elrhiarhodan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elrhiarhodan) wrote2013-02-14 11:11 am
elrhiarhodan) wrote2013-02-14 11:11 am
White Collar Ficlet - Breaking the Horrid Silence
Title: Breaking the Horrid Silence
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey/Peter Burke
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Reference to non-canonical death of canon character; implied dub-con.
Word Count: ~500
Summary: Consider this my anti-Valentine’s Day fic; this story was originally written fordoctor_fangeek, another one for the Tropes Meme I did back in September. The prompt was “cell mates.” At one time, I thought about continuing this, and I still may.
A/N: Title from John Milton’s “Paradise Lost”.
__________________
Everyone knew to stay away from Big Bad Peter Burke. Former Fed, former lawman, he was currently serving hard time for committing murder with his bare hands. The rumor in the yard was that he ripped the head and arms off of his wife's killer.
That wasn't far from the truth.
Neal Caffrey, world-class con man and forger, should never have been sent to a maximum security facility like Sing-Sing. Four years for bond forgery should have netted him a stay at some cushy Club Fed. But Neal was also an escape artist par excellence, and the high stone walls and razor wire of the castle-like penitentiary represented much more of a challenge.
Neal, terrified as he was, knew that he had to make the best of it, if he was going to survive. The screws who marched him down the midway delighted in telling him all about his vicious new cellmate, a lifer with nothing to lose.
As they approached the end of the long cellblock, the hoots and hollers faded away. A guard shouted at the cell's current occupant to stand with his hands on the wall and his feet apart. The cell door clanged as the lock was released. A sharp shove between his shoulder blades and Neal stumbled into the cell. The bars slammed shut and he was instructed to turn around and present his hands. Neal supposed that it wouldn't be a good idea to pick the cuffs and hand them to the guard, so he did as instructed.
They took off the cuffs and walked away, laughing. "We'll check on you in the morning, Caffrey. We don't expect to find you alive."
Neal looked around the small cell, trying not to stare at the large man in an orange jumpsuit, who nonchalantly sat down on the cell’s single chair and picked up a book - Milton’s Paradise Lost.
"So, you're the fresh meat I was told I was getting." Burke leaned back, legs incongruously, elegantly crossed.
Neal swallowed and introduced himself.
Burke laid out the realities to him. "This is no tea party, Caffrey. It's hell on earth and you don't strike me as a man who'll survive hard time without some help."
Neal knew this was coming. "I have connections; I can get things – whatever you want."
The shadows in his cellmate's eyes were surprising. "You can't get me what I want. No one can."
Neal took a deep breath and decided this was not the time to play games. "I want to stay alive and I know my chances are slim without protection. What's it going to cost me?"
Burke looked him up and down. "I suppose you think I'll want your pretty ass."
Neal just nodded.
"That'll do - for starters. I’ll have your mouth, too." Burke waited for the reality of that to sink in. When Neal started breathing again, he continued. "Outside of this cell, you always walk in my shadow, you do everything I tell you to do and you talk to no one. You want to live, you want to get out of here relatively sane and healthy, you’ll stick to me like fucking glue." Burke opened his book and started to read, as if Neal's answer meant nothing to him.
"Okay - I get it."
Burke turned the page and finally looked up. His off-hand reply sent chills down Neal’s spine. "Good. And remember, I own you - for the next four years."
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey/Peter Burke
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Reference to non-canonical death of canon character; implied dub-con.
Word Count: ~500
Summary: Consider this my anti-Valentine’s Day fic; this story was originally written for
doctor_fangeek, another one for the Tropes Meme I did back in September. The prompt was “cell mates.” At one time, I thought about continuing this, and I still may. A/N: Title from John Milton’s “Paradise Lost”.
Everyone knew to stay away from Big Bad Peter Burke. Former Fed, former lawman, he was currently serving hard time for committing murder with his bare hands. The rumor in the yard was that he ripped the head and arms off of his wife's killer.
That wasn't far from the truth.
Neal Caffrey, world-class con man and forger, should never have been sent to a maximum security facility like Sing-Sing. Four years for bond forgery should have netted him a stay at some cushy Club Fed. But Neal was also an escape artist par excellence, and the high stone walls and razor wire of the castle-like penitentiary represented much more of a challenge.
Neal, terrified as he was, knew that he had to make the best of it, if he was going to survive. The screws who marched him down the midway delighted in telling him all about his vicious new cellmate, a lifer with nothing to lose.
As they approached the end of the long cellblock, the hoots and hollers faded away. A guard shouted at the cell's current occupant to stand with his hands on the wall and his feet apart. The cell door clanged as the lock was released. A sharp shove between his shoulder blades and Neal stumbled into the cell. The bars slammed shut and he was instructed to turn around and present his hands. Neal supposed that it wouldn't be a good idea to pick the cuffs and hand them to the guard, so he did as instructed.
They took off the cuffs and walked away, laughing. "We'll check on you in the morning, Caffrey. We don't expect to find you alive."
Neal looked around the small cell, trying not to stare at the large man in an orange jumpsuit, who nonchalantly sat down on the cell’s single chair and picked up a book - Milton’s Paradise Lost.
"So, you're the fresh meat I was told I was getting." Burke leaned back, legs incongruously, elegantly crossed.
Neal swallowed and introduced himself.
Burke laid out the realities to him. "This is no tea party, Caffrey. It's hell on earth and you don't strike me as a man who'll survive hard time without some help."
Neal knew this was coming. "I have connections; I can get things – whatever you want."
The shadows in his cellmate's eyes were surprising. "You can't get me what I want. No one can."
Neal took a deep breath and decided this was not the time to play games. "I want to stay alive and I know my chances are slim without protection. What's it going to cost me?"
Burke looked him up and down. "I suppose you think I'll want your pretty ass."
Neal just nodded.
"That'll do - for starters. I’ll have your mouth, too." Burke waited for the reality of that to sink in. When Neal started breathing again, he continued. "Outside of this cell, you always walk in my shadow, you do everything I tell you to do and you talk to no one. You want to live, you want to get out of here relatively sane and healthy, you’ll stick to me like fucking glue." Burke opened his book and started to read, as if Neal's answer meant nothing to him.
"Okay - I get it."
Burke turned the page and finally looked up. His off-hand reply sent chills down Neal’s spine. "Good. And remember, I own you - for the next four years."
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