neal gives Norton's hand a squeeze. "Mind if I bring a guest up to introduce him?"

"Oh! Hang on, let me make myself presentable for company."

Norton sets his suitcase down in the entrance hall for now, until he knows where he'll be carrying it.

"Feels almost as if I'm being introduced to the family. Never had that happen before," he murmurs to Neal. "Being a bit nervous about making a good first impression is part of the experience, right?"

Neal smiles. “She’s definitely family, and she will definitely love you.”

He almost says as much as I do, but catches himself. Just in case that would be too much. Just in case it would scare Norton off. Just in case.

He picks up the suitcase himself with his free hand as he hears June starting down the stairs, drawing Norton forward to meet her at their base. She’s dressed for an evening in, but flawlessly polished, right down to the present but understated touches of makeup and the little flashes of gold on her fingers and earlobes.

Neal lets go of Norton’s hand for a moment when she’s in reach, hugging her tight with one arm. “You look lovely as always, and I’m sure you did when we walked in, too. June Ellington, may I introduce Norton Folgate?”

He looks at Norton, gesturing him over. “We’re…”

It occurs to him that from June’s perspective Neal himself has barely had time to even process Rebecca’s betrayal, never mind find someone new.

“We met when I was abroad, and Norton is in the States to help me with some work for the FBI.” If Norton allows it, Neal will slip his arm around the other man’s waist. “He… We… were involved, and I’m very glad to say the change in scenery hasn’t changed any of our personal feelings.”

As Norton hears footsteps on the stairs, he cocks his head in curiosity, eager to see this woman who played cards with Frank Sinatra and is like family to Neal. He's not disappointed. June is elegant and the warmth she has for Neal is obvious and she has an air of mischief about her, such that he can easily imagine letting her know that they might break a few teensy unimportant laws and she'd be perfectly sanguine about it.

So when Neal wraps an arm around his waist, he doesn't pull away or tense. Neal said she's family and that she's understanding, and Norton trusts Neal's judgement.

"Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Ellington. Neal speaks very fondly of you."

"I'm glad to hear it," she says, that air of mischief very strong as she takes in the sight of the two of them standing together. "And I'm very glad to meet you, Norton."

She takes one of Norton's hands between both of her own and gives it a little squeeze. "I don't know if Neal has told you much of what he's been dealing with lately, and it's not my business to share if he hasn't, but I'm very, very glad he has someone close here on his side."

Neal smiles down at his feet, pleased and embarrassed at the same time. "He'll be with us for a little while, if that's all right? With me, upstairs."

June turns her attention to Neal, giving him a kiss and a pat on the cheek. "Absolutely."

She looks between the two of them. "If there's anything at all you need, Norton, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you, Mrs. Ellington, very generous of you." He replies with the upper-middle class manners drilled into him by his mother. The he pauses, hesitating to say what else he's thinking, but June is clearly concerned about Neal. He glances at Neal and then back at June.

"I'll take good care of him."

Neal smiles at Norton, feeling warm from his chest to his stomach. Reassured. It’s nice.

June gives Norton’s hand a little squeeze before letting go. “I’m glad to hear it. I won’t keep you, but I would love it if the three of us did breakfast tomorrow.”

"Not too early I hope." He's always preferred late nights and late mornings, although it'd probably be rude to say so. So instead he invents an excuse.

"Still recovering from the trip. Such a beastly flight." A twelve hour trip in 1955, with two refueling stops along the way, and it doesn't quite occur to him that it might have improved in the last sixty years. "It was worth it to be here now, but I have an absolute horror for aeroplanes and I'm completely knackered."

She chuckles. "Wouldn't dream of serving anything before eleven. Breakfast is when you make it."

He knows she has no idea that it's been a couple of months for him, but he can't resist hugging her one more time before they go upstairs. She returns the embrace warmly, though there's a little worry on her face when she lets go.

When they get to Neal's apartment, it's very, very much like his space on the Barge. Almost identical, in fact, except that the veranda isn't backed by a painted cityscape. It's backed by the real thing.

Neal gestures at the space as he closes and then locks the door behind them. "Welcome to the original. Accept no substitutions. Or forgeries."

Norton flashes Neal a grin but then gazes out at the New York skyline out past the veranda.

"Gosh, that view... You know, if it weren't for the leash and the kidnappers, I'd say you have a perfect home here. Of course, a leash and kidnappers are fairly significant drawbacks."

He turns away from the skyline and slides his arms around Neal's waist. "Thank you. For inviting me home with you. I'd offer to return the favour sometime...but it's probably not a good idea for me to return home, I think. And anyway, a slummy two-up-two-down doesn't make for nearly as nice a holiday as this. Is that a Château L'Angélus?" His attention is distracted by the wine collection.

Neal wants to ask why it's not a good idea for Norton to go home. Whether it's truly a danger, a desire, or something else. The moment passes when Norton spots the wine. "2012 Château L'Angélus Grand Cru Classe, specifically."

He goes over to select the bottle, holding it up. "Should I crack it open? This seems suitably worth celebrating. You and me, here."

"I wasn't going to presume, but since you offered I wouldn't dream of saying no. I haven't had a good wine since my Cambridge days. Is 2012 a good year? It absolutely tickles me to say that. 2012. I never tried the wine during my brief trips to the future."

"2012 was a great year, actually, for this particular vineyard. The best they've had in a while." He opens his cupboards, fetches down two wine glasses, pausing as he does to check that everything is in its place. There's no reason it wouldn't be, no time has actually passed, but he still feels the need to make sure. It will itch at him if he doesn't.

Neal pops the cork and pours them both a generous serving. "We should toast."

"Wine this fabulosa deserves a toast."

Norton takes the wine glass and raises it. "What shall we toast to? The future? Freedom? I'm on a roll with words that begin with 'F,' so maybe throw in 'fortune' and 'flirtation' as suggestions too."

Neal grins, wrapping one arm around Norton’s waist to pull them closer against each other. “I drink to myself and another, and may that other be he who drinks to himself and another, and may that other be me. Here’s to New York and time travel and impossible places to meet.”

Norton leans against Neal and smirks. "Hmmmm, that's definitely flirtation." He swirls the wine in the glass. "Here's to us, and our amazing adventures." But before he takes a sip of the wine, he tilts his head up and gives Neal a gentle kiss.

Neal leans in to the kiss, glances sideways to make sure he threw the chain on the door, and lifts his own glass briefly to his lips for a sip of the very good wine before he sets it aside on the kitchen table. “Ever wanted to make love on the city view veranda of a millionaire’s mansion? Because there are some surprisingly comfortable lounge chairs out there and it’s a beautiful evening.”

He doesn’t draw attention to his word choice, but it’s intentional. Shy, and sideways, and ultimately deniable, but intentional.

When they go to sleep, Neal actually smiles a little as he drifts off. His cabin on the Barge is great, as close as it’s possible to be to the real thing, but it’s still different. The quality of the air, the smells that linger most prominently in his mind. Falling asleep in his apartment, his real apartment, with the man he would drink to that he hopes will drink to him, is a gift and a strange kind of joy.

He’s still very deeply asleep, curled around Norton, when the veranda doors open quietly in the middle of the night. A narrow-faced man in a leather jacket stands just inside the apartment, watching the two of them in bed. When he speaks it’s with an unapologetic Jersey drawl.

“You know, he only ever sleeps that deep when he trusts somebody. Really trusts them. I’m amazed he managed to keep you so quiet that I don’t even know who you are.”

Norton's awake, but relaxed, drifting, blissful, when it's all shattered by the sound of a man's voice. In an instant, he's fully alert, heart pounding in fear. His first wild thought is that they're about to be arrested, but he replays the man's words in his head and his brain catches up to the adrenaline rush of his body, and he comes to a few conclusions. First: this man knows Neal well enough to comment on his sleeping habits. Second: he tracks Neal closely enough that he expects to know all of Neal's associates. Third: he's not a friend, a friend would come in through the front door. With those pieces of information, and remembering what Neal said about his murderous ex, Norton has a suspicion who the intruder is.

But since his pistol is somewhere scattered along with his clothes, he decides that the safest approach for now is to play harmless. He puts on an expression of wide-eyed nervous confusion and pulls the blanket up higher for modesty.

"Why would you know who I am? Are you a stalker? Oh my God, of course he has a stalker."

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short timeskip… lmk if you want to roll back!

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