White Collar: The Stone of Freyja - Part 2
Title: The Stone of Freyja, Part 2
Author: Serena-chan (hourglass244 )
Fandom: White Collar
Pairings: Peter/Neal, Peter/Elizabeth
Rating: PG (rating will go up as story progresses)
Spoilers: None - Takes place sometime during season 2.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: An ancient relic turns our favorite con artist into a cat.
A/N: Eh, I'm not too thrilled with this part, and I apologize at how short it is. I'm still kind of feeling my way through this genre. (I love cat fics, but this is my first time writing one.) Feedback is very much appreciated!
Continued from Part 1.
When they reached June's, Peter set Neal carefully on the couch before carrying his overnight bag and several plastic shopping bags over to Neal's table. Elizabeth had arrived home just as they'd been leaving and had handed Peter several bags of things she'd picked up at the store.
"Let's see what goodies El picked up for us," he said, pulling things out of bags.
Elizabeth had bought an eclectic mixture of things, some for Neal and some clearly designed to keep Peter occupied. There were several cans of tuna, a bottle of heavy cream, a six-pack of Peter's favorite beer, a couple of frozen dinners, a bag of chips, a litter box and cat litter, a grooming comb, some sports and news magazines, a stack of DVDs, a large toy mouse stuffed with catnip, and something that looked like a doormat made of carpet. Peter examined the label.
"Apparently this is to sharpen your claws on," he said, spreading it out on the floor. "El thinks of everything."
Peter put the cold stuff in the refrigerator before filling the litter box with litter and placing it in a corner near the bathroom. Neal had hopped down off the couch and was eying the litter box with distaste.
"Don't look at me like that," Peter said. "You're too small to use the toilet. Anyway, just be grateful that you're not the one who has to clean it out."
The evening passed rather uneventfully. They watched TV, interrupted only by Peter's few attempts to fill the silence with awkward conversation. In the end, he decided that silence really was best.
Dinner was an interesting affair. The agent had experimentally opened a can of tuna, and Neal had begun sniffing the air immediately as though the scent of the fish was the most interesting thing in the world. Peter had eaten his frozen dinner in amusement, watching as Neal ate his tuna as though it was fine cuisine from a fancy restaurant. That was definitely...new. The con usually didn't like anything that would linger on your breath, like tuna or deviled ham, but Peter supposed that being turned into a cat must have changed his appetite.
After he finished eating, Neal let out a large yawn. Peter realized that Neal's new kitten body probably needed more sleep than his human one, so he carried his partner to bed and told him to get some sleep. The younger man must have really been tired, because instead of protesting he simply curled up into a ball and fell asleep.
Peter spent the rest of the evening watching a documentary about house cats on Animal Planet, stealing guilty looks in Neal's direction the whole time. He had the feeling that if the younger man-turned-cat had woken up and seen what he was watching, he'd be offended. Still, after the tuna incident, the agent felt it necessary to learn more about the body his convict was currently occupying. He'd never had a cat before, only dogs, so Peter made a few notes as he watched, jotting down things like what felines shouldn't eat and how often it was normal for them to nap.
When it was over, Peter turned the set off and stashed his notes in his bag where Neal couldn't get to them before stripping down to his boxers and T-shirt. He only debated for a second before crawling into bed beside Neal, who looked up in surprise.
"I refuse to sleep on that horribly cramped couch when there's more than enough room over here for both of us," Peter informed him. "You take up a lot less room like this, and - hey! Don't you roll your eyes at me!"
Neal heaved a dramatic sigh and made a point of turning his back to Peter before going back to sleep.
****
Peter was awoken from a rather odd dream of chasing after Cat-Neal (who had a paintbrush in his mouth and was trying to forge a Manet), by soft little noises next to him. Neal was apparently having some sort of nightmare and was making these little whimpering noises in the back of his throat while his paws and tail twitched at random.
The agent winced as he debated what to do with him. He'd honestly been hoping that he'd awaken to find this whole thing a dream, but apparently someone up there didn't like him that much.
"Neal," Peter called, gently laying a hand on his small, furry body. "Hey, wake up, Neal."
Neal startled awake, jerking out from under Peter's hand, eyes darting around the room. He looked panicked and frightened, his breathing heavy, and Peter wondered what it was that he had been dreaming about.
"It was just a dream," the agent told him in what he hoped was a soothing voice. "Go back to sleep, okay?"
The con just looked at Peter and then down at his own front paws and let out a sorrowful 'mew' that broke Peter's heart a little. He realized that Neal, like Peter, had probably been hoping that this whole thing was just a dream, and that he'd awaken to find himself back in his own body.
"Hey, it's all right," the agent said, feeling the familiar panic creeping up on him that he felt whenever he had to deal with crying women or children. Normally, he'd just tell Neal to cowboy up, but given the circumstances, he felt that would probably be insensitive. "Don't - Don't cry, okay? We'll figure something out. I won't let you stay like this forever."
When the hopeless look didn't leave Neal's eyes, Peter scooped him up in his arms without thinking and settled him in the crook of his arm. The cat, now in his arms, looked about as surprised as Peter felt with his actions.
Deciding to salvage what little dignity he had left, the agent simply said gruffly, "If you tell anyone about this, even Elizabeth, I'll throw your ass back in prison."
Seemingly reassured by the familiar threat, Neal curled up and closed his eyes. Peter felt an unfamiliar vibration travel down his arm and realized that the con was purring. The documentary he'd watched had said that cats tended to purr when they were happy or felt safe and secure.
Peter fell back asleep with a small smile on his face.
Continued in Part 3.
Author: Serena-chan (hourglass244 )
Fandom: White Collar
Pairings: Peter/Neal, Peter/Elizabeth
Rating: PG (rating will go up as story progresses)
Spoilers: None - Takes place sometime during season 2.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: An ancient relic turns our favorite con artist into a cat.
A/N: Eh, I'm not too thrilled with this part, and I apologize at how short it is. I'm still kind of feeling my way through this genre. (I love cat fics, but this is my first time writing one.) Feedback is very much appreciated!
Continued from Part 1.
When they reached June's, Peter set Neal carefully on the couch before carrying his overnight bag and several plastic shopping bags over to Neal's table. Elizabeth had arrived home just as they'd been leaving and had handed Peter several bags of things she'd picked up at the store.
"Let's see what goodies El picked up for us," he said, pulling things out of bags.
Elizabeth had bought an eclectic mixture of things, some for Neal and some clearly designed to keep Peter occupied. There were several cans of tuna, a bottle of heavy cream, a six-pack of Peter's favorite beer, a couple of frozen dinners, a bag of chips, a litter box and cat litter, a grooming comb, some sports and news magazines, a stack of DVDs, a large toy mouse stuffed with catnip, and something that looked like a doormat made of carpet. Peter examined the label.
"Apparently this is to sharpen your claws on," he said, spreading it out on the floor. "El thinks of everything."
Peter put the cold stuff in the refrigerator before filling the litter box with litter and placing it in a corner near the bathroom. Neal had hopped down off the couch and was eying the litter box with distaste.
"Don't look at me like that," Peter said. "You're too small to use the toilet. Anyway, just be grateful that you're not the one who has to clean it out."
The evening passed rather uneventfully. They watched TV, interrupted only by Peter's few attempts to fill the silence with awkward conversation. In the end, he decided that silence really was best.
Dinner was an interesting affair. The agent had experimentally opened a can of tuna, and Neal had begun sniffing the air immediately as though the scent of the fish was the most interesting thing in the world. Peter had eaten his frozen dinner in amusement, watching as Neal ate his tuna as though it was fine cuisine from a fancy restaurant. That was definitely...new. The con usually didn't like anything that would linger on your breath, like tuna or deviled ham, but Peter supposed that being turned into a cat must have changed his appetite.
After he finished eating, Neal let out a large yawn. Peter realized that Neal's new kitten body probably needed more sleep than his human one, so he carried his partner to bed and told him to get some sleep. The younger man must have really been tired, because instead of protesting he simply curled up into a ball and fell asleep.
Peter spent the rest of the evening watching a documentary about house cats on Animal Planet, stealing guilty looks in Neal's direction the whole time. He had the feeling that if the younger man-turned-cat had woken up and seen what he was watching, he'd be offended. Still, after the tuna incident, the agent felt it necessary to learn more about the body his convict was currently occupying. He'd never had a cat before, only dogs, so Peter made a few notes as he watched, jotting down things like what felines shouldn't eat and how often it was normal for them to nap.
When it was over, Peter turned the set off and stashed his notes in his bag where Neal couldn't get to them before stripping down to his boxers and T-shirt. He only debated for a second before crawling into bed beside Neal, who looked up in surprise.
"I refuse to sleep on that horribly cramped couch when there's more than enough room over here for both of us," Peter informed him. "You take up a lot less room like this, and - hey! Don't you roll your eyes at me!"
Neal heaved a dramatic sigh and made a point of turning his back to Peter before going back to sleep.
****
Peter was awoken from a rather odd dream of chasing after Cat-Neal (who had a paintbrush in his mouth and was trying to forge a Manet), by soft little noises next to him. Neal was apparently having some sort of nightmare and was making these little whimpering noises in the back of his throat while his paws and tail twitched at random.
The agent winced as he debated what to do with him. He'd honestly been hoping that he'd awaken to find this whole thing a dream, but apparently someone up there didn't like him that much.
"Neal," Peter called, gently laying a hand on his small, furry body. "Hey, wake up, Neal."
Neal startled awake, jerking out from under Peter's hand, eyes darting around the room. He looked panicked and frightened, his breathing heavy, and Peter wondered what it was that he had been dreaming about.
"It was just a dream," the agent told him in what he hoped was a soothing voice. "Go back to sleep, okay?"
The con just looked at Peter and then down at his own front paws and let out a sorrowful 'mew' that broke Peter's heart a little. He realized that Neal, like Peter, had probably been hoping that this whole thing was just a dream, and that he'd awaken to find himself back in his own body.
"Hey, it's all right," the agent said, feeling the familiar panic creeping up on him that he felt whenever he had to deal with crying women or children. Normally, he'd just tell Neal to cowboy up, but given the circumstances, he felt that would probably be insensitive. "Don't - Don't cry, okay? We'll figure something out. I won't let you stay like this forever."
When the hopeless look didn't leave Neal's eyes, Peter scooped him up in his arms without thinking and settled him in the crook of his arm. The cat, now in his arms, looked about as surprised as Peter felt with his actions.
Deciding to salvage what little dignity he had left, the agent simply said gruffly, "If you tell anyone about this, even Elizabeth, I'll throw your ass back in prison."
Seemingly reassured by the familiar threat, Neal curled up and closed his eyes. Peter felt an unfamiliar vibration travel down his arm and realized that the con was purring. The documentary he'd watched had said that cats tended to purr when they were happy or felt safe and secure.
Peter fell back asleep with a small smile on his face.
Continued in Part 3.