White Collar crazy crossover time
I mentioned White Collar fic earlier today and there might be more later, but this is all I've got right now and I would love an opinion on it. I really didn't expect to be writing fic in this fandom.
Forlauds, who knows my weakness when it comes to mad prompts and isn't afraid to exploit it. :D
That time Neal Caffrey met Chuck Bass
~850 words
Neal doesn’t like staying in the house when June isn’t there. The responsibility of her trust weighs heavily on his shoulders. Also, and not to put too fine a point on it, but after a hard day of chasing after yet another unintelligent criminal, it would be nice to talk to someone who appreciates his brilliant wit.
The truth is that going on the straight and narrow is all fine and good when they are after someone interesting, but there has been a shortage of those lately and Neal is bored. He feels restless, like an invisible part of him is itching, and the FBI isn’t proving the challenge he expected.
He tries to call Mozzie, who picks up after five rings - shouts something about a duty to his other life, the respectable one, and a baby shower that Carrie would kill him if he misses. Neal doesn’t ask - there are some things about his best friend that he has learned to accept, and his frequent absences and occasional pictures in the society pages is just one of them.
Feeling a tad defeated, Neal slowly starts flicking through the paper - hopes to find something in it to alleviate his boredom - when Peter calls.
It is a Saturday morning, which means one thing - an emergency case has come up - that, or Elizabeth is inviting him over for brunch, but Neal supposes it would take a little longer for Peter to agree to that plan. Peter likes to pretend that they are not friends. He still doesn't trust Neal, and seems to believe that everything he does and says, every smile, it is all a part of some grand strategy. Neal doesn't have the heart to tell him that there is a much simpler explanation.
“Good morning,” Neal says with a pleasant lilt, his smile audible, “Yes. I’ll be right there.”
He pours the remainder of the fabulous coffee into a thermos; with any luck it will be just the gift that would remove Peter from his usually less than pleasant working-weekend demeanour.
His hat comes next and Neal is ready for anything the world will throw at him.
As it turns out, the world is rather kind today and Neal can’t help but smile at the small sips Peter takes during their slow ascent to the penthouse, the way he savours each drop before swallowing.
“Some spoilt billionaire is missing an artwork and for this I have to skip breakfast with my wife,” isn’t what Peter says at all, but in the past weeks Neal has learned to decipher the various grumpy looks and he suspects Peter is thinking it.
In fact they ride the elevator in silence, and it is only once they are walking down the hallway that Neal tries to placate him.
“Cheer up, if your hunch is right, then the replica in Bass’ possession will bring us one step closer to our man... besides, if we are nice to him, he might even offer us breakfast.”
Peter only humphs, but Neal can see his shoulders relax ever so slightly. He graces him with a brilliant smile and is gratified at the small twitch at the corners of Peter’s mouth - he counts that as a win.
Peter knocks on the door, twice, before it opens neatly by an impeccably dressed young man. Clothes tell you a lot about a person, and Neal is intrigued, but Peter is not one to care about purposefully clashing sartorial choices or thousand dollar shoes, what Peter sees is the young face behind the clothes and Neal can feel his frown.
He intercepts smoothly before Peter says something like “is your father at home?” Not that he doesn’t trust Peter’s intellect, or competency, but Neal is good with people, especially people like that.
“Good Morning, Mr Bass, I presume? Neal Caffrey. This is Peter Burke. We are with the FBI, you requested our assistance.”
The boy, and he really is a boy, shakes Peter’s hand first, but his eyes never leave Neal’s, his look is measured and careful, almost unnerving.
“Chuck Bass, a pleasure. Please come in,” he inclines his head in schooled politeness, but the arrogant, almost bored note of his voice speaks volumes.
Neal likes him immediately, from the perfectly parted hair to the tips of his polished TCs. The smirk that finishes off the entire package is now aimed at him, and Neal is about to nod in assent - he would like a drink very much - when Peter interrupts. It is the first time he’s spoken since the car and he is frowning, a general air of disapproval coming off his stance in great big waves. For a man that works predominantly with the rich and powerful, Peter really hasn’t learned to speak their language. Neal suspects, it’s on purpose.
“Aren’t you a bit young for that, Mr Bass?” Peter says pointedly and Neal tries to meet his eye, to ascertain if he is serious, but Peter pointedly avoids it. Serious, then.
The entire exchange takes a moment, because when Chuck replies, his response is immediate and smooth, and his smile a little wider than the ever present smirk, “I was referring to tea or coffee of perhaps a freshly squeezed orange juice, of course. It’s a little early for alcohol, don’t you think?” And Neal has to look away to hide the smile, he knows to trust his instincts about people and his instincts are pretty pleased right now.
Forlauds, who knows my weakness when it comes to mad prompts and isn't afraid to exploit it. :D
That time Neal Caffrey met Chuck Bass
~850 words
Neal doesn’t like staying in the house when June isn’t there. The responsibility of her trust weighs heavily on his shoulders. Also, and not to put too fine a point on it, but after a hard day of chasing after yet another unintelligent criminal, it would be nice to talk to someone who appreciates his brilliant wit.
The truth is that going on the straight and narrow is all fine and good when they are after someone interesting, but there has been a shortage of those lately and Neal is bored. He feels restless, like an invisible part of him is itching, and the FBI isn’t proving the challenge he expected.
He tries to call Mozzie, who picks up after five rings - shouts something about a duty to his other life, the respectable one, and a baby shower that Carrie would kill him if he misses. Neal doesn’t ask - there are some things about his best friend that he has learned to accept, and his frequent absences and occasional pictures in the society pages is just one of them.
Feeling a tad defeated, Neal slowly starts flicking through the paper - hopes to find something in it to alleviate his boredom - when Peter calls.
It is a Saturday morning, which means one thing - an emergency case has come up - that, or Elizabeth is inviting him over for brunch, but Neal supposes it would take a little longer for Peter to agree to that plan. Peter likes to pretend that they are not friends. He still doesn't trust Neal, and seems to believe that everything he does and says, every smile, it is all a part of some grand strategy. Neal doesn't have the heart to tell him that there is a much simpler explanation.
“Good morning,” Neal says with a pleasant lilt, his smile audible, “Yes. I’ll be right there.”
He pours the remainder of the fabulous coffee into a thermos; with any luck it will be just the gift that would remove Peter from his usually less than pleasant working-weekend demeanour.
His hat comes next and Neal is ready for anything the world will throw at him.
As it turns out, the world is rather kind today and Neal can’t help but smile at the small sips Peter takes during their slow ascent to the penthouse, the way he savours each drop before swallowing.
“Some spoilt billionaire is missing an artwork and for this I have to skip breakfast with my wife,” isn’t what Peter says at all, but in the past weeks Neal has learned to decipher the various grumpy looks and he suspects Peter is thinking it.
In fact they ride the elevator in silence, and it is only once they are walking down the hallway that Neal tries to placate him.
“Cheer up, if your hunch is right, then the replica in Bass’ possession will bring us one step closer to our man... besides, if we are nice to him, he might even offer us breakfast.”
Peter only humphs, but Neal can see his shoulders relax ever so slightly. He graces him with a brilliant smile and is gratified at the small twitch at the corners of Peter’s mouth - he counts that as a win.
Peter knocks on the door, twice, before it opens neatly by an impeccably dressed young man. Clothes tell you a lot about a person, and Neal is intrigued, but Peter is not one to care about purposefully clashing sartorial choices or thousand dollar shoes, what Peter sees is the young face behind the clothes and Neal can feel his frown.
He intercepts smoothly before Peter says something like “is your father at home?” Not that he doesn’t trust Peter’s intellect, or competency, but Neal is good with people, especially people like that.
“Good Morning, Mr Bass, I presume? Neal Caffrey. This is Peter Burke. We are with the FBI, you requested our assistance.”
The boy, and he really is a boy, shakes Peter’s hand first, but his eyes never leave Neal’s, his look is measured and careful, almost unnerving.
“Chuck Bass, a pleasure. Please come in,” he inclines his head in schooled politeness, but the arrogant, almost bored note of his voice speaks volumes.
Neal likes him immediately, from the perfectly parted hair to the tips of his polished TCs. The smirk that finishes off the entire package is now aimed at him, and Neal is about to nod in assent - he would like a drink very much - when Peter interrupts. It is the first time he’s spoken since the car and he is frowning, a general air of disapproval coming off his stance in great big waves. For a man that works predominantly with the rich and powerful, Peter really hasn’t learned to speak their language. Neal suspects, it’s on purpose.
“Aren’t you a bit young for that, Mr Bass?” Peter says pointedly and Neal tries to meet his eye, to ascertain if he is serious, but Peter pointedly avoids it. Serious, then.
The entire exchange takes a moment, because when Chuck replies, his response is immediate and smooth, and his smile a little wider than the ever present smirk, “I was referring to tea or coffee of perhaps a freshly squeezed orange juice, of course. It’s a little early for alcohol, don’t you think?” And Neal has to look away to hide the smile, he knows to trust his instincts about people and his instincts are pretty pleased right now.