Commentfic meme #1 - for china_shop (White Collar/Due South)
Commentfic meme #1 - for china_shop
This one got a little long, so it got its own post. (Unbetaed.)
Prompt: Neal and Mozzie are running a scam in Chicago when they meet Fraser and Dief.
Neal startled as a heavy hand clasped his shoulder heartily. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mozzie flailing beneath a similarly sudden grasp.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen!" the shoulder-gripper said with a surprising amount of genuine-sounding cheer. Neal tried to dislodge the man's hold with an innocent-looking turn about to face him, but found his turn abruptly reversed, so that he was involuntarily spun around to once more face the painting he'd been admiring. Well, admiring and assessing.
"The Haystacks series is truly inspirational, wouldn't you agree? All of Chicago counts itself lucky to house six of them right here. They are treasures dear to the city's heart and should anything happen to one of them, I'm sure the people's vengeance would be swift and terrible." Neal swallowed a little dryly, because the grip on his shoulder was absolutely unrelenting and yet the guy managed to sound cheerful while lecturing and discussing swift and terrible vengeance.
For once, he felt a little intimidated.
Mozzie finally overcame his prolonged spluttering to announce, "You're a Mountie!" His finger pointed shakily at the stranger with distinct overtones of j'accuse! and so there! "So, Canada's not even trying to disguise their infiltration of the American system any more, is that it? Operating openly as an authority on American soil?"
The man in the red uniform suddenly looked blank in a way that Neal read as flustered. He cleared his throat and looked almost apologetically at Mozzie while steering them both outside the gallery, still caught in his iron grip like wayward kittens. "Actually, no," he said, voice lowered enough to make it clear he didn't want to make any more of a scene, but he spoke clearly and rapidly as he frogmarched them towards the exit. "I apologize for any confusion I might have caused by acting as an agent of the law while in the uniform of my Canadian homeland. I am Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. It's a long story, but I've been reliably informed that I can sum up by informing you that I am currently acting as a liaison with the Chicago police department in an official capacity. Now please have a seat in my partner's car." Neal's head was gently but firmly guided to duck beneath the car's roof and then he was manhandled into the far end of the front seat of an admittedly cherry classic GTO. Mozzie was soon squished up next to him.
Constable Fraser slid into the driver's seat and slammed the door closed. There wasn't enough room for three grown men to sit comfortably side-by-side-by-side, but Neal suppressed the urge to fidget. The constable was regarding him thoughtfully, so Neal shifted his weight a little to the side and gave the man his best flirtatious "you caught me" smile. An icy knot began to form in his stomach when he realized the man didn't even seem to notice.
"Now I must admit, you gentlemen have put me in a bit of a tenuous position."
"Sorry," Neal offered.
"Well, I'm certainly glad I introduced myself before anything untoward befell any of those masterpieces you were admiring," the constable replied with about a thousand times more dry humor than Neal would have credited him with having ten seconds ago.
Maybe Neal could work with this one, after all. "What makes you think--gah!" He yelped as something wet prodded the back of his neck, right behind his ear, and whipped his head around only to find himself face-to-face with a grinning canine. "Oh, hey there, buddy," he crooned, and started to scratch the mutt behind the ears, forgetting everything else for the moment. "Who's a good-looking boy, then?"
"Wuh-wuh-wuh," Mozzie said.
"Hmm?" Neal asked absently. "Oh, yeah, right there, this heat must be a bitch for you, huh, boy? Do you shed this much every day?" Neal shook fluffy clouds of fur off his fingers to land somewhere in the backseat area and dug right in again.
"Wuh-wuh-wuh-wolf."
"Half-wolf, actually. And you might want to make sure Diefenbaker is facing you when you speak with him, Mister Caffrey, since he can read lips but is actually quite deaf."
The big white fluffball barked at the Mountie and licked Neal's face.
Mozzie huffed in exasperation. "Fine, I give up. So what business do our Canadian overlords and their killer wolves have ejecting us from our sightseeing tour of the museum? We paid the entry fee," he added belligerently, elbowing Neal and the constable in order to cross his arms defiantly in the limited space.
"Let's just say I have experience observing first-hand the workings of a heist in action, including the preliminary planning stages."
Diefenbaker barked. "Well yes, but Victoria--"
Diefenbaker barked again. "Well, I don't care if this one is prettier--"
Diefenbaker growled and yipped twice. The constable sighed. "I suppose I could. I just hope you're right about this." He maintained eye contact with his dog for a moment longer and then focused his attention on Neal and Mozzie.
"As I have yet to confirm your identities and become apprised of any potential outstanding warrants which may or may not exist with respect to yourselves or your aliases, if any, and since you were doing nothing more than understandably admiring certain of the crown jewels of Chicago's vibrant art world after duly paying your museum dues, I have no reason not to unlock the car doors and direct you to the nearest public mode of transportation. However, I wouldn't be surprised if I mentioned in passing that I happen to know the security for the upcoming gala is going to be completely redesigned as various threats to the Institute's collection have proven more credible than previously believed. And I also might warn you that all of Chicago will likely be on the alert for any known art thieves and forgers in their zeal to protect the Institute's holdings… starting in, say, an hour and a half from now? When a consultant liaising with the department might recognize faces from a certain Interpol bulletin making the rounds."
The constable leaned across Mozzie and Neal and flipped up the manual lock on the door. Neal just gaped at him as Moz hustled him out the door, Diefenbaker barked and wagged his tail, and Constable Fraser tipped the brim of his ridiculous hat. "Have a good evening, gentlemen," he said. "An hour and twenty-five minutes, now. The Adams/Wabash El stop is right in front of the museum. Happy travels."
"Bye," Neal said as the car door slammed shut. Mozzie dragged him backwards by the collar until he got turned around and strode ahead on the way to the train station as directed.
"Oh god oh god oh god oh god," Mozzie was chanting under his breath. "I am never coming back to Chicago."
This one got a little long, so it got its own post. (Unbetaed.)
Prompt: Neal and Mozzie are running a scam in Chicago when they meet Fraser and Dief.
Neal startled as a heavy hand clasped his shoulder heartily. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mozzie flailing beneath a similarly sudden grasp.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen!" the shoulder-gripper said with a surprising amount of genuine-sounding cheer. Neal tried to dislodge the man's hold with an innocent-looking turn about to face him, but found his turn abruptly reversed, so that he was involuntarily spun around to once more face the painting he'd been admiring. Well, admiring and assessing.
"The Haystacks series is truly inspirational, wouldn't you agree? All of Chicago counts itself lucky to house six of them right here. They are treasures dear to the city's heart and should anything happen to one of them, I'm sure the people's vengeance would be swift and terrible." Neal swallowed a little dryly, because the grip on his shoulder was absolutely unrelenting and yet the guy managed to sound cheerful while lecturing and discussing swift and terrible vengeance.
For once, he felt a little intimidated.
Mozzie finally overcame his prolonged spluttering to announce, "You're a Mountie!" His finger pointed shakily at the stranger with distinct overtones of j'accuse! and so there! "So, Canada's not even trying to disguise their infiltration of the American system any more, is that it? Operating openly as an authority on American soil?"
The man in the red uniform suddenly looked blank in a way that Neal read as flustered. He cleared his throat and looked almost apologetically at Mozzie while steering them both outside the gallery, still caught in his iron grip like wayward kittens. "Actually, no," he said, voice lowered enough to make it clear he didn't want to make any more of a scene, but he spoke clearly and rapidly as he frogmarched them towards the exit. "I apologize for any confusion I might have caused by acting as an agent of the law while in the uniform of my Canadian homeland. I am Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. It's a long story, but I've been reliably informed that I can sum up by informing you that I am currently acting as a liaison with the Chicago police department in an official capacity. Now please have a seat in my partner's car." Neal's head was gently but firmly guided to duck beneath the car's roof and then he was manhandled into the far end of the front seat of an admittedly cherry classic GTO. Mozzie was soon squished up next to him.
Constable Fraser slid into the driver's seat and slammed the door closed. There wasn't enough room for three grown men to sit comfortably side-by-side-by-side, but Neal suppressed the urge to fidget. The constable was regarding him thoughtfully, so Neal shifted his weight a little to the side and gave the man his best flirtatious "you caught me" smile. An icy knot began to form in his stomach when he realized the man didn't even seem to notice.
"Now I must admit, you gentlemen have put me in a bit of a tenuous position."
"Sorry," Neal offered.
"Well, I'm certainly glad I introduced myself before anything untoward befell any of those masterpieces you were admiring," the constable replied with about a thousand times more dry humor than Neal would have credited him with having ten seconds ago.
Maybe Neal could work with this one, after all. "What makes you think--gah!" He yelped as something wet prodded the back of his neck, right behind his ear, and whipped his head around only to find himself face-to-face with a grinning canine. "Oh, hey there, buddy," he crooned, and started to scratch the mutt behind the ears, forgetting everything else for the moment. "Who's a good-looking boy, then?"
"Wuh-wuh-wuh," Mozzie said.
"Hmm?" Neal asked absently. "Oh, yeah, right there, this heat must be a bitch for you, huh, boy? Do you shed this much every day?" Neal shook fluffy clouds of fur off his fingers to land somewhere in the backseat area and dug right in again.
"Wuh-wuh-wuh-wolf."
"Half-wolf, actually. And you might want to make sure Diefenbaker is facing you when you speak with him, Mister Caffrey, since he can read lips but is actually quite deaf."
The big white fluffball barked at the Mountie and licked Neal's face.
Mozzie huffed in exasperation. "Fine, I give up. So what business do our Canadian overlords and their killer wolves have ejecting us from our sightseeing tour of the museum? We paid the entry fee," he added belligerently, elbowing Neal and the constable in order to cross his arms defiantly in the limited space.
"Let's just say I have experience observing first-hand the workings of a heist in action, including the preliminary planning stages."
Diefenbaker barked. "Well yes, but Victoria--"
Diefenbaker barked again. "Well, I don't care if this one is prettier--"
Diefenbaker growled and yipped twice. The constable sighed. "I suppose I could. I just hope you're right about this." He maintained eye contact with his dog for a moment longer and then focused his attention on Neal and Mozzie.
"As I have yet to confirm your identities and become apprised of any potential outstanding warrants which may or may not exist with respect to yourselves or your aliases, if any, and since you were doing nothing more than understandably admiring certain of the crown jewels of Chicago's vibrant art world after duly paying your museum dues, I have no reason not to unlock the car doors and direct you to the nearest public mode of transportation. However, I wouldn't be surprised if I mentioned in passing that I happen to know the security for the upcoming gala is going to be completely redesigned as various threats to the Institute's collection have proven more credible than previously believed. And I also might warn you that all of Chicago will likely be on the alert for any known art thieves and forgers in their zeal to protect the Institute's holdings… starting in, say, an hour and a half from now? When a consultant liaising with the department might recognize faces from a certain Interpol bulletin making the rounds."
The constable leaned across Mozzie and Neal and flipped up the manual lock on the door. Neal just gaped at him as Moz hustled him out the door, Diefenbaker barked and wagged his tail, and Constable Fraser tipped the brim of his ridiculous hat. "Have a good evening, gentlemen," he said. "An hour and twenty-five minutes, now. The Adams/Wabash El stop is right in front of the museum. Happy travels."
"Bye," Neal said as the car door slammed shut. Mozzie dragged him backwards by the collar until he got turned around and strode ahead on the way to the train station as directed.
"Oh god oh god oh god oh god," Mozzie was chanting under his breath. "I am never coming back to Chicago."