Tomorrow Never Comes

They talked about kids, once. (Not really just once. But two, three times, what does it matter anymore?)

Neal sits in the park, staring absently at the statue of the violinist, thoughts miles away. He remembers telling Peter briefly of the fleeting beauty of their relationship, of the adventure and excitement and anger. Of the constant treasure hunt to find Kate, and the endless search for their own life together.

He didn't tell Peter of the quiet moments. The soft kisses and quiet mornings are stories he's shared with no one, and only Mozzie knows he planned to marry her. Grimacing, he hates how it's all become past-tense.

He wonders if Peter and El ever talked about children. (But their life seems so full and so happy, he can't imagine they've ever needed to.)

His chin rests on interlaced fingers, blue gaze latching onto a blonde woman, her hand gently tugging at a child's. Her husband lazily walks behind her, lovingly wrapping his arms around her slender frame. She laughs, tugging the child's hand again, and the family continues their casual stroll.

They could have had that. (Could have, but it's always been one mistake after another, one con too many. It broke their relationship the first time, put him in prison the second.)

Neal sighs, leaning back on the park bench. His eyes find the violinist again, and he stares at the spot the ring once laid. He'd given it up for Peter, not because he's over Kate, but because the living are what's important. He'd given it up to Peter, partly because it's the right thing to do and he's trying, really, but mostly because he wants to let go. (He wants to forget what they can no longer have. He's tried, trying, but it doesn't work. Hasn't yet.)

That ring was supposed to be hers. It's not, will never be, and he can't stand to look at it anymore.

He wants to let go, so badly. He's told Moz that it's time, and he knows that Peter understands. But he can't, absolutely cannot forget the dream they once shared. Tiny, shrill giggles sound from two little girls and it takes all his willpower not to flinch. (Their dream – a happy family, like Peter and El but so much more at the same time.)

A hand drops to his shoulder and Neal jumps.

"Hey," Peter says. He stoops slightly, resting his elbows on the back of the bench. He's carrying a few files in his hands, and Neal suddenly realizes he'd forgotten to take them with him.

He doesn't reply. The silence carries for almost ten minutes before Peter shifts, hand reaching into his pocket. Neal watches with half-hearted curiosity, but his mind's too far away today to really much care.

Peter takes one of Neal's hands in his own, pressing the object he'd grabbed into it and curling his fingers closed. "I really shouldn't be doing this," he says, but doesn't move to take it back, "but you know, sometimes dreams are important, too. Just remember, Neal, you don't always have to be looking back at them."

He smiles, straightening himself out. "When you find her, she'd better like it." The agent drops the files onto Neal's lap and turns away, his last words drifting back as he starts to head home.

"After all, that's a two million dollar dream she's going to wear."

Neal rubs a finger over an emerald, pockets a ring, and starts the long walk back to June's. (He can't look at it, not yet, but thinks maybe someday he will.)