White Collar Fic - The World In Us
Feb. 24th, 2012 12:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elrhiarhodanTitle: The World In Us
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Mozzie, Peter Burke,
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Reference to drug culture, hypothetical drug use (hence PG-13, not G rating). Still more slightly angsty crack. Still of the kitten!fic variety. With added ‘nip.
Word Count: ~2000
Summary: Continues the story from Here Comes That Sinking Feeling. Neal is at the Burke house, watching Peter. He’s bored out of his mind.
A/N: No beta this time - all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Title from a quotation by Anais Nin: “Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.” Many thanks torabidchild67 for her advice about cats on the 'nip.
__________________
“So, where’s the Cat Suit?” Moz shook a small baggie and looked around the kitchen and living room.
“Moz – come on. That wasn’t funny the first time, and it’s not funny now.”
It had been two days since Peter’s transformation, and despite everyone’s urging to keep calm and carry on, Neal wasn’t in a complacent frame of mind.
“I brought him stuff…”
“Stuff?” Neal was almost afraid to ask.
“Yeah – some cat toys. You have to keep cats amused; otherwise they tend to get destructive.” Moz started emptying a bag from Petco on the table. There were stuffed mice and some other stuffed toys, a stick with feathers on the end of a string, and a scratching box.
“This is Peter we’re talking about – he’s not going to get destructive in his own home. He hasn’t so much as flexed his claws into the carpet.”
Peter must have heard his name; both men looked up at the sound of someone running down the steps.
“You know, for a cat, he has a very heavy tread.” Moz remarked and shook the baggie again.
Neal grabbed it out of his hand. “You are not giving Peter any catnip.” He looked at the contents: wilted leaves and stems and flowers.
“It won’t hurt him.”
“Moz – this looks suspiciously like a dime bag. Have you been visiting One-Eyed Pete again?”
“And if I have, it’s none of your business. And this is not weed. It’s fresh catnip, the finest available. Guaranteed to bring pleasure to the most discerning of animals.”
“And you’re not giving it to him, that’s final. Remember - this is Peter. Our friend. My boss. I doubt he’s ever gotten contact high, let alone inhaled.”
“A little ‘nip isn’t going to make him chronic. It doesn’t make cats high.”
“That’s not the point, Mozzie.”
Moz ignored him. “You know, we could give it to him, film it, and upload it to YouTube! Just think of the millions of hits we’d get. Think of all of the feedback, the adulation of the masses!”
“What are you, insane? Even if I agreed to give Peter some catnip, and even if he reacted, and even if you recorded it for posterity – why would it be any different from the millions of stoned kitty videos already on YouTube?”
“Killjoy. Your logic defeats my purpose.” Moz grabbed the catnip back out of Neal’s hand, shoved it in his pocket and tapped on the island counter. Peter sprung up to investigate. Neal watched, appalled, when Moz started flicking the feather thing around and Peter started chasing it.
“Stop it, stop it. Just stop!” He reached for the stick which Moz tried to hold out of Neal’s reach. Which was wasn’t difficult, since Neal had a good six inches on him. The two men grappled and landed on the floor. Peter stalked away triumphant, with a mass of colored feathers in his mouth and a string and stick trailing behind.
Moz got up, dusted himself off and glared at Neal. “This is the last time I try to bring a little happiness into your life. See if I provide treats when you get turned into a kitten. Again.”
That hurt, but Neal stood his ground. “This is Peter, Moz – you can’t treat him like a dumb animal. You have to respect his dignity.”
Moz just shook his head. “Neal – for the next few days, he’s a housecat. He should enjoy himself. Dignity his highly overrated.” Moz fished a small metal cylinder from his pocket and started flicking it up and down. Peter dropped the feathers and started chasing the little red dot all around the kitchen. Satchmo let out a sigh and rolled over, probably disgusted with all of them.
Neal took the pointer away from Moz, gathered up the toys and shoved them back into the bag. “Moz, I know you mean well – but Peter doesn’t need any of this stuff. We’re going to settle down on the couch and watch a few episodes of Law and Order. I’m going to take Satch for a walk, make us all dinner and call Elizabeth, She and Peter will have a lovely conversation, she’ll tell me again not to worry, and that will be that. I’ll turn on the Yankees game for Peter, which he’ll watch as raptly as if he were human, while I’ll probably pass out from the boredom.”
“Sounds like another thrilling night at Chez Burke.” Moz wasn’t at all sympathetic.
“Yeah – and guess what? I get to do this all over again tomorrow and the day after. Instead of bringing cat treats and trying to corrupt Peter, you could follow up with your contact at the Egyptian Embassy and find out how long it will be until the statue is restored to its temple.”
Moz hurrumphed. “Yeah, yeah – you know what, Neal?”
“No, what?”
“It’s a lot more fun when you’re turned into a kitten. Suit and Mrs. Suit don’t seem to have the hang-ups about dignity and proper behavior that you do.” Moz took the Petco bag. “I can find my own way out.” Peter jumped onto the island and meowed. “Farewell, Cat Suit, hope you don’t die of ennui.” Moz gave him a scratch between the ears and left.
Peter sat down and began to groom himself; Neal looked at him in disgust. “You’re no help - I’m doing my best to make everyone remember that you’re Special Agent Peter Burke and all you want to do is chase after phantoms.” Neal had to grin at his own words. “And maybe I’m wrong - because chasing things is what you do.”
The cat – Peter – fussed over himself, ignoring Neal in glorious fashion. And Neal was suddenly and quite achingly lonely. He sighed. No point in calling Mozzie back.
He could just go out. While everyone was depending on him to take care of Peter until either Elizabeth came home or he was re-transformed, no one expected him to stay at the Burkes 24x7. The marshals had reset his radius for two miles around the house, which gave him plenty of things to do. Cobble Hill was a very trendy neighborhood, filled with bars and restaurants and shopping. There were even a few galleries that might be worth checking out. But honestly (and that was a word he wasn’t too happy to apply to himself), exploring the neighborhood by himself had no appeal.
He missed Peter. He missed his wit, his intelligence, the snap and crackle of their friendship. Hell, he missed that suspicious nature and even the demeaning cracks and bad jokes about his criminal status. Right now, he’d trade the Degas hidden in his closet for just one threat about orange jumpsuits.
Well, not quite.
Instead, he called Diana. She answered on the second ring.
“What do you want, Caffrey?”
He didn’t even think of misdirecting. “Something to do. Anything. Mortgage fraud, copyright violations. Hell, I’ll index your reports on the Park Seven money laundering scheme. I am going out of my mind.”
There was no reply and Neal wondered if she had hung up on him.
“Sorry - just marking the date in red on my calendar. June 23rd – Neal Caffrey actually offers to do paperwork.”
“Di - please. Something, anything.”
“Okay, Neal. But give me a few hours. I’ll stop by with some case files for you.”
“Thank you, thank you.” Neal’s gratitude was heartfelt and embarrassing. Diana was going to hold this over his head for ages. “Hey, maybe you want to bring Christie? I’ll cook for the three of us, okay?”
“Neal, somehow I don’t think either Peter or Elizabeth would be happy with you entertaining in their home without them there.”
“Peter is here.” The subject of the conversation stopped grooming himself and looked up at Neal when he heard his name. “He sitting right next to me - I’m going to ask him.” And he did. Peter let out a sharp yowl.
“That sounded like an emphatic ‘no’ - but you deserve an A for the effort. I’ll be by around 5:30, with a nice serving of mortgage fraud to go with your dinner.”
Neal grumbled his thanks and disconnected. Well, that took up a few minutes. He supposed he could just zone out with some daytime television - a choice between Judge Judy, Judge Joe Brown, The People’s Court and endless reruns of Law & Order. Or House Hunters. More than three hundred cable channels and nothing to watch. Peter and Elizabeth didn’t subscribe to HBO; and while he didn’t really think that having Christie and Diana over was that big a deal, Peter would probably send him back to prison if he ordered porn on pay per view.
He was about to head over to the couch when Peter’s odd behavior caught his attention. The cat had jumped down onto the floor and was investigating something under Elizabeth’s desk in the kitchen. Neal reached down and retrieved a small plastic bag. It was the catnip that Moz had brought, and it must have fallen out of his pocket when they had struggled over the feather toy.
Neal sighed, got up off the floor and shoved the baggie into his pocket. Probably best to throw this away. And then he reconsidered, it was catnip – not illegal drugs.
Peter tried to climb his leg, his claws digging into the fabric of his jeans, paws batting at his pocket. Neal pulled the bag out and Peter started jumping at it.
Was he really that much of a stick in the mud?
“You want this? You can smell it?”
This time, his cry was clearly an affirmative. Neal shook the baggie and Peter scooted closer, like he was stalking prey. Neal smiled and trailed it across the floor, until Peter pounced on it. After a few minutes of play, Neal had to admit that maybe, just maybe Moz was right. Dignity was all well and good, but Peter was still a cat (for now) and he probably needed the distractions that play provided.
Peter pounced on the baggie, claws extended and when Neal tried to pull it away, the plastic ripped, sending bits of flowers and leaves across the kitchen floor. He watched in avid fascination as Peter began rolling around in it, eyes slitted, yowling and crying in obvious pleasure.
When the first signs of drool began to emerge, Neal couldn’t help himself. He took out his phone and began filming. He told himself that he wasn’t going to upload it to YouTube, but as he watched Peter, he couldn’t help but think about the music to use. Moz would probably suggest something by The Dead.
The drool was a steady river, bubbling up from his little cat lips like soapy water. Peter was now batting at some invisible toy, jumping and pouncing around, only to stop and roll in the remnants of the scattered herb. Neal supposed he probably should have wrapped it up in a towel and let Peter chew on it.
He was no expert on feline behavior, despite his many transformations into a kitten, but it looked like Peter was seriously enjoying himself, running around then stopping, like he was chasing a ghostly mouse. Which wasn’t all that different from his human activities.
After a while, Peter just stopped, shook himself off and jumped onto counter, the effects of the catnip worn off.
Neal stopped filming. “You done?”
This time, Peter didn’t answer; he walked over to the sink, turned it on and delicately lapped from the stream of water. The cat sat there and they watched each other for a minute before Peter simply let his paws slid out and he collapsed into a limp bundle of fur.
He cleaned up the scattered remains of the catnip, and went over to Peter. The cat was fast asleep, tail a-twitching. Neal picked him up and carried him over to the couch. Peter curled himself up on Neal’s lap, and Neal stroked him without thought. The low-grade feelings of anxiety began to dissipate, the knot of stress in his belly and back and shoulders unwound. Peter started to purr.
They sat there; man and cat, watching the dust motes spin in a bright shaft of sunlight, content for once just to let the minutes go.
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Mozzie, Peter Burke,
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Reference to drug culture, hypothetical drug use (hence PG-13, not G rating). Still more slightly angsty crack. Still of the kitten!fic variety. With added ‘nip.
Word Count: ~2000
Summary: Continues the story from Here Comes That Sinking Feeling. Neal is at the Burke house, watching Peter. He’s bored out of his mind.
A/N: No beta this time - all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Title from a quotation by Anais Nin: “Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.” Many thanks to
rabidchild67 for her advice about cats on the 'nip.“So, where’s the Cat Suit?” Moz shook a small baggie and looked around the kitchen and living room.
“Moz – come on. That wasn’t funny the first time, and it’s not funny now.”
It had been two days since Peter’s transformation, and despite everyone’s urging to keep calm and carry on, Neal wasn’t in a complacent frame of mind.
“I brought him stuff…”
“Stuff?” Neal was almost afraid to ask.
“Yeah – some cat toys. You have to keep cats amused; otherwise they tend to get destructive.” Moz started emptying a bag from Petco on the table. There were stuffed mice and some other stuffed toys, a stick with feathers on the end of a string, and a scratching box.
“This is Peter we’re talking about – he’s not going to get destructive in his own home. He hasn’t so much as flexed his claws into the carpet.”
Peter must have heard his name; both men looked up at the sound of someone running down the steps.
“You know, for a cat, he has a very heavy tread.” Moz remarked and shook the baggie again.
Neal grabbed it out of his hand. “You are not giving Peter any catnip.” He looked at the contents: wilted leaves and stems and flowers.
“It won’t hurt him.”
“Moz – this looks suspiciously like a dime bag. Have you been visiting One-Eyed Pete again?”
“And if I have, it’s none of your business. And this is not weed. It’s fresh catnip, the finest available. Guaranteed to bring pleasure to the most discerning of animals.”
“And you’re not giving it to him, that’s final. Remember - this is Peter. Our friend. My boss. I doubt he’s ever gotten contact high, let alone inhaled.”
“A little ‘nip isn’t going to make him chronic. It doesn’t make cats high.”
“That’s not the point, Mozzie.”
Moz ignored him. “You know, we could give it to him, film it, and upload it to YouTube! Just think of the millions of hits we’d get. Think of all of the feedback, the adulation of the masses!”
“What are you, insane? Even if I agreed to give Peter some catnip, and even if he reacted, and even if you recorded it for posterity – why would it be any different from the millions of stoned kitty videos already on YouTube?”
“Killjoy. Your logic defeats my purpose.” Moz grabbed the catnip back out of Neal’s hand, shoved it in his pocket and tapped on the island counter. Peter sprung up to investigate. Neal watched, appalled, when Moz started flicking the feather thing around and Peter started chasing it.
“Stop it, stop it. Just stop!” He reached for the stick which Moz tried to hold out of Neal’s reach. Which was wasn’t difficult, since Neal had a good six inches on him. The two men grappled and landed on the floor. Peter stalked away triumphant, with a mass of colored feathers in his mouth and a string and stick trailing behind.
Moz got up, dusted himself off and glared at Neal. “This is the last time I try to bring a little happiness into your life. See if I provide treats when you get turned into a kitten. Again.”
That hurt, but Neal stood his ground. “This is Peter, Moz – you can’t treat him like a dumb animal. You have to respect his dignity.”
Moz just shook his head. “Neal – for the next few days, he’s a housecat. He should enjoy himself. Dignity his highly overrated.” Moz fished a small metal cylinder from his pocket and started flicking it up and down. Peter dropped the feathers and started chasing the little red dot all around the kitchen. Satchmo let out a sigh and rolled over, probably disgusted with all of them.
Neal took the pointer away from Moz, gathered up the toys and shoved them back into the bag. “Moz, I know you mean well – but Peter doesn’t need any of this stuff. We’re going to settle down on the couch and watch a few episodes of Law and Order. I’m going to take Satch for a walk, make us all dinner and call Elizabeth, She and Peter will have a lovely conversation, she’ll tell me again not to worry, and that will be that. I’ll turn on the Yankees game for Peter, which he’ll watch as raptly as if he were human, while I’ll probably pass out from the boredom.”
“Sounds like another thrilling night at Chez Burke.” Moz wasn’t at all sympathetic.
“Yeah – and guess what? I get to do this all over again tomorrow and the day after. Instead of bringing cat treats and trying to corrupt Peter, you could follow up with your contact at the Egyptian Embassy and find out how long it will be until the statue is restored to its temple.”
Moz hurrumphed. “Yeah, yeah – you know what, Neal?”
“No, what?”
“It’s a lot more fun when you’re turned into a kitten. Suit and Mrs. Suit don’t seem to have the hang-ups about dignity and proper behavior that you do.” Moz took the Petco bag. “I can find my own way out.” Peter jumped onto the island and meowed. “Farewell, Cat Suit, hope you don’t die of ennui.” Moz gave him a scratch between the ears and left.
Peter sat down and began to groom himself; Neal looked at him in disgust. “You’re no help - I’m doing my best to make everyone remember that you’re Special Agent Peter Burke and all you want to do is chase after phantoms.” Neal had to grin at his own words. “And maybe I’m wrong - because chasing things is what you do.”
The cat – Peter – fussed over himself, ignoring Neal in glorious fashion. And Neal was suddenly and quite achingly lonely. He sighed. No point in calling Mozzie back.
He could just go out. While everyone was depending on him to take care of Peter until either Elizabeth came home or he was re-transformed, no one expected him to stay at the Burkes 24x7. The marshals had reset his radius for two miles around the house, which gave him plenty of things to do. Cobble Hill was a very trendy neighborhood, filled with bars and restaurants and shopping. There were even a few galleries that might be worth checking out. But honestly (and that was a word he wasn’t too happy to apply to himself), exploring the neighborhood by himself had no appeal.
He missed Peter. He missed his wit, his intelligence, the snap and crackle of their friendship. Hell, he missed that suspicious nature and even the demeaning cracks and bad jokes about his criminal status. Right now, he’d trade the Degas hidden in his closet for just one threat about orange jumpsuits.
Well, not quite.
Instead, he called Diana. She answered on the second ring.
“What do you want, Caffrey?”
He didn’t even think of misdirecting. “Something to do. Anything. Mortgage fraud, copyright violations. Hell, I’ll index your reports on the Park Seven money laundering scheme. I am going out of my mind.”
There was no reply and Neal wondered if she had hung up on him.
“Sorry - just marking the date in red on my calendar. June 23rd – Neal Caffrey actually offers to do paperwork.”
“Di - please. Something, anything.”
“Okay, Neal. But give me a few hours. I’ll stop by with some case files for you.”
“Thank you, thank you.” Neal’s gratitude was heartfelt and embarrassing. Diana was going to hold this over his head for ages. “Hey, maybe you want to bring Christie? I’ll cook for the three of us, okay?”
“Neal, somehow I don’t think either Peter or Elizabeth would be happy with you entertaining in their home without them there.”
“Peter is here.” The subject of the conversation stopped grooming himself and looked up at Neal when he heard his name. “He sitting right next to me - I’m going to ask him.” And he did. Peter let out a sharp yowl.
“That sounded like an emphatic ‘no’ - but you deserve an A for the effort. I’ll be by around 5:30, with a nice serving of mortgage fraud to go with your dinner.”
Neal grumbled his thanks and disconnected. Well, that took up a few minutes. He supposed he could just zone out with some daytime television - a choice between Judge Judy, Judge Joe Brown, The People’s Court and endless reruns of Law & Order. Or House Hunters. More than three hundred cable channels and nothing to watch. Peter and Elizabeth didn’t subscribe to HBO; and while he didn’t really think that having Christie and Diana over was that big a deal, Peter would probably send him back to prison if he ordered porn on pay per view.
He was about to head over to the couch when Peter’s odd behavior caught his attention. The cat had jumped down onto the floor and was investigating something under Elizabeth’s desk in the kitchen. Neal reached down and retrieved a small plastic bag. It was the catnip that Moz had brought, and it must have fallen out of his pocket when they had struggled over the feather toy.
Neal sighed, got up off the floor and shoved the baggie into his pocket. Probably best to throw this away. And then he reconsidered, it was catnip – not illegal drugs.
Peter tried to climb his leg, his claws digging into the fabric of his jeans, paws batting at his pocket. Neal pulled the bag out and Peter started jumping at it.
Was he really that much of a stick in the mud?
“You want this? You can smell it?”
This time, his cry was clearly an affirmative. Neal shook the baggie and Peter scooted closer, like he was stalking prey. Neal smiled and trailed it across the floor, until Peter pounced on it. After a few minutes of play, Neal had to admit that maybe, just maybe Moz was right. Dignity was all well and good, but Peter was still a cat (for now) and he probably needed the distractions that play provided.
Peter pounced on the baggie, claws extended and when Neal tried to pull it away, the plastic ripped, sending bits of flowers and leaves across the kitchen floor. He watched in avid fascination as Peter began rolling around in it, eyes slitted, yowling and crying in obvious pleasure.
When the first signs of drool began to emerge, Neal couldn’t help himself. He took out his phone and began filming. He told himself that he wasn’t going to upload it to YouTube, but as he watched Peter, he couldn’t help but think about the music to use. Moz would probably suggest something by The Dead.
The drool was a steady river, bubbling up from his little cat lips like soapy water. Peter was now batting at some invisible toy, jumping and pouncing around, only to stop and roll in the remnants of the scattered herb. Neal supposed he probably should have wrapped it up in a towel and let Peter chew on it.
He was no expert on feline behavior, despite his many transformations into a kitten, but it looked like Peter was seriously enjoying himself, running around then stopping, like he was chasing a ghostly mouse. Which wasn’t all that different from his human activities.
After a while, Peter just stopped, shook himself off and jumped onto counter, the effects of the catnip worn off.
Neal stopped filming. “You done?”
This time, Peter didn’t answer; he walked over to the sink, turned it on and delicately lapped from the stream of water. The cat sat there and they watched each other for a minute before Peter simply let his paws slid out and he collapsed into a limp bundle of fur.
He cleaned up the scattered remains of the catnip, and went over to Peter. The cat was fast asleep, tail a-twitching. Neal picked him up and carried him over to the couch. Peter curled himself up on Neal’s lap, and Neal stroked him without thought. The low-grade feelings of anxiety began to dissipate, the knot of stress in his belly and back and shoulders unwound. Peter started to purr.
They sat there; man and cat, watching the dust motes spin in a bright shaft of sunlight, content for once just to let the minutes go.
