White Collar Fic: Choices
Title: Choices
Author: dennih23
Rating: G
Character: Peter Burke
Word Count: 621
Summary: Pre-series, Peter thinks about his choices
A/N: Fills the Scars square on my H/C Bingo Card
He stepped out of the shower, quickly dried himself, and wiped the steam off the mirror. Grabbing his razor he ran it over the coarse whiskers. Once Peter was clean shaven he took a long look at his reflection.
The groove along his shoulder stared back at him. He ran his fingers over the imperfection and closed his eyes. His dreams of becoming a major league pitcher were gone. He cringed as he remembered the pain that had overwhelmed him as he threw the ball and his rotator cuff tore. He flinched as he ran his hand over the flawed skin. The surgery repaired the damage, but his pitching days were over.
Doctor Randolph warned him that if he continued to throw his slider, the shoulder would become weaker and the muscles more apt to fail again. The next time he probably would not be as lucky and he could lose partial use of his arm.
Peter left the bathroom and went over to his small closet. The space was mostly empty with only a few pairs of jeans, some polo shirts, tee shirts and his one halfway decent suit. He looked over the old brown suit he purchased for a friend’s wedding and decided it would have to do. He found a clean white dress shirt and figured it went okay with the dark suit. He had to dig through his dresser drawer to find a pair of brown socks. Peter had to rummage through the rest of his stuff to find a brown tie.
He looked at his watch even though he knew he had plenty of time to get dressed. He put on the suit and checked himself in the mirror. The jacket sleeves were a little long and it looked boxy, but it was the best he had. Peter shrugged and hoped he looked presentable.
The smell of coffee wafted across the small apartment. Pouring himself a cup he sat at the small card table and opened the newspaper to the crossword puzzle. Peter usually could finish the crossword quickly, barely thinking about his answers. Today was different, he couldn't concentrate, and the letters and boxes simply blurred together. After forty-five minutes he gave up on it and tossed the paper aside.
Peter continued to sit at the table, his fingers drumming against the top, his leg nervously bouncing up and down. He picked up the newspaper and fumbled through it until he found the sports section. Checking the box scores, he frowned as he noticed the Yankees had lost the previous night.
With nothing to do, he went over what he wanted to say in his interview. He still had two hours before his appointment and his was jittery. There was a lot riding on this conversation. Peter already had been offered a job with an accounting firm. It would be nice and he would be well paid. But sitting behind a desk working numbers didn’t really interest him.
What he really wanted was to work for the FBI. He liked the idea of catching criminals and using his mind to solve cases. Peter could see himself as a leader and working hard at getting the job done. It might not pay as well as the accounting job, but he knew down deep that he would get more satisfaction from the work.
If he wasn’t accepted by the FBI maybe he could still try and go back to baseball. Maybe he could make it to the majors and stay injury free, although it wasn’t likely to happen. Rubbing his shoulder one more time, Peter knew he was making the right decision about his future. Today he was giving up his childhood dream for a new one.
Cross Posted at AO3
Author: dennih23
Rating: G
Character: Peter Burke
Word Count: 621
Summary: Pre-series, Peter thinks about his choices
A/N: Fills the Scars square on my H/C Bingo Card
He stepped out of the shower, quickly dried himself, and wiped the steam off the mirror. Grabbing his razor he ran it over the coarse whiskers. Once Peter was clean shaven he took a long look at his reflection.
The groove along his shoulder stared back at him. He ran his fingers over the imperfection and closed his eyes. His dreams of becoming a major league pitcher were gone. He cringed as he remembered the pain that had overwhelmed him as he threw the ball and his rotator cuff tore. He flinched as he ran his hand over the flawed skin. The surgery repaired the damage, but his pitching days were over.
Doctor Randolph warned him that if he continued to throw his slider, the shoulder would become weaker and the muscles more apt to fail again. The next time he probably would not be as lucky and he could lose partial use of his arm.
Peter left the bathroom and went over to his small closet. The space was mostly empty with only a few pairs of jeans, some polo shirts, tee shirts and his one halfway decent suit. He looked over the old brown suit he purchased for a friend’s wedding and decided it would have to do. He found a clean white dress shirt and figured it went okay with the dark suit. He had to dig through his dresser drawer to find a pair of brown socks. Peter had to rummage through the rest of his stuff to find a brown tie.
He looked at his watch even though he knew he had plenty of time to get dressed. He put on the suit and checked himself in the mirror. The jacket sleeves were a little long and it looked boxy, but it was the best he had. Peter shrugged and hoped he looked presentable.
The smell of coffee wafted across the small apartment. Pouring himself a cup he sat at the small card table and opened the newspaper to the crossword puzzle. Peter usually could finish the crossword quickly, barely thinking about his answers. Today was different, he couldn't concentrate, and the letters and boxes simply blurred together. After forty-five minutes he gave up on it and tossed the paper aside.
Peter continued to sit at the table, his fingers drumming against the top, his leg nervously bouncing up and down. He picked up the newspaper and fumbled through it until he found the sports section. Checking the box scores, he frowned as he noticed the Yankees had lost the previous night.
With nothing to do, he went over what he wanted to say in his interview. He still had two hours before his appointment and his was jittery. There was a lot riding on this conversation. Peter already had been offered a job with an accounting firm. It would be nice and he would be well paid. But sitting behind a desk working numbers didn’t really interest him.
What he really wanted was to work for the FBI. He liked the idea of catching criminals and using his mind to solve cases. Peter could see himself as a leader and working hard at getting the job done. It might not pay as well as the accounting job, but he knew down deep that he would get more satisfaction from the work.
If he wasn’t accepted by the FBI maybe he could still try and go back to baseball. Maybe he could make it to the majors and stay injury free, although it wasn’t likely to happen. Rubbing his shoulder one more time, Peter knew he was making the right decision about his future. Today he was giving up his childhood dream for a new one.
Cross Posted at AO3