![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hurinhouseTitle: The Affinity of Artists, Children, and Ficus Trees
Author: hurinhouse
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: G
Characters: Peter, Neal, Mozzie, OFC
Summary: When will Peter learn to trust Neal?
Disclaimer: Entirely fiction
Word Count: 1263
Notes: For Elrhiarhodan's Promptfest IX for the prompt: Peter - bored
Another excuse. Another con.
"June's having a charity lupper, Peter. Mind if I head out?"
"Lupper?"
"An afternoon brunch. You know, lunch, supper... lupper."
It started all the way back when they were chasing The Dutchman. Neal had come to Peter, asked for help in finding Kate. As far as Peter knows, he'd been completely honest. His reward? Peter had scoffed, insisted Neal had been played, and basically refused to help him. He'd always regretted the precedent he'd set that day, driving the honesty out of Neal's approach, forcing him to go behind Peter's back from then on. Neal may not technically lie to Peter, but everyone knows he finds a way around the truth when the need arises. He undoubtedly would have trusted Peter more over the years if Peter hadn't have acted as if all Neal's friends must surely be worthless. And there's really nothing Peter can ever do to fix that.
So here Neal is, sneaking around again, and Peter's following him as though he's some jilted lover and needs to see evidence for himself. The only positive in all this is Peter's increasing ability to actually follow Neal on occasion without giving himself away - a point of pride he's smart enough not to share with Neal.
The first time Peter had seen the hospital visit on Neal's tracking records was a few days after the fact. He'd been a bit concerned that Neal had been in some scuffle without telling Peter, but he'd seemed fine and said he'd been visiting a friend. Of course he'd skirted the question of whom.
The third time he'd seen the location, Peter would have been worried Neal had a chronic disease if he didn't seem like the healthiest person Peter knew. There'd been more months than not mixed in without a hospital visit over the year, but Neal had been off anklet during small snatches of those months so he could have slipped it in with no one knowing.
It's the fifth time now within a year and a half; Peter wants to know what's going on. He can tell by the way Neal begs off work for the rest of the afternoon, strategically asking more casually than normal. Oh Neal will cover his tracks - he'll be sure to show up at June's before day turns to evening, eat something fancy and donate money to some charity, ticking off every technicality. But he's not going to June's right now.
As soon as he leaves Peter's office, Peter sends an email down to the parking garage, letting the attendant know he needs to borrow the Chevy asap. The one Neal doesn't know about. He pulls up the tracking software on his phone and takes the opposite elevator down two minutes after Neal.
He'd studied a pattern in Neal's tracking traffic the first three visits, knows what to watch for. The cafe around the corner; check. But that could happen any time. Peter keeps back from the cab far enough not to be noticed, pulls over when it does. The arts and crafts supply store, just like before - bingo. Peter waits till Neal heads inside, then pulls ahead to the hospital. He parks in an obscure spot and waits in the lobby, in a private area for aggrieved family members, thankfully empty.
Six minutes later Mozzie walks in. Of course they're in it together, whatever it is. The short guy doesn't stop at the front desk but heads straight for the elevators, waving at the smiling receptionist, who waves back as though he's a harbinger of good things to come. Peter melts into the woodwork, feels utterly ridiculous hiding behind a grouping of ficus trees in a corner. Mozzie carries a long duffle bag and when he steps into the elevator he pulls out a small ipod speaker before the doors close. Peter heads toward the elevator but does an about face to ficus safety when he sees Neal sauntering up to the sliding glass doors.
Neal bears bags of his own, smaller than Mozzie's, plastic with the art store's logo. The receptionist flushes at his slick smile like a love-struck teen. He stops to charm her for a few minutes but other than the flirty laugh she lets slip a couple of times, their voices are too soft to carry. Peter waits in his ficus jungle till Neal steps onto the elevator, noting on which floor the car stops. Each previous time, Neal's been here two hours on the dot. So Peter waits another twenty minutes before heading up himself.
A mixture of light music and laughter grow as Peter steps out onto the third floor and creeps down the pediatric halls. He's heard that music before, from a long weekend he'd spent at his brother's with his nephews. Raffi, kids songs. He hates those songs - they get into his head and he can't ditch them for days. He slows as he gets close to the source, takes a peek around the corner of the common room.
Not a scam. Not a fraud. Not an illness or a questionable friend in need. Neal paints at an easel, set up at the far end of the room, a simple view of a lake partially done on the canvas - much too simple for Neal's talents. The piece looks familiar but not, like it's a dumbed down version of something Peter knows. Ten smaller easels stand behind Neal, seven of which are being used by children in hospital gowns and robes, one or two in sweats. Neal speaks periodically as he paints, instructing on how to create a brushstroke, a color mix.
Mozzie mans the CD player and circles the easels, offering corrections on each kid's piece, guiding them in a direction to make their own version of the master's original. A nurse keeps watch at the back of the room, clearly used to the scene.
Peter backs out before he's seen and finds the nearest nurse's station. The woman in scrubs typing on the computer seems happy to be interrupted by the way her arms stretch over her head. Peter starts asking questions. How long have these painting lessons been going on? Are they on a regular basis? How are the instructors with the kids?
It turns out Mr. Halden and Mr. Haversham have been doing this off and on for a year, almost two, and it's always a hit with the kids. The staff would love to have them come in more often, but the gentlemen's business is apparently sporadic so they show up periodically when they can get away.
Peter leaves the hospital before he's found out; Neal doesn't need another reason not to trust him. Another intriguing piece to the puzzle that is Neal, and Mozzie. He's in a great mood the rest of his day, humming the tune to Down By the Bay during supply requisition forms, not even hating the song. His Google search confirms his suspicion - Neal had been painting a primitive version of one of Afremov's works. Primitive meaning... not a forgery.
Peter's buoyancy spills over to the next morning and he stops by Starbucks, picking up Neal's favorite latte and muffin. Neal practically beams when Peter silently drops them off at his desk and Peter cheerfully greets Jones and Diana on his way, humming again, up the stairs.
When he opens his door he stops cold. Three large ficus trees occupy the previously empty corner of his office. A bright red bow around the one in the front. Temper affectively modified.
"Caffrey!"
Author: hurinhouse
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: G
Characters: Peter, Neal, Mozzie, OFC
Summary: When will Peter learn to trust Neal?
Disclaimer: Entirely fiction
Word Count: 1263
Notes: For Elrhiarhodan's Promptfest IX for the prompt: Peter - bored
Another excuse. Another con.
"June's having a charity lupper, Peter. Mind if I head out?"
"Lupper?"
"An afternoon brunch. You know, lunch, supper... lupper."
It started all the way back when they were chasing The Dutchman. Neal had come to Peter, asked for help in finding Kate. As far as Peter knows, he'd been completely honest. His reward? Peter had scoffed, insisted Neal had been played, and basically refused to help him. He'd always regretted the precedent he'd set that day, driving the honesty out of Neal's approach, forcing him to go behind Peter's back from then on. Neal may not technically lie to Peter, but everyone knows he finds a way around the truth when the need arises. He undoubtedly would have trusted Peter more over the years if Peter hadn't have acted as if all Neal's friends must surely be worthless. And there's really nothing Peter can ever do to fix that.
So here Neal is, sneaking around again, and Peter's following him as though he's some jilted lover and needs to see evidence for himself. The only positive in all this is Peter's increasing ability to actually follow Neal on occasion without giving himself away - a point of pride he's smart enough not to share with Neal.
The first time Peter had seen the hospital visit on Neal's tracking records was a few days after the fact. He'd been a bit concerned that Neal had been in some scuffle without telling Peter, but he'd seemed fine and said he'd been visiting a friend. Of course he'd skirted the question of whom.
The third time he'd seen the location, Peter would have been worried Neal had a chronic disease if he didn't seem like the healthiest person Peter knew. There'd been more months than not mixed in without a hospital visit over the year, but Neal had been off anklet during small snatches of those months so he could have slipped it in with no one knowing.
It's the fifth time now within a year and a half; Peter wants to know what's going on. He can tell by the way Neal begs off work for the rest of the afternoon, strategically asking more casually than normal. Oh Neal will cover his tracks - he'll be sure to show up at June's before day turns to evening, eat something fancy and donate money to some charity, ticking off every technicality. But he's not going to June's right now.
As soon as he leaves Peter's office, Peter sends an email down to the parking garage, letting the attendant know he needs to borrow the Chevy asap. The one Neal doesn't know about. He pulls up the tracking software on his phone and takes the opposite elevator down two minutes after Neal.
He'd studied a pattern in Neal's tracking traffic the first three visits, knows what to watch for. The cafe around the corner; check. But that could happen any time. Peter keeps back from the cab far enough not to be noticed, pulls over when it does. The arts and crafts supply store, just like before - bingo. Peter waits till Neal heads inside, then pulls ahead to the hospital. He parks in an obscure spot and waits in the lobby, in a private area for aggrieved family members, thankfully empty.
Six minutes later Mozzie walks in. Of course they're in it together, whatever it is. The short guy doesn't stop at the front desk but heads straight for the elevators, waving at the smiling receptionist, who waves back as though he's a harbinger of good things to come. Peter melts into the woodwork, feels utterly ridiculous hiding behind a grouping of ficus trees in a corner. Mozzie carries a long duffle bag and when he steps into the elevator he pulls out a small ipod speaker before the doors close. Peter heads toward the elevator but does an about face to ficus safety when he sees Neal sauntering up to the sliding glass doors.
Neal bears bags of his own, smaller than Mozzie's, plastic with the art store's logo. The receptionist flushes at his slick smile like a love-struck teen. He stops to charm her for a few minutes but other than the flirty laugh she lets slip a couple of times, their voices are too soft to carry. Peter waits in his ficus jungle till Neal steps onto the elevator, noting on which floor the car stops. Each previous time, Neal's been here two hours on the dot. So Peter waits another twenty minutes before heading up himself.
A mixture of light music and laughter grow as Peter steps out onto the third floor and creeps down the pediatric halls. He's heard that music before, from a long weekend he'd spent at his brother's with his nephews. Raffi, kids songs. He hates those songs - they get into his head and he can't ditch them for days. He slows as he gets close to the source, takes a peek around the corner of the common room.
Not a scam. Not a fraud. Not an illness or a questionable friend in need. Neal paints at an easel, set up at the far end of the room, a simple view of a lake partially done on the canvas - much too simple for Neal's talents. The piece looks familiar but not, like it's a dumbed down version of something Peter knows. Ten smaller easels stand behind Neal, seven of which are being used by children in hospital gowns and robes, one or two in sweats. Neal speaks periodically as he paints, instructing on how to create a brushstroke, a color mix.
Mozzie mans the CD player and circles the easels, offering corrections on each kid's piece, guiding them in a direction to make their own version of the master's original. A nurse keeps watch at the back of the room, clearly used to the scene.
Peter backs out before he's seen and finds the nearest nurse's station. The woman in scrubs typing on the computer seems happy to be interrupted by the way her arms stretch over her head. Peter starts asking questions. How long have these painting lessons been going on? Are they on a regular basis? How are the instructors with the kids?
It turns out Mr. Halden and Mr. Haversham have been doing this off and on for a year, almost two, and it's always a hit with the kids. The staff would love to have them come in more often, but the gentlemen's business is apparently sporadic so they show up periodically when they can get away.
Peter leaves the hospital before he's found out; Neal doesn't need another reason not to trust him. Another intriguing piece to the puzzle that is Neal, and Mozzie. He's in a great mood the rest of his day, humming the tune to Down By the Bay during supply requisition forms, not even hating the song. His Google search confirms his suspicion - Neal had been painting a primitive version of one of Afremov's works. Primitive meaning... not a forgery.
Peter's buoyancy spills over to the next morning and he stops by Starbucks, picking up Neal's favorite latte and muffin. Neal practically beams when Peter silently drops them off at his desk and Peter cheerfully greets Jones and Diana on his way, humming again, up the stairs.
When he opens his door he stops cold. Three large ficus trees occupy the previously empty corner of his office. A bright red bow around the one in the front. Temper affectively modified.
"Caffrey!"
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2015-03-20 11:01 am (UTC)thanks for reading and commenting - I appreciate your support!
no subject
Date: 2015-03-20 07:27 pm (UTC)Glad to offer support! I generally try to respond if I can, and it's especially fun to do so when the author responds back, too :-)
no subject
Date: 2015-03-21 09:49 pm (UTC)oooooo, that thought might spark a fic!
no subject
Date: 2015-03-21 10:23 pm (UTC)