TtM - Prompt #229 - Coda - Work First - White Collar
Another week, another Taming the Muse (tamingthemuse) prompt. WEEK THIRTEEN - WORDCOUNT 786
Title: Work First
Fandom: White Collar
Prompt: #229 - Coda
Warnings:
Rating: PG
Pairing: Peter/Neil/Elizabeth
Summary: How the hell does someone steal a concerto?
Disclaimer: blahblahblah not mine blahblahblah ya'll know the drill blahblahblah nobody reads this anyways blahblahblah
Two of the agents who had gotten divorced last year had said repeatedly that the argument over 3am phone calls was the last straw in their marriages. When the phone went off at 2:57 and Elizabeth smacked him with her pillow, he could pretty well believe it.
“Burke.” He grumbled sleepily. Diana’s far too cheerful voice answered him. “What…? How the hell does someone steal a concerto??”
******
Neil was impeccably dressed by the time Peter got to June’s to pick him up. He made a note to run them both by the house at some point today. Elizabeth would kill him if he didn’t let her see the newest suit Neil’d dug up.
“Did I hear you right on the phone? Someone stole a concerto?” Neil climbed gracefully into the car and eyed him.
“Apparently someone broke into the Metropolitan Museum and stole 300 year old music out of a set on loan from Europe.” Peter held out a folder, not glancing over, but smiling slightly as their fingers brushed.
“Wait, the Lost Concerto? Are you seriously telling me someone stole the Lost Concerto?” Neil’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm as he flipped through the papers in the folder, “I remember when this thing was first found. Everyone thought it was a huge hoax. There are still arguments today about whether it’s truly authentic.”
“What’s the big deal about it?” Peter grumped as he narrowly avoided being sideswiped by a taxi.
“It’s supposedly written in Vivaldi’s own hand, but up until ten years ago, nobody had ever seen or heard of it. It’s a coda to one of his concertos that was never finished. For about five years, there was all sorts of back and forth from the authenticating community about whether it was real or not. Finally, they agreed that there was nothing to say it wasn’t real and the Vivaldi society paid a couple million to have it bought and preserved.” Neil was gazing at the picture of the age worn parchments with the kind of expression most people reserved for the bedroom.
“So it could still be a fake?” Peter yanked his eyes back to the road, trying to convince himself that it could wait.
“Well, sure. But if it is, it’s the best fake ever made. Something like 18 historical societies and authentication experts tried to find even one tiny little hint that might mean it wasn’t genuine, and nobody could. Add in that it could have been faked at any point in the last three centuries, and the plot gets thicker,” he glanced up with a cheerful smile.
“So why would someone steal it now?” Peter pulled into the parking garage and breathed a sigh of relief.
“No idea. It’s way too unique to be able to get rid of easily, can’t be broken down into parts, the niche market for historical sheet music is way too small to be worth it. The only thing that would ever convince me to do a job like that was if I already had a buyer. Maybe someone who’d planned the whole thing already.” Neil licked his lip, staring at the picture in his lap as they parked.
“Neil.”
Blue eyes met his as the con glanced up, “Yeah?” He was clearly distracted by the case, and Peter smirked internally as he leaned over and landed a bruising kiss on those tempting lips.
“Elizabeth is making lasagna for dinner and wants your opinion of a new recipe.” He smiled at the dazed expression on Neil’s face.
With a glance around to make sure he wasn’t going to be overheard, Neil whispered barely loud enough to be heard, “Is that code for ‘We want you to come over and have sex with us again’?”
Peter chuckled, “Something like that. They’re not watching too closely this week, so we should be able to get away with it.”
Neil opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then shut it again and made to get out of the car, his shoulders tight.
“Neil,” Peter said quickly, a sudden and highly unusual burst of intuition hitting him, “You know we want you to stay the night, right? But if you start staying over all the time… The anklet…” He trailed off, his reserve of diplomacy depleted.
For a long moment, there was total silence, and then Neil sighed, “I know. Elizabeth told me last time that she wished I could stay, too. Mostly because I don’t snore like a wood chipper.”
Peter squeezed his hand lightly, “I don’t snore, and she hogs the covers.” They held the pose for a few heartbeats, then he cleared his throat, “So, stolen music.”
“Right. Work first, sex later.”
Title: Work First
Fandom: White Collar
Prompt: #229 - Coda
Warnings:
Rating: PG
Pairing: Peter/Neil/Elizabeth
Summary: How the hell does someone steal a concerto?
Disclaimer: blahblahblah not mine blahblahblah ya'll know the drill blahblahblah nobody reads this anyways blahblahblah
Two of the agents who had gotten divorced last year had said repeatedly that the argument over 3am phone calls was the last straw in their marriages. When the phone went off at 2:57 and Elizabeth smacked him with her pillow, he could pretty well believe it.
“Burke.” He grumbled sleepily. Diana’s far too cheerful voice answered him. “What…? How the hell does someone steal a concerto??”
******
Neil was impeccably dressed by the time Peter got to June’s to pick him up. He made a note to run them both by the house at some point today. Elizabeth would kill him if he didn’t let her see the newest suit Neil’d dug up.
“Did I hear you right on the phone? Someone stole a concerto?” Neil climbed gracefully into the car and eyed him.
“Apparently someone broke into the Metropolitan Museum and stole 300 year old music out of a set on loan from Europe.” Peter held out a folder, not glancing over, but smiling slightly as their fingers brushed.
“Wait, the Lost Concerto? Are you seriously telling me someone stole the Lost Concerto?” Neil’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm as he flipped through the papers in the folder, “I remember when this thing was first found. Everyone thought it was a huge hoax. There are still arguments today about whether it’s truly authentic.”
“What’s the big deal about it?” Peter grumped as he narrowly avoided being sideswiped by a taxi.
“It’s supposedly written in Vivaldi’s own hand, but up until ten years ago, nobody had ever seen or heard of it. It’s a coda to one of his concertos that was never finished. For about five years, there was all sorts of back and forth from the authenticating community about whether it was real or not. Finally, they agreed that there was nothing to say it wasn’t real and the Vivaldi society paid a couple million to have it bought and preserved.” Neil was gazing at the picture of the age worn parchments with the kind of expression most people reserved for the bedroom.
“So it could still be a fake?” Peter yanked his eyes back to the road, trying to convince himself that it could wait.
“Well, sure. But if it is, it’s the best fake ever made. Something like 18 historical societies and authentication experts tried to find even one tiny little hint that might mean it wasn’t genuine, and nobody could. Add in that it could have been faked at any point in the last three centuries, and the plot gets thicker,” he glanced up with a cheerful smile.
“So why would someone steal it now?” Peter pulled into the parking garage and breathed a sigh of relief.
“No idea. It’s way too unique to be able to get rid of easily, can’t be broken down into parts, the niche market for historical sheet music is way too small to be worth it. The only thing that would ever convince me to do a job like that was if I already had a buyer. Maybe someone who’d planned the whole thing already.” Neil licked his lip, staring at the picture in his lap as they parked.
“Neil.”
Blue eyes met his as the con glanced up, “Yeah?” He was clearly distracted by the case, and Peter smirked internally as he leaned over and landed a bruising kiss on those tempting lips.
“Elizabeth is making lasagna for dinner and wants your opinion of a new recipe.” He smiled at the dazed expression on Neil’s face.
With a glance around to make sure he wasn’t going to be overheard, Neil whispered barely loud enough to be heard, “Is that code for ‘We want you to come over and have sex with us again’?”
Peter chuckled, “Something like that. They’re not watching too closely this week, so we should be able to get away with it.”
Neil opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then shut it again and made to get out of the car, his shoulders tight.
“Neil,” Peter said quickly, a sudden and highly unusual burst of intuition hitting him, “You know we want you to stay the night, right? But if you start staying over all the time… The anklet…” He trailed off, his reserve of diplomacy depleted.
For a long moment, there was total silence, and then Neil sighed, “I know. Elizabeth told me last time that she wished I could stay, too. Mostly because I don’t snore like a wood chipper.”
Peter squeezed his hand lightly, “I don’t snore, and she hogs the covers.” They held the pose for a few heartbeats, then he cleared his throat, “So, stolen music.”
“Right. Work first, sex later.”