Together In Paris

Sara

Sara loved London. She loved the rich history of the buildings lining the embankment, the beautiful lush parks, and the huge galleries bursting with art. She loved the smell of roasting nuts that filled the air outside the museums. She loved the pelicans of St James's Park, and the view from the Greenwich observatory. She loved the beautiful theatres, and the stories of scams, cons and murder on the historic streets.
This city was vibrant with history, culture and art. It was a city close to her heart.
The only thing that Sara absolutely hated about London, was the ghosts of the underground. She would sit on the chairs, or stand by the doors, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him.
Maybe it was a reflection in the window, or a trick of the light, but she kept seeing him. Just for a moment. Then he vanished into the crowds once again.

It had been months since Sara believed herself to be over Neal Caffery. She hadn't thought about him. Not once in almost two months. Then the news had come through. He was gone. Once she found out he was gone, she couldn't get him off her mind.
On the streets she could handle it. There were so many people and so much noise, that if she saw him, or heard him, or smelt a whiff of his cologne, it meant nothing. It was pure chance. A fleeting moment, drowned by noise and life.
On the underground, there was nothing. The people were silent, and they were stuck in a tunnel. There was no escape. If she saw him, she knew her mind was playing tricks on her. He never took the subway in a city he loved, why would he take the underground in one be didn't?

Then came the day that the package arrived.

It came directly to her small house in West Brompton. She almost missed it. There was an air mail stamp that said it was from Manhattan. At first she thought it was a case. Then she thought that would go to her office. She assumed this was from Peter. After all, no one else knew her address. Well, no one else but Neal.
Curiosity got the better of Sara. She opened the box. Inside, was a note, and a smaller box. Sara opened the note first. The handwriting was unfamiliar. It was cursive and flowing, and rather lovely.

Dear Sara

I have the blessing, and burden, of having everything Neal owned before his untimely passing. I have plenty of jewellery, and I have plenty to remember him by. Yet it occurs to me that you have nothing. Thinking about this made me sorry not to have done so earlier.
Take it. Neal would want you to have it. As do I.

Yours faithfully,

June.

A beautiful, silver ring, with a large tear drop diamond sitting on the top. This was the only ring that had been used in the only engagement Sara had ever agreed to. It had almost broken her heart to give it back. That was the last time she had seen Neal. Again the tears stung her eyes.
Sara slipped the ring onto her finger, as Neal had done before. A rush of buried memories reared their ugly heads. The only one that kept coming back, again and again, was Paris.

Neal always talked about whisking her away to Paris once his anklet was gone. Thinking about those broken promises gave her a sudden shot of motivation.
She decided to take a leaf from Neal's book, and be spontaneous.

-

Dawn barely had time to break above St Pancras station before the Eurostar started running. It was still dark, and cold, and raining. Like any other British autumn morning.

Sara hadn't had time to sleep between booking tickets, packing, and heading for the station. She'd call her boss from Paris and tell him she wasn't coming in. After all she was supposed to be on grief leave. So she was going to spend a weekend grieving in Paris. Just like Neal would.
Sara crashed into her seat after pushing her suitcase into the storage. She had never been one for staring dreamily out of the window, but this time she made an exception. Eurostar took two and a half hours to get to central Paris, and Sara didn't feel much like interacting with other passengers.

Ten minutes into their journey, Sara noticed a man in a fedora at the end of the train. His hair was dark and his skin was milky. But that had to be coincidence. She was going to another country to honour him. He couldn't be on the train before she got there. Not even Neal Caffery could come back from the dead like that.
About forty minutes into the journey, Sara had grown agitated and impatient. It had been a long time since her days of stakeouts. Her new job allowed Sara to get a good night's sleep most nights, so she wasn't used to this anymore. With no caffeine to help her, Sara was crashing. And so were her tolerance levels.
One thing she was grateful for, was that no one else was sitting around her. The two seats in front of her had been reserved for a couple that never turned up, and the man who was sitting next to her moved to sit with his husband. She was on her own.
That also meant that she didn't have to worry about someone stealing her seat when she got up. When she finally broke and decided she needed coffee, she was sure no one was going to steal her seat. Even so she kept an eye out for anyone who might. There was no reason to trust anyone here, so she didn't.

Old habits die hard.

Sara joined the line for coffee. It was relatively short, considering how early it was. When she saw the Italian roast on offer it was hard to fight her need for it.
Sara sunk back into her chair, slumping down with her coffee to her chest. The warmth of the coffee burned into her fingers and filled her chest. Now she was warm, her eyelids were growing heavy. She shifted in her seat, and accident knocked her phone onto the floor. She groaned.
As she was beginning to bend down, someone else got there first. A gentleman in a neatly tailored suit, with milky skin, black hair, and a fedora. He picked up her phone, and laid it on the desk.

"Did you drop this?"

Sara's heart stopped.

She knew that voice.
But it couldn't be...

Slowly, Sara looked up. That familiar shining smile lit up those gorgeous sapphires he had for eyes. His cheekbones defined that rugged chin of his. His beautiful, dead face stole Sara's breath twice.

In delight.
And in terror.
Sara regretted not packing her Taser.