White Collar Fic - The Road Leads Home
Jan. 8th, 2013 08:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elrhiarhodanTitle: The Road Leads Home
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey, Satchmo, Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke, Peter/Elizabeth
Spoilers: S4.10 – Vested Interest
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~1400
Beta Credit:coffeethyme4me
Summary: Neal’s boyhood dreams and his adult realities meet up in a big yellow dog named Satchmo.
A/N: The sixteenth fic for my Fic-Can-Ukah Meme, written fordamietta, she asked for “Where the Road Leads – Neal and Satchmo”. For ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandom_stocking 2013, love_82 has illustrated this story, the picture is at the end.
__________________
They are an odd sort of couple, the yellow dog walking with the elegantly dressed man in the anachronistic suit and hat (although it's Brooklyn, the home of all things hip, so the man isn’t completely out of style). Observing them, one gets the sense that the leash the man carries is simply for show; that it's there because a dog on a leash is part of the natural order of things, as opposed to a man on a leash.
Of course, this being Brooklyn, a man in a suit and hat walking a dog (or a dog pretending to be walked by a man) is a common enough sight. No one needs to know that the man wears a leash, too.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
When Neal Caffrey is seven and a half and his name is Danny Brooks, he longs for one thing – the one thing that would make his life perfect.
A dog.
Not just any dog. Certainly not a little yappity dog like the one Mrs. Ferding owns (she's the old woman who lived across the hall and her apartment always smells bad, like broccoli that's been cooking too long). And not a mean dog – Mr. Johnston has one of those – it's huge and mean and has sharp teeth. It's called Ripper and it barks at Danny when he walks past it on his way home from school.
No, Danny wants a big, friendly dog – the kind that goes woof! WOOF! when he walks in the door, the kind of dog that likes to sleep in the pool of winter sunlight that pours in to the family room and doesn't mind if Danny uses his belly for a pillow on Saturday mornings (they could watch cartoons together and Danny would share his breakfast of pop-tarts or frosted flakes with him).
He knows just what color he wants that dog to be – yellow like the color of the margarine he spreads on his toast and he’d call him King or Hero or Banana-face.
He tells Santa, he tells his mother, he tells Aunt Ellen that he really wants a big yellow dog. He promises that he’ll take care of him; he’ll get a paper route so he could pay for the dog's food. In the mornings, he’ll walk him before breakfast and come home from school every day and walk him again, and once more at night before going to sleep. He’ll be so good, and never ask for anything else in his WHOLE LIFE if he could have a big yellow dog.
Santa is useless. His mother just nods in her vague way. Aunt Ellen kisses his forehead and gives him a sad smile and says “We’ll see.”
On Christmas morning, there are boxes of socks and pajamas and a really nice set of Legos, but no puppy. Danny knows that he’ll never have his big yellow dog. He’ll never get to watch Scooby-Doo or Bugs Bunny while resting his head on the dog’s soft belly.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
It is funny how memories just come out from nowhere and bite you in the ass.
Sweet-talking his way past Elizabeth Burke, into her house – into Peter Burke’s house – is a little more difficult than he expects. Elizabeth is sharp (okay – he didn’t think Peter would have married a dumb bunny), she challenges him, but she is also intrigues enough to let him in. From there, it's easy to get the story on how she and Peter met (and the idea that his handler had put his future wife under surveillance doesn't bode well for his escape plans). He likes Agent Burke, he likes his wife almost as much – though it is clear within the first thirty seconds that he’ll never be able to seduce her.
It is the dog that gets him. It – he – is big and yellow and friendly like a big yellow dog is supposed to be. Neal is sitting next to Elizabeth on the couch and the dog walks in, didn’t even give a woof in concern, wedges itself between the couch and the coffee table and just drops onto its belly. Neal’s feet are trapped.
He's trapped.
In the few minutes between his arrival and Peter’s stormy entrance into his own living room, Neal constructs a dozen scenarios involving him and this big yellow dog named Satchmo.
(And how perfectly perfect is that?)
As long as Peter has this dog, as long as Neal can come over and pat the dog's head or maybe even scratch him under his chin, or if he is really good and really lucky, take him for a walk, he is never going to be able to leave.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“Mind taking Satchmo for a walk? Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes,” El asks. “Peter’s upstairs – he’s on the phone with his dad.”
Neal arrives for Sunday dinner and El puts him to work. This is a twice-monthly event that they started sometime after his father had taken himself back off to parts unknown. Neal has taken to showing up with a bottle of decent wine, something from The Greatest Cake, a movie, and the Burkes have no choice but to feed him. More than that, they let him be something more than a houseguest. He is family and has to pitch in, setting the table, cleaning up afterwards, but his particular pleasure and preference is walking Satchmo. Sometimes they walked alone, sometimes El or Peter, or both Burkes joined them.
But in truth, on these early Sunday evening jaunts – especially before the autumn turns to winter and it gets cold and dark, he prefers to be alone with Satchmo. Sometimes he pretends he is seven years old again, walking his big yellow dog. Sometimes, but not often.
Most of the time, when they walk, Neal likes to think. He supposes he could do that while he's swimming laps at the gym, or watching the sun set on the terrace, but there is something about walking a dog that makes it easier to think about the hard stuff. Like where his life is going, how he is going to avoid repeating the mistakes he's already made. Important stuff. His parole is ending soon, and he wants to stay at the Bureau, but he wants other things, too. Things he shouldn’t want. People he shouldn’t want.
When Neal’s thoughts go down these paths, he turns Satchmo back or they cross the street and find new and different trees and hydrants. He clears his mind and deliberately tries not to think about anything. He’ll find something small and beautiful to focus on – the grackles chattering at each other from the bare trees, the urban-warrior squirrels stealing food out of the trash, a rosebush with a single red blossom – triumphantly, stubbornly out of season. He’ll sketch these things in his head, becoming so distracted that Satchmo would turn and bark at him – a gentle woof! WOOF! that reminds him of his childhood dreams.
They’ll head home, and Neal considers that house on DeKalb Avenue as much his home as anyplace he’s ever lived. Peter and Elizabeth are there, they are what make it his home – if just for an evening.
He climbs the steps and lets himself back in. Something jazzy playing is and Peter and Elizabeth are dancing around the living room, at least until Satchmo tries to cut in and Peter trips, laughing as he avoids hitting the floor.
Neal stands there, hands in his pockets, smiling.
Yes, home is Peter and Elizabeth and a big yellow dog. Just the way he always dreamed his home would be.
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey, Satchmo, Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke, Peter/Elizabeth
Spoilers: S4.10 – Vested Interest
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~1400
Beta Credit:
coffeethyme4me Summary: Neal’s boyhood dreams and his adult realities meet up in a big yellow dog named Satchmo.
A/N: The sixteenth fic for my Fic-Can-Ukah Meme, written for
damietta, she asked for “Where the Road Leads – Neal and Satchmo”. For fandom_stocking 2013, love_82 has illustrated this story, the picture is at the end.They are an odd sort of couple, the yellow dog walking with the elegantly dressed man in the anachronistic suit and hat (although it's Brooklyn, the home of all things hip, so the man isn’t completely out of style). Observing them, one gets the sense that the leash the man carries is simply for show; that it's there because a dog on a leash is part of the natural order of things, as opposed to a man on a leash.
Of course, this being Brooklyn, a man in a suit and hat walking a dog (or a dog pretending to be walked by a man) is a common enough sight. No one needs to know that the man wears a leash, too.
When Neal Caffrey is seven and a half and his name is Danny Brooks, he longs for one thing – the one thing that would make his life perfect.
A dog.
Not just any dog. Certainly not a little yappity dog like the one Mrs. Ferding owns (she's the old woman who lived across the hall and her apartment always smells bad, like broccoli that's been cooking too long). And not a mean dog – Mr. Johnston has one of those – it's huge and mean and has sharp teeth. It's called Ripper and it barks at Danny when he walks past it on his way home from school.
No, Danny wants a big, friendly dog – the kind that goes woof! WOOF! when he walks in the door, the kind of dog that likes to sleep in the pool of winter sunlight that pours in to the family room and doesn't mind if Danny uses his belly for a pillow on Saturday mornings (they could watch cartoons together and Danny would share his breakfast of pop-tarts or frosted flakes with him).
He knows just what color he wants that dog to be – yellow like the color of the margarine he spreads on his toast and he’d call him King or Hero or Banana-face.
He tells Santa, he tells his mother, he tells Aunt Ellen that he really wants a big yellow dog. He promises that he’ll take care of him; he’ll get a paper route so he could pay for the dog's food. In the mornings, he’ll walk him before breakfast and come home from school every day and walk him again, and once more at night before going to sleep. He’ll be so good, and never ask for anything else in his WHOLE LIFE if he could have a big yellow dog.
Santa is useless. His mother just nods in her vague way. Aunt Ellen kisses his forehead and gives him a sad smile and says “We’ll see.”
On Christmas morning, there are boxes of socks and pajamas and a really nice set of Legos, but no puppy. Danny knows that he’ll never have his big yellow dog. He’ll never get to watch Scooby-Doo or Bugs Bunny while resting his head on the dog’s soft belly.
It is funny how memories just come out from nowhere and bite you in the ass.
Sweet-talking his way past Elizabeth Burke, into her house – into Peter Burke’s house – is a little more difficult than he expects. Elizabeth is sharp (okay – he didn’t think Peter would have married a dumb bunny), she challenges him, but she is also intrigues enough to let him in. From there, it's easy to get the story on how she and Peter met (and the idea that his handler had put his future wife under surveillance doesn't bode well for his escape plans). He likes Agent Burke, he likes his wife almost as much – though it is clear within the first thirty seconds that he’ll never be able to seduce her.
It is the dog that gets him. It – he – is big and yellow and friendly like a big yellow dog is supposed to be. Neal is sitting next to Elizabeth on the couch and the dog walks in, didn’t even give a woof in concern, wedges itself between the couch and the coffee table and just drops onto its belly. Neal’s feet are trapped.
He's trapped.
In the few minutes between his arrival and Peter’s stormy entrance into his own living room, Neal constructs a dozen scenarios involving him and this big yellow dog named Satchmo.
(And how perfectly perfect is that?)
As long as Peter has this dog, as long as Neal can come over and pat the dog's head or maybe even scratch him under his chin, or if he is really good and really lucky, take him for a walk, he is never going to be able to leave.
“Mind taking Satchmo for a walk? Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes,” El asks. “Peter’s upstairs – he’s on the phone with his dad.”
Neal arrives for Sunday dinner and El puts him to work. This is a twice-monthly event that they started sometime after his father had taken himself back off to parts unknown. Neal has taken to showing up with a bottle of decent wine, something from The Greatest Cake, a movie, and the Burkes have no choice but to feed him. More than that, they let him be something more than a houseguest. He is family and has to pitch in, setting the table, cleaning up afterwards, but his particular pleasure and preference is walking Satchmo. Sometimes they walked alone, sometimes El or Peter, or both Burkes joined them.
But in truth, on these early Sunday evening jaunts – especially before the autumn turns to winter and it gets cold and dark, he prefers to be alone with Satchmo. Sometimes he pretends he is seven years old again, walking his big yellow dog. Sometimes, but not often.
Most of the time, when they walk, Neal likes to think. He supposes he could do that while he's swimming laps at the gym, or watching the sun set on the terrace, but there is something about walking a dog that makes it easier to think about the hard stuff. Like where his life is going, how he is going to avoid repeating the mistakes he's already made. Important stuff. His parole is ending soon, and he wants to stay at the Bureau, but he wants other things, too. Things he shouldn’t want. People he shouldn’t want.
When Neal’s thoughts go down these paths, he turns Satchmo back or they cross the street and find new and different trees and hydrants. He clears his mind and deliberately tries not to think about anything. He’ll find something small and beautiful to focus on – the grackles chattering at each other from the bare trees, the urban-warrior squirrels stealing food out of the trash, a rosebush with a single red blossom – triumphantly, stubbornly out of season. He’ll sketch these things in his head, becoming so distracted that Satchmo would turn and bark at him – a gentle woof! WOOF! that reminds him of his childhood dreams.
They’ll head home, and Neal considers that house on DeKalb Avenue as much his home as anyplace he’s ever lived. Peter and Elizabeth are there, they are what make it his home – if just for an evening.
He climbs the steps and lets himself back in. Something jazzy playing is and Peter and Elizabeth are dancing around the living room, at least until Satchmo tries to cut in and Peter trips, laughing as he avoids hitting the floor.
Neal stands there, hands in his pockets, smiling.
Yes, home is Peter and Elizabeth and a big yellow dog. Just the way he always dreamed his home would be.
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Date: 2013-01-09 10:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-28 03:55 pm (UTC)Yes, Neal was trapped the moment he walked into the Burkes' home. He just didn't know it.