On Tuesdays, FBI Agent Andrew goes to rehab for his blown-out shoulder.
Neil is living there, learning to walk again.
Andrew hates Neil on sight - he’s so fucking determined to walk again.
When asked, he says ‘I want to run.’ Like he still believes in fairytales.
That doesn’t mean Andrew doesn’t watch Neil when he’s there - the guy is hard not to look at, like an abstract painting where every time you look there’s something new.
“Rude to stare at a man’s scars,” Neil calls Andrew out.
“Staring at your ass, actually,” Andrew drawls.
They exchange barbs after that.
Neil can be sassy even when he’s sweating balls on his crutches, it seems.
Andrew’s shoulder is nearly there. Neil still struggles to walk 15m.
“But I couldn’t do 1m three months ago so 150% improvement, right?”
“Almost as much as I hate you,” he tells Neil and Neil laughs.
“And how much is that? I doubt you’ve hit abject loathing yet, haven’t tried to cut anything off me yet.” He waggles his hand that’s missing it’s pinky.
Andrew hates his positivity.
Hates how Neil can stay so focused even when the world has always worked against him.
Hates finding out that Neil isn’t an agent but an analyst who turned coat on his notorious criminal family.
Hates knowing that the FBI failed him, that the Wesninskis found him and did this.
But Andrew could never guess how much he’d hate to see that fiery determination squashed either.
When he comes for his last session, Neil is in a rage – he’s on the floor and screaming at his therapist.
Andrew knows the scene – knows what must have happened – Neil failing one time more than he can take. Andrew’s been there too. He’s failed and failed and failed and fallen into exactly the same black rage.
But Neil doesn’t calm down.
He moves from rage to panic and suddenly he’s not breathing and Andrew is across the room, batting away the therapist and holding Neil’s neck, telling him to stop. Walking him through how to breathe.
“163%” Andrew tells him. “That’s how much I hate you.”
“Not abject loathing though?”
“Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t blow me, right?”
“171%” Andrew snaps but he’s fighting a simmer of a smirk and Neil is too.
Somehow the banter calms them both.
When the day comes that Andrew is told he no longer has to come to the unit at all (so long as you do your exercises), he stops by to see Neil.
Neil is happy for him, Andrew can see that. But there’s a flicker of frustration there too. And… something else.
“When I get out of here,” Neil says. “Will you go on a date with me?”
It’s the last thing Andrew was expecting. “When you walk out of here, I’ll go on a date with you.”
Because he knows that Andrew isn’t being cruel, he’s saying that because he has faith in Neil.
And because sometimes fairytales are worth believing in.
It’s months later that Neil walks out, slow but steady, from the rehab facility.
Leaning against his car, smoking, Andrew sees Neil before Neil sees him.
He’s beautiful, even against the concrete.
When Neil finally spots him, he crosses on sure feet to stand in front of Andrew. Andrew flicks away his cigarette and trails his gaze from the tips of Neil’s toes to his stupidly blue eyes.
“Rude to stare at a man’s scars,” Neil teases.
“Staring at your mouth actually.” It’s the truth. “I’m going to kiss you now, yes or no?”
“Oh abso-fucking-lutely- yes.”
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