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ursula4xTitle: Little Bird
Author: Ursula
Rating: rating: PG
Genre and/or Pairing: Peter/Neal UST
Notes: Came out of no where and demanded to be written.
Spoilers: None noted
Warnings: Schmoop Alert. Child Neal
Word Count: 1436
Summary: Neal has always been attracted to loving men and bad women.
1. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Title: Little Bird
Cecilia was a beauty, her blue eyes to match his own in hue. She was so tiny with minute features, cupid bow lips, the lower so full and lush. Her hair was sable brown and her skin so fair. Sean Caffrey liked the way they looked together and his Francis O'Mallory, his friend, his partner, his lover was very amused at how taken Sean was.
Would he have married her if she did not place his hand on the gentle swelling on her thin abdomen? Most likely not. His Francis agreed with him and it was a good life they had together when the both of them were out of prison. Sean was an old fashioned sort, raised with old money and manners before he went so willing, wildly astray. He lifted the best wedding ring that he could get his thieving hands upon and went down on his knee to propose. Of course, she said yes. Sean found the pin pricks in the condoms after all.
Sean knew Cecelia was flighty. He missed the part about the heroin and a little of this and that or whatever she could score until the fourth month when she was arrested supplying her habit. Sean was off probation and he turned his charm on the social workers and the prosecutor with telling success. She agreed to the treatment program and Sean played it straight, finding a job as a janitor and asking his dear Francis to spend a little time on the west coast to avoid temptation of all sorts. He saw Cecelia every week, his head on her expanding belly as he sang to his growing son. "Too Ra Loo Ra Li"
The boy always kicked when Sean sang, "This little bird", a song Sean heard Roy Orbison sing and if it wasn't Irish, it ought to have been.
"There's a little bird that somebody sends
Down to the earth to live on the wind.
Born on the wind and he sleeps on the wind
This little bird that somebody sends.
He's light and fragile and feathered sky blue,
So thin and graceful the sun shines through.
This little bird who lives on the wind,
This little bird that somebody sends.
He flies so high up in the sky
Out of reach of human eye.
And the only time that he touches the ground
Is when that little bird
Is when that little bird
Is when that little bird dies"
Cecelia said that was a terrible song to sing to the baby, but Sean didn't agree. It was not that the bird died; it was that it had wings that kept it free. After so many times in prison, Sean did not take freedom for granted.
Their son was born clean, they said. At least, he did not have to be withdrawn with a tiny drip of heroin. Cecelia had not ridden the horse long. However, little Neal was tiny and frail. He had colic a lot and Cecelia could not endure the long nights, pacing the floor with the little stiff body, screaming and kicking. If Sean suspected it was not colic at all, the magical point turned at three months and from that point, Neal was all sunshine.
"Too Ra Loo Ra Li, my little bird," Sean sang, Neal warm against his bare chest. "Too Ra Loo Ra Li" as he waltzed the little one over the floor of the dingy room that was all he could afford.
The diapers and the formula cost so much. There was that program to help, but it was difficult for Sean to leave work to get to the appointments and Cecelia seemed always to forget. She sometimes forgot to change the diapers too so Sean asked his Francis to come back and keep an eye. Francis loved the little one as much as Sean and Neal grew strong, chubby legs and arms wrapped around his da and his Sis, all that the little boy could make of Francis to Sean's delight.
Ah, the work was weary and Sean was ready, he was, to pack it in and see if there was any way his angry parents would do for Neal if not for their errant son. They would do, they said. If Sean would have a blood test to prove his little bird was their own blood and bone. If Sean would sign Neal over and step away from his life.
"Too Ra Loo Ra Li", Sean walked his son to the park, feeding the swans, hand in Francis' hand as if they were his son's parents and Cecelia not much to him at all.
Come the day that Cecelia took all the money and there was no way to pay the rent, no way to feed his little bird, and at the first, "Da, I'm hungry," that Sean heard, it was back to the game.
But the luck was flown. His skill was broken and the both of them were thrown in the gaol, Sean and his Francis.
It was two years, no serious charge. Sean called until the phone was disconnected. He wrote until the letters came back. As soon as he was released, he went to the old neighborhood to the landlady that so patiently had waited for his rent.
"She moved in a few blocks away with that no good dealer. She was telling everyone that Neal was his son. The poor little one had a black eye and a bruise half the time. I fear it was not Jim Fair that did it. Your Cecelia was always in a bad temper."
"Where?" Sean said. Better rid of Cecelia, but not of his little bird.
"Jim Fair was killed in a gun fight and Cecelia died in their apartment of an overdose. Your little son was taken by the social services. I'm sorry."
OooOooO
No one would tell Sean what happened to Neal. Adopted they said. How were they to know that Cecelia lied about Jim Fair being his father?
His little bird. His Neal. All Sean could hope was that the family who adopted him loved him. That they sang him "Too Ra Loo Ra Li" and waltzed him around the room.
OooOooO
"I opened my adoption when I was eighteen. It just didn't work, Peter. They were older and I was so active. They tried so hard to love me, but I guess I wasn't very lovable." Neal said, holding the death certificate.
"You know that's not true," Peter said.
Neal shot luminous beams of blue at Peter, arrows to his heart. Peter shook his head. If Neal could win his pursuer's heart, how could his adoptive parents fail to love him?"
"I could hardly remember my mother except that she was so beautiful, but I remembered him, my father. He called me "Little Bird". He sang me a song; Bing Crosby sang it. Too Ra Loo Ra Li, an Irish Lullaby."
Neal put the death certificate on the table, smoothed it. "I took my birth name back as soon as I could. It took me years to track him down and then I found he was gone. Shot to death in a robbery, his body shielding the teenage clerk who was the real target. He had this friend, Francis who was..."
Now Neal smiled. "Francis was a scoundrel. He taught me everything I know. He was my father's partner, his lover, faithful to the end. He taught me that love comes in many forms and that true love is better than the biggest score. He always warned me to beware the pretty face."
"Your uncle, Francis, was a wise man," Peter said.
"He was," Neal said. "Peter, I didn't get to attend my father's funeral. Please take me to attend Francis'.
"I was just coming to tell you that Hughes approved the travel," Peter said. "El wants to go also. If you want."
"I want," Neal said.
Arms around him, wings trembling to fly. Peter won't let this little bird fall to the ground. Never.
The end
Author: Ursula
Rating: rating: PG
Genre and/or Pairing: Peter/Neal UST
Notes: Came out of no where and demanded to be written.
Spoilers: None noted
Warnings: Schmoop Alert. Child Neal
Word Count: 1436
Summary: Neal has always been attracted to loving men and bad women.
1. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Title: Little Bird
Cecilia was a beauty, her blue eyes to match his own in hue. She was so tiny with minute features, cupid bow lips, the lower so full and lush. Her hair was sable brown and her skin so fair. Sean Caffrey liked the way they looked together and his Francis O'Mallory, his friend, his partner, his lover was very amused at how taken Sean was.
Would he have married her if she did not place his hand on the gentle swelling on her thin abdomen? Most likely not. His Francis agreed with him and it was a good life they had together when the both of them were out of prison. Sean was an old fashioned sort, raised with old money and manners before he went so willing, wildly astray. He lifted the best wedding ring that he could get his thieving hands upon and went down on his knee to propose. Of course, she said yes. Sean found the pin pricks in the condoms after all.
Sean knew Cecelia was flighty. He missed the part about the heroin and a little of this and that or whatever she could score until the fourth month when she was arrested supplying her habit. Sean was off probation and he turned his charm on the social workers and the prosecutor with telling success. She agreed to the treatment program and Sean played it straight, finding a job as a janitor and asking his dear Francis to spend a little time on the west coast to avoid temptation of all sorts. He saw Cecelia every week, his head on her expanding belly as he sang to his growing son. "Too Ra Loo Ra Li"
The boy always kicked when Sean sang, "This little bird", a song Sean heard Roy Orbison sing and if it wasn't Irish, it ought to have been.
"There's a little bird that somebody sends
Down to the earth to live on the wind.
Born on the wind and he sleeps on the wind
This little bird that somebody sends.
He's light and fragile and feathered sky blue,
So thin and graceful the sun shines through.
This little bird who lives on the wind,
This little bird that somebody sends.
He flies so high up in the sky
Out of reach of human eye.
And the only time that he touches the ground
Is when that little bird
Is when that little bird
Is when that little bird dies"
Cecelia said that was a terrible song to sing to the baby, but Sean didn't agree. It was not that the bird died; it was that it had wings that kept it free. After so many times in prison, Sean did not take freedom for granted.
Their son was born clean, they said. At least, he did not have to be withdrawn with a tiny drip of heroin. Cecelia had not ridden the horse long. However, little Neal was tiny and frail. He had colic a lot and Cecelia could not endure the long nights, pacing the floor with the little stiff body, screaming and kicking. If Sean suspected it was not colic at all, the magical point turned at three months and from that point, Neal was all sunshine.
"Too Ra Loo Ra Li, my little bird," Sean sang, Neal warm against his bare chest. "Too Ra Loo Ra Li" as he waltzed the little one over the floor of the dingy room that was all he could afford.
The diapers and the formula cost so much. There was that program to help, but it was difficult for Sean to leave work to get to the appointments and Cecelia seemed always to forget. She sometimes forgot to change the diapers too so Sean asked his Francis to come back and keep an eye. Francis loved the little one as much as Sean and Neal grew strong, chubby legs and arms wrapped around his da and his Sis, all that the little boy could make of Francis to Sean's delight.
Ah, the work was weary and Sean was ready, he was, to pack it in and see if there was any way his angry parents would do for Neal if not for their errant son. They would do, they said. If Sean would have a blood test to prove his little bird was their own blood and bone. If Sean would sign Neal over and step away from his life.
"Too Ra Loo Ra Li", Sean walked his son to the park, feeding the swans, hand in Francis' hand as if they were his son's parents and Cecelia not much to him at all.
Come the day that Cecelia took all the money and there was no way to pay the rent, no way to feed his little bird, and at the first, "Da, I'm hungry," that Sean heard, it was back to the game.
But the luck was flown. His skill was broken and the both of them were thrown in the gaol, Sean and his Francis.
It was two years, no serious charge. Sean called until the phone was disconnected. He wrote until the letters came back. As soon as he was released, he went to the old neighborhood to the landlady that so patiently had waited for his rent.
"She moved in a few blocks away with that no good dealer. She was telling everyone that Neal was his son. The poor little one had a black eye and a bruise half the time. I fear it was not Jim Fair that did it. Your Cecelia was always in a bad temper."
"Where?" Sean said. Better rid of Cecelia, but not of his little bird.
"Jim Fair was killed in a gun fight and Cecelia died in their apartment of an overdose. Your little son was taken by the social services. I'm sorry."
OooOooO
No one would tell Sean what happened to Neal. Adopted they said. How were they to know that Cecelia lied about Jim Fair being his father?
His little bird. His Neal. All Sean could hope was that the family who adopted him loved him. That they sang him "Too Ra Loo Ra Li" and waltzed him around the room.
OooOooO
"I opened my adoption when I was eighteen. It just didn't work, Peter. They were older and I was so active. They tried so hard to love me, but I guess I wasn't very lovable." Neal said, holding the death certificate.
"You know that's not true," Peter said.
Neal shot luminous beams of blue at Peter, arrows to his heart. Peter shook his head. If Neal could win his pursuer's heart, how could his adoptive parents fail to love him?"
"I could hardly remember my mother except that she was so beautiful, but I remembered him, my father. He called me "Little Bird". He sang me a song; Bing Crosby sang it. Too Ra Loo Ra Li, an Irish Lullaby."
Neal put the death certificate on the table, smoothed it. "I took my birth name back as soon as I could. It took me years to track him down and then I found he was gone. Shot to death in a robbery, his body shielding the teenage clerk who was the real target. He had this friend, Francis who was..."
Now Neal smiled. "Francis was a scoundrel. He taught me everything I know. He was my father's partner, his lover, faithful to the end. He taught me that love comes in many forms and that true love is better than the biggest score. He always warned me to beware the pretty face."
"Your uncle, Francis, was a wise man," Peter said.
"He was," Neal said. "Peter, I didn't get to attend my father's funeral. Please take me to attend Francis'.
"I was just coming to tell you that Hughes approved the travel," Peter said. "El wants to go also. If you want."
"I want," Neal said.
Arms around him, wings trembling to fly. Peter won't let this little bird fall to the ground. Never.
The end
