True Blood/White Collar fic: Change of Pace (pg)
Title: Change of Pace
Author: sabaceanbabe
Beta: scapeartist
Rating: PG
Word count: ~1,800
Pairing: Neal Caffrey/Eric Northman
Spoilers: none for White Collar; minor for the end of Beyond Here Lies Nothin’ for True Blood
Disclaimer: This is a transformative work. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author’s note: Yes, you read the pairing correctly, although I guess this doesn’t cross into true slash territory. I guess you’d call it pre-slash? Anyway, this was written for the occasion of mresundance’s birthday, and he wanted Neal/Eric and suspenders. mresundance, this is my gift to you. Not just this fic, but the idea of it, if you choose to run with it. I figure this fic is a beginning, but it's all yours to do with as you will. Want to expand on it? Go for it. ;)
ETA: You can blame a chat with devohoneybee, but I will most likely expand on this once I get a couple of other birthday fics done. *rolls eyes at self*
--------------------------------------------
“Tell me again why we’re here?” Neal asked as he surveyed the crowd. Peter hadn’t told him anything about this little trip, which was unusual in itself. And while it was a nice change of pace, trading New York for Louisiana, he couldn’t help but wonder why Peter’s superiors had allowed it. Even if they did know where he was at all times, courtesy of the GPS-equipped lojack strapped to his ankle.
I’ll get it out of him eventually, he thought as he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over his arm. It was much warmer in the night club than it had been out in the equally crowded parking lot. Should’ve left it in the car. It never occurred to him to remove the hat.
“Fangtasia is the last place Shaffer mentioned before he disappeared,” Peter responded, heading for the black lacquered expanse of the bar.
Neal shot him a pointed look. “That explains why you’re here, Peter.”
Peter started to say something but then stopped and half-frowned, half-smiled. “Suspenders, Neal?”
“What?” Neal spread out his arms, looked down at his attire. “You don’t like?”
Shaking his head, the smile won out as his gaze drifted from Neal to the group standing around the bar. “You’re here for when I find Shaffer.” Peter waved to someone. “Stay sharp, Neal. Some of these people are pretty dangerous. And they’re not all people.”
“So I guess you’re not planning on voting for vampire rights,” Neal observed, his tone mild. The crowd parted for a moment, revealing a pale man with slicked-back blond hair slouched in what Neal could only characterize as a throne. He wore a black suit, a deep purple shirt with the top two buttons unfastened, and an expression of infinite boredom on his handsome face. Grinning at the cheesiness of it, Neal turned back to Peter, who gave him a sour look.
“Stay put until I get back,” he said, surprising Neal. “My contact is skittish.” Peter shrugged. “It’s not a problem, but he won’t talk to anyone but me. Shouldn’t take too long, but it’s best if you just stay out here.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll get into trouble?”
“Hell, yes, but at least I’ll know where you are.” With that admonishment, the agent slid past a woman in a black vinyl body suit, leaving Neal to watch him walk away. Neal grinned and tipped his hat to the lithe young woman, impressed that anyone could pull off a look like that with such panache.
***
Eric was bored. A not entirely uncommon state when he was required to display himself for the unwashed masses. Tonight, though, was worse than usual, for Sookie Stackhouse had just left him, thus removing what was probably his best source of entertainment for the evening. At least until the bar closed. After that, he was sure he’d find something. Or someone.
“Are you going to help her find Bill?” Pam asked, sounding markedly more bored even than Eric.
Semi-slumped in his throne-like chair, Eric slowly swiveled his head to look at his second. “Of course I am, Pam.” He smiled just as slowly. “If only to satisfy my curiosity as to why anyone would take him.”
She might have responded to that. She might have rolled her eyes. She might have disappeared in a puff of smoke. If any of these things happened, Eric didn’t notice. A flash of bright blue near the entrance had caught his attention; the man who removed his suit coat to reveal said bright blue held it.
Perhaps Sookie leaving wouldn’t be the entertainment disaster he’d thought…
***
Neal had heard of so-called “vampire bars” before Peter dragged him to Fangtasia, but he’d never been in one, never seen a vampire. He was in prison when the vampires came out of the coffin, as the press so charmingly put it, and there hadn’t been any undead prisoners in his cell block. Or anywhere else in the facility, for that matter. Neal was reasonably certain the first vampire he had ever encountered was the very flexible woman in vinyl he passed on the way in. There were a few more scattered about the dance floor and seated at booths; they were too other to be mistaken for human for very long.
A woman’s dark velvet voice wove its way over and under and through the throng of people, telling one and all to take her hand, to not fear the reaper. Neal listened to the cover of the Blue Oyster Cult classic and looked around him. He was stuck here until Peter’s business was done, he might as well make the best of it.
Fangtasia was pretty much what he expected in a night club catering to vampires and their fans. Everything - walls, ceilings, furniture, fixtures - was black, gray, or red. The atmosphere was artificially smoky, since no actual smoking was allowed in the bar. (Why is that, I wonder? Can vampires get lung cancer? Do they even breathe? Or is that just for the continued health of the human patrons?) Ninety percent of the bar’s occupants wore black, even the tourists, and the employees looked outright Goth. Neal’s gaze lit on a sign across the dance floor: “No biting on the premises.” For half a second he wondered at it, but then a beautiful blonde woman with flawless white skin and wearing a black leather bustier brushed past him. “Step aside, human,” she demanded and he had no doubt what the sign meant.
***
Eric watched as Pam pushed past the man in the blue shirt and black suspenders on her way back to her post at the entrance. The man turned around to watch her walk away until she disappeared outside, then turned again and walked toward the bar. Eric noted that his eyes, for the moment not shaded by the ridiculous hat, were as blue as his shirt.
“Eric, no!” A brown-haired woman hissed at a young boy who jumped onto the dais in front of Eric, evading the woman’s grasping hand with practiced ease.
Eric raised a brow at the boy. He had a smattering of freckles across his nose and clear gray eyes and his light-brown hair needed cut. The woman hissed, “Eric!” again, but the boy, presumably named Eric, ignored her. “Can I see your fangs?” he asked, a question Eric had heard hundreds of times before, although usually from adults.
Leaning forward, Eric winked at the younger Eric, who reminded him strongly of his oldest son, turned to dust over more than a thousand years. “I am also Eric,” he told him and extended his fangs. Eric the younger grinned hugely.
“I am so sorry.” The woman stepped up onto the dais and grabbed her son by the arm. “We only came in to buy something at the gift shop, but he just had to see him a real vampire.”
“Now he has. He does not belong here. Leave.” He hadn’t retracted his fangs when he said this and the blood drained from the woman’s face, but she tugged at young Eric’s arm until she could grasp his hand. Eric signaled to Indira to make sure they left Fangtasia. He didn’t need any complaints being filed with the Shreveport police about children in the bar. Nor did he particularly want to listen to Pam complain about the smell.
When he looked back out on the floor, the man in blue and black was gone.
***
Nursing his gin and tonic, Neal checked his watch again. At least an hour had passed and Peter was still talking to some guy in a corner booth. Neal was getting restless. The ebb and flow of the bar’s patrons no longer held any charm; the vampires in the room, who could have been much more interesting than the humans, all stayed clear of him, so he didn’t have the chance to find out.
Voices raised in anger caught his attention and he saw a man grab a woman roughly by the arm, spin her around. “Which part of ‘no’ do you not understand?” she shot at him and tugged free of his grasp. He started to follow her and Neal rose, took the two stumbling steps necessary to bump into him, spilling his drink down the man’s shirt.
“Oh, damn!” Neal set the empty glass down on a nearby table and grabbed up a napkin, started dabbing at the man’s shirt and jacket. “Must’ve had a little more to drink than I thought.” He grinned and rolled his eyes dramatically at his own clumsiness while the guy glared at him.
“You stupid son of a bitch.” He batted Neal’s hands away and looked down at wet fabric.
“Hey, at least it wasn’t red wine,” Neal offered, but the guy just looked at him in disgust and turned away. The woman he was looking for was long gone, though, putting the opportunity Neal had given her to good use. Neal doffed his hat for the second time that evening, this time to the irate gentleman’s retreating back, and grinned as he pocketed the man’s wallet.
***
Smiling as he watched the Neanderthal, who had shown no respect when the woman had declined his attentions, stalk angrily away, the man in blue moved to slip the wallet he’d just stolen into the pocket of his suit coat. But he never made it that far; Eric’s fingers closed on his wrist, freezing the motion. Startled blue eyes met his and Eric grinned, tightened his grip on the man’s wrist to a point just short of pain.
He leaned in close and whispered, “You will return the wallet. I will not have this in my bar.” He allowed just a touch of menace to enter his voice and was gratified when the man shivered. “Do you understand?”
The man nodded and Eric released him. His interest in the man increased when he didn’t rub at his wrist or make any kind of fuss, simply ran after the man whose wallet he had taken. Eric watched as he ingenuously raised the wallet and shouted, “Hey, your wallet!” The beefy man stopped and turned. “You must have dropped it.”
Eric kept a careful eye on the transaction, and when it was finished, he was again at the side of the man in blue, who raised his arms to show that his hands were empty. Smiling, he asked, “Satisfied?”
“No. Not in the least.” Eric’s smile increased proportionately as the other man’s faded. “I am Eric.”
Looking less certain of himself, the other man responded, “Neal. Neal Caffrey.”
“I find you… intriguing, Neal Caffrey.” Eric gestured toward the chairs on the dais. “Let’s talk.”
Author: sabaceanbabe
Beta: scapeartist
Rating: PG
Word count: ~1,800
Pairing: Neal Caffrey/Eric Northman
Spoilers: none for White Collar; minor for the end of Beyond Here Lies Nothin’ for True Blood
Disclaimer: This is a transformative work. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author’s note: Yes, you read the pairing correctly, although I guess this doesn’t cross into true slash territory. I guess you’d call it pre-slash? Anyway, this was written for the occasion of mresundance’s birthday, and he wanted Neal/Eric and suspenders. mresundance, this is my gift to you. Not just this fic, but the idea of it, if you choose to run with it. I figure this fic is a beginning, but it's all yours to do with as you will. Want to expand on it? Go for it. ;)
ETA: You can blame a chat with devohoneybee, but I will most likely expand on this once I get a couple of other birthday fics done. *rolls eyes at self*
--------------------------------------------
“Tell me again why we’re here?” Neal asked as he surveyed the crowd. Peter hadn’t told him anything about this little trip, which was unusual in itself. And while it was a nice change of pace, trading New York for Louisiana, he couldn’t help but wonder why Peter’s superiors had allowed it. Even if they did know where he was at all times, courtesy of the GPS-equipped lojack strapped to his ankle.
I’ll get it out of him eventually, he thought as he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over his arm. It was much warmer in the night club than it had been out in the equally crowded parking lot. Should’ve left it in the car. It never occurred to him to remove the hat.
“Fangtasia is the last place Shaffer mentioned before he disappeared,” Peter responded, heading for the black lacquered expanse of the bar.
Neal shot him a pointed look. “That explains why you’re here, Peter.”
Peter started to say something but then stopped and half-frowned, half-smiled. “Suspenders, Neal?”
“What?” Neal spread out his arms, looked down at his attire. “You don’t like?”
Shaking his head, the smile won out as his gaze drifted from Neal to the group standing around the bar. “You’re here for when I find Shaffer.” Peter waved to someone. “Stay sharp, Neal. Some of these people are pretty dangerous. And they’re not all people.”
“So I guess you’re not planning on voting for vampire rights,” Neal observed, his tone mild. The crowd parted for a moment, revealing a pale man with slicked-back blond hair slouched in what Neal could only characterize as a throne. He wore a black suit, a deep purple shirt with the top two buttons unfastened, and an expression of infinite boredom on his handsome face. Grinning at the cheesiness of it, Neal turned back to Peter, who gave him a sour look.
“Stay put until I get back,” he said, surprising Neal. “My contact is skittish.” Peter shrugged. “It’s not a problem, but he won’t talk to anyone but me. Shouldn’t take too long, but it’s best if you just stay out here.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll get into trouble?”
“Hell, yes, but at least I’ll know where you are.” With that admonishment, the agent slid past a woman in a black vinyl body suit, leaving Neal to watch him walk away. Neal grinned and tipped his hat to the lithe young woman, impressed that anyone could pull off a look like that with such panache.
***
Eric was bored. A not entirely uncommon state when he was required to display himself for the unwashed masses. Tonight, though, was worse than usual, for Sookie Stackhouse had just left him, thus removing what was probably his best source of entertainment for the evening. At least until the bar closed. After that, he was sure he’d find something. Or someone.
“Are you going to help her find Bill?” Pam asked, sounding markedly more bored even than Eric.
Semi-slumped in his throne-like chair, Eric slowly swiveled his head to look at his second. “Of course I am, Pam.” He smiled just as slowly. “If only to satisfy my curiosity as to why anyone would take him.”
She might have responded to that. She might have rolled her eyes. She might have disappeared in a puff of smoke. If any of these things happened, Eric didn’t notice. A flash of bright blue near the entrance had caught his attention; the man who removed his suit coat to reveal said bright blue held it.
Perhaps Sookie leaving wouldn’t be the entertainment disaster he’d thought…
***
Neal had heard of so-called “vampire bars” before Peter dragged him to Fangtasia, but he’d never been in one, never seen a vampire. He was in prison when the vampires came out of the coffin, as the press so charmingly put it, and there hadn’t been any undead prisoners in his cell block. Or anywhere else in the facility, for that matter. Neal was reasonably certain the first vampire he had ever encountered was the very flexible woman in vinyl he passed on the way in. There were a few more scattered about the dance floor and seated at booths; they were too other to be mistaken for human for very long.
A woman’s dark velvet voice wove its way over and under and through the throng of people, telling one and all to take her hand, to not fear the reaper. Neal listened to the cover of the Blue Oyster Cult classic and looked around him. He was stuck here until Peter’s business was done, he might as well make the best of it.
Fangtasia was pretty much what he expected in a night club catering to vampires and their fans. Everything - walls, ceilings, furniture, fixtures - was black, gray, or red. The atmosphere was artificially smoky, since no actual smoking was allowed in the bar. (Why is that, I wonder? Can vampires get lung cancer? Do they even breathe? Or is that just for the continued health of the human patrons?) Ninety percent of the bar’s occupants wore black, even the tourists, and the employees looked outright Goth. Neal’s gaze lit on a sign across the dance floor: “No biting on the premises.” For half a second he wondered at it, but then a beautiful blonde woman with flawless white skin and wearing a black leather bustier brushed past him. “Step aside, human,” she demanded and he had no doubt what the sign meant.
***
Eric watched as Pam pushed past the man in the blue shirt and black suspenders on her way back to her post at the entrance. The man turned around to watch her walk away until she disappeared outside, then turned again and walked toward the bar. Eric noted that his eyes, for the moment not shaded by the ridiculous hat, were as blue as his shirt.
“Eric, no!” A brown-haired woman hissed at a young boy who jumped onto the dais in front of Eric, evading the woman’s grasping hand with practiced ease.
Eric raised a brow at the boy. He had a smattering of freckles across his nose and clear gray eyes and his light-brown hair needed cut. The woman hissed, “Eric!” again, but the boy, presumably named Eric, ignored her. “Can I see your fangs?” he asked, a question Eric had heard hundreds of times before, although usually from adults.
Leaning forward, Eric winked at the younger Eric, who reminded him strongly of his oldest son, turned to dust over more than a thousand years. “I am also Eric,” he told him and extended his fangs. Eric the younger grinned hugely.
“I am so sorry.” The woman stepped up onto the dais and grabbed her son by the arm. “We only came in to buy something at the gift shop, but he just had to see him a real vampire.”
“Now he has. He does not belong here. Leave.” He hadn’t retracted his fangs when he said this and the blood drained from the woman’s face, but she tugged at young Eric’s arm until she could grasp his hand. Eric signaled to Indira to make sure they left Fangtasia. He didn’t need any complaints being filed with the Shreveport police about children in the bar. Nor did he particularly want to listen to Pam complain about the smell.
When he looked back out on the floor, the man in blue and black was gone.
***
Nursing his gin and tonic, Neal checked his watch again. At least an hour had passed and Peter was still talking to some guy in a corner booth. Neal was getting restless. The ebb and flow of the bar’s patrons no longer held any charm; the vampires in the room, who could have been much more interesting than the humans, all stayed clear of him, so he didn’t have the chance to find out.
Voices raised in anger caught his attention and he saw a man grab a woman roughly by the arm, spin her around. “Which part of ‘no’ do you not understand?” she shot at him and tugged free of his grasp. He started to follow her and Neal rose, took the two stumbling steps necessary to bump into him, spilling his drink down the man’s shirt.
“Oh, damn!” Neal set the empty glass down on a nearby table and grabbed up a napkin, started dabbing at the man’s shirt and jacket. “Must’ve had a little more to drink than I thought.” He grinned and rolled his eyes dramatically at his own clumsiness while the guy glared at him.
“You stupid son of a bitch.” He batted Neal’s hands away and looked down at wet fabric.
“Hey, at least it wasn’t red wine,” Neal offered, but the guy just looked at him in disgust and turned away. The woman he was looking for was long gone, though, putting the opportunity Neal had given her to good use. Neal doffed his hat for the second time that evening, this time to the irate gentleman’s retreating back, and grinned as he pocketed the man’s wallet.
***
Smiling as he watched the Neanderthal, who had shown no respect when the woman had declined his attentions, stalk angrily away, the man in blue moved to slip the wallet he’d just stolen into the pocket of his suit coat. But he never made it that far; Eric’s fingers closed on his wrist, freezing the motion. Startled blue eyes met his and Eric grinned, tightened his grip on the man’s wrist to a point just short of pain.
He leaned in close and whispered, “You will return the wallet. I will not have this in my bar.” He allowed just a touch of menace to enter his voice and was gratified when the man shivered. “Do you understand?”
The man nodded and Eric released him. His interest in the man increased when he didn’t rub at his wrist or make any kind of fuss, simply ran after the man whose wallet he had taken. Eric watched as he ingenuously raised the wallet and shouted, “Hey, your wallet!” The beefy man stopped and turned. “You must have dropped it.”
Eric kept a careful eye on the transaction, and when it was finished, he was again at the side of the man in blue, who raised his arms to show that his hands were empty. Smiling, he asked, “Satisfied?”
“No. Not in the least.” Eric’s smile increased proportionately as the other man’s faded. “I am Eric.”
Looking less certain of himself, the other man responded, “Neal. Neal Caffrey.”
“I find you… intriguing, Neal Caffrey.” Eric gestured toward the chairs on the dais. “Let’s talk.”