Body Heat, Part 2
Title: Body Heat, Part 2
Rating: Gen
Genre/Relationship: General Friendship
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1,488
Story Summary: The White Collar team has always been close, but a blizzard brings them even closer.
A/N: Written for the prompt “Body Heat” from Promptfest VIII: Let's Take Some Chill Out of the Air hosted by elrhiarhodan. Thanks-AGAIN--for kick-starting my writing for 2014.
Body Heat, Part 2 (For Part 1, click HERE)
“Okay,” said Neal sometime after four in the morning. “If I'm ever stranded on a desert island with you two-“
“You wish,” Diana muttered, but did not raise her head from where it was tucked beneath his chin. She wasn't exactly warm, but she wasn't frozen, wasn't freezing. The bathroom was becoming an issue, however, and she wasn't sure how to address it.
“Yeah, what she said,” Clinton muttered sleepily.
“If I'm ever stranded on a desert island with you two,” Neal repeated testily, “I do not want to be in the middle.”
“Caffrey?”
“Yes?”
“Shut up.”
“Why do women who sleep with me always tell me that?” he asked. Diana poked him in the collar bone with a knuckle-it was all the violence she could do without moving from her position snuggled against her coworkers.
“I'm not sleeping with you-God forbid,” she mumbled. “I'm sleeping on you.”
“You say to-may-toh, I say to-mah-toh,” Neal began.
“Shut up, Caffrey.”
“I have a theory about that,” Clinton muttered.
“About tomatoes?”
“No-not about tomatoes,” he huffed. “About why all the women who sleep with you tell you to shut up.”
“Oh yeah? Let's hear it?” Neal demanded.
“Because you talk too damn much. In fact-“
“Clinton?”
“Yes, Diana?”
“Shut up.”
“Is she always this cranky in the morning?” Neal asked.
Clinton shifted in surprise. “Why are you asking me?”
“You see anyone else here?”
“Caffrey, so help me-“ Diana snapped. Shifting around had caused her bladder to slosh, and the need to pee was becoming desperate.
“Guys, look,” she said.
“Look at what?” Clinton said, complaining from his place on the bottom. In truth, it had been the best seat in the house-and the most necessary-when he had crawled back into the car, practically frozen and almost in shock. Their weight and body heat had brought him back to life, and it was only now, when things felt less tenuous that his temper reasserted itself.
“Rhetorical,” Diana muttered. She tried to sit up and bumped her head on the little car light in the ceiling. “Ouch! Damn.”
“So not a morning person,” Neal muttered. Diana considered not alerting him to her predicament. Laugh that up, Caffrey, she thought viciously, but modesty or indignity wouldn't allow it.
“Guys.”
“What? I can't see you, and I've answered you every time you've spoken. What, Diana-what?”
Diana's cheeks flames with embarrassment. “I have to, um, pee,” she said. She had started to say “go,” but had opted to be more specific-what was she, five?-and the silence that followed her pronouncement was not encouraging.
“I know what I'd do,” Clinton said, “but I don't have a clue what to tell you to do.”
“I've got a suggestion about what you can do,” she gritted, but Neal was moving, shifting. Diana thought for a moment that if anyone could see them, a mass of limbs and layers and...smells, that they were the stuff of nightmares.
“Hang on,” said Caffrey. With Diana half-crouching , Neal levered himself off of Jones' lap and onto the seat beside him. It gave them both a pretty good view of Diana's backside in the slim-cut suit pants, and they exchanged guilty looks, trying to see if the other one had noticed. They had.
Neal scrabbled in the floor of the car, searching for something by feel.
“That's my ankle,” Diana said. “If you need me to move-“
“Ah ha,” Neal said triumphantly, holding out his coffee cup from earlier in the day. He looked delighted with himself.
“What am I supposed to do with that?” Diana demanded. But she knew.
“Well, if we can find a napkin, I can draw you a picture-“ Neal began. Diana snatched the cup away and glared at him, then at Clinton. Clinton had no expression on his face, but he was biting the inside of his cheek so hard he could swear he tasted blood.
“If you find a napkin,” Diana gritted, “I already have a use for it.” Eventually, Clinton found a couple of crumpled-but thankfully unusued tissues in his coat pocket.
They were actually surprisingly swell about it. Neal took off his coat-a sacrifice, she knew-and held it up so she could have privacy in the front seat. The windows were covered with snow, so there was no danger of anyone happening by, although Diana did have a nightmare about the entire White Collar division bursting in to rescue them just as she got...situated. It was a testament to the tamped-down panic that she was trying to ignore that that scenario didn't actually bother her that much. She did her business and, after deliberation (but no consultation) opened the door a crack to pour the contents of the cup into snow. A crack was all she managed, however-the snow was practically packed against the sides of the car. She mentioned it, more to cover the awkwardness than anything else.
“I think that's why we're not actually frozen,” Neal said, sitting on the seat next to Jones with his head back and eyes closed. He had not yet struggled back into his coat. “I think the snow against the car insulated heat that was in the car.”
“The heat's not been running in the car for a while,” Clinton said, then his eyes widened with understanding. “You mean our heat. Our body heat.”
“Yep,” said Neal. “Thank God you've got a high metabolism,” he said. Clinton's resting body temp was not unpleasant in the confines of the car.
“You won't think so when I decide to eat you before they can dig us out.”
“Try it,” Neal said, still leaning back with his eyes closed. “I'm pretty sure I won't taste like chicken.”
Diana turned around and looked into the back seat. They looked comfortable, and she hated the thought of disrupting them. She tucked her hands beneath her armpits.
“Hey, get back here,” Neal demanded, still resting. “It's your turn to be in the middle. I've done my time.”
Gratefully, Diana stumbled over the armrest into the back seat. They caught her and wedged her between them, and this time it was Clinton who tucked her feet beneath his thigh, covered them with his jacket and laid his forearm against them.
“How can you be such a tough gal in such dumb shoes?” Clinton asked. She was on the verge of saying something caustic, but it died in her throat. Clinton was rubbing her feet with his hand, and she couldn't bring herself to snipe at him.
“You'd be amazed how many times I've asked myself that very question,” she said. “It's not easy, that's for sure.”
“You make it look easy, little bit,” Clinton teased, but gently, not really trying to get a rise out of her.
“It's all an act, I assure you.”
The tough gal stuff or the looking easy part?” Neal asked, just to be an ass.
“Ask me back at the office,” she said. “I'll give you a demo.” Neal laughed, sounding tired. Her back was against his shoulder. “Hey Caffrey,” she said. “You want to put your coat back on?”
“No. I'm fine,” Neal murmured. “Just...tired.”
His words sounded slurred and she sat up straighter and struggled to turn around.
“Oh my god, Clinton-I thing he's going into shock or hypothermia. What happened? He shouldn't fall asleep.” They scrambled around, Diana accidentally elbowing Clinton in the ear, but managed to rouse Neal and check his pupils.
“What?” he complained, as Diana slapped his face. “What are you doing? Stop-“ He grabbed her wrists. “Stop hitting me, already. I gave you a cup to pee in-shouldn't that buy me a little amnesty?”
Diana considered slapping him for real, but immediately felt ashamed. “I...I thought you were....”
“Yeah, yeah-hypothermia, got it,” Neal said. “I'm not turning into a popsicle-I'm turning into a zombie.”
“Late night last night?” Clinton asked. He tried to keep a touch of envy-or salaciousness-out of his voice.
“Yeah. Painting,” he said. “Couldn't sleep.” He sounded bone tired. “Don't guess there's any coffee?” he asked.
“Fresh out,” said Diana, and after a moment of stunned silence, they all giggled like mad things. Diana reached out awkwardly and touched Neal's arm. “Hey, look. Go ahead and nap. It's not like we're going anywhere any time soon.”
“Wake me when we get to Disneyland,” he murmured, but when Diana's eyes flew wide, he opened one eye and smirked at here.
“Gotcha,” he said smugly.
“You might want to sleep with one eye open,” Diana said, but it was toothless.
“I'll do that,” Neal said, and promptly went to sleep.
For Part 3, click HERE