White Collar Fic - Names Have Power
May. 2nd, 2010 09:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elrhiarhodanTitle: Names Have Power - A Ficlet on the Occasion of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
asimaiyat ’s Birthday
Author:elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: G
Characters: Mozzie, Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, June
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~ 1000
Summary: His mother liked classical, his father preferred show tunes.
_________________________
Right Now
He’s always known that names have power, the power to hurt, the power to betray, the power to compel loyalty. This is why he is the only living person in the whole world who knows his own real name. He has more aliases than a character out of a Robert Ludlum novel, and it’s been so long since anyone’s called him by what’s on his birth certificate that when someone does, he nearly has a heart attack. And a stroke on top of that because it comes out of the mouth of Neal’s pet FBI agent.
An Hour Ago
Every time Moz is admitted into June’s Riverside Drive mansion, he’s impressed. Not by the address or the stuff or the servants or any of the trappings of wealth. He’s impressed by June’s kindness - which runs deep into her elegant bones and by her perspicacity. She loves Neal like a son, but she’s under no illusions about him. She welcomes Moz, not just as her “son’s” friend, but as an equal, someone she actually enjoys spending time with.
So, when he comes calling this evening, with a very rare copy of the Nottingham 1936 Tournament Book by A. A. Alekhine, hoping to entice Neal into recreating a match or two and keep him out of the doldrums, he isn’t a bit surprised when the housekeeper takes him into the library, rather than letting him head up to the apartment. June is waiting for him with a glass of gin, neat, and a wary smile on her face.
They talk for a few minutes and it becomes clear that June’s trying to stall him. Moz, being a man of action, cuts right to the chase.
“You aren’t breaking out the Parcheesi set, so what’s up?”
“Hmm, Moz...Neal’s not alone.”
He’s surprised at the implication. June is practically telling him that Neal should be hanging a bandana on the doorknob.
“Alex is back?” He doesn’t think Neal was the least bit ready for any sort of relationship, particularly with the pretty little fence, another woman that Moz doesn’t quite trust.
June shakes her head, no. “I don’t think I should say anything more. And I may be misunderstanding the situation completely.”
“You’re not going to tell me who’s up there with Neal?”
June’s frozen in a moment of indecision and Moz, ever the gentleman, gives her a small bow, downs the rest of his gin and bids her adieu. But instead of departing, he goes upstairs, intent on discovering who Neal’s mysterious companion is.
First, an ear against the door. There’s music playing, not too loud but loud enough for his ever excellent hearing to discern. Something classical, he listens for a few measures and he recognizes the Finale from the Posthorn Serenade. Not exactly music for seduction or even sex. He stands there for a few minutes, letting the grandness of it sweep over him.
He knocks, waits and knocks again. The music is turned down and he hears the patter of feet approach the door. Neal seems a bit out of breath, but otherwise fine. He’s fully clothed too. Not a button askew or a zipper undone, and the hair is perfectly coiffed (damn, sometimes he hates Neal for that hair). He doesn’t seem surprised or disappointed to see him either. In fact, he seems actually happy to see him, or just plain happy.
“You alone?”
“No, Peter’s here. We’ve been going over some work stuff.”
Moz prides himself of being able to read Neal better than anyone - he knows when Neal’s trying to misdirect his attention. This does not seem like one of those times.
“Can I come in?” Moz does the eyebrow thing, the chin thrust forward - someone (maybe Kate, maybe his mother) once told him it made him look like a myopic turtle. He couldn’t care less.
Neal stands back, and lets him in. Sure enough The Suit’s sitting at the dining room table, files and paperwork spread out all over the place.
He grabs Neal and whispers to him, “He’s like a stray that’s followed you home. He’s here more than he is with Mrs. Suit.”
Neal smiles and says nothing. Neal’s smile...ah...that’s a good thing to see.
Peter lifts his head from the files (probably a bunch of warrants for wiretapping innocent citizens) and says hello. Moz doesn’t want to admit it, but he likes The Suit. For a Fed, he’s a decent guy, and he seems to genuinely care about Neal. It does concern him that he’s been spending quite a lot of time in the apartment - after all, the man does have an admittedly very hot wife, a dog and a place to live with indoor plumbing. The few times he’s asked Neal, the only answer he’s gotten is “Elizabeth has A Thing.” Moz isn’t quite sure was the Thing is - an event she’s managing, or something else entirely, and it doesn’t fully explain why Peter can’t spend time alone in his own house.
So, Moz hands Neal the copy of Alekhine, gets himself another gin, neat (and is appreciative that June keeps her tenant stocked with top shelf liquor), and settles into the couch.
The music is still playing in the background, now Prokofiev’s Scythian Suite, and by the time The Glorious Departure of Lolly and the Sun’s Procession rings in, Moz is pretty far gone. He’s Toscanini, Bernstein and Mehta - conducting the great orchestras of the world, and he’s standing, waving his arms, calling up the strings, keeping the horns in line, letting the percussion shimmer through to its magnificent, triumphant end.
The slow roll of Neal and Peter’s clapping jolts him back to reality, but there’s no mockery in Peter’s voice when he asks “Having fun, Mozart?”
And Mozart Oscar Zuckerman’s world drops out from under him.
FIN
asimaiyat ’s BirthdayAuthor:
elrhiarhodan Fandom: White Collar
Rating: G
Characters: Mozzie, Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, June
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~ 1000
Summary: His mother liked classical, his father preferred show tunes.
Right Now
He’s always known that names have power, the power to hurt, the power to betray, the power to compel loyalty. This is why he is the only living person in the whole world who knows his own real name. He has more aliases than a character out of a Robert Ludlum novel, and it’s been so long since anyone’s called him by what’s on his birth certificate that when someone does, he nearly has a heart attack. And a stroke on top of that because it comes out of the mouth of Neal’s pet FBI agent.
An Hour Ago
Every time Moz is admitted into June’s Riverside Drive mansion, he’s impressed. Not by the address or the stuff or the servants or any of the trappings of wealth. He’s impressed by June’s kindness - which runs deep into her elegant bones and by her perspicacity. She loves Neal like a son, but she’s under no illusions about him. She welcomes Moz, not just as her “son’s” friend, but as an equal, someone she actually enjoys spending time with.
So, when he comes calling this evening, with a very rare copy of the Nottingham 1936 Tournament Book by A. A. Alekhine, hoping to entice Neal into recreating a match or two and keep him out of the doldrums, he isn’t a bit surprised when the housekeeper takes him into the library, rather than letting him head up to the apartment. June is waiting for him with a glass of gin, neat, and a wary smile on her face.
They talk for a few minutes and it becomes clear that June’s trying to stall him. Moz, being a man of action, cuts right to the chase.
“You aren’t breaking out the Parcheesi set, so what’s up?”
“Hmm, Moz...Neal’s not alone.”
He’s surprised at the implication. June is practically telling him that Neal should be hanging a bandana on the doorknob.
“Alex is back?” He doesn’t think Neal was the least bit ready for any sort of relationship, particularly with the pretty little fence, another woman that Moz doesn’t quite trust.
June shakes her head, no. “I don’t think I should say anything more. And I may be misunderstanding the situation completely.”
“You’re not going to tell me who’s up there with Neal?”
June’s frozen in a moment of indecision and Moz, ever the gentleman, gives her a small bow, downs the rest of his gin and bids her adieu. But instead of departing, he goes upstairs, intent on discovering who Neal’s mysterious companion is.
First, an ear against the door. There’s music playing, not too loud but loud enough for his ever excellent hearing to discern. Something classical, he listens for a few measures and he recognizes the Finale from the Posthorn Serenade. Not exactly music for seduction or even sex. He stands there for a few minutes, letting the grandness of it sweep over him.
He knocks, waits and knocks again. The music is turned down and he hears the patter of feet approach the door. Neal seems a bit out of breath, but otherwise fine. He’s fully clothed too. Not a button askew or a zipper undone, and the hair is perfectly coiffed (damn, sometimes he hates Neal for that hair). He doesn’t seem surprised or disappointed to see him either. In fact, he seems actually happy to see him, or just plain happy.
“You alone?”
“No, Peter’s here. We’ve been going over some work stuff.”
Moz prides himself of being able to read Neal better than anyone - he knows when Neal’s trying to misdirect his attention. This does not seem like one of those times.
“Can I come in?” Moz does the eyebrow thing, the chin thrust forward - someone (maybe Kate, maybe his mother) once told him it made him look like a myopic turtle. He couldn’t care less.
Neal stands back, and lets him in. Sure enough The Suit’s sitting at the dining room table, files and paperwork spread out all over the place.
He grabs Neal and whispers to him, “He’s like a stray that’s followed you home. He’s here more than he is with Mrs. Suit.”
Neal smiles and says nothing. Neal’s smile...ah...that’s a good thing to see.
Peter lifts his head from the files (probably a bunch of warrants for wiretapping innocent citizens) and says hello. Moz doesn’t want to admit it, but he likes The Suit. For a Fed, he’s a decent guy, and he seems to genuinely care about Neal. It does concern him that he’s been spending quite a lot of time in the apartment - after all, the man does have an admittedly very hot wife, a dog and a place to live with indoor plumbing. The few times he’s asked Neal, the only answer he’s gotten is “Elizabeth has A Thing.” Moz isn’t quite sure was the Thing is - an event she’s managing, or something else entirely, and it doesn’t fully explain why Peter can’t spend time alone in his own house.
So, Moz hands Neal the copy of Alekhine, gets himself another gin, neat (and is appreciative that June keeps her tenant stocked with top shelf liquor), and settles into the couch.
The music is still playing in the background, now Prokofiev’s Scythian Suite, and by the time The Glorious Departure of Lolly and the Sun’s Procession rings in, Moz is pretty far gone. He’s Toscanini, Bernstein and Mehta - conducting the great orchestras of the world, and he’s standing, waving his arms, calling up the strings, keeping the horns in line, letting the percussion shimmer through to its magnificent, triumphant end.
The slow roll of Neal and Peter’s clapping jolts him back to reality, but there’s no mockery in Peter’s voice when he asks “Having fun, Mozart?”
And Mozart Oscar Zuckerman’s world drops out from under him.
