Fic: The Devil You Know (25/25) FINAL
Title: The Devil You Know
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal/Peter, Peter/Elizabeth/Neal, Neal/Elizabeth, Peter/Elizabeth, references to Neal/Kate
Rating: Explicit
Contains: Non-con, dub-con, institutionalized slavery, spanking, humiliation, dark!Peter, dark!Elizabeth, sex, rimming
Word count: 2500 this part. About 124k total.
Summary: After being convicted of bond forgery, Neal is sentenced to four years of slavery. But he isn't prepared to be purchased by Peter Burke. Or for what Peter has in store for him.
Notes: See Chapter 1 for details.
This is it! Thank you to everyone who's read this, either on the kink meme, as I was reposting it, or now that it's been posted in full. It's a long fic that took me much longer to write than I anticipated, and I know that people have different tastes and preferences when it comes to slave fic, and that this fic probably doesn't appeal to everyone. So I've been very happy with the interest in it and the feedback I've gotten. I hope you find the ending satisfying.
In the future, I might want to write some short ficlets and timestamps set in this 'verse. As long as this fic is, I can still think of more ideas for it.
The last time Neal slept in a sleeping bag, he'd been eighteen. He'd cut ties with his family and spent a lot of nights crashing wherever he could until he learned how to pick pockets and con his way into money.
He'd forgotten how uncomfortable it was, sleeping on the floor. His freshly-paddled ass didn't help matters.
He turned over onto his side, trying to get comfortable. The nylon sleeping bag rustled around him.
He'd forgotten how noisy sleeping bags could be, too.
The bedroom was dark, save for a lamp turned on low on one of the nightstands. Neal was starting to regret his earlier nap, as he wasn't anywhere near ready to sleep.
Neal turned over, with more rustling. He stopped fidgeting when he realized that Peter and Elizabeth were speaking softly to each other. He froze and tried to listen.
"Hon," Peter was saying, "we shouldn't reward him."
"I know!" Elizabeth hissed back. "But he's obviously uncomfortable, and it's noisy."
There was some more soft speech that he couldn't quite make out, but the essence was clear enough.
Neal turned onto his stomach, making sure to rustle the sleeping bag as much as possible.
"Neal...."
It was Peter. Neal stopped moving.
"Yeah?"
Peter sighed. "Would you like to join me and Elizabeth on the bed?"
Neal hesitated, pretending to consider it. "All right. If you want me to."
He unzipped the sleeping bag and freed himself from it. He climbed up the foot of the bed and settled down between Peter and Elizabeth. They quickly moved to make room for him, and Elizabeth flipped back the covers so he could climb inside.
"Thanks," Neal said. "It's cold on the floor."
He hoped they'd relax the "no clothing" part of his punishment, too. But neither of them made any move to get him some pajamas.
"All right, all right," Peter said. "Try to go to sleep. Some of us have to work in the morning."
Neal burrowed under the covers and rested his head on the edge of Peter's pillow.
He was still wide awake, but at least he was more comfortable.
He lay awake for a while longer, listening to Peter and Elizabeth's soft breaths. He wondered if Mozzie and Kate were asleep right now, or if they were still up. Thinking about him, maybe.
Not for the first time today, Neal wondered if he'd done the right thing. But he knew that no matter what he'd said, Kate wouldn't have run with him. And if he was honest with himself, he had no right to expect her to. She was right-they hadn't been together for a long time, now.
Perhaps someday, that knowledge would be easier.
* * *
After his probation, Neal slowly eased into a new routine. The changes Neal had demanded didn't feel as drastic as he'd expected, but they made things more comfortable.
One evening, a few weeks later, he was stirring gravy on the stove when Peter came home in a jubilant mood. Neal heard him greet and kiss Elizabeth. Then, he came over and wrapped his arms around Neal's waist. He nuzzled Neal's neck and kissed him just above his collar.
"You're in a good mood," Neal said.
"We got Valentine today. Search warrant finally came through."
Neal set down the whisk and turned around. "You recovered the Dali?"
"Yep. He still had it. When we arrested him, he became very eager to lead us to his accomplice, and give us any other information we wanted in exchange for a good deal."
"He's selling other people out? What a surprise." Perhaps it said something about Neal that he felt only the briefest glimmer of sympathy for Valentine, but he didn't dwell on it.
"Hey, the Met got its painting back, the case is closed, Sterling Bosch is happy. And it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't steered me in the right direction."
Neal turned around and resumed stirring. "And yet the reward money remains unclaimed."
"Considering you only knew the Dali's location because you were trying to fence stolen property-"
"In theory."
"-I think you should you should be happy with what you've got."
Neal knew that, of course. But even so, it rankled to not get any credit. He wondered if Sara had gotten any money.
"Well," Elizabeth said, "I think this calls for a celebration. How about I open that bottle of Syrah we've been saving?"
"Sounds great," Peter said. "And Neal, how's this for a reward-on Saturday, I'll take you to that Warhol exhibit you've been hinting about."
"I think I can accept that."
The gravy was simmering nicely. Neal switched off the burner and went to grab some plates from the cupboard.
But as he reached for the cupboard handle, Peter came up behind him again. Neal could feel the warmth of his body even before Peter reached out and squeezed Neal's ass.
Neal wiggled away from Peter's grasp. He reached back and swatted Peter's hand.
"It's Tuesday. Hands off."
"You're no fun. Guess you'll have to miss out tonight when El and I go upstairs."
"Yeah, I guess so."
Neal didn't exactly mind what Peter was proposing, but he had to be firm. There was no point in having days off if he still gave them whatever they wanted, and he'd acquiesced enough already by helping Elizabeth cook dinner.
Still, he didn't mind the sex as much these days. Neal was accepting Peter's efforts to make it more enjoyable for him.
At dinner, Peter and Elizabeth let him drink some Syrah. Afterward, he went upstairs to his makeshift studio and worked on a painting he had on the easel. The wine made his brushstrokes more relaxed, almost reckless. That wasn't always a bad thing. Forgeries took confidence. If you worried too much, it always showed.
Neal felt more relaxed than he had in a long time, and he knew it wasn't just the Syrah. He wondered what that said about himself. He wholeheartedly rejected the notion that he was adjusting to slavery. But he'd learned to accept it, and even make the most of his situation.
And he couldn't deny that, for the time being, the Burkes' house had become his home.
He heard a noise below his feet and paused with his brush hovering over the canvas. He listened, and picked up the sound of Elizabeth giggling. Peter moaned.
Evidently, they were doing just fine celebrating without him. They could handle not having their slave a couple nights a week.
With a small smile, Neal returned to his painting.
* * *
"You know, I expected stake-outs to be more interesting."
"And I thought you wanted me to take you out on a case."
"I did, but Peter, it's Saturday afternoon. Nothing exciting has happened on this video feed for over an hour, and the van smells. This isn't exactly what I had in mind."
Peter smirked. "This is what investigative work is, Neal. It's the thrill of catching your man after a lot of hard work."
"Well, the only thing we've learned today is that our man shops at Whole Foods."
"Oh, come on, it's not that bad. I've always liked stakeouts. There's something exciting about it."
Neal didn't see how Peter could find any of this exciting. The van was cramped, hot, and smelled like grease and electronics. It made him feel bad for the agents who'd spent hours staking out museums, hoping to catch him in the act of stealing something.
"I thought I was promised a trip to the Warhol exhibit today."
"We have plenty of time. I told you-we'll go when Jones relieves us at two."
Neal leaned back in his creaky chair and returned to his previous pastime: admiring the new picture ID he had.
An idea occurred to him. Looking back up at Peter, he said, "How about I go buy us some coffee? You don't have to worry about me now. I have a license." He held the card up for Peter to see, as though Peter might have forgotten about giving it to him.
"No. I don't want you disappearing because you're bored. We've got everything we need right here."
Neal sat back, dejected. He was anxious for any chance he could get to go out unattended. Yesterday, he'd gone to work with Peter and was allowed to go out and get lunch on his own.
The Burkes had gotten him a "slave phone," as well. It was a cheap, simple cellphone that allowed them to access his call records. He was supposed to keep it on him when he was unsupervised.
But for now, it seemed he was stuck in the van. He leaned over to get his wallet out of his pocket, and put his license away. Then he sat back and studied Peter.
For all Peter's insistence about enjoying stakeouts, he looked tired and tense. His eyelids were drooping after a few hours of staring at the grainy screen in front of him.
Neal scooted his chair closer and reached for Peter's shoulders.
Whipping his head around, Peter said, "What are you doing?"
"You're tense. Let me."
He started to massage Peter's shoulders. He felt Peter's muscles relax. Peter made a content murmur and turned his attention back to the screen.
Neal worked his hands across Peter's shoulders. He rubbed at the tense muscles in his neck, and then worked his way down to his back.
"That's good...." Peter said.
"What would you do without me? Well, aside from getting another slave."
"Oh, I think I'll be done with being a slave owner after you're free."
"Yeah? You sure you'll be able to go back to doing your own laundry?"
"It'll be tough, but I think taking in one felon is enough. Besides, I didn't just want a slave-I wanted you."
"I'm honored."
In a way, he was. He was too fond of valuable objects not to take some pride in being one.
Jones arrived right at two to relieve them, and Peter took Neal to the exhibit as promised. When they got home, it was still light out and Satchmo was whining to go out. Elizabeth was running an event today, so he'd been cooped up all day.
"Hey," Neal said. "I think I'll take Satchmo out for a bit. Let him stretch his legs."
"Okay. Don't be too long. I thought you could show me what else you can do with those hands of yours."
He rubbed Neal's ass. Neal pressed against his hand.
"I take it you don't mean a pick-pocketing demonstration."
"No. That's not exactly what I had in mind."
Neal grinned. "Maybe you'll get lucky."
Neal got changed into jeans and a t-shirt and put Satchmo on his leash. The idea of purposely taking his time briefly occurred to him, but he found he was okay with what Peter was proposing.
He would save his rebellion for when he needed it.
He intended to take Satchmo for a quick walk in the park. He hadn't brought any toys, but a walk around the perimeter would give Satchmo a chance to stretch his legs.
Since it was Saturday, the park was busy. There were several dogs running around, and Satchmo started tugging on his leash with excitement.
Amidst all the people, Neal spotted a suspicious figure lingering behind a tree. Satchmo wagged his tail and started to pull Neal over.
"We can see you, Moz," Neal said. "You can come out, now."
Mozzie stepped out from behind the tree. He was wearing a trench coat and had a hat pulled down low over his brow.
"How did you spot me?"
"Your disguise isn't exactly subtle. And the dog recognizes you."
Mozzie looked down at Satchmo and held up a warning finger. "Don't rat us out."
"I don't think he's going to say anything, Moz. And there's no need for a disguise-I'm alone. But I can't stay long." He paused. "Are you angry?"
"What? No. Concerned, yes. Distressed, maybe."
"I haven't heard from you in a while. I didn't know what to think."
"I've come around a few times, but I haven't seen you."
"Right. We should probably come up with a way to plan meetings. Look, about what happened, I'm sorry. I know you stuck your neck out for me."
Neal started to walk slowly with Satchmo, and Mozzie joined him. Together, they started to circle the park.
"I blame myself," Mozzie said. "If I hadn't sent you to Valentine...."
"I was already having doubts. What happened just confirmed them."
"What did it confirm, exactly?"
"That running is a big move, and I don't want to do it unless I have to. I have to face reality. I'm a slave right now. That's how people see me."
"It's not how I see you," Mozzie said softly.
"I know. And I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. But guys like Valentine aren't that charitable. Right now, it's better to have a good master. And if I run, I can never come back. In a few years, I'll be free and I'll have a choice. I can stay here, or I can make a new life somewhere else."
Satchmo stopped to sniff at a tree, and Neal paused to oblige him.
"But now you're at the mercy of the Suit. I can't imagine what unspeakable horrors you've been experiencing. I've been picturing you locked up in a cage. Or sent to a slave trainer. If I didn't see you soon, I was going to launch a rescue mission."
"Everything's okay."
"No, but seriously. You can tell me if they're inflicting horrific tortures on you."
"They're not. They've been good to me lately. They give me a little money. I have a license. They're even letting me write to Kate in France."
"Ah, they're trying to give you Stockholm syndrome so you won't try to escape again."
"They're trying to make me happier."
"Same thing!"
Neal sighed. "Maybe. The point is, if Peter wants to make things bearable for me, I'm not going to turn him down. I like Peter. I'd like him better if he wasn't my master, but at least I have a master I trust."
Mozzie nodded slowly. "Better the devil you know than the one you don't."
"Exactly."
"You do have an uncanny ability to turn situations to your advantage. It only took you, what, seven months to get the Suit to give you the things you want."
"Hey, give me time. It's a work in progress."
"If you change your mind, the rescue mission is still a go."
"Thanks, Moz. And thanks for coming."
"Always, mon frère."
It was getting late. The sun was starting to set, and the air was chilly, now. Goosebumps cropped up on Neal's bare arms. He'd already been gone for a half hour, and Peter was probably getting impatient.
He said goodbye to Mozzie, promising to meet him again next week. Then, he let Satchmo lead the way home.
This entry was originally posted at http://citrinesunset.dreamwidth.org/118221.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal/Peter, Peter/Elizabeth/Neal, Neal/Elizabeth, Peter/Elizabeth, references to Neal/Kate
Rating: Explicit
Contains: Non-con, dub-con, institutionalized slavery, spanking, humiliation, dark!Peter, dark!Elizabeth, sex, rimming
Word count: 2500 this part. About 124k total.
Summary: After being convicted of bond forgery, Neal is sentenced to four years of slavery. But he isn't prepared to be purchased by Peter Burke. Or for what Peter has in store for him.
Notes: See Chapter 1 for details.
This is it! Thank you to everyone who's read this, either on the kink meme, as I was reposting it, or now that it's been posted in full. It's a long fic that took me much longer to write than I anticipated, and I know that people have different tastes and preferences when it comes to slave fic, and that this fic probably doesn't appeal to everyone. So I've been very happy with the interest in it and the feedback I've gotten. I hope you find the ending satisfying.
In the future, I might want to write some short ficlets and timestamps set in this 'verse. As long as this fic is, I can still think of more ideas for it.
The last time Neal slept in a sleeping bag, he'd been eighteen. He'd cut ties with his family and spent a lot of nights crashing wherever he could until he learned how to pick pockets and con his way into money.
He'd forgotten how uncomfortable it was, sleeping on the floor. His freshly-paddled ass didn't help matters.
He turned over onto his side, trying to get comfortable. The nylon sleeping bag rustled around him.
He'd forgotten how noisy sleeping bags could be, too.
The bedroom was dark, save for a lamp turned on low on one of the nightstands. Neal was starting to regret his earlier nap, as he wasn't anywhere near ready to sleep.
Neal turned over, with more rustling. He stopped fidgeting when he realized that Peter and Elizabeth were speaking softly to each other. He froze and tried to listen.
"Hon," Peter was saying, "we shouldn't reward him."
"I know!" Elizabeth hissed back. "But he's obviously uncomfortable, and it's noisy."
There was some more soft speech that he couldn't quite make out, but the essence was clear enough.
Neal turned onto his stomach, making sure to rustle the sleeping bag as much as possible.
"Neal...."
It was Peter. Neal stopped moving.
"Yeah?"
Peter sighed. "Would you like to join me and Elizabeth on the bed?"
Neal hesitated, pretending to consider it. "All right. If you want me to."
He unzipped the sleeping bag and freed himself from it. He climbed up the foot of the bed and settled down between Peter and Elizabeth. They quickly moved to make room for him, and Elizabeth flipped back the covers so he could climb inside.
"Thanks," Neal said. "It's cold on the floor."
He hoped they'd relax the "no clothing" part of his punishment, too. But neither of them made any move to get him some pajamas.
"All right, all right," Peter said. "Try to go to sleep. Some of us have to work in the morning."
Neal burrowed under the covers and rested his head on the edge of Peter's pillow.
He was still wide awake, but at least he was more comfortable.
He lay awake for a while longer, listening to Peter and Elizabeth's soft breaths. He wondered if Mozzie and Kate were asleep right now, or if they were still up. Thinking about him, maybe.
Not for the first time today, Neal wondered if he'd done the right thing. But he knew that no matter what he'd said, Kate wouldn't have run with him. And if he was honest with himself, he had no right to expect her to. She was right-they hadn't been together for a long time, now.
Perhaps someday, that knowledge would be easier.
* * *
After his probation, Neal slowly eased into a new routine. The changes Neal had demanded didn't feel as drastic as he'd expected, but they made things more comfortable.
One evening, a few weeks later, he was stirring gravy on the stove when Peter came home in a jubilant mood. Neal heard him greet and kiss Elizabeth. Then, he came over and wrapped his arms around Neal's waist. He nuzzled Neal's neck and kissed him just above his collar.
"You're in a good mood," Neal said.
"We got Valentine today. Search warrant finally came through."
Neal set down the whisk and turned around. "You recovered the Dali?"
"Yep. He still had it. When we arrested him, he became very eager to lead us to his accomplice, and give us any other information we wanted in exchange for a good deal."
"He's selling other people out? What a surprise." Perhaps it said something about Neal that he felt only the briefest glimmer of sympathy for Valentine, but he didn't dwell on it.
"Hey, the Met got its painting back, the case is closed, Sterling Bosch is happy. And it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't steered me in the right direction."
Neal turned around and resumed stirring. "And yet the reward money remains unclaimed."
"Considering you only knew the Dali's location because you were trying to fence stolen property-"
"In theory."
"-I think you should you should be happy with what you've got."
Neal knew that, of course. But even so, it rankled to not get any credit. He wondered if Sara had gotten any money.
"Well," Elizabeth said, "I think this calls for a celebration. How about I open that bottle of Syrah we've been saving?"
"Sounds great," Peter said. "And Neal, how's this for a reward-on Saturday, I'll take you to that Warhol exhibit you've been hinting about."
"I think I can accept that."
The gravy was simmering nicely. Neal switched off the burner and went to grab some plates from the cupboard.
But as he reached for the cupboard handle, Peter came up behind him again. Neal could feel the warmth of his body even before Peter reached out and squeezed Neal's ass.
Neal wiggled away from Peter's grasp. He reached back and swatted Peter's hand.
"It's Tuesday. Hands off."
"You're no fun. Guess you'll have to miss out tonight when El and I go upstairs."
"Yeah, I guess so."
Neal didn't exactly mind what Peter was proposing, but he had to be firm. There was no point in having days off if he still gave them whatever they wanted, and he'd acquiesced enough already by helping Elizabeth cook dinner.
Still, he didn't mind the sex as much these days. Neal was accepting Peter's efforts to make it more enjoyable for him.
At dinner, Peter and Elizabeth let him drink some Syrah. Afterward, he went upstairs to his makeshift studio and worked on a painting he had on the easel. The wine made his brushstrokes more relaxed, almost reckless. That wasn't always a bad thing. Forgeries took confidence. If you worried too much, it always showed.
Neal felt more relaxed than he had in a long time, and he knew it wasn't just the Syrah. He wondered what that said about himself. He wholeheartedly rejected the notion that he was adjusting to slavery. But he'd learned to accept it, and even make the most of his situation.
And he couldn't deny that, for the time being, the Burkes' house had become his home.
He heard a noise below his feet and paused with his brush hovering over the canvas. He listened, and picked up the sound of Elizabeth giggling. Peter moaned.
Evidently, they were doing just fine celebrating without him. They could handle not having their slave a couple nights a week.
With a small smile, Neal returned to his painting.
* * *
"You know, I expected stake-outs to be more interesting."
"And I thought you wanted me to take you out on a case."
"I did, but Peter, it's Saturday afternoon. Nothing exciting has happened on this video feed for over an hour, and the van smells. This isn't exactly what I had in mind."
Peter smirked. "This is what investigative work is, Neal. It's the thrill of catching your man after a lot of hard work."
"Well, the only thing we've learned today is that our man shops at Whole Foods."
"Oh, come on, it's not that bad. I've always liked stakeouts. There's something exciting about it."
Neal didn't see how Peter could find any of this exciting. The van was cramped, hot, and smelled like grease and electronics. It made him feel bad for the agents who'd spent hours staking out museums, hoping to catch him in the act of stealing something.
"I thought I was promised a trip to the Warhol exhibit today."
"We have plenty of time. I told you-we'll go when Jones relieves us at two."
Neal leaned back in his creaky chair and returned to his previous pastime: admiring the new picture ID he had.
An idea occurred to him. Looking back up at Peter, he said, "How about I go buy us some coffee? You don't have to worry about me now. I have a license." He held the card up for Peter to see, as though Peter might have forgotten about giving it to him.
"No. I don't want you disappearing because you're bored. We've got everything we need right here."
Neal sat back, dejected. He was anxious for any chance he could get to go out unattended. Yesterday, he'd gone to work with Peter and was allowed to go out and get lunch on his own.
The Burkes had gotten him a "slave phone," as well. It was a cheap, simple cellphone that allowed them to access his call records. He was supposed to keep it on him when he was unsupervised.
But for now, it seemed he was stuck in the van. He leaned over to get his wallet out of his pocket, and put his license away. Then he sat back and studied Peter.
For all Peter's insistence about enjoying stakeouts, he looked tired and tense. His eyelids were drooping after a few hours of staring at the grainy screen in front of him.
Neal scooted his chair closer and reached for Peter's shoulders.
Whipping his head around, Peter said, "What are you doing?"
"You're tense. Let me."
He started to massage Peter's shoulders. He felt Peter's muscles relax. Peter made a content murmur and turned his attention back to the screen.
Neal worked his hands across Peter's shoulders. He rubbed at the tense muscles in his neck, and then worked his way down to his back.
"That's good...." Peter said.
"What would you do without me? Well, aside from getting another slave."
"Oh, I think I'll be done with being a slave owner after you're free."
"Yeah? You sure you'll be able to go back to doing your own laundry?"
"It'll be tough, but I think taking in one felon is enough. Besides, I didn't just want a slave-I wanted you."
"I'm honored."
In a way, he was. He was too fond of valuable objects not to take some pride in being one.
Jones arrived right at two to relieve them, and Peter took Neal to the exhibit as promised. When they got home, it was still light out and Satchmo was whining to go out. Elizabeth was running an event today, so he'd been cooped up all day.
"Hey," Neal said. "I think I'll take Satchmo out for a bit. Let him stretch his legs."
"Okay. Don't be too long. I thought you could show me what else you can do with those hands of yours."
He rubbed Neal's ass. Neal pressed against his hand.
"I take it you don't mean a pick-pocketing demonstration."
"No. That's not exactly what I had in mind."
Neal grinned. "Maybe you'll get lucky."
Neal got changed into jeans and a t-shirt and put Satchmo on his leash. The idea of purposely taking his time briefly occurred to him, but he found he was okay with what Peter was proposing.
He would save his rebellion for when he needed it.
He intended to take Satchmo for a quick walk in the park. He hadn't brought any toys, but a walk around the perimeter would give Satchmo a chance to stretch his legs.
Since it was Saturday, the park was busy. There were several dogs running around, and Satchmo started tugging on his leash with excitement.
Amidst all the people, Neal spotted a suspicious figure lingering behind a tree. Satchmo wagged his tail and started to pull Neal over.
"We can see you, Moz," Neal said. "You can come out, now."
Mozzie stepped out from behind the tree. He was wearing a trench coat and had a hat pulled down low over his brow.
"How did you spot me?"
"Your disguise isn't exactly subtle. And the dog recognizes you."
Mozzie looked down at Satchmo and held up a warning finger. "Don't rat us out."
"I don't think he's going to say anything, Moz. And there's no need for a disguise-I'm alone. But I can't stay long." He paused. "Are you angry?"
"What? No. Concerned, yes. Distressed, maybe."
"I haven't heard from you in a while. I didn't know what to think."
"I've come around a few times, but I haven't seen you."
"Right. We should probably come up with a way to plan meetings. Look, about what happened, I'm sorry. I know you stuck your neck out for me."
Neal started to walk slowly with Satchmo, and Mozzie joined him. Together, they started to circle the park.
"I blame myself," Mozzie said. "If I hadn't sent you to Valentine...."
"I was already having doubts. What happened just confirmed them."
"What did it confirm, exactly?"
"That running is a big move, and I don't want to do it unless I have to. I have to face reality. I'm a slave right now. That's how people see me."
"It's not how I see you," Mozzie said softly.
"I know. And I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. But guys like Valentine aren't that charitable. Right now, it's better to have a good master. And if I run, I can never come back. In a few years, I'll be free and I'll have a choice. I can stay here, or I can make a new life somewhere else."
Satchmo stopped to sniff at a tree, and Neal paused to oblige him.
"But now you're at the mercy of the Suit. I can't imagine what unspeakable horrors you've been experiencing. I've been picturing you locked up in a cage. Or sent to a slave trainer. If I didn't see you soon, I was going to launch a rescue mission."
"Everything's okay."
"No, but seriously. You can tell me if they're inflicting horrific tortures on you."
"They're not. They've been good to me lately. They give me a little money. I have a license. They're even letting me write to Kate in France."
"Ah, they're trying to give you Stockholm syndrome so you won't try to escape again."
"They're trying to make me happier."
"Same thing!"
Neal sighed. "Maybe. The point is, if Peter wants to make things bearable for me, I'm not going to turn him down. I like Peter. I'd like him better if he wasn't my master, but at least I have a master I trust."
Mozzie nodded slowly. "Better the devil you know than the one you don't."
"Exactly."
"You do have an uncanny ability to turn situations to your advantage. It only took you, what, seven months to get the Suit to give you the things you want."
"Hey, give me time. It's a work in progress."
"If you change your mind, the rescue mission is still a go."
"Thanks, Moz. And thanks for coming."
"Always, mon frère."
It was getting late. The sun was starting to set, and the air was chilly, now. Goosebumps cropped up on Neal's bare arms. He'd already been gone for a half hour, and Peter was probably getting impatient.
He said goodbye to Mozzie, promising to meet him again next week. Then, he let Satchmo lead the way home.
This entry was originally posted at http://citrinesunset.dreamwidth.org/118221.html. Please comment there using OpenID.