Ficlet: Made Your Bed (White Collar)
A conversation between friends: Neal tells Mozzie about his current relationships. Mozzie tells Neal he's out of his mind. OT3 discussed. No spoilers for nuthing except the pilot.
The first time Neal stopped Mozzie from telling him about a con, Mozzie said, "I knew it! The suits finally corrupted you!" He was kidding, partly. But like a lot of things Mozzie said, there was an uncomfortable grain of truth in it. Uncomfortable enough to lead from banter to nearly a yelling match in only a few words.
"I'm pretty sure that that should be 'anti-corrupted' me," Neal said.
"Whatever. Diverted you from your true nature, twisted you like... like a bonsai trained by a beginner-"
"Peter didn't twist me! If anything, he straightened me out-"
"You have a covetous soul! And a larcenous mind -"
"I think I'm in love with him, Mozzie."
Mozzie stared.
Neal tossed his head, turning his gaze away and up, that idiosyncratic move that he had never ever used (to Mozzie's knowledge) in front of a mark because it looked too much like exactly what it was: confusion, exasperation, and a desire to avoid Mozzie's gaze. So either Neal was genuinely embarrassed or he'd graduated to trying to con Mozzie. Either way, Mozzie thought, it might be a good sign. Maybe.
"Excuse me, I think my hearing is going," Mozzie said after a moment. "Did you just express romantic feelings toward the FBI agent who put you in jail? Twice?"
"I love him."
"What? How? And why? Admiration, I can understand: the Suit is competent and he's almost as smart as I am. Lust, even, if you like that sort."
"Men?" Neal couldn't help asking.
"Feds. Whatever, I don't care as long as you don't scare the horses. But love? Have you never heard of Patty Hearst?"
"This isn't like that."
"No, my friend, I think this is exactly like that. You already admired him by the time he caught you. Now your freedom, such as it is, depends on his whim. He controls what part of the city you live in, what money you make, what you do for most of each day, who you communicate with. You are answerable to him for what you are doing any time of day or night. You need his approval to keep what freedom you have. So he bosses you around and you submit because the alternative is unbearable."
Neal appeared to be listening, so Mozzie went on.
"You submit and at first it's just like a long con. But there was no end-point for the con, and submission became a habit. And once it was a habit, it became a frame of mind, and at some point in the last two years, your concept of yourself changed to include that."
"You convinced yourself that you love him, because that makes you feel like you chose this. That you chose to be... to be owned by an FBI agent."
"It's not like that."
"Then what is it like, Neal?"
Neal rubbed his face. "I... look, he does own me. Right after the Dutchman, he said. He said he owned me for the next five years. And he asked if that was okay with me. I said yes. I made that choice, right at the beginning. This... the way I feel towards him, has taken longer. But I don't regret it."
Neal was the most impractical man alive, ridiculous and contradictory, gorgeous and broken, and Stockholm syndrome or not, he was still Mozzie's friend.
"Look," Mozzie said, "all may not be lost. Just because you have a, a pash for the Suit doesn't mean you have to do anything. Maybe he won't notice."
"He knows. We're-" Neal made a complicated motion with his arm.
Mozzie stood up, and his voice rose, "You're sleeping with him? Tell me you are not having sex with -- how could you do that to Elizabeth? How could he do that to Elizabeth?"
"Her, too."
It took a moment for Mozzie to understand what he was saying. "You are having an affair with both of them. The law-abiding Burkes. Plural."
Neal nodded.
Mozzie pondered. He finally said, "Just when I think that things can't get any more ridiculous, you come along and raise the bar. Your life is like a screwball comedy."
"It's not," Neal said. And he seemed genuinely distressed. "I'm not good for them. I'm trying, but I'm never going to be good enough for them. Mozzie, what am I going to do?"
"I suppose it's no good telling you to detach with love?"
Neal shook his head. "It'd kill me, I think."
"I guess you'll just have to not detach with love." Mozzie sighed. "You drank the Kool-aid and you've made your bed. I guess you see how long you can keep them lying in it with you."
Crossposted here (
comments).
The first time Neal stopped Mozzie from telling him about a con, Mozzie said, "I knew it! The suits finally corrupted you!" He was kidding, partly. But like a lot of things Mozzie said, there was an uncomfortable grain of truth in it. Uncomfortable enough to lead from banter to nearly a yelling match in only a few words.
"I'm pretty sure that that should be 'anti-corrupted' me," Neal said.
"Whatever. Diverted you from your true nature, twisted you like... like a bonsai trained by a beginner-"
"Peter didn't twist me! If anything, he straightened me out-"
"You have a covetous soul! And a larcenous mind -"
"I think I'm in love with him, Mozzie."
Mozzie stared.
Neal tossed his head, turning his gaze away and up, that idiosyncratic move that he had never ever used (to Mozzie's knowledge) in front of a mark because it looked too much like exactly what it was: confusion, exasperation, and a desire to avoid Mozzie's gaze. So either Neal was genuinely embarrassed or he'd graduated to trying to con Mozzie. Either way, Mozzie thought, it might be a good sign. Maybe.
"Excuse me, I think my hearing is going," Mozzie said after a moment. "Did you just express romantic feelings toward the FBI agent who put you in jail? Twice?"
"I love him."
"What? How? And why? Admiration, I can understand: the Suit is competent and he's almost as smart as I am. Lust, even, if you like that sort."
"Men?" Neal couldn't help asking.
"Feds. Whatever, I don't care as long as you don't scare the horses. But love? Have you never heard of Patty Hearst?"
"This isn't like that."
"No, my friend, I think this is exactly like that. You already admired him by the time he caught you. Now your freedom, such as it is, depends on his whim. He controls what part of the city you live in, what money you make, what you do for most of each day, who you communicate with. You are answerable to him for what you are doing any time of day or night. You need his approval to keep what freedom you have. So he bosses you around and you submit because the alternative is unbearable."
Neal appeared to be listening, so Mozzie went on.
"You submit and at first it's just like a long con. But there was no end-point for the con, and submission became a habit. And once it was a habit, it became a frame of mind, and at some point in the last two years, your concept of yourself changed to include that."
"You convinced yourself that you love him, because that makes you feel like you chose this. That you chose to be... to be owned by an FBI agent."
"It's not like that."
"Then what is it like, Neal?"
Neal rubbed his face. "I... look, he does own me. Right after the Dutchman, he said. He said he owned me for the next five years. And he asked if that was okay with me. I said yes. I made that choice, right at the beginning. This... the way I feel towards him, has taken longer. But I don't regret it."
Neal was the most impractical man alive, ridiculous and contradictory, gorgeous and broken, and Stockholm syndrome or not, he was still Mozzie's friend.
"Look," Mozzie said, "all may not be lost. Just because you have a, a pash for the Suit doesn't mean you have to do anything. Maybe he won't notice."
"He knows. We're-" Neal made a complicated motion with his arm.
Mozzie stood up, and his voice rose, "You're sleeping with him? Tell me you are not having sex with -- how could you do that to Elizabeth? How could he do that to Elizabeth?"
"Her, too."
It took a moment for Mozzie to understand what he was saying. "You are having an affair with both of them. The law-abiding Burkes. Plural."
Neal nodded.
Mozzie pondered. He finally said, "Just when I think that things can't get any more ridiculous, you come along and raise the bar. Your life is like a screwball comedy."
"It's not," Neal said. And he seemed genuinely distressed. "I'm not good for them. I'm trying, but I'm never going to be good enough for them. Mozzie, what am I going to do?"
"I suppose it's no good telling you to detach with love?"
Neal shook his head. "It'd kill me, I think."
"I guess you'll just have to not detach with love." Mozzie sighed. "You drank the Kool-aid and you've made your bed. I guess you see how long you can keep them lying in it with you."
Crossposted here (
comments).