"It's Nick. Holden, right. H-O-L-D-E-N, that's exactly correct. Uh-huh. Right, right. No, that's— Did you—?
"Oh, no. Ohhhh. No no no. This is bad. Listen, listen, you have to check again, okay? Check again, please..."
He's got eyes that beg with a sincerity that easily hides his deceit, but make no mistake that Nicholas Holden, also known as Neal Caffrey, is acting with anything but altruistic intent. He's found himself a very nice but very young teller and as he whispers his woes across the counter, she seems to be cautiously considering giving in to his demands.
"If you call this number—" The business card slides across counter in the the nearly silent bank and clicks as he releases it close to the teller's hand. "—my boss can confirm everything. He's a busy guy so you might need to try a couple times, but he'll answer. Please, Courtney, could you do that for me?" His pinball smile makes her blush and the girl takes the card tentatively as she pushes her hair behind her ear and skitters away to do as she was asked.
The moment she's gone, Neal is sighing in relief. He's had to think on his feet to get this far and now succeeding in his current task is slightly more within his reach. Still, he's sweating from his little impromptu performance and still trying to determine the next three steps ahead of him. Certainly not expecting a familiar face.
There's a certain metronomic consistency to life in the city that suits Matt well. To look at the man sometimes, he might appear something of a contradiction. Routine and order providing a rather tenuous mask for a man who often feels outside of his own control. Crisp suits concealing bumps and lacerations. A friendly smile that still manages to hold people at a distance. It's an illusion of control that he has learned to manage with particular grace, and he didn't wake up this morning with the expectation that a chance encounter could throw him off his center.
But what Neal has always been, is a force of disruption in an otherwise carefully orchestrated life. A splatter of vibrance on a stark white canvas. As boys, their friendship was one of the most honest things that Matt had ever known. Even now, he can think of no one who holds quite as many truths about him as his old friend.
Years may have passed. Both men have grown in age and distance, and life has undoubtedly transformed each of them uniquely. But when the first notes of that familiar voice reach his ears as he pushes open the doors of the bank, Matt's heart knocks against his ribcage with a profound, aching urgency. "Neal," he murmurs, despite the name the man has given the teller. Despite the distance that separates them from one another. Matt can hardly hear another heartbeat over the sound of his own aching in his chest. His cane is loud on the old tile as he approaches, and comes to wait in line just behind the other man.
Matt can't help but want to examine. He's taller and a little fuller now. No doubt better-fed than when they were both kids scrimping for cash. His voice is more mature and he smells like expensive cologne, but there's no doubt it's Neal. Matt's spent too long memorizing the spaces in that heartbeat. His throat feels suddenly dry, and he struggles to think of what to say.
Neal is busy in his own head for a few seconds, mind racing as its apt to do when he's in a pinch. He's not worried about executing — he always finds a way — but Courtney's help will certainly lessen the length of this wild trip and for too long than can be considered polite, he's focused on himself while ignoring the presence of another person right behind him.
He's staring, up on his toes, over the counter to where Courtney disappeared in the distance and when he lands back on the heels of his feet, he catches a glance out of the corner of his eye of a cane, white and red, and feels a wave of strange nostalgia. Which quickly turns to shame the moment he recognizes the person at the other end of the cane.
Turning away, he pretends not to recognize Matt, but even that comes with uncertainty because no matter what Matt's always been able to easily pick apart Neal like he's a puzzle made for a toddler. Like he's as transparent as cellophane.
Is he really going to do this? Is he really going to ignore his oldest, dearest, most heartfelt friend? Honestly, he thinks he'd better if it means avoiding admitting he's using a different name in order to swindle someone out of money. Times are desperate — arguably only any better than before because Neal has flouted the law — and he's not sure Matt would entirely approve.
Waving his hand to try to get Courtney's attention, he receives back a finger asking him to wait that he immediately attempts to disregard to make a hasty retreat around the familiar man standing so close Neal can smell the past memories waiting in the wings of his mind.
Not for the first time, Matt finds himself struck with the sense that this would all be much easier if his abilities weren't so damn strange. It's a guilty sentiment, to be annoyed with something that is immensely unique and powerful, but it isn't as if he asked for any of it. If he didn't have to know by the way the image of Neal reverberates around him that the man is checking him out, then he wouldn't have to feel anything about the realization that he plans to ignore him.
But Neal is going to ignore him, isn't he? Matt registers that increase in the other man's heart rate and realizes that he's plenty more than just anxious. He can practically smell the sweat now, and the shifting of the heat in the air between them. And even before he's decided what it means or what he should do about it, his oldest friend is turning on his heel to push past him.
Despite himself, Matt flinches out of the way. Rather than reaching out, he draws in, grasping his cane and giving space to the steps between them. He remembers them as teenagers and the casual way they'd sometimes hang off each other as they watched television or sought for extra body heat in the middle of a bare and blackened room. These days, he doesn't much like being touched though. Casual affection is hard to bear.
"Sorry, Neal," Matt murmurs, almost reflexively as he steps aside.
There's a hiss of breath, a sharp intake the signals that he knows he's been caught. What are the odds? Spectacular, apparently, because try as he might to think of someone, there aren't many, if any, as quick to call Neal on his bullshit as Matt. It's unfortunate, but also one of the things that pulled them so close together when they were that much younger.
Coming to a halt, silently berating himself for not thinking quick enough in this aspect, Neal reorients and suddenly his voice takes on a quiet but genuine tone, much different than the one he'd used as Nick Holden.
"Wow, Matt, it's really you, huh? I didn't— Sorry, I didn't see you there," he says, hesitating only briefly before reaching out and pulling the other man into a quick but tight hug. How long had it been? Too long, he thinks, and yet untimely for what Neal is hoping to accomplish.
"Good thing you said something," he adds, although he's distracted as Courtney waves and smiles and tries to get his attention.
"Wow," Neal marvels. "Wow, how are you? You look— We should get a drink." Suddenly he's trying to prematurely lead them both towards the door.
Even as he calls his friend by name, Matt isn't sure that Neal is going to cop to it. There's a lot of the conversation that he didn't manage to catch, but everything about the way the other man is behaving tells him that he's not looking to be identified. The hug takes him by genuine surprise, but he finds with some relief that his arms still fit around Neal like it's the most natural thing in the world. Matt leans against him, taking a moment to marvel at how much time has passed.
When they pull away, he feels a little unsteady on his feet. It's been a long few years, but it takes nothing at all to catapult his mind right back to those last few years of high school. Neal was his only true friend and real confidant, and the loss of such an important figure in his life hasn't been easy. Even though he knows people grow apart. Even though Stick has always been bound and determined to remind Matt that loved ones are nothing but a liability.
"I didn't mean to startle you." Matt's voice is calm and even. He allows Neal to shuffle him along a few paces before he resists. "It's been a while, hasn't it? I just need to make this deposit..."
Neal's just about the tell Matt to forget the deposit like that's something a person would do when the sound of Courtney's heels has him cringing.
Great.
"Mr. Holden, I'm so sorry for the misunderstanding," she says, her entire demeanor filled with guilt and remorse, like she'd just made a huge mistake akin to taking a shit on the floor right in front of her boss. "I've got the key here and I can show you to the lockbox whenever you're ready."
Seconds pass that feel extremely awkward to Neal. He's not usually thrown off so effectively, but the presence of Matt in the middle of his personal operation is just about the last thing that Neal would have planned for. Utterly flabbergasted, he has the urge to cover for himself with both of these people, but realizes that he can only choose one.
"Thanks," he says, nodding to her. "I'll let you know." Which is code for asking her to go away, let's be perfectly honest here, but at least he hasn't blown his cover. He'll just have to do some damage control and all things considered, he'll take that chance on Matt over the alternatives even if he feels immediate panic at the idea of trying to come up with an elegant enough lie to avoid telling the other man he's turned to some pretty serious crime.
Another awkward pause while Neal taps his fist into his other palm, and eventually Courtney catches on and focuses on Matt instead. "Here, I can help you," she says, turning to head back to her station.
It's Neal's discomfort that gives him away. Matt can't pretend not to notice, though he doubts that many others would. But years of distance haven't granted him the ability to forget what he knows about his friend, or their string of late-night conversations about what would come next for either one of them. They're both orphans, in one way or another. Forgotten and displaced from the rest of the world. It's not difficult to imagine why Neal might have wanted to shed that image. Why he might've taken the first opportunity he found to become someone else. But that doesn't explain why he's so scared about it.
"Give me just a minute. I'll make this deposit and you can take care of yours, and we'll get that drink. Okay?" He squeezes Neal's arm, half between hopeful and insistent. If Matt's grasp alone can demand that the man not run off before they can catch up, it's what he means to do. And only once he's sure the message is received does he step up to the counter with a pleasant smile for the woman behind it and draw the small envelope out of his jacket pocket.
Neal grapples with the idea of leaving outright. He figures that if he really wants to disappear (again) it won't be all that difficult, although now that option seems a bit more out of his reach; with Matt knowing his pseudonym, it connects him right to Adler (and to Kate) and neither of them are going anywhere any time soon. He'd be caught in his lie right away. But that doesn't mean he wants to run, either. On the contrary, there's an achingly familiar tug of memories that wants him to fall right back into the familiar and safe space that Matt represents.
It's really too enticing to pass up.
Finishing their business doesn't take long and while Neal feels the security of the envelope resting within the pocket inside his jacket, there's still a prickling feeling of guilt that eats at him as they settle at a secluded table in a quiet bar.
"I saw that teller checking you out," Neal says somewhat devilishly. "I could give you her number." It seems easier to take this tack, although Neal knows better that his behavior will go without question.
Sometimes Matt wishes he could turn it all off. Deaden his senses, become a little less aware of the world around him. Grant his friend the privacy of not having every errant beat of his heart analyzed for purpose. Grant himself the benefit of ignorance. He tries his hardest as he waits to join up with Neal and make the short trek to somewhere a little more fit for purpose. Unfortunately, there are some things he simply can't unknow.
It's hard to feel like he's waiting for the axe to fall when all he wants is to enjoy the company of an old and dear friend. To spend their time drinking (legally, for once), laughing, and catching up on time that's passed. But Matt gets the sense that time has been kinder to one of them than the other, and it's hard not to feel a sense of guilt for that relative ease.
"I think she'd be pretty disappointed if she was expecting a call from you and got me instead," Matt smirks into his beer. "Anyway, the only woman in my life right now is Lady Justice."
Neal laughs despite himself, his bright eyes unable to break the stare he's pinned on Matt. The years that had passed felt both like an eternity and no time at all, and as he sits here now in close comfort with the past, he can't stop the way it makes him feel giddy and young again. The urge to drown in alcohol and memories and wake up tomorrow feeling refreshed and free is stronger than anything he's felt in a long, long time. And that includes the rush he gets from all the sordid crimes he'd gotten himself into the past couple of years.
"Lady Justice? Now there's competition no one needs," he jokes, shaking his head and leaning back in his seat. Rhetorical and also telling, although he realizes how little that really matters.
Neal grins and smoothes down his tie. Maybe Matt can't appreciate the upgrade, but compared to where he'd once been, a tailored suit and a spiffy tie certainly helps Neal sell himself as the million bucks he constantly tries to convince himself he's worth. He's more interested in Matt, though, eagerly taking in every detail the shadows allow in this lowly lit environment.
"So, is that it? Just you and your career wife?" Asking as much isn't so much polite small talk; it would be silly to think Neal isn't curious about what Matt's been up to.
For almost as long as they've known each other, Matt has thought that there is something special about Neal. A generosity, a fighting spirit. The will to survive. As younger boys he scarcely knew how to tell his friend the belief that he held for them. It felt foolish, too, when the world seemed turned against him. But he's always known that Neal has the capacity to make the kind of life he wants for himself. And Matt has always believed that he deserves it, too. He can hardly think of anyone as thoughtful or as talented, or anyone who treated him with as much kindness as his friend.
Time has been generous to him in ways, too. Which isn't to say that Matt hasn't had to work at it. But the quiet young man has always been bookish and studious, and he doesn't seem to shy away from walking a harder road than most. It must be a good look for both of them. Anyone else at the bar could easily mistake them for two colleagues sharing a drink, or a couple of professionals forging a business alliance. Men who know what they're doing. Men with somewhere to go. It feels good and scary all at once.
"Pretty much," he laughs at Neal's summation. "Between interning and studying for the bar, I don't have time for much of a social life. What about you, though?" Matt hesitates. He wants to ask who Mr. Holden is, but he doesn't just yet.
That studious nature is still there, Neal notes, fondly staring across the table to appreciate how Matt's changed (and also how he's stayed the same). It's serendipitous they'd run into each other, but in some ways it worries him that when the niceties of reconnecting pass that they'll both find it a hard slap to realize neither of them have lived without issue.
That's life, Neal reminds himself via the Sinatra song that occasionally pings around between his ears.
"I've got enough social life for the both of us these days," he muses, not thinking for a second that it almost sounds like bragging. He's always been something of an outgoing person, but that part of him isn't necessary what was shared with Matt all those youthful years gone. They'd shared something more genuine and sedate, more intimate and Neal feels the dearth of that kind of relationship in his life, even when he's got his eyes on someone he thinks he could spend the rest of his life with.
"I'm working for a pretty prominent businessman named Vincent Adler." Neal sits back, gesturing to his fine attire. "He doesn't spare expenses but the social capital is priceless in this town."
"I can tell," Matt remarks quietly, referencing that sixth sense he's always seemed to have for reading those around him. Well, fifth. He leans forward in his seat, uncrossing his knees and letting his fingers find the fabric around the cuff of Neal's shirt. He pinches it demonstratively, as if to reference the fact he might've already known the man is dressed in garments far finer than either one of them could've imagined in their youth.
His own outfit says smiliar. Matt wears it with the kind of confidence that would make a person believe he's been dressing up and putting on airs his whole life. Neal might be the closest person to him right now who knows better than to believe that. They know it of each other, that is. They've tended each other through the scrapes and shared what little they had in the name of looking out for one another. In a way it feels like they're finally getting what's owed to them, but Matt knows better than to think it could be that easy.
"Is the social capital why you changed your name? Mr. Holden, is that right?"
Matt doesn't escape unscathed from that probing contact while Neal acclimates to the relationship they once had. He captures the other man's hand, holding it loosely between his fingers, thumb gently rubbing.
"Some things are easier with a clean slate," Neal says, and that's certainly not a lie but it's definitely not the truth, either. He could have probably gained the same traction as Neal Caffrey, but with his intentions being less than altruistic, he'd rather not point a finger back towards the only persona with lasting, precious connections. Like this one.
The fact that he intends to defraud Adler doesn't need to come up — that's between Neal and Mozzie — but he does worry about that fifth (sixth, seventh) sense that Matt's always had will lead him right to the conclusions that Neal's not ready to broach. Granted, he doesn't fear judgement from his friend, but then again he also knows that the more people who know what he's planning, the more difficult things will get.
"What a crazy coincidence finding you. I'd been meaning to call," he says, somewhat apologetically. "Hard to imagine it's been so long. Wasn't it just yesterday we were gangly teens shoving pizza into our mouths and sharing a blanket?" He squeezes Matt's hand before sliding away from the contact, mind drifting back to Kate as if she might be watching him from afar.
Finally finding the ability to shed the image he's carried with him throughout childhood has been just as good for Matt, too. In many ways he's still the quiet and solitary, bookish boy that Neal knew so well in their youth. But it's easier to disappear from a history that isn't written all over him when he first meets someone new. There's a power in being able to reserve back his story and be seen as something more than Jack Murdock's orphan kid, or the boy who survived the tragic blinding accident.
It's still unlike him to reach out to others for physical comfort beyond the superficial. Hugs make Matt uncomfortable, and he's not the sort to dwell in the presence of a woman he's taken to bed after the deed is over. But Neal is Neal. There's a comfort there that isn't manufactured. One that knows him better than anyone else. And so he holds his friend's hand without question, letting that connection both ground him in the past and give him an appreciation for what the preset has found him. He squeezes Neal's fingers until the other man pulls away, then reaches for his drink to replace the warmth of human contact with the chill of condensation on the side of the glass.
"I wish I could say it feels that way," he laughs, putting aside the mention of names for the time being and appreciating who Neal has always been, irrespective of what he wants to call himself. "I haven't felt that kind of lack of responsibility in a long time." There's a pregnant pause, and something mischievous twists at Matt's lips. "We ought to do it. Blow off everything, get a huge cheese pizza. Watch a movie. Talk about art, music, whatever."
Neal grins in turn, tickled by the suggestion, and not just because it reminds him of old times. There's something so... secret and special about their bond, it's difficult to not to want to indulge in old times, but also something worth protecting, like a small piece of himself that no one but Matt will ever know.
"Why not?" He asks, excited at the prospect. "But can you afford to goof off with me? I don't want to be the one responsible if you end up taking to a life of leisure." Of course he says that, but truth be told, if he could give Matt a life without complications, he most certainly would.
"Really?" The buttoned-up man at Neal's side suddenly grins like the child he once was. In the grand scheme of things, it shouldn't sound that scandelous. They're two grown men having a very legal drink at a bar. They could order another round right now, no fake IDs or distractions necessary. Hell, with what's in Matt's pocket from his loan checks, they could hit up just about any restaurant in a ten-block radius and order whatever they wanted from the menu. But nothing beats the idea of an authentic, cheap New York pizza and a night acting like kids.
"I think I'm strong enough to recover from one night of childish nostalgia," he decides with a laugh. "I think you're forgetting where I was raised. I'm no stranger to temptation, Neal.
Already digging into his pocket, he's into his wallet to drop a generous twenty on the table, glad to pay but slightly guilty over the fact that the money he's using was grifted. If he didn't feel somewhat entitled to the money he earned through the crimes he committed, he wouldn't dare spend the cash on someone with which he cared so much; however, stealing from thieves just doesn't rate as criminal to Neal. No, it's much closer to appropriate in his opinion because the cash is better utilized in his hands than in the hands of people who have so much that they're always greedy for more.
"Your place," he states simply, knowing it's the better choice. If Mozzie popped by for his daily check-in and found Neal distracted (again), Neal would have the lecture to look forward to, not to mention lots of questions he isn't looking to answer. "Do you think I'm going to miss an opportunity to see how you're living? Especially looking as good as you do," he says, that smile evident in his voice.
"We can get a cab if it's that far. I've got the tab, you can pick the movie."
He wouldn't have offered if he wasn't prepared for Neal to take him up on it, but Matt can't pretend he's not just a little disappointed by the decision. In some ways, he knows he owes his friend a long backlog of evenings hosting. Really, more than he'll ever be able to make up for. But what teenage boy would choose to hang around the public hallways of a church orphanage anyway? It's been a given for most of their friendship that the two boys would find themselves in whatever accommodations Neal keeps for himself. It's only time that Matt return the favor.
The compliment goes a long way towards soothing any lingering sense of mistrust, and the man pitches back what's left of his drink and grabs his cane. "I look good; that doesn't mean the place does," he grins and slaps Neal on the shoulder as they wind their way back out streetside. "How do you think I afford the expensive suits? Got to cut corners somewhere."
In truth, the apartment isn't quite as bad as he makes it sound. At least as far as space in the city is concerned. And it is a decent amount of space, all things considered. "Then I'll get the pizza," Matt barters. "What's your preference these days? What does Mr. Holden like?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"Oh, no. Ohhhh. No no no. This is bad. Listen, listen, you have to check again, okay? Check again, please..."
He's got eyes that beg with a sincerity that easily hides his deceit, but make no mistake that Nicholas Holden, also known as Neal Caffrey, is acting with anything but altruistic intent. He's found himself a very nice but very young teller and as he whispers his woes across the counter, she seems to be cautiously considering giving in to his demands.
"If you call this number—" The business card slides across counter in the the nearly silent bank and clicks as he releases it close to the teller's hand. "—my boss can confirm everything. He's a busy guy so you might need to try a couple times, but he'll answer. Please, Courtney, could you do that for me?" His pinball smile makes her blush and the girl takes the card tentatively as she pushes her hair behind her ear and skitters away to do as she was asked.
The moment she's gone, Neal is sighing in relief. He's had to think on his feet to get this far and now succeeding in his current task is slightly more within his reach. Still, he's sweating from his little impromptu performance and still trying to determine the next three steps ahead of him. Certainly not expecting a familiar face.
no subject
But what Neal has always been, is a force of disruption in an otherwise carefully orchestrated life. A splatter of vibrance on a stark white canvas. As boys, their friendship was one of the most honest things that Matt had ever known. Even now, he can think of no one who holds quite as many truths about him as his old friend.
Years may have passed. Both men have grown in age and distance, and life has undoubtedly transformed each of them uniquely. But when the first notes of that familiar voice reach his ears as he pushes open the doors of the bank, Matt's heart knocks against his ribcage with a profound, aching urgency. "Neal," he murmurs, despite the name the man has given the teller. Despite the distance that separates them from one another. Matt can hardly hear another heartbeat over the sound of his own aching in his chest. His cane is loud on the old tile as he approaches, and comes to wait in line just behind the other man.
Matt can't help but want to examine. He's taller and a little fuller now. No doubt better-fed than when they were both kids scrimping for cash. His voice is more mature and he smells like expensive cologne, but there's no doubt it's Neal. Matt's spent too long memorizing the spaces in that heartbeat. His throat feels suddenly dry, and he struggles to think of what to say.
no subject
He's staring, up on his toes, over the counter to where Courtney disappeared in the distance and when he lands back on the heels of his feet, he catches a glance out of the corner of his eye of a cane, white and red, and feels a wave of strange nostalgia. Which quickly turns to shame the moment he recognizes the person at the other end of the cane.
Turning away, he pretends not to recognize Matt, but even that comes with uncertainty because no matter what Matt's always been able to easily pick apart Neal like he's a puzzle made for a toddler. Like he's as transparent as cellophane.
Is he really going to do this? Is he really going to ignore his oldest, dearest, most heartfelt friend? Honestly, he thinks he'd better if it means avoiding admitting he's using a different name in order to swindle someone out of money. Times are desperate — arguably only any better than before because Neal has flouted the law — and he's not sure Matt would entirely approve.
Waving his hand to try to get Courtney's attention, he receives back a finger asking him to wait that he immediately attempts to disregard to make a hasty retreat around the familiar man standing so close Neal can smell the past memories waiting in the wings of his mind.
no subject
But Neal is going to ignore him, isn't he? Matt registers that increase in the other man's heart rate and realizes that he's plenty more than just anxious. He can practically smell the sweat now, and the shifting of the heat in the air between them. And even before he's decided what it means or what he should do about it, his oldest friend is turning on his heel to push past him.
Despite himself, Matt flinches out of the way. Rather than reaching out, he draws in, grasping his cane and giving space to the steps between them. He remembers them as teenagers and the casual way they'd sometimes hang off each other as they watched television or sought for extra body heat in the middle of a bare and blackened room. These days, he doesn't much like being touched though. Casual affection is hard to bear.
"Sorry, Neal," Matt murmurs, almost reflexively as he steps aside.
no subject
Coming to a halt, silently berating himself for not thinking quick enough in this aspect, Neal reorients and suddenly his voice takes on a quiet but genuine tone, much different than the one he'd used as Nick Holden.
"Wow, Matt, it's really you, huh? I didn't— Sorry, I didn't see you there," he says, hesitating only briefly before reaching out and pulling the other man into a quick but tight hug. How long had it been? Too long, he thinks, and yet untimely for what Neal is hoping to accomplish.
"Good thing you said something," he adds, although he's distracted as Courtney waves and smiles and tries to get his attention.
"Wow," Neal marvels. "Wow, how are you? You look— We should get a drink." Suddenly he's trying to prematurely lead them both towards the door.
no subject
When they pull away, he feels a little unsteady on his feet. It's been a long few years, but it takes nothing at all to catapult his mind right back to those last few years of high school. Neal was his only true friend and real confidant, and the loss of such an important figure in his life hasn't been easy. Even though he knows people grow apart. Even though Stick has always been bound and determined to remind Matt that loved ones are nothing but a liability.
"I didn't mean to startle you." Matt's voice is calm and even. He allows Neal to shuffle him along a few paces before he resists. "It's been a while, hasn't it? I just need to make this deposit..."
no subject
Great.
"Mr. Holden, I'm so sorry for the misunderstanding," she says, her entire demeanor filled with guilt and remorse, like she'd just made a huge mistake akin to taking a shit on the floor right in front of her boss. "I've got the key here and I can show you to the lockbox whenever you're ready."
Seconds pass that feel extremely awkward to Neal. He's not usually thrown off so effectively, but the presence of Matt in the middle of his personal operation is just about the last thing that Neal would have planned for. Utterly flabbergasted, he has the urge to cover for himself with both of these people, but realizes that he can only choose one.
"Thanks," he says, nodding to her. "I'll let you know." Which is code for asking her to go away, let's be perfectly honest here, but at least he hasn't blown his cover. He'll just have to do some damage control and all things considered, he'll take that chance on Matt over the alternatives even if he feels immediate panic at the idea of trying to come up with an elegant enough lie to avoid telling the other man he's turned to some pretty serious crime.
Another awkward pause while Neal taps his fist into his other palm, and eventually Courtney catches on and focuses on Matt instead. "Here, I can help you," she says, turning to head back to her station.
no subject
"Give me just a minute. I'll make this deposit and you can take care of yours, and we'll get that drink. Okay?" He squeezes Neal's arm, half between hopeful and insistent. If Matt's grasp alone can demand that the man not run off before they can catch up, it's what he means to do. And only once he's sure the message is received does he step up to the counter with a pleasant smile for the woman behind it and draw the small envelope out of his jacket pocket.
no subject
It's really too enticing to pass up.
Finishing their business doesn't take long and while Neal feels the security of the envelope resting within the pocket inside his jacket, there's still a prickling feeling of guilt that eats at him as they settle at a secluded table in a quiet bar.
"I saw that teller checking you out," Neal says somewhat devilishly. "I could give you her number." It seems easier to take this tack, although Neal knows better that his behavior will go without question.
no subject
It's hard to feel like he's waiting for the axe to fall when all he wants is to enjoy the company of an old and dear friend. To spend their time drinking (legally, for once), laughing, and catching up on time that's passed. But Matt gets the sense that time has been kinder to one of them than the other, and it's hard not to feel a sense of guilt for that relative ease.
"I think she'd be pretty disappointed if she was expecting a call from you and got me instead," Matt smirks into his beer. "Anyway, the only woman in my life right now is Lady Justice."
no subject
Neal laughs despite himself, his bright eyes unable to break the stare he's pinned on Matt. The years that had passed felt both like an eternity and no time at all, and as he sits here now in close comfort with the past, he can't stop the way it makes him feel giddy and young again. The urge to drown in alcohol and memories and wake up tomorrow feeling refreshed and free is stronger than anything he's felt in a long, long time. And that includes the rush he gets from all the sordid crimes he'd gotten himself into the past couple of years.
"Lady Justice? Now there's competition no one needs," he jokes, shaking his head and leaning back in his seat. Rhetorical and also telling, although he realizes how little that really matters.
Neal grins and smoothes down his tie. Maybe Matt can't appreciate the upgrade, but compared to where he'd once been, a tailored suit and a spiffy tie certainly helps Neal sell himself as the million bucks he constantly tries to convince himself he's worth. He's more interested in Matt, though, eagerly taking in every detail the shadows allow in this lowly lit environment.
"So, is that it? Just you and your career wife?" Asking as much isn't so much polite small talk; it would be silly to think Neal isn't curious about what Matt's been up to.
no subject
Time has been generous to him in ways, too. Which isn't to say that Matt hasn't had to work at it. But the quiet young man has always been bookish and studious, and he doesn't seem to shy away from walking a harder road than most. It must be a good look for both of them. Anyone else at the bar could easily mistake them for two colleagues sharing a drink, or a couple of professionals forging a business alliance. Men who know what they're doing. Men with somewhere to go. It feels good and scary all at once.
"Pretty much," he laughs at Neal's summation. "Between interning and studying for the bar, I don't have time for much of a social life. What about you, though?" Matt hesitates. He wants to ask who Mr. Holden is, but he doesn't just yet.
no subject
That's life, Neal reminds himself via the Sinatra song that occasionally pings around between his ears.
"I've got enough social life for the both of us these days," he muses, not thinking for a second that it almost sounds like bragging. He's always been something of an outgoing person, but that part of him isn't necessary what was shared with Matt all those youthful years gone. They'd shared something more genuine and sedate, more intimate and Neal feels the dearth of that kind of relationship in his life, even when he's got his eyes on someone he thinks he could spend the rest of his life with.
"I'm working for a pretty prominent businessman named Vincent Adler." Neal sits back, gesturing to his fine attire. "He doesn't spare expenses but the social capital is priceless in this town."
no subject
His own outfit says smiliar. Matt wears it with the kind of confidence that would make a person believe he's been dressing up and putting on airs his whole life. Neal might be the closest person to him right now who knows better than to believe that. They know it of each other, that is. They've tended each other through the scrapes and shared what little they had in the name of looking out for one another. In a way it feels like they're finally getting what's owed to them, but Matt knows better than to think it could be that easy.
"Is the social capital why you changed your name? Mr. Holden, is that right?"
no subject
"Some things are easier with a clean slate," Neal says, and that's certainly not a lie but it's definitely not the truth, either. He could have probably gained the same traction as Neal Caffrey, but with his intentions being less than altruistic, he'd rather not point a finger back towards the only persona with lasting, precious connections. Like this one.
The fact that he intends to defraud Adler doesn't need to come up — that's between Neal and Mozzie — but he does worry about that fifth (sixth, seventh) sense that Matt's always had will lead him right to the conclusions that Neal's not ready to broach. Granted, he doesn't fear judgement from his friend, but then again he also knows that the more people who know what he's planning, the more difficult things will get.
"What a crazy coincidence finding you. I'd been meaning to call," he says, somewhat apologetically. "Hard to imagine it's been so long. Wasn't it just yesterday we were gangly teens shoving pizza into our mouths and sharing a blanket?" He squeezes Matt's hand before sliding away from the contact, mind drifting back to Kate as if she might be watching him from afar.
no subject
It's still unlike him to reach out to others for physical comfort beyond the superficial. Hugs make Matt uncomfortable, and he's not the sort to dwell in the presence of a woman he's taken to bed after the deed is over. But Neal is Neal. There's a comfort there that isn't manufactured. One that knows him better than anyone else. And so he holds his friend's hand without question, letting that connection both ground him in the past and give him an appreciation for what the preset has found him. He squeezes Neal's fingers until the other man pulls away, then reaches for his drink to replace the warmth of human contact with the chill of condensation on the side of the glass.
"I wish I could say it feels that way," he laughs, putting aside the mention of names for the time being and appreciating who Neal has always been, irrespective of what he wants to call himself. "I haven't felt that kind of lack of responsibility in a long time." There's a pregnant pause, and something mischievous twists at Matt's lips. "We ought to do it. Blow off everything, get a huge cheese pizza. Watch a movie. Talk about art, music, whatever."
no subject
"Why not?" He asks, excited at the prospect. "But can you afford to goof off with me? I don't want to be the one responsible if you end up taking to a life of leisure." Of course he says that, but truth be told, if he could give Matt a life without complications, he most certainly would.
no subject
"I think I'm strong enough to recover from one night of childish nostalgia," he decides with a laugh. "I think you're forgetting where I was raised. I'm no stranger to temptation, Neal.
So, my place or yours?"
no subject
"Your place," he states simply, knowing it's the better choice. If Mozzie popped by for his daily check-in and found Neal distracted (again), Neal would have the lecture to look forward to, not to mention lots of questions he isn't looking to answer. "Do you think I'm going to miss an opportunity to see how you're living? Especially looking as good as you do," he says, that smile evident in his voice.
"We can get a cab if it's that far. I've got the tab, you can pick the movie."
no subject
The compliment goes a long way towards soothing any lingering sense of mistrust, and the man pitches back what's left of his drink and grabs his cane. "I look good; that doesn't mean the place does," he grins and slaps Neal on the shoulder as they wind their way back out streetside. "How do you think I afford the expensive suits? Got to cut corners somewhere."
In truth, the apartment isn't quite as bad as he makes it sound. At least as far as space in the city is concerned. And it is a decent amount of space, all things considered. "Then I'll get the pizza," Matt barters. "What's your preference these days? What does Mr. Holden like?"