Evil Author Day: The Moon Made Me Do It (White Collar)
What is it about Neal Caffrey that makes me want to turn him into something other than human? /shrugs/ I wrote the first part of this for a prompt on a friend's LJ a bunch of years ago. I like it so much that I decided to expand it and then... never went back to it. I'm not sure if I'll ever finish it, but it's fun to revisit the idea anyway.
~o~
Neal Caffrey stretched as he lay on the smooth pavers of the terrace, enjoying the languid freedom of his altered form on this warm summer night. He still had a few hours before dawn began to paint the sky in pinks and purples, but he'd never been one to wait until the last minute.
With one last longing look at the moon, he stood up and stepped into his anklet as he allowed the change to overtake him.
Fully back in human form now, he stood and stretched, feeling the familiar pull of muscle and bone as he tried to shake off the melancholy of his lost freedom. There'd been a time when he'd been able to change anytime he wanted, to run for miles and chase the other night-dwelling creatures to his heart's content. Now, he was restricted to the terrace of June's house, unable to run free except in his heart.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips even as he shook off those thoughts and turned to go back inside. He really needed a few hours' sleep before he had to be at work. But the minute he turned, he froze.
Standing there, hands on hips and an unreadable expression on his face, was Peter Burke.
"I can explain, Peter," he said, taking a step forward.
Peter frowned. "That you're a werewolf?"
"No." When Peter's frown turned into a scowl, he huffed out a laugh. "No, I'm not a werewolf. Werewolves don't exist."
"And yet I saw a furry creature that looked an awful lot like a wolf turn into you," Peter said. "Are you going to tell me I was seeing things?"
"You weren't seeing things, but I wasn't kidding when I said there's no such thing as werewolves," Neal said. "And I promise I'll tell you everything, just… can I put some pants on?"
Peter sighed impatiently, but Neal didn't miss the flick of his eyes over his naked form. Neal just chuckled and shook his head as he passed. He grabbed the pair of sweats off the kitchen chair where he'd tossed them and pulled them on, followed by his ratty old t-shirt. When he turned around, Peter was still standing near the terrace doors, still with his hands on his hips, though the frown had turned into a contemplative look.
"So, let me guess," Peter said, "the moon made you do it."
~o~
"In a manner of speaking, I suppose so."
Peter scowled. That… didn't actually clarify a damned thing. Still, he knew what he'd seen, and he wasn't going to just let Neal shrug it off like he'd probably want to. He sensed it was too important, too significant to just let it go.
"I think you have some explaining to do?" It wasn't a question, but Peter couched it that way, as if asking instead of telling would get Neal to give up the truth any faster.
Neal just shrugged and wandered over to the kitchenette, pulling a beer-imported, because for all that they'd learned about each other over the months and years, Neal still refused to serve him 'crappy beer'-out of the fridge. He hooked a wine glass between his fingers and scooped up the half-empty bottle on the counter as he went. Peter took a seat at the table, the beer plunking down in front of him followed by the clatter of a bottle opener. Neal settled in across from him, uncorking the bottle and pouring a generous amount of blood-red wine into his glass.
He tossed the cork aside and took a sip of the wine before leveling his gaze at Peter. "You have questions. Ask."
Peter opened his mouth, but nothing came out. It wasn't a matter of being unable to think of a question so much as not knowing what to ask first. Why hadn't he told Peter he was a werewolf? Were there packs of them in Manhattan? Who else knew about this? June? Mozzie?
Shaking his head, he opened his mouth, but the question he asked took even him by surprise. "So, who bit you?"
"No one bit me, Peter," Neal said, his expression souring. "God, does everyone believe those terrible movies are real?"
"Up until ten minutes ago, I'd have said they were complete fiction," Peter said. He took a long pull from his bottle. "Obviously, I was wrong." But before he could open his mouth to ask another-quite likely inane-question, Neal held up a hand.
"There's no such thing as a werewolf," he said. "Contrary to popular myth, you won't suddenly become a shifter if I bite you. It's genetic, passed along in families."
"Who-"
"My father."
Peter let that digest for a moment. "Did your mother know?"
"Yeah, she knew," Neal said. He gusted out a sigh, then raised his glass and took a long sip. "He didn't tell her until after I was born. Guess he figured it'd be hard to explain why I suddenly turned into a wolf when I hit puberty. Mom was not pleased."
"She didn't kick you out, did she?"
Neal shook his head. "No. But after everything my father did-and believe me, that's a story you really don't want to hear-she kicked him out. Then we left, ran away. I hadn't seen Manhattan until the day I came back as an adult."
"So, you're not a werewolf, but you can change into one," Peter said. Neal glared at him, but he ignored it. "So far, you're not telling me anything. Like why the hell you don't just run. Obviously you can slip the anklet anytime you want to. Why not just do it?"
"Believe it or not, I like it here," Neal said. He sipped at his wine, before going on in a more subdued tone. "New York is where I was born. It's home in a way no other place has ever been. That's why I came back, and it's why I stay. The price might be high, but I can live with it."
Peter looked at Neal, really looked at him, maybe for the first time. He'd always believed that Neal had something like honor. He'd always said he wouldn't lie to Peter, and that he wouldn't run, but Peter was only now understanding the weight of those promises.
"I'm going to go out on a limb and say Mozzie doesn't know that you're-"
"Not. A. Werewolf."
"Right," Peter said, pursing his lips. "What, exactly, do you call it, then? That thing you do?"
"I'm a shifter, Peter," Neal said. "A Dire Wolf, to be specific. And no, Mozzie doesn't know. I imagine I'd be a pelt on his wall by now if he did. Either that or he'd be convinced I was part of some government experiment designed to take over the world."
Peter huffed a laugh. That sounded about right. It seemed impossible that no one-besides himself, that was-knew about this. Then he saw it.
"June knows."
Neal's eyes widened just a fraction, but he knew he'd hit paydirt.
"She's not a-what did you call it?-A dire wolf, is she?" Peter asked.
"No," Neal said, shaking his head. "She's not. Byron was, though."
"And she saw it in you, that day you met," Peter said. "Is that what makes you so good at what you do? What made Byron the legend he was?"
"If by that you mean that I used my enhanced senses when I pulled a job, I plead the Fifth," Neal said. When Peter frowned, Neal just smiled. "Come on, Peter. A guy's gotta have some secrets."
"Do you use them on me?"
Neal just smiled wider, sipping at his wine as he let the silence lengthen. Not that Peter would know just what 'enhanced senses' meant, but he could guess. Better eyesight, hearing, speed and strength. It made so much of what Neal was able to do make sense. And he'd willingly stayed on the anklet, helping Peter put criminals away.
"Fine," Peter said, leaning back in his chair. He could feel a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, despite a sneaking suspicion that he'd been the victim of Neal's wolf-enhanced abilities more than once. If it helped them put someone away, he wasn't going to complain.
"Are you going to tell Elizabeth?"
That question felt like it came out of left field, but maybe not. Neal had kept this secret for a reason. If it hadn't been for Peter's untimely arrival, he might never have known. And yes, Peter didn't like to keep secrets from his wife, but for Neal he could bend that rule.
"I'm not going to say anything, but maybe you should," he said. "We could take you to the park with Satchmo, let you run. It'd beat hanging out on the terrace for the full moon."
"I am not a dog, Peter," Neal said, frowning. "I don't heel, I don't walk on a leash, and I most certainly do not go to the dog park."
Neal's outrage had turned his face a lovely shade of red, and Peter couldn't help but chuckle. "Come on, it'd be fun. And Satchmo's never had a playdate before."
Neal opened his mouth, probably to yell something vaguely insulting, when he stopped and really looked at Peter. Suddenly, the outrage drained out of him and he chuckled. "Good one, Peter."
"I'm serious about telling El, Neal," Peter said. "She won't judge, you know that."
"I'll think about it."
Peter knew that was about as good as he was going to get, so he didn't push. He knew it had to be Neal's decision, how much to reveal and to whom. All he could do was give Neal a safe place to be and someone to trust. In that respect, the night's revelations hadn't really changed anything, and that thought more than anything else had him relaxing.
Neal might be a wolf, but he was still the same man he'd been yesterday. For better or worse.
~o~
Neal Caffrey stretched as he lay on the smooth pavers of the terrace, enjoying the languid freedom of his altered form on this warm summer night. He still had a few hours before dawn began to paint the sky in pinks and purples, but he'd never been one to wait until the last minute.
With one last longing look at the moon, he stood up and stepped into his anklet as he allowed the change to overtake him.
Fully back in human form now, he stood and stretched, feeling the familiar pull of muscle and bone as he tried to shake off the melancholy of his lost freedom. There'd been a time when he'd been able to change anytime he wanted, to run for miles and chase the other night-dwelling creatures to his heart's content. Now, he was restricted to the terrace of June's house, unable to run free except in his heart.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips even as he shook off those thoughts and turned to go back inside. He really needed a few hours' sleep before he had to be at work. But the minute he turned, he froze.
Standing there, hands on hips and an unreadable expression on his face, was Peter Burke.
"I can explain, Peter," he said, taking a step forward.
Peter frowned. "That you're a werewolf?"
"No." When Peter's frown turned into a scowl, he huffed out a laugh. "No, I'm not a werewolf. Werewolves don't exist."
"And yet I saw a furry creature that looked an awful lot like a wolf turn into you," Peter said. "Are you going to tell me I was seeing things?"
"You weren't seeing things, but I wasn't kidding when I said there's no such thing as werewolves," Neal said. "And I promise I'll tell you everything, just… can I put some pants on?"
Peter sighed impatiently, but Neal didn't miss the flick of his eyes over his naked form. Neal just chuckled and shook his head as he passed. He grabbed the pair of sweats off the kitchen chair where he'd tossed them and pulled them on, followed by his ratty old t-shirt. When he turned around, Peter was still standing near the terrace doors, still with his hands on his hips, though the frown had turned into a contemplative look.
"So, let me guess," Peter said, "the moon made you do it."
~o~
"In a manner of speaking, I suppose so."
Peter scowled. That… didn't actually clarify a damned thing. Still, he knew what he'd seen, and he wasn't going to just let Neal shrug it off like he'd probably want to. He sensed it was too important, too significant to just let it go.
"I think you have some explaining to do?" It wasn't a question, but Peter couched it that way, as if asking instead of telling would get Neal to give up the truth any faster.
Neal just shrugged and wandered over to the kitchenette, pulling a beer-imported, because for all that they'd learned about each other over the months and years, Neal still refused to serve him 'crappy beer'-out of the fridge. He hooked a wine glass between his fingers and scooped up the half-empty bottle on the counter as he went. Peter took a seat at the table, the beer plunking down in front of him followed by the clatter of a bottle opener. Neal settled in across from him, uncorking the bottle and pouring a generous amount of blood-red wine into his glass.
He tossed the cork aside and took a sip of the wine before leveling his gaze at Peter. "You have questions. Ask."
Peter opened his mouth, but nothing came out. It wasn't a matter of being unable to think of a question so much as not knowing what to ask first. Why hadn't he told Peter he was a werewolf? Were there packs of them in Manhattan? Who else knew about this? June? Mozzie?
Shaking his head, he opened his mouth, but the question he asked took even him by surprise. "So, who bit you?"
"No one bit me, Peter," Neal said, his expression souring. "God, does everyone believe those terrible movies are real?"
"Up until ten minutes ago, I'd have said they were complete fiction," Peter said. He took a long pull from his bottle. "Obviously, I was wrong." But before he could open his mouth to ask another-quite likely inane-question, Neal held up a hand.
"There's no such thing as a werewolf," he said. "Contrary to popular myth, you won't suddenly become a shifter if I bite you. It's genetic, passed along in families."
"Who-"
"My father."
Peter let that digest for a moment. "Did your mother know?"
"Yeah, she knew," Neal said. He gusted out a sigh, then raised his glass and took a long sip. "He didn't tell her until after I was born. Guess he figured it'd be hard to explain why I suddenly turned into a wolf when I hit puberty. Mom was not pleased."
"She didn't kick you out, did she?"
Neal shook his head. "No. But after everything my father did-and believe me, that's a story you really don't want to hear-she kicked him out. Then we left, ran away. I hadn't seen Manhattan until the day I came back as an adult."
"So, you're not a werewolf, but you can change into one," Peter said. Neal glared at him, but he ignored it. "So far, you're not telling me anything. Like why the hell you don't just run. Obviously you can slip the anklet anytime you want to. Why not just do it?"
"Believe it or not, I like it here," Neal said. He sipped at his wine, before going on in a more subdued tone. "New York is where I was born. It's home in a way no other place has ever been. That's why I came back, and it's why I stay. The price might be high, but I can live with it."
Peter looked at Neal, really looked at him, maybe for the first time. He'd always believed that Neal had something like honor. He'd always said he wouldn't lie to Peter, and that he wouldn't run, but Peter was only now understanding the weight of those promises.
"I'm going to go out on a limb and say Mozzie doesn't know that you're-"
"Not. A. Werewolf."
"Right," Peter said, pursing his lips. "What, exactly, do you call it, then? That thing you do?"
"I'm a shifter, Peter," Neal said. "A Dire Wolf, to be specific. And no, Mozzie doesn't know. I imagine I'd be a pelt on his wall by now if he did. Either that or he'd be convinced I was part of some government experiment designed to take over the world."
Peter huffed a laugh. That sounded about right. It seemed impossible that no one-besides himself, that was-knew about this. Then he saw it.
"June knows."
Neal's eyes widened just a fraction, but he knew he'd hit paydirt.
"She's not a-what did you call it?-A dire wolf, is she?" Peter asked.
"No," Neal said, shaking his head. "She's not. Byron was, though."
"And she saw it in you, that day you met," Peter said. "Is that what makes you so good at what you do? What made Byron the legend he was?"
"If by that you mean that I used my enhanced senses when I pulled a job, I plead the Fifth," Neal said. When Peter frowned, Neal just smiled. "Come on, Peter. A guy's gotta have some secrets."
"Do you use them on me?"
Neal just smiled wider, sipping at his wine as he let the silence lengthen. Not that Peter would know just what 'enhanced senses' meant, but he could guess. Better eyesight, hearing, speed and strength. It made so much of what Neal was able to do make sense. And he'd willingly stayed on the anklet, helping Peter put criminals away.
"Fine," Peter said, leaning back in his chair. He could feel a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, despite a sneaking suspicion that he'd been the victim of Neal's wolf-enhanced abilities more than once. If it helped them put someone away, he wasn't going to complain.
"Are you going to tell Elizabeth?"
That question felt like it came out of left field, but maybe not. Neal had kept this secret for a reason. If it hadn't been for Peter's untimely arrival, he might never have known. And yes, Peter didn't like to keep secrets from his wife, but for Neal he could bend that rule.
"I'm not going to say anything, but maybe you should," he said. "We could take you to the park with Satchmo, let you run. It'd beat hanging out on the terrace for the full moon."
"I am not a dog, Peter," Neal said, frowning. "I don't heel, I don't walk on a leash, and I most certainly do not go to the dog park."
Neal's outrage had turned his face a lovely shade of red, and Peter couldn't help but chuckle. "Come on, it'd be fun. And Satchmo's never had a playdate before."
Neal opened his mouth, probably to yell something vaguely insulting, when he stopped and really looked at Peter. Suddenly, the outrage drained out of him and he chuckled. "Good one, Peter."
"I'm serious about telling El, Neal," Peter said. "She won't judge, you know that."
"I'll think about it."
Peter knew that was about as good as he was going to get, so he didn't push. He knew it had to be Neal's decision, how much to reveal and to whom. All he could do was give Neal a safe place to be and someone to trust. In that respect, the night's revelations hadn't really changed anything, and that thought more than anything else had him relaxing.
Neal might be a wolf, but he was still the same man he'd been yesterday. For better or worse.