Scrubs are an aesthetic

Matt squints at her through a screen of smoke, one corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. The cigarette smoke burns at the back of his throat, the nicotine heavy on his tongue. He exhales, obscuring himself from her even more.

She echoes his own word to him, a vow and a promise and a hope. Together. He knows she means it. there is not a lying bone in her body, as deceptive as she is. She can tell an untruth, but she can’t lie to someone she loves. he knows that in his bones, and he smiles against her hair, arms tightening.

“I’d’ve come for you, Red. If i’d known Neal didn’t.” his voice broke on Neal’s name, an abyss 0f emotion. But he swallowed, hard, trying to drown his own feelings in the face of hers. “We shoulda told you, baby. I shoulda let you know.”

Now that he’s apologizing, that she knows the truth -- he didn’t leave me, he didn’t leave me -- she starts focusing on the other things. Like the crack in his voice when he says Neal’s name. It’s hurting him, and it’s scaring him, and that scares her, because nothing scares Matt. She remembers all he’s told her, about Spain, about the loss and grief and an explosion that could’ve been the end to him in every way but physical and she takes his face in hers. “I forgive you. You hear me? I forgive you.” It’s important he knows that, knows that she’s still on his side. Knows that he isn’t alone again. Now they need to come together, to put their fears aside and use their brains. Be the force of power that no one can reckon with. 

Matt squints at her through a screen of smoke, one corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. The cigarette smoke burns at the back of his throat, the nicotine heavy on his tongue. He exhales, obscuring himself from her even more.

She burrows against him like he’s the only safe port in a stormy sea, and his arms tighten around her. he kisses her hair, a brush of lips against the top of her head, fierce and true.

If he’s ever needed forgiveness, it’s not from her. Not from his girl, all shadow and deception. All lies and half-truths. As honest as he is to himself in his darkest moments.

He can’t believe he’d left her like that. Alone. The clues he’dd left had been meant for Neal, and her. He’d thought they’d be together. He’d thought they’d figure it out. But Neal… Neal was in the wind. Neal was a ghost.

“Okay. okay, Scarlett. I’ll never leave you again.” he says. “M’sorry. i thought…” and he admits it to himself, that he thought she’d loved Neal more, just like Kate. Katie had always loved Neal more than him, and he’d thought that Rachel was similar. it’s only now, when she’s trembling with worry against him, that he realizes. he should have known better. He should have seen.

He should have trusted.

“I know. I know, baby. We’ll find him. Together.” And he means you won’t be alone again. He means I’ll never leave you. He means i’ll only leave hen you want me to, not a moment sooner.

She hears his unspoken thoughts and presses closer against him, as if to reassure him. Funny how she’d been mad just moments earlier, but then, he’d always been able to do that. Get under her skin, see what she was really feeling, say what she needed to hear whether she wanted it or not. He promises to never leave her again and she exhales--exhales exhaustion, worry, agony. Matt says a lot of things, but he won’t break this promise, she knows it in her bones. 

“Together,” she echoes. For a moment, she’s quiet, letting herself have a minute of peace before their next crisis. How had she ended up here? No, that wasn’t the right question--she was always going to end up here. A girl like her, the wounds she carried, the way she saw the world--that’s why she fit with them, two conmen who played the most dangerous games they could find. 

Matt squints at her through a screen of smoke, one corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. The cigarette smoke burns at the back of his throat, the nicotine heavy on his tongue. He exhales, obscuring himself from her even more.

I would’ve gone with you. Like it was that easy. And for a moment, his mind runs to that: a year with her, living in the shadows, hiding from the world.  Doing whatever they wanted when they felt like it. doing small jobs. living like kings.

but he’d thought Neal wasd going back for her. They never discussed it, but he expected the better part of them, gthe nicer one, to not leave her hanging. Goddamn Neal’s blue eyed soul. If he’d known, he never would have left Rachel like that. Fucking Neal.

she leans in and his arms go around her, natural and easy. Nothing faked about this, nothing calculated. Just Rachel leaning on him, and Kerller lending his support such that it is.

“I don’t know,” he answers. Raw still, honest. As always, with her. Already she’s casting her spell on him, enchantin him into honesty he’d never risk with anyone else.

no. He wants to tell her the truth. He wants to be honest with her, as he always has been, because she’s unafraid of his darkness. He says, pulling her flush against him. “Beleive me, baby. If i thought he was gonna leave you I’d’ve come for you. I thought… I thought different.”

He pulls her close and something inside her unravels, a knot that’s been eating at her heart for a year now. For the first time, she feels like she can breathe, and breathe she does, breathing in his scent, tobacco and gun oil and something earthy. Matt reminds her of a cave, dark and unknowable and in need of a little light, but she found comfort in those rough walls and those deep shadows. A cave was a sanctuary, and he’s hers, the place she can always run to to feel safe. 

His answer does nothing for the ice in her stomach, because a part of them is still missing. And the worst part is, she doesn’t know why? Is this Neal’s way of saying goodbye? Was he hurt? In trouble? The not-knowingness gnaws at her and she buries her face in Matt’s chest. He’s telling her the truth now, she can feel it, and her arms go around his neck.

Matt squints at her through a screen of smoke, one corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. The cigarette smoke burns at the back of his throat, the nicotine heavy on his tongue. He exhales, obscuring himself from her even more.

He grins at her insult, though it cuts right through him. sticks and stones may break my bones, but your words’re gonna destroy me. He inhales, easy, projecting that Bogart energy like it’s gonna save him from having to face her. but Lauren Bacall never took shit from ol’ Bogie, onscreen or off, and Rachel is cut from the same cloth.

If you know where he is makes all the air go out of his lungs. Why doesn’t she know where Neal is? What does she mean? His eyes narrow and he drops his cigarette into a convenient half-empty glass. The plan was for him to disappear, but Neal was supposed to circle back for her. Or at least that’s what Keller expected.

“Couldn’t. Peter, but also his wife. y’know? ‘Less we were both dead, she’d never let it go.” Now his voice isn’t bluff; now he’s not teasing her. now it’s just honesty, raw and painful in a way it’s never been between them. “Whaddaya mean about Neal, sweetheart? didn’t he… didn’t he get you? Isn’t he with you?”

He drops the cigarette and it’s like he’s giving in, but his smile isn’t real and there’s pain that’s flashing behind his eyes. They always did know just where each other’s soft spots were. 

“I know that,” she snaps, all venom and hurt. It’s a year’s worth of torture, of not knowing, of empty beds and cold nights, no matter the temperature. But the way he speaks, it hits her between the ribs. He almost sounded vulnerable, and Matthew fuckin’ Keller was anything but vulnerable. She realizes this has been a year of torture for him too, and she reaches for him, puts her hand on his cheek. “You could’ve told me. I would’ve gone with you.”   For a moment, she’s confused. Why’s he playing with her like this? Of course, he knows where Neal is, that’s got to be the plan, but... Isn’t he with you? echoes against her skull and for the first time she thinks maybe she’s made a horrible mistake. She thought Neal and Keller were together--or at least in contact. But the way Matt’s talking, some part of the plan didn’t work out. Didn’t he get you?

Matt squints at her through a screen of smoke, one corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. The cigarette smoke burns at the back of his throat, the nicotine heavy on his tongue. He exhales, obscuring himself from her even more.

“Do you know? About Neal?” She’s aggressive, taking a step toward him, her voice hard because her heart isn’t. If he looks at her in that way, she’ll collapse under the weight of it all. First Matt, then Neal. Both of them gone. Eight million people in the city and it felt like a ghost town. Like all the air had left. Peter tried consoling her, comforting her, reasoning with her, but she wouldn’t hear it. Rachel held on to her belief, because she couldn’t cope with them both being dead. It was destruction on a molecular level her soul could not abide.

White Collar season4-(9)

His hand clenched on the lighter at her question. A sharp smile curved his lips as his eyes moved away from her.

“Who are you really, and what were you before? What did you do and what did you think, huh?” He was quoting from Casablanca, evading her question. The next line was Ilsa’s, of course; it’s a flashback scene, of a happier time for the two of them. He and Neal and Kate had watched that goddamn movie over and over in the long hot days and sultry nights of their summer in Spain and France. Kate had said Rick should have gotten on the plane, too, or else Ilsa and Laszlo should have stayed and helped run Rick’s. Love triangles are so boring, she complained. But she loved that fucking movie, the tragedy of Rick and ilsa’s love, the noble selflessness of Victor Laszlo.

He suddenly wonders if Ilsa and Laszlo’s plane ever touched down. Or if it reached a tarmac somewhere and then went up in flames just when they thought they were safe. If Rick had ever recovered. He let out an attempt at a laugh, shaking his head and closing his eyes.

“I lost everyone I ever loved,” he said, surprising himself with his own honesty. “I got nothing left to lose ‘cept my own life.” That’s not entirely true: Neal’s in New York. Neal hates him, but at least the kid is alive. He lifted the whiskey to his lips again, letting it burn through him so he didn’t have to think about that. He glanced at her, eyes flashing.

“Y’want the whole tragic backstory already? Y’move fast. We ain’t even slept together yet. You gotta have at least five orgasms before I tell you all that, sorry. I don’t make the rules, I just live by ‘em.” But he grinned at her again, boyishly sweet. He doesn’t mean it, not really. She just got a touch too close; for no reason at all, he’s within an inch of telling her about Katie and Neal and Spain. 

No, not for no reason. He likes  her. 

Fuck.

She tilted her head as he quoted the movie. It stirred something in her memory, something from better days. Sitting on the couch in her parents’ home, eating popcorn, teasing her brother. Who was that girl? Had that ever really been her or was it just a dream? 

His honesty surprised her, and that’s a rare thing these days–both the honesty and the surprise. Her life is lies and deception, and she’d grown skilled at anticipating people’s responses. Her life often depended on it. But there’s a rawness to what he’s saying, a brutal vulnerability, and it was so unexpected for that for a moment she was speechless. Just sipped at her drink and listened to him try to cover it up with jokes about sex, only he can’t. He can’t take back that raw honesty, that genuineness that let her glimpse past the mask. And the jokes aren’t as pointed as before. They’re not designed to knock her off balance. He’s diving for cover and maybe he’s hoping she didn’t hear it. But it had left his lips and sailed straight through her armor, into the place where she kept her own rawness. 

Had she lost everything she’d ever loved? Had she ever loved anything at all? It was so hard to remember now. Maybe she’d just lost everything, loved or not. Maybe she’d never had it in the first place. 

“I guess I just wanna know what game we’re playing,” she said finally, and she smiled. She should’ve found him crude, been annoyed at his vulgarity. But something in her recognized something in him, and now she couldn’t unsee it. 

“ why are you awake? “

“ i can’t sleep. “

“ go to bed already. “

“ i’m a being of pure power, i don’t need sleep. “

“ i’ve been running on 5 hour energy all day, there’s no stopping now. “

“ i’m. so. tired. “

“ i had a nightmare. “

“ it’s nothing, go back to bed. “

“ when’s the last time you slept? “

“ you’re clearly exhausted. why are you doing this to yourself? “ 

“ wake up. wake up. wake uuuuup. “

“ i’ll sleep when i’m dead. “

“ yawning doesn’t mean i’m tired! maybe i’m just bored by you telling me to go to sleep so much. “

“ is something wrong? “

“ i just need to finish what i’m doing, then i’ll sleep. “

“ you said you were about to go to bed two hours ago. c’mon, time’s up. “

“ is it okay if i sleep in your bed tonight? i’m kinda freaked out. “

“ stop bossing me around, you’re not my mom. i’ll go to sleep when i want to. “

“ you’re pouring coffee all over the counter. “ 

“ why are you making hot pockets at 3 am? “