White Collar Fic - Things Are Not What They Seem

[elrhiarhodan]

Title: Things Are Not Quite What They Seem
Author: elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~1200
Beta Credit: None
Summary: An A/U where Peter is a retired FBI agent, and his friend and former mentor, Reese Hughes, has talked him into running for the Congressional seat that he's going to be vacating. Peter hires political consultant, Neal Caffrey, to help him navigate the shark-filled waters of fundraising.

A/N: Written for kanarek13's Photo Prompt 74, during the White Collar Meet Up in D.C., September, 2014. We'd just finished watching "Need to Know" and this was inevitable. The prompt is under the cut.

__________________





"Looking good, Peter."

He had to agree, he did look good. "Thanks, but this doesn’t feel natural. I look like an aging yuppie."

"It looks natural. You look like you were born to wear that suit and tie." Neal commented. He was relaxing on the couch, playing catch with himself – tossing one of Peter’s prized Yankee game balls into the air.

Peter like Neal, felt supremely comfortable with him, even though he’d only hired him a few days ago. "And that’s a good thing?"

"Voters want authenticity. But at the same time, they want someone who shares their values, their ideals. You’re running for a Congressional seat for a district that covers lower Manhattan and most of Williamsburg. Aging Yuppie Central."

"But I’m not a yuppie, Neal."

"Hmmm, maybe not the ‘young’ part. But you are the epitome of the urban professional. Your entire career has been spent in New York City."

"Fighting crime."

"Fighting white collar crime. That makes you your political party’s wet dream – a new 'Sheriff of Wall Street', but without the unsavory habit of hiring prostitutes." Neal tossed the ball again, caught it and asked, "You don't hire prostitutes, do you?"

Peter shook his head, a little appalled at the question.

"Good." Neal continued without pause. "You're a twenty year veteran of the FBI, you embody law and order, but your career was about putting away the guys who steal from the poor. People like that – the trick is going to be making the businesses believe you're not going to go after them with long knives and restrictive legislation. At least not right away."

Peter tuned Neal out and fiddled with his tie – it was loud and kind of ugly. "I’m a hell of a lot more comfortable in my good old Brooks Brothers and the ties I get on Canal Street"

Neal ignored him. "And while you’ve made a career out of protecting the little guy, you need money from – "

"From the people I should be putting in prison."

"Peter, Peter, Peter, how many times have I told you that when you enter the political ring you’ve got to – "

"Leave my antiquated notions of morality behind."

"At least until the campaign is over."

Peter sighed and sat down next to Neal. "Maybe I’m not the right person for the job. Tonight I’m going to go beg for money from people I can’t help but hold in contempt. That seems like the worst sort of dishonesty."

Neal gave him a thoughtful look. "If you want to back out, now’s the time to do it. We’ve got your name on the primary ballot but that’s just the first step. You have a debate in three weeks and we're about to go full bore on the media blitz. You’re going to be the candidate to beat. You have the credentials and the backing of the incumbent, but you still need money. And lots of it."

Peter had thought long and hard before agreeing to run for office. For years, he’d toyed with the idea and planned on starting small, maybe a City Council seat or one in the State House of Representatives. But the opportunity for a Federal office opened up unexpectedly. It didn’t hurt that he knew current office holder and respected the man greatly. Reese Hughes had been his mentor in the FBI before deciding to run for Congress. He'd held the Congressional seat for the last twelve years. Six months ago, long before he’d made the public announcement, Reese had given Peter the news that he planned to retire. His wife was ill and while it wasn’t serious, neither of them wanted to deal with the stresses of maintaining a political life in a key district anymore. He suggested that Peter think about running for that office.

"I don’t know – it feels right and it feels wrong." He looked at his hands, resting on his knees and thought how strange they seemed, with the nails manicured, his gun calluses buffed away. Even the light dusting of hair across his knuckles was trimmed.

He was not a man who got manicures. Or had his body manscaped.

Neal tucked his fingers under Peter’s chin and forced them to look eye-to-eye. "Take a deep breath and listen to your gut, Peter Burke. What is it telling you?"

Peter looked into Neal’s eyes. They were a haven, an oasis of calm, of peace. And he did what the man asked, he listened to his gut and his gut was telling him …

Run.

Peter smiled, but there were no simple answers. "I have one more question."

Neal dropped his hand, resting it on Peter’s forearm before leaning back, the picture of urbane confidence. "Shoot."

"When do we tell people that I’m gay?"

Neal looked at him, his brow furrowed, the calmness in his eyes replace by utter puzzlement. "Gay?" He said the word as if he'd never heard it before. "You're gay?"

The sick feeling returned. "You didn’t know?"

Neal shook his head. "I thought the FBI had a policy."

"That was the military. We, on the other hand, didn’t ask, and we didn’t care. At least not since 1992."

"Oh." Neal still seemed taken aback by the news.

"I can’t believe you didn’t know. It’s not like I’ve hidden it."

Neal got up and started pacing the room, examining the bookcases, the credenza. He picked up a small framed photograph. "Isn't this your wife, Elizabeth?"

"My ex-wife. Our marriage ended amicably. El and I are still the best of friends. She remarried about a year ago. She and her new husband gave me my first campaign donation."

Neal looked oddly discomposed.

"Is this going to be a problem?" Peter couldn’t figure out why Neal seemed so put out.

"Maybe?"

"What do you mean, ‘maybe?’ Don’t you know?"

"Truthfully, I’m not sure."

Peter got up and went back to the mirror, now completely unsure of his course of action. He didn’t like feeling like this.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

I am so fucked. So royally, totally fucked.

It was one thing to find a straight, married client attractive. After all, there was nothing he could do about it. Neal Caffrey, Political Consultant Extraordinaire, might be many things and not all of them good or decent. But he didn’t go after married men.

Especially straight married men, even if they were his type: older, bigger, fit, and best of all, smart.

Last week, when Reese had introduced him to Peter at a pick-up game of basketball, Neal had allowed himself a moment to drool and fantasize about licking the sweat off of the man’s skin. But in ended right there. Peter Burke might as well have been wearing a sigh across his forehead that read, Not For Him.

That didn't stop him from using Peter as stroke material when he jerked off in the shower every morning. And it wasn't as if he could really control his dreams, certainly not the ones that left him hot and hard and on the edge of spontaneous climax when he was barely awake.

But Peter Burke was safe from him because Peter Burke was straight and married and therefore, off limits.

Except that he wasn’t, and campaign season had just started.

There was simply no way he was going to be able to spend the next six months in close company with Peter Burke and keep it in his pants. Not if he didn't want to die of blue balls.

He was so screwed.

FIN

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[elrhiarhodan]

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