The Icing on a Mud Cake
Mar. 14th, 2015 05:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hurinhouseTitle: The Icing on a Mud Cake
Author: hurinhouse
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: G
Characters: Peter, Neal
Summary: Will anything go right for Peter today?
Disclaimer: Entirely fiction
Word Count: 547
Notes: For Elrhiarhodan's Promptfest IX for the prompt: Peter - Salvage
The takedown had been long, dirty, and Neal-less. It had started earlier than their informant had advised and lasted far longer than anyone had anticipated due to the suspects' resistance to being hauled off to jail. So Peter hadn't eaten since breakfast.
The suit Neal had helped him pick out last week had been smeared in alley waste and torn on the edge of a garbage bin when he'd had to run down the guy who'd slipped away. His muscles are screaming and he has blisters from that same eleven block run. He hadn't been able to tag-team the guy with Neal like they used to since he'd gotten a job with MoMA when his sentence ended last month.
His cell is still shutting off every half hour because he hadn't had a chance to go to Verizon during his non-existent lunch hour. He'd forgotten to take the trash out that morning, so the shed will smell for a week. And he can't get takeout on his way home because he'd left his wallet on his dresser.
El is out of town and Neal has a gala to attend. On Peter's birthday.
He'd just take a frozen pizza, a hot shower and his tv. But that's not going to happen since he hadn't gone to the grocery and the cable went out last night. The only good thing about being alone on his birthday is that he won't be dragged out for a night on the town.
The lights are on. He assumes El's home early, but pulls his service weapon just in case. He opens the door slowly, smells something wonderful, and puts his gun away.
"El?"
"Hey Peter."
"Neal? I thought you had to pull museum duty tonight."
"It's your birthday. I got out of it."
Neal comes around the corner, a dish towel in his hand and looks Peter over. "Uh, maybe you should grab a shower first."
"Yeah, that might be good."
The water's as hot as he can get it and he stays in longer than El usually lets him. When he comes downstairs he can smell beef, so he assumes Neal's made Filet Mignon or something fancy like that. But hey, it's food so he'll deal.
The table is so far away. He just has to close his eyes for a minute, so he crashes on the couch before hearing Neal clear his throat. He's standing in front of him with a plate, places it on Peter's lap with a flourish. A cheeseburger and homemade fries. He sets a beer on the end table.
Peter's face splits into a smile. "Seriously?"
"It's your birthday, Peter, not mine. Did you want Chicken L'orange?"
"Nope." The burger is amazing, juicy and medium rare, just the way he loves it. Fries crispy on the outside, soft on the inside.
Neal turns the tv on and... it works. He flips through channels till he gets to a hockey puck slamming into a backstop.
"You fixed the cable?"
"I had a little help."
Mozzie.
"Jones told you about the op?"
He nods, "Not as fun as when I was there I'd bet." That's for sure. Neal leans back into the sofa beside him and shrugs. "Thought I could salvage your birthday."
Peter smiles, "Best birthday ever."
Author: hurinhouse
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: G
Characters: Peter, Neal
Summary: Will anything go right for Peter today?
Disclaimer: Entirely fiction
Word Count: 547
Notes: For Elrhiarhodan's Promptfest IX for the prompt: Peter - Salvage
The takedown had been long, dirty, and Neal-less. It had started earlier than their informant had advised and lasted far longer than anyone had anticipated due to the suspects' resistance to being hauled off to jail. So Peter hadn't eaten since breakfast.
The suit Neal had helped him pick out last week had been smeared in alley waste and torn on the edge of a garbage bin when he'd had to run down the guy who'd slipped away. His muscles are screaming and he has blisters from that same eleven block run. He hadn't been able to tag-team the guy with Neal like they used to since he'd gotten a job with MoMA when his sentence ended last month.
His cell is still shutting off every half hour because he hadn't had a chance to go to Verizon during his non-existent lunch hour. He'd forgotten to take the trash out that morning, so the shed will smell for a week. And he can't get takeout on his way home because he'd left his wallet on his dresser.
El is out of town and Neal has a gala to attend. On Peter's birthday.
He'd just take a frozen pizza, a hot shower and his tv. But that's not going to happen since he hadn't gone to the grocery and the cable went out last night. The only good thing about being alone on his birthday is that he won't be dragged out for a night on the town.
The lights are on. He assumes El's home early, but pulls his service weapon just in case. He opens the door slowly, smells something wonderful, and puts his gun away.
"El?"
"Hey Peter."
"Neal? I thought you had to pull museum duty tonight."
"It's your birthday. I got out of it."
Neal comes around the corner, a dish towel in his hand and looks Peter over. "Uh, maybe you should grab a shower first."
"Yeah, that might be good."
The water's as hot as he can get it and he stays in longer than El usually lets him. When he comes downstairs he can smell beef, so he assumes Neal's made Filet Mignon or something fancy like that. But hey, it's food so he'll deal.
The table is so far away. He just has to close his eyes for a minute, so he crashes on the couch before hearing Neal clear his throat. He's standing in front of him with a plate, places it on Peter's lap with a flourish. A cheeseburger and homemade fries. He sets a beer on the end table.
Peter's face splits into a smile. "Seriously?"
"It's your birthday, Peter, not mine. Did you want Chicken L'orange?"
"Nope." The burger is amazing, juicy and medium rare, just the way he loves it. Fries crispy on the outside, soft on the inside.
Neal turns the tv on and... it works. He flips through channels till he gets to a hockey puck slamming into a backstop.
"You fixed the cable?"
"I had a little help."
Mozzie.
"Jones told you about the op?"
He nods, "Not as fun as when I was there I'd bet." That's for sure. Neal leans back into the sofa beside him and shrugs. "Thought I could salvage your birthday."
Peter smiles, "Best birthday ever."
