White Collar Fic - If the Soul Doesn't Sing (Just One Life) - Epilogue (WC Reverse Big Bang)

[elrhiarhodan]

Title: If the Soul Doesn’t Sing (Just One Life) - Epilogue
Artist: kanarek13, Artwork Post
Author: elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, June Ellington, Garrett Fowler, Reese Hughes, Matthew Keller, Mozzie, Clinton Jones, Diana Berrigan, mention of Kate Moreau, mention of Elizabeth Burke, mention of Satchmo, mention of Terrance Pratt, mention of James Bennett, original characters
Pairings: Pre-story Peter/Elizabeth, pre-story Peter/Hughes; Neal/Keller, Peter/Neal
Spoilers: Mention of canon events at the end of In the Wind (S4.16)
Warnings : Non-canon deaths of canon characters (all off-camera and pre-story): Elizabeth Burke, Satchmo, Kate Moreau, OMC
Word Count: Total ~50,000 / Epilogue – ~ 1000
Beta Credit: coffeethyme4me, sinfulslasher
Summary: Neal is an Archon, a ‘guardian angel’, who has been watching over the soul of Peter Burke for millennia. He’s learned that Peter’s soul will not be reborn into a new life, and cannot bear the thought that he will continue for eternity without Peter. So he decides to take the forbidden path: become mortal and spend the rest of his days watching over Peter and caring for him.

But he will need to make a sacrifice, and he will need to learn how to Fall.

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Epilogue

It didn’t take much to get inside the Suit’s abode. Even if he didn’t have the Suit’s keys, the locks were pitiful, the alarm system barely worth the price.

Mozzie looked around. This was a pleasant home, designed for comfort, not for show. It was a pity he couldn’t finagle his way into taking possession of it. It wasn’t like the Suit was going to need it anymore. Maybe this was something he could work on.

But that was for later. Right now, he had tasks to complete. Mozzie headed upstairs, first checking the guest room where that wingless idiot had been staying. He stripped off the bedding, making sure that there was nothing untoward left behind.

Nope, no feathers here. Just to make certain, Moz checked the closets, the drawers, even getting down on his hands and knees to look underneath the furniture. Dust bunnies aplenty, but no oversized white plumage. He fought the urge to sneeze.

The master bedroom was a different story. The bed was unmade and Moz wished he’d thought to bring a pair of rubber gloves, or maybe a hazmat suit. He pulled back the covers and found two feathers. Under the pillows were more feathers. Of course, the mother lode was the old cigar box of feathers that the Suit kept in his night table drawer.

Mozzie added his find to the cache and started to look for the Suit’s safe. The man certainly lacked imagination, hiding it behind rather indifferent artwork in a small built-in nook. Centurion, a few years old, with a key and electronic combination lock entry. The key, conveniently, was on the ring he’d lifted from the Suit before they took him away. The combination wasn’t a problem either. Moz took care of it the same way he took care of the keypad by the front door.

The safe’s contents were almost as dull as the artwork that covered it. Life insurance policies, a copy of the Suit’s Last Will and Testament, a small velvet bag that contained a few pieces of jewelry. The property of the late Mrs. Suit. Moz stifled his acquisitive nature and put the bag back. Stealing a dead woman’s jewelry was wrong. What he needed was tucked behind a box of ammo – the Suit’s passport.

He hated jobs like this. They needed too much improvising. But on the other hand, they were challenging and he certainly loved a good challenge. Making a grown man plausibly disappear – particularly one with an over-developed sense of responsibility and friends in law enforcement –was a lot harder than a small child.

So, he was going to have to sharpen his quill, metaphorically speaking, forge a few letters, send some e-mails, play with Photoshop, use the passport a few times. Maybe “Peter” would take a trip to Italy or maybe Tahiti – or possibly both. He had the Suit’s wallet; there were plenty of credit cards in there. Bills would have to be paid, but that wouldn’t be a problem. It was all the Suit’s money anyway.

The trick was persuading the Suit’s friends that he just took off – that he’d been spooked at the concert and decided to go on a trip. The old gray Suit was a little too sharp for Mozzie’s tastes, and convincing him that his friend decided to decamp to someplace sunnier and safer was going to be difficult. But he was nothing if not creative.

He locked up the safe, put the artwork back, put the Suit’s passport in his pocket and picked up the box of feathers. Not only did he have to cover the Suit’s disappearance; he had a delivery to make – no time to just hang around and savor the bourgeoisie lifestyle.

June was an exacting taskmistress and he hated to disappoint her.

FIN

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Comments

[coffeethyme4me.livejournal.com]

I more than adore this story; I'm in awe of it.

BRAVA!!!!!!!!