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elrhiarhodanTitle: All You Need To Do Is Walk Away
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Moz, Neal Caffrey, Matthew Keller (Neal/Keller)
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Reference to domestic abuse, violence, threats of violence
Word Count: ~ 3000
Beta Credit:coffeethyme4me and jrosemary
Summary: Moz comes back to New York and discovers what’s been happening to Neal at the hands of Matthew Keller. He takes care of things. A timestamp for Part III of A Life Less Ordinary. This story won’t make much sense unless you’ve read the original.
A/N: Written for the lovelyembroiderama for my Timestamp Meme. She asked for Mozzie’s POV for this story. Title is from the Oysterband song, “We Could Leave Right Now.” A fill for the Broken Bones square on my H/C Bingo card and the AU: Alternate Professions square on my Trope Bingo card.
__________________
He felt guilty about leaving Neal and taking off for Europe for so long. But the offer from the University in Bern was too good to pass up. Besides, Neal had been pretty well settled in veterinary school, he had a good place to live and it was past time that the kid stood on his own two feet.
But Moz couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He’d been busy and he sort of dropped off the face of the earth, but he did remember to send Neal the occasional email. And of late, those emails had gone unanswered.
Okay, so maybe Neal was pissed at him. They’d been close for so long, and when he didn’t come back to New York after his mother died, maybe Neal figured that he’d washed his hands of him.
But that didn’t explain why his emails were getting bounced back. Each one of Neal’s email accounts were reported as “not a registered user” or “mailbox full” or simply non-existent. And the one that Moz had insisted that Neal set up on a private darknet server, the one he made Neal promise to check every day, was getting no response.
Moz had contacts of all sorts. Friends in many places, both high and low, and he could have them investigate and report, but he needed to check on Neal himself. He needed to be a better friend. Of course, the university officials weren’t happy that he was not renewing his contract. They were worried that he was going to take their sensitive information and work for one of the big corporations. Clearly, they didn’t know him very well.
He sent another message to Neal just before his flight left, and was not surprised that there was no reply when he landed in New York. As exhausted as he was, Moz told the cabbie to head right to Neal’s apartment on Riverside. The sense of dread increased with each mile, and he was almost ill by the time the taxi dropped him off in front of the old mansion where Neal was renting a room.
June, Neal’s landlady, had seemed the motherly sort, in a rarified society grand dame way, which was why Moz hadn’t worried about leaving Neal. He rang the bell and the housekeeper answered. When he asked for Neal, all he got was a puzzled look.
“Neal Caffrey? Tall, blue-eyed brunet, nice smile? Lives on the fourth floor?”
“No, no one lives on the fourth floor, mister. Maybe you have the wrong address?”
The dread was sickening.
“Who is it, Marta?” A voice that Moz recognized called out from inside the house.
“Someone looking for someone named Neal. Says he lives here.”
The woman Moz had met shortly after Neal had moved here, came into the foyer. She was still beautiful, still had that society grand dame look about her. But her face was cast into a worried frown.
“I don’t know if you remember me…”
“Yes - you were Neal’s friend.”
“I’m looking for him, but he doesn’t live here anymore?”
June sighed. “You should come in.” She showed him into a parlor and gestured for him to sit down.
“Neal - is he … dead?”
“No.” Just a word, no other explanation offered.
Moz wanted to be relieved by June’s denial, but her flat tone told him that whereever Neal was, she wasn’t happy about it.
“What’s going on?”
June glared at him. “You just show up and demand answers? Where were you when Neal’s mother died? Where were you when he got involved with that son of a bitch? If you’re supposed to be Neal’s friend, you’ve been a pretty terrible one.”
Moz looked at his hands. “I guess I deserve that. But…”
“But – ” June sat down, her anger gone. “What’s important is Neal.”
“Then tell me what’s going on. How can I help?”
“Neal’s involved with someone, and I’m afraid he’s going to kill him.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Mozzie always loved the Cloisters. This hushed bit of Europe at the northern end of Manhattan. He always loved the Unicorn Tapestries and the Medieval art - the combination of the divine and the mundane, the holy and the profane.
Neal did too.
According to June, the Cloisters was also one of the few places where Neal could go by himself these days, and it was one of the few places that he was willing to meet June. As she had told Moz, Neal was terrified that his lover (and Moz cringed at the word - no one who loved someone would do what the guy had done to Neal) would know if he went back to the house on Riverside and he'd punish Neal for that. Neal was also frightened that the guy would take it out on June. She was feisty but she wasn’t young and she lived alone. Neal had told her it was far too easy for her to be hurt and he wasn’t willing to risk that.
So, once every few weeks, they arranged to meet at the Cloisters, in the gallery with the famous tapestries. But today, Moz was going to meet Neal instead of June. He had everything prepared - the safe house, money, the escape route. And he also had a preliminary workup on the guy - Matthew Keller - and from what he'd learned in a few short days, Keller wasn't just abusive. He was evil.
Keller fit the classic pattern of an abusive controller. From the first, he had all but overwhelmed Neal with his attentions. They’d dated for just a few weeks before he was urging Neal to move in with him. June didn’t know why she disliked the man from the moment she’d met him - but she said her antipathy was almost instantaneous. Maybe it was that Keller was supposed to be an FBI agent, and her own interactions with law enforcement over the years were coloring her perceptions. So she kept her own counsel, and now regretted it. Neal had given into Keller's pressure to move out of his apartment in her house. Once that happened, Keller had started isolating Neal - from the little they had spoken before things turned violent - he was only allowed out to go to his classes. Keller needed to know where he was nearly every minute of the day. All his friends - and there were a precious few of those - were cut off.
At first, Neal wouldn’t hear anything bad about him, he had told her she was worried for nothing. Matthew loved him, he wanted to care for him and be with him and Neal was so very happy. That lasted for all of three months. But June refused to let Neal disappear out of her life, and had suggested that they meet one afternoon at the Cloisters. When Neal had refused to take off his sunglasses inside the dimly lit gallery, she knew what was happening to him. It took months of gentle pressure to just get him to admit that Matthew was hitting him, and at first he kept saying that he deserved it, that it was all his fault. Finally, though, he had told her that he was afraid that Matthew would kill him if he left.
Moz figured that Neal hadn’t told June everything - but he was grateful that Neal had at least admitted that the relationship had gone sour. It would be much more difficult to extract him if he thought he still loved the man. When he talked to Neal, he’d be able to judge just how much damage the guy had caused.
He had to be careful, though. If Neal thought he was being set up, that Moz was trying to stage an intervention, he just might run back to his abuser. His friend wasn’t stupid, but if he’d been brainwashed, anything was possible.
The gallery was dimly lit and Moz took up a position that gave him a good view of the bench where Neal was supposed to meet June. A little after two, Neal showed up, a cast on his hand and looking nothing like the vibrant young man that Moz had left behind two and a half years ago. He was poorly groomed, his hair long and lank. Neal had always been slim, but now even the oversized sweater he was wearing couldn’t disguise the skeletal thinness of his body. What was worse was the way Neal moved, as if he were afraid of his own shadow, always looking over his shoulder.
Moz casually wandered over to bench where Neal was sitting. As he approached, he saw the bruises on Neal’s face. He swallowed his rage and pretended that this was a meeting of pure chance.
“Neal?”
His friend looked up, eyes wide, like a startled deer before they clouded in shame. “Hey, there.” Neal’s voice was hoarse, as if he had a bad cold. “When did you get back to New York?”
Somehow, Moz didn’t think that Neal was sick. But he answered casually. “About a week ago. Bern was boring and there’s only so much chocolate a man can eat.”
That barely got a smile out of Neal. “You’re looking prosperous, Moz.”
“I’m okay. But you, mon frère look like shit.”
Neal, of course, denied that anything was wrong. Moz knew better. He carefully lifted Neal to his feet and pulled at his sweater, exposing finger-shaped bruises around his throat. Even though he knew the answer, Moz still had to ask. “Who did this to you?”
Shame washed across Neal’s face. He didn’t answer.
“Neal…”
“Don’t pity me, Moz. Don’t fucking pity me.”
Moz knew the details, but he needed to get them from Neal, too. It was a horrible thing to force his friend to say what was happening to him out loud, but unless he did, Moz couldn’t be positive that Neal wouldn’t go back. Not that he wasn’t going to do everything possible to prevent that, but it meant different plans, different safeguards.
Neal started to talk, his voice raw. Even though he could barely speak above a whisper, Moz didn’t trust that there weren’t people listening, and he herded Neal out of the museum, towards the Heather Gardens.
His interrogation was gentle but relentless. It was so difficult not to give vent to his own anger, to keep pretending that this was just a chance meeting and that he was acting on the instant opportunity. By the time Neal had finished his recitation, Moz knew that Neal wasn’t going to go back to Keller if he had the chance to escape.
Things became a lot easier.
He gave Neal instructions on how to travel to the safe house he had set up, grateful that his friend didn’t think to ask why, after two years in Europe, he had one ready and waiting. He gave him money, the security code and a burner phone before hustling him into a cab. Moz wasn’t sure that sending Neal off alone was the best thing to do, but he didn’t have a choice. He needed to meet with Hale and a few others who would help him start the process of destroying Matthew Keller, FBI agent.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Guns weren’t ordinarily his thing. But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t find a use for them. Waiting for Matthew Keller to come home, he checked and re-checked the Ruger. Full magazine – check. Silencer attached – check. Sights aligned – check. Safety off – check.
Moz didn’t really like the idea of killing a Fed. But if ever there was a Fed that needed killing, his name was Matthew Keller.
Hale came up aces with the tech he needed to hack into the Bureau computers and Sallie put her network at his disposal. In the five days since Moz had set Neal on the path to freedom, he’d amassed a dossier on Keller that would give the Suits nightmares for decades. Copies of the data were already landing on desks in New York and D.C., and his own people had instructions to release the information to certain other people – of the Russian persuasion – if Moz himself disappeared. Of course, Moz might just decide to give them the information anyway.
It was a good thing he was a patient man, because Matthew Keller didn’t come home for another two hours. Moz had used the time well, though. He’d retrieved Neal’s driver’s license and passport and other important papers. He also helped himself to most – but not all – of the cash he found under the floorboard. Twenty grand would go a long way in financing Neal’s new life.
Spread out on the floor was a brand new plastic tarp and there was a roll of duct tape in the backpack resting against the chair. Amazing stuff, duct tape. So useful. There was also a bottle of bleach in case it got messy.
A little after six, Keller burst into his apartment and slammed the door behind him. From his vantage point in the bedroom, Moz watched Keller take off his holster and help himself to a beer from the fridge. He waited as Keller checked the answering machine, listening to him as he cursed that there were no messages on it. Presumably the crash and clatter was Keller flinging the poor, blameless machine across the room.
It was actually kind of surreal listening to Keller rage about Neal, how he was going to take him apart piece by piece, how he’d beg for death once he was done with him. But if only he’d come home.
The tantrum went on for another ten, fifteen minutes. Keller finally calmed down, and Moz could hear him panting like an overheated dog. He hoped that Keller would finally come into the bedroom – he was getting bored waiting.
And at last, he did.
The man was not only evil, but surprisingly careless as well. He didn’t even turn the light on and check the shadows. Moz made no attempt to hide himself, but it took Keller more than a few seconds to realize he wasn’t alone. His reaction to stepping on the plastic tarp would have been amusing if not for the fact that Moz was ready to kill him.
“What the fuck?”
Moz turned on the floor lamp, erasing the shadows. The gun stayed in his lap, however.
“Who the hell are you?”
“My name isn’t important. What’s important is that you are going to forget you ever met Neal Caffrey, or that you ever met any of his friends or relations. He doesn’t exist for you, and in fact, he never did.”
“And why is that?” Keller didn’t sound quite like a mad dog now. More like a wolf before it rips your throat out.
“Because if you don’t, this – ” Moz tossed a file onto the floor. “Will end up in the hands of OPR within the hour.”
Keller bent down and picked up the file, keeping his eyes on Moz; Moz didn’t break eye contact. Keller finally looked down – not as a gesture of submission – instead to examine the contents. The man had a terrible poker face – or maybe he simply wasn’t bothering to hide his emotions.
“You think you’ve won something, sweetheart?”
“Well, you’re certainly no prize.”
“You’re a dead man, you know that?”
“No, actually you are. You’re about as close to death as you’ve ever been in your entire life.” Moz lifted the gun. “I could kill you now and save myself a lot of heartache.”
Keller sneered, and one hand started to disappear behind his back.
“Your hands stay where I can see them.”
“And if I agree to forget about Caffrey? What then?”
“You live, I burn all my copies of that file, and we never see each other again.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Why should I trust you? It’s quite a philosophical problem, isn’t it? The classic ethical dilemma. We both have something the other wants, but unless we trust each other, neither of us will be satisfied.” Moz paused for effect, then sighted the gun at Keller’s chest. “Or I could kill you like the vermin you are, roll you up in the plastic and dump your body where it would never be found. Did you know that the continental shelf drops to a half mile deep just thirty miles out? That’s a long, long way down.”
“So kill me and be done with it.” There was actually a touch of fear under the bravado. Good.
“I think not. At least, not today. But I’ll be watching and listening. You make a move towards Neal or anyone he’s associated with, and I won’t give you the courtesy of a warning. I’ll drop you where you stand and be done with it.” Moz meant every word. He’d never killed a man, but he could end this bastard without losing a moment’s sleep.
Keller gave him a brief nod and Moz stood up. But he wasn’t a fool; he kept the gun pointed at him. “So, we have a deal?”
“Yeah, we have a deal. I never heard of that little prick, Neal Caffrey.”
“And?”
“Or his friends. Satisfied?”
For the moment, he was. “Then there’s nothing left to say.”
Keller spat at his feet.
Moz didn’t turn his back on Keller as he made his way out of the apartment, but the space between his shoulder blades itched until he was on the street and in the subway. He hoped he wouldn’t have to kill the man. He hoped the FBI would take him out of play and then the Russians would finish the job.
But if they didn’t, Moz wouldn’t hesitate. Killing Matthew Keller would be like putting down a rabid dog.
A public service.
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Moz, Neal Caffrey, Matthew Keller (Neal/Keller)
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Reference to domestic abuse, violence, threats of violence
Word Count: ~ 3000
Beta Credit:
coffeethyme4me and jrosemarySummary: Moz comes back to New York and discovers what’s been happening to Neal at the hands of Matthew Keller. He takes care of things. A timestamp for Part III of A Life Less Ordinary. This story won’t make much sense unless you’ve read the original.
A/N: Written for the lovely
embroiderama for my Timestamp Meme. She asked for Mozzie’s POV for this story. Title is from the Oysterband song, “We Could Leave Right Now.” A fill for the Broken Bones square on my H/C Bingo card and the AU: Alternate Professions square on my Trope Bingo card.He felt guilty about leaving Neal and taking off for Europe for so long. But the offer from the University in Bern was too good to pass up. Besides, Neal had been pretty well settled in veterinary school, he had a good place to live and it was past time that the kid stood on his own two feet.
But Moz couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He’d been busy and he sort of dropped off the face of the earth, but he did remember to send Neal the occasional email. And of late, those emails had gone unanswered.
Okay, so maybe Neal was pissed at him. They’d been close for so long, and when he didn’t come back to New York after his mother died, maybe Neal figured that he’d washed his hands of him.
But that didn’t explain why his emails were getting bounced back. Each one of Neal’s email accounts were reported as “not a registered user” or “mailbox full” or simply non-existent. And the one that Moz had insisted that Neal set up on a private darknet server, the one he made Neal promise to check every day, was getting no response.
Moz had contacts of all sorts. Friends in many places, both high and low, and he could have them investigate and report, but he needed to check on Neal himself. He needed to be a better friend. Of course, the university officials weren’t happy that he was not renewing his contract. They were worried that he was going to take their sensitive information and work for one of the big corporations. Clearly, they didn’t know him very well.
He sent another message to Neal just before his flight left, and was not surprised that there was no reply when he landed in New York. As exhausted as he was, Moz told the cabbie to head right to Neal’s apartment on Riverside. The sense of dread increased with each mile, and he was almost ill by the time the taxi dropped him off in front of the old mansion where Neal was renting a room.
June, Neal’s landlady, had seemed the motherly sort, in a rarified society grand dame way, which was why Moz hadn’t worried about leaving Neal. He rang the bell and the housekeeper answered. When he asked for Neal, all he got was a puzzled look.
“Neal Caffrey? Tall, blue-eyed brunet, nice smile? Lives on the fourth floor?”
“No, no one lives on the fourth floor, mister. Maybe you have the wrong address?”
The dread was sickening.
“Who is it, Marta?” A voice that Moz recognized called out from inside the house.
“Someone looking for someone named Neal. Says he lives here.”
The woman Moz had met shortly after Neal had moved here, came into the foyer. She was still beautiful, still had that society grand dame look about her. But her face was cast into a worried frown.
“I don’t know if you remember me…”
“Yes - you were Neal’s friend.”
“I’m looking for him, but he doesn’t live here anymore?”
June sighed. “You should come in.” She showed him into a parlor and gestured for him to sit down.
“Neal - is he … dead?”
“No.” Just a word, no other explanation offered.
Moz wanted to be relieved by June’s denial, but her flat tone told him that whereever Neal was, she wasn’t happy about it.
“What’s going on?”
June glared at him. “You just show up and demand answers? Where were you when Neal’s mother died? Where were you when he got involved with that son of a bitch? If you’re supposed to be Neal’s friend, you’ve been a pretty terrible one.”
Moz looked at his hands. “I guess I deserve that. But…”
“But – ” June sat down, her anger gone. “What’s important is Neal.”
“Then tell me what’s going on. How can I help?”
“Neal’s involved with someone, and I’m afraid he’s going to kill him.”
Mozzie always loved the Cloisters. This hushed bit of Europe at the northern end of Manhattan. He always loved the Unicorn Tapestries and the Medieval art - the combination of the divine and the mundane, the holy and the profane.
Neal did too.
According to June, the Cloisters was also one of the few places where Neal could go by himself these days, and it was one of the few places that he was willing to meet June. As she had told Moz, Neal was terrified that his lover (and Moz cringed at the word - no one who loved someone would do what the guy had done to Neal) would know if he went back to the house on Riverside and he'd punish Neal for that. Neal was also frightened that the guy would take it out on June. She was feisty but she wasn’t young and she lived alone. Neal had told her it was far too easy for her to be hurt and he wasn’t willing to risk that.
So, once every few weeks, they arranged to meet at the Cloisters, in the gallery with the famous tapestries. But today, Moz was going to meet Neal instead of June. He had everything prepared - the safe house, money, the escape route. And he also had a preliminary workup on the guy - Matthew Keller - and from what he'd learned in a few short days, Keller wasn't just abusive. He was evil.
Keller fit the classic pattern of an abusive controller. From the first, he had all but overwhelmed Neal with his attentions. They’d dated for just a few weeks before he was urging Neal to move in with him. June didn’t know why she disliked the man from the moment she’d met him - but she said her antipathy was almost instantaneous. Maybe it was that Keller was supposed to be an FBI agent, and her own interactions with law enforcement over the years were coloring her perceptions. So she kept her own counsel, and now regretted it. Neal had given into Keller's pressure to move out of his apartment in her house. Once that happened, Keller had started isolating Neal - from the little they had spoken before things turned violent - he was only allowed out to go to his classes. Keller needed to know where he was nearly every minute of the day. All his friends - and there were a precious few of those - were cut off.
At first, Neal wouldn’t hear anything bad about him, he had told her she was worried for nothing. Matthew loved him, he wanted to care for him and be with him and Neal was so very happy. That lasted for all of three months. But June refused to let Neal disappear out of her life, and had suggested that they meet one afternoon at the Cloisters. When Neal had refused to take off his sunglasses inside the dimly lit gallery, she knew what was happening to him. It took months of gentle pressure to just get him to admit that Matthew was hitting him, and at first he kept saying that he deserved it, that it was all his fault. Finally, though, he had told her that he was afraid that Matthew would kill him if he left.
Moz figured that Neal hadn’t told June everything - but he was grateful that Neal had at least admitted that the relationship had gone sour. It would be much more difficult to extract him if he thought he still loved the man. When he talked to Neal, he’d be able to judge just how much damage the guy had caused.
He had to be careful, though. If Neal thought he was being set up, that Moz was trying to stage an intervention, he just might run back to his abuser. His friend wasn’t stupid, but if he’d been brainwashed, anything was possible.
The gallery was dimly lit and Moz took up a position that gave him a good view of the bench where Neal was supposed to meet June. A little after two, Neal showed up, a cast on his hand and looking nothing like the vibrant young man that Moz had left behind two and a half years ago. He was poorly groomed, his hair long and lank. Neal had always been slim, but now even the oversized sweater he was wearing couldn’t disguise the skeletal thinness of his body. What was worse was the way Neal moved, as if he were afraid of his own shadow, always looking over his shoulder.
Moz casually wandered over to bench where Neal was sitting. As he approached, he saw the bruises on Neal’s face. He swallowed his rage and pretended that this was a meeting of pure chance.
“Neal?”
His friend looked up, eyes wide, like a startled deer before they clouded in shame. “Hey, there.” Neal’s voice was hoarse, as if he had a bad cold. “When did you get back to New York?”
Somehow, Moz didn’t think that Neal was sick. But he answered casually. “About a week ago. Bern was boring and there’s only so much chocolate a man can eat.”
That barely got a smile out of Neal. “You’re looking prosperous, Moz.”
“I’m okay. But you, mon frère look like shit.”
Neal, of course, denied that anything was wrong. Moz knew better. He carefully lifted Neal to his feet and pulled at his sweater, exposing finger-shaped bruises around his throat. Even though he knew the answer, Moz still had to ask. “Who did this to you?”
Shame washed across Neal’s face. He didn’t answer.
“Neal…”
“Don’t pity me, Moz. Don’t fucking pity me.”
Moz knew the details, but he needed to get them from Neal, too. It was a horrible thing to force his friend to say what was happening to him out loud, but unless he did, Moz couldn’t be positive that Neal wouldn’t go back. Not that he wasn’t going to do everything possible to prevent that, but it meant different plans, different safeguards.
Neal started to talk, his voice raw. Even though he could barely speak above a whisper, Moz didn’t trust that there weren’t people listening, and he herded Neal out of the museum, towards the Heather Gardens.
His interrogation was gentle but relentless. It was so difficult not to give vent to his own anger, to keep pretending that this was just a chance meeting and that he was acting on the instant opportunity. By the time Neal had finished his recitation, Moz knew that Neal wasn’t going to go back to Keller if he had the chance to escape.
Things became a lot easier.
He gave Neal instructions on how to travel to the safe house he had set up, grateful that his friend didn’t think to ask why, after two years in Europe, he had one ready and waiting. He gave him money, the security code and a burner phone before hustling him into a cab. Moz wasn’t sure that sending Neal off alone was the best thing to do, but he didn’t have a choice. He needed to meet with Hale and a few others who would help him start the process of destroying Matthew Keller, FBI agent.
Guns weren’t ordinarily his thing. But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t find a use for them. Waiting for Matthew Keller to come home, he checked and re-checked the Ruger. Full magazine – check. Silencer attached – check. Sights aligned – check. Safety off – check.
Moz didn’t really like the idea of killing a Fed. But if ever there was a Fed that needed killing, his name was Matthew Keller.
Hale came up aces with the tech he needed to hack into the Bureau computers and Sallie put her network at his disposal. In the five days since Moz had set Neal on the path to freedom, he’d amassed a dossier on Keller that would give the Suits nightmares for decades. Copies of the data were already landing on desks in New York and D.C., and his own people had instructions to release the information to certain other people – of the Russian persuasion – if Moz himself disappeared. Of course, Moz might just decide to give them the information anyway.
It was a good thing he was a patient man, because Matthew Keller didn’t come home for another two hours. Moz had used the time well, though. He’d retrieved Neal’s driver’s license and passport and other important papers. He also helped himself to most – but not all – of the cash he found under the floorboard. Twenty grand would go a long way in financing Neal’s new life.
Spread out on the floor was a brand new plastic tarp and there was a roll of duct tape in the backpack resting against the chair. Amazing stuff, duct tape. So useful. There was also a bottle of bleach in case it got messy.
A little after six, Keller burst into his apartment and slammed the door behind him. From his vantage point in the bedroom, Moz watched Keller take off his holster and help himself to a beer from the fridge. He waited as Keller checked the answering machine, listening to him as he cursed that there were no messages on it. Presumably the crash and clatter was Keller flinging the poor, blameless machine across the room.
It was actually kind of surreal listening to Keller rage about Neal, how he was going to take him apart piece by piece, how he’d beg for death once he was done with him. But if only he’d come home.
The tantrum went on for another ten, fifteen minutes. Keller finally calmed down, and Moz could hear him panting like an overheated dog. He hoped that Keller would finally come into the bedroom – he was getting bored waiting.
And at last, he did.
The man was not only evil, but surprisingly careless as well. He didn’t even turn the light on and check the shadows. Moz made no attempt to hide himself, but it took Keller more than a few seconds to realize he wasn’t alone. His reaction to stepping on the plastic tarp would have been amusing if not for the fact that Moz was ready to kill him.
“What the fuck?”
Moz turned on the floor lamp, erasing the shadows. The gun stayed in his lap, however.
“Who the hell are you?”
“My name isn’t important. What’s important is that you are going to forget you ever met Neal Caffrey, or that you ever met any of his friends or relations. He doesn’t exist for you, and in fact, he never did.”
“And why is that?” Keller didn’t sound quite like a mad dog now. More like a wolf before it rips your throat out.
“Because if you don’t, this – ” Moz tossed a file onto the floor. “Will end up in the hands of OPR within the hour.”
Keller bent down and picked up the file, keeping his eyes on Moz; Moz didn’t break eye contact. Keller finally looked down – not as a gesture of submission – instead to examine the contents. The man had a terrible poker face – or maybe he simply wasn’t bothering to hide his emotions.
“You think you’ve won something, sweetheart?”
“Well, you’re certainly no prize.”
“You’re a dead man, you know that?”
“No, actually you are. You’re about as close to death as you’ve ever been in your entire life.” Moz lifted the gun. “I could kill you now and save myself a lot of heartache.”
Keller sneered, and one hand started to disappear behind his back.
“Your hands stay where I can see them.”
“And if I agree to forget about Caffrey? What then?”
“You live, I burn all my copies of that file, and we never see each other again.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Why should I trust you? It’s quite a philosophical problem, isn’t it? The classic ethical dilemma. We both have something the other wants, but unless we trust each other, neither of us will be satisfied.” Moz paused for effect, then sighted the gun at Keller’s chest. “Or I could kill you like the vermin you are, roll you up in the plastic and dump your body where it would never be found. Did you know that the continental shelf drops to a half mile deep just thirty miles out? That’s a long, long way down.”
“So kill me and be done with it.” There was actually a touch of fear under the bravado. Good.
“I think not. At least, not today. But I’ll be watching and listening. You make a move towards Neal or anyone he’s associated with, and I won’t give you the courtesy of a warning. I’ll drop you where you stand and be done with it.” Moz meant every word. He’d never killed a man, but he could end this bastard without losing a moment’s sleep.
Keller gave him a brief nod and Moz stood up. But he wasn’t a fool; he kept the gun pointed at him. “So, we have a deal?”
“Yeah, we have a deal. I never heard of that little prick, Neal Caffrey.”
“And?”
“Or his friends. Satisfied?”
For the moment, he was. “Then there’s nothing left to say.”
Keller spat at his feet.
Moz didn’t turn his back on Keller as he made his way out of the apartment, but the space between his shoulder blades itched until he was on the street and in the subway. He hoped he wouldn’t have to kill the man. He hoped the FBI would take him out of play and then the Russians would finish the job.
But if they didn’t, Moz wouldn’t hesitate. Killing Matthew Keller would be like putting down a rabid dog.
A public service.
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Date: 2013-07-29 03:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-29 03:45 pm (UTC)Thank you so very much!
It is always satisfying to see Moz letting his inner badass out!
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Date: 2013-07-23 03:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-23 04:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-23 03:34 pm (UTC)Keller was the typical abuser, taking every negative emotion out on someone he professed to love.
It's so awful to have to live in such fear and to hear over and over again from the abuser that you're not worth any more than that, that this is the best you can hope for and that it's all your fault, well, it can be worse than the actual abuse.
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Date: 2013-07-23 06:10 pm (UTC)And yes, Moz is so damn effective because no one would ever notice him. Who'd think that the short, bald guy with the thick glasses is a stone-cold killer.
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Date: 2013-07-23 03:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-23 04:19 pm (UTC)There's definitely not enough Badass!Mozzie in fandom.
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Date: 2013-07-23 03:51 pm (UTC)That aside, amazing past peek. Absolutely amazing.
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Date: 2013-07-23 04:19 pm (UTC)Thank you so much!
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Date: 2013-07-23 04:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-23 04:18 pm (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2013-07-23 04:12 pm (UTC)Will there be a sequel for the actual story one day? *winking*
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Date: 2013-07-23 04:17 pm (UTC)And good news - there will definitely be a sequel...it's going to be my Poly Big Bang story.
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Date: 2013-07-23 04:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-23 06:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-23 07:00 pm (UTC)Being loving the timestamps!
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Date: 2013-07-24 12:10 pm (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2013-07-23 07:48 pm (UTC)Loved this glimpse into this 'verse from Mozzie's POV, and the whumped!Neal was just added icing on the cake.
Thanks so much for this!
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Date: 2013-07-24 12:27 pm (UTC)And I always think that we underestimate even canon!Moz. I still haven't given up on the idea that Moz is really responsible for everything that's happened to Neal...see Pulling Strings.
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Date: 2013-07-24 08:42 pm (UTC)Neal's the smartest person around, but he gets careless and stupid in matters of the heart, and that not only includes romantic love but also close friendship. And that, of course, means Mozzie. So, Neal wouldn't see the truth if it bit him in the ass. *pets him*
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Date: 2013-07-24 06:59 am (UTC)Love this, I totally support badass!Moz, he is certainly capable of that and it would come as a surprise cuz no one would really suspect him :D GO, MOZ! :D
I also love how Moz prepared the room - Dexter style \o/ Heeee...
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Date: 2013-07-24 12:31 pm (UTC)I actually wasn't thinking of Dexter, but the infamous Hit Man: A Technical Manual for Independent Contractors.
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Date: 2013-07-24 12:36 pm (UTC)I'm currently watching the last season of Dex, so no wonder my mind went that way :D
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Date: 2013-07-24 10:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-25 12:28 pm (UTC)I had always thought I left a hole in the original story - this gave me a nice chance to fill it.
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Date: 2013-07-24 11:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-25 12:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-25 12:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-25 12:54 pm (UTC)But Moz really isn't a pro hitter, he's just doing what needs to be done to protect his friend.
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Date: 2013-07-25 06:01 pm (UTC)Anyway, the comment was basically that I read it and would leave more feedback after I processed it because hey, it was a hard read. Neal's misery and fear was written so well that I had to take breaks, you know?
Days later and I'm still not sure what to think - Moz's ruthlessness is still in character and frightening to me. I still feel a little sick at what Neal went through. "I enjoyed this" seems like the wrong comment. But I did read it and I'll probably read it again, so I guess I enjoyed it?
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Date: 2013-07-25 06:07 pm (UTC)I often find it difficult when responding to fics that cover difficult subjects - death, abuse, grief, loss. It's not so much (at least for me) enjoyment, but appreciation.
So - without trying to sound like a real prat - I really appreciate you letting me know your appreciation.
It was a difficult story to write and took me nearly a year to get it done. This little fill-in is actually the starting point for the rest of the story that I'll be writing for the Poly Big Bang.
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Date: 2013-07-25 06:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-25 10:02 pm (UTC)Really, truly well done.
I saw above that you are continuing the story for your Poly BB. Yay, can't wait to read it!!
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Date: 2013-07-26 12:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-10-31 03:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-10-31 03:31 pm (UTC)