Chapter Text
"Dance with me?" Sara asked Neal. The music in the bar was upbeat and the dance floor was packed with swaying people. They'd be just two more people in a crowd, and that sounded particularly pleasant at the moment.
"You're quite drunk," Neal said gently. "I don't think it's the best idea-"
"Neal. Come on." She stood up and walked away from the bar and towards the floor, not entirely certain that he'd follow her. But she shouldn't have worried, because when she turned around, he was right there.
He was probably just indulging her, but that didn't matter. She had a dance partner.
She took his hand and pulled him in. They swayed along with the music, arms wrapped around each other, not doing anything too complicated, just... being together. But Sara wasn't comfortable. She knew that sooner or later, Neal was going to start asking questions that she didn't particularly want to answer. Preferably, not ever.
She hid her face in his neck and closed her eyes and tried to get her mind to follow suit. She wanted this peaceful moment. Needed it.
She needed a lifetime of peaceful moments, but she wasn't going to get it. Not if Neal stuck around. (Not if she continued in her present line of work, but that was far more peaceful than Neal, so it didn't count.)
"What's on your mind?" he murmured, taking a far gentler route than the interrogation that she'd expected.
"I hate you."
"Okay. Why?"
"Because I care."
Neal let out a little laugh. "That doesn't make sense."
"Nothing makes sense." She pulled away so she could look him in the eye. "That day, in that hospital waiting room, I felt like a wife. Don't look at me like that, I'm not proposing. I felt helpless and angry and worried and two seconds from collapsing and none of that made sense. Because we're not that to each other. I'm not supposed to feel like that." Sara drew a shaky breath.
Neal offered her his handkerchief.
"I'm not going to cry," she said, breathing very carefully, trying desperately to blink away the tears in her eyes. "There's nothing to cry about. Why would I - oh, hell." She snatched the handkerchief and tugged him closer and wiped her tears on his fancy jacket instead.
"I'm okay," Neal whispered in her ear.
"Today. But tomorrow, you'll take another stupid, brilliant risk and solve another case and possibly almost die and I'll be the wife in the waiting room. That is not an excuse for you to propose, don't you dare."
"I wouldn't dare, Ms. Ellis," he said with a slightly shaky voice.
"Are you crying?" She pulled away to see his face.
"Almost," he said.
"Do you want your handkerchief back?"
Neal went down on one knee. The crowd around them stopped swaying and started staring at them.
"I thought I just told you not to propose."
"And I'm not proposing."
"Then?"
"Sara Ellis, would you do me the honour of being my girlfriend, my partner, my that?
Sara pretended to consider for a moment, and probably failed because of the too-wide smile on her face. "You have to cook for me."
"Done."
"Okay then. I'll be your that."
Neal smiled and stood up. "See? We are that," he said softly, so that only she'd hear.
"Shut up and dance," she said, kissing him gently.
"Okay." And they held each other tight, and swayed on, oblivious to the eyes on their backs, and Sara finally felt comfortable.