WC Fic: Monsieur Vol du Furet (Gen)
Title: Monsieur Vol du Furet
Rating: G
Pairing: Gen
Word Count: 932
Author's Notes: Written for Misura who donated to Help_Haiti in return for this story. She turned my habitual ferret prompt back on me.
Summary: "Ferrets are illegal in New York," Peter told Neal.
"Well, that's just stupid."
"Speaking of stupid, Neal, did you notice he's trying to eat your hand?"
Peter and Neal ferret out the evidence.
“You’ll have to prove it,” O’Fallon was growling as Peter snapped the cuffs on him and handed him off to Cruz and Jones for transport.
Once he was out of earshot, Peter hollered down the apartment hall to Neal. “He’s right. Knowing he forged those stock certificates isn’t going to be enough to get a conviction. He had three days to destroy the evidence.”
Neal came back into the living room, a small bundle of dark-blondish fur in one hand. “We’ve had surveillance on him for that whole time though. He hasn’t left this apartment to as much as take out the trash. They have to be in here somewhere.”
“What the hell is in your hand?” Peter asked, keeping a reasonable distance between himself and fur-tube that was now stretching out and crawling up Neal’s arm to perch on his shoulder.
“A ferret,” Neal answered and manfully swallowed the ‘duh’ that was aching to come out.
“Great, we can add that to his list of charges,” Peter muttered, watching warily as Neal scratched the thing between the ears and under the chin.
“Charges?” Neal asked.
“Ferrets are illegal in New York,” Peter told him and let his hand drift towards his gun when the thing turned it’s head about two-hundred and seventy degrees and took the tip of Neal’s finger into its mouth, tugging without biting.
“Well, that’s just stupid,” Neal said wiggling his finger with the ferret still attached, making it stretch its neck back and around in a full circle.
“Speaking of stupid, Neal, did you notice he’s trying to eat your hand?” Peter was actually okay with the rule banning the things from his city. They freaked him out. No animal should be as flexible as that.
“Nah, he’s just trying to steal my finger.” Neal continued to tease it. “For an illegal pet, he must have been getting it vet care somewhere,” he mused. “He has his neutering and de-scenting tattoos. And he looks more than healthy. This guy has to be coming up on four pounds.” Neal reclaimed his finger and rolled the portly thing onto his back, stretching it out to about three or four times the length it appeared to have when he had it perched on his shoulder. “Loooong ferret,” Neal teased it.
“You know an awful lot about these things. You don’t strike me as a pet person.” Peter began going through the bookshelves, looking for any signs of their evidence.
“Family I lived with through most of high school had a bunch of them. Even gave me one of my own at one point. Monsieur Vol du Furet. That thing stashed everything. Pens, keys, the t.v. remote, socks…”
“You named your ferret ‘Mister Thieving Ferret’. You know, the more I think about it, the more it seems like he’d be the perfect pet for you.”
Neal put the current Monsieur Furet back on his shoulder where it sat up and surveyed the room. “Parrot ferret,” he said smiling at Peter.
Peter rolled his eyes.
“Anyway, for a guy busy committing stock fraud, he took good care of - oh, hell. Wait…” Neal disappeared back down the hall.
Peter chased after him. “What?”
Neal smiled triumphantly. “That,” he said pointing to the ferret cage.
Peter looked at the cage, looked at the ferret, looked at Neal. “Its cage. So?”
Neal got that insufferable look he always wore when he was about to solve a case Peter wouldn’t have been able to solve on his own. “Look at the bottom.”
“Paper shreds. So. Some people use them instead of wood chips with guinea pigs or rabbits or hamsters or whatever.” Peter wondered if he could make it a condition of Neal’s parole that he had to just spit it out when he had something.
“Ferrets aren’t like guinea pigs or rabbits or hamsters. They aren’t rodents at all. They might play in paper shreds, but they don’t live on any kind of substrate. This cage is set up perfectly for him - blankets, litterbox, food, water, toys… But this guy knew enough about ferrets to know that they don’t need this junk on the bottom of their cage. It’s not good for them. But he’d count on people in New York - where ferrets are illegal - not knowing that and just assuming they belonged there and not looking too closely.”
Peter opened the cage and lifted a handful of the, thankfully clean, paper strips. He sifted through them until he found one that had a piece of the logo O’Fallon had used on his phony certificates.
“You know,” Neal added as Peter started to smile at the evidence, “This gives a whole new meaning to ‘ferreting out the evidence.’”
Peter slugged Neal in the arm, causing the critter to slip a bit from its perch. Peter pulled his hand back before it could think about ‘stealing’ his hand. “I’m finding a bag for this stuff,” he nodded to the paper shreds. “You get to find that thing a new home. Looks like O’Fallon won’t be back for a few years.”
Neal met the ferret’s shiny, red eyes. “Hear that Monsieur Vol du Furet II? You get to visit with me for a few days until I can find you a rescue. Maybe we can talk Peter into turning you into the office mascot,” du Furet licked his nose. “Huh? You like that? We can hang a little sign on your cage. F.B.I. Ferret Bureau of Investigation.”
Peter pretended not to hear. And not to be amused as he headed off to get an evidence bag.
Rating: G
Pairing: Gen
Word Count: 932
Author's Notes: Written for Misura who donated to Help_Haiti in return for this story. She turned my habitual ferret prompt back on me.
Summary: "Ferrets are illegal in New York," Peter told Neal.
"Well, that's just stupid."
"Speaking of stupid, Neal, did you notice he's trying to eat your hand?"
Peter and Neal ferret out the evidence.
“You’ll have to prove it,” O’Fallon was growling as Peter snapped the cuffs on him and handed him off to Cruz and Jones for transport.
Once he was out of earshot, Peter hollered down the apartment hall to Neal. “He’s right. Knowing he forged those stock certificates isn’t going to be enough to get a conviction. He had three days to destroy the evidence.”
Neal came back into the living room, a small bundle of dark-blondish fur in one hand. “We’ve had surveillance on him for that whole time though. He hasn’t left this apartment to as much as take out the trash. They have to be in here somewhere.”
“What the hell is in your hand?” Peter asked, keeping a reasonable distance between himself and fur-tube that was now stretching out and crawling up Neal’s arm to perch on his shoulder.
“A ferret,” Neal answered and manfully swallowed the ‘duh’ that was aching to come out.
“Great, we can add that to his list of charges,” Peter muttered, watching warily as Neal scratched the thing between the ears and under the chin.
“Charges?” Neal asked.
“Ferrets are illegal in New York,” Peter told him and let his hand drift towards his gun when the thing turned it’s head about two-hundred and seventy degrees and took the tip of Neal’s finger into its mouth, tugging without biting.
“Well, that’s just stupid,” Neal said wiggling his finger with the ferret still attached, making it stretch its neck back and around in a full circle.
“Speaking of stupid, Neal, did you notice he’s trying to eat your hand?” Peter was actually okay with the rule banning the things from his city. They freaked him out. No animal should be as flexible as that.
“Nah, he’s just trying to steal my finger.” Neal continued to tease it. “For an illegal pet, he must have been getting it vet care somewhere,” he mused. “He has his neutering and de-scenting tattoos. And he looks more than healthy. This guy has to be coming up on four pounds.” Neal reclaimed his finger and rolled the portly thing onto his back, stretching it out to about three or four times the length it appeared to have when he had it perched on his shoulder. “Loooong ferret,” Neal teased it.
“You know an awful lot about these things. You don’t strike me as a pet person.” Peter began going through the bookshelves, looking for any signs of their evidence.
“Family I lived with through most of high school had a bunch of them. Even gave me one of my own at one point. Monsieur Vol du Furet. That thing stashed everything. Pens, keys, the t.v. remote, socks…”
“You named your ferret ‘Mister Thieving Ferret’. You know, the more I think about it, the more it seems like he’d be the perfect pet for you.”
Neal put the current Monsieur Furet back on his shoulder where it sat up and surveyed the room. “Parrot ferret,” he said smiling at Peter.
Peter rolled his eyes.
“Anyway, for a guy busy committing stock fraud, he took good care of - oh, hell. Wait…” Neal disappeared back down the hall.
Peter chased after him. “What?”
Neal smiled triumphantly. “That,” he said pointing to the ferret cage.
Peter looked at the cage, looked at the ferret, looked at Neal. “Its cage. So?”
Neal got that insufferable look he always wore when he was about to solve a case Peter wouldn’t have been able to solve on his own. “Look at the bottom.”
“Paper shreds. So. Some people use them instead of wood chips with guinea pigs or rabbits or hamsters or whatever.” Peter wondered if he could make it a condition of Neal’s parole that he had to just spit it out when he had something.
“Ferrets aren’t like guinea pigs or rabbits or hamsters. They aren’t rodents at all. They might play in paper shreds, but they don’t live on any kind of substrate. This cage is set up perfectly for him - blankets, litterbox, food, water, toys… But this guy knew enough about ferrets to know that they don’t need this junk on the bottom of their cage. It’s not good for them. But he’d count on people in New York - where ferrets are illegal - not knowing that and just assuming they belonged there and not looking too closely.”
Peter opened the cage and lifted a handful of the, thankfully clean, paper strips. He sifted through them until he found one that had a piece of the logo O’Fallon had used on his phony certificates.
“You know,” Neal added as Peter started to smile at the evidence, “This gives a whole new meaning to ‘ferreting out the evidence.’”
Peter slugged Neal in the arm, causing the critter to slip a bit from its perch. Peter pulled his hand back before it could think about ‘stealing’ his hand. “I’m finding a bag for this stuff,” he nodded to the paper shreds. “You get to find that thing a new home. Looks like O’Fallon won’t be back for a few years.”
Neal met the ferret’s shiny, red eyes. “Hear that Monsieur Vol du Furet II? You get to visit with me for a few days until I can find you a rescue. Maybe we can talk Peter into turning you into the office mascot,” du Furet licked his nose. “Huh? You like that? We can hang a little sign on your cage. F.B.I. Ferret Bureau of Investigation.”
Peter pretended not to hear. And not to be amused as he headed off to get an evidence bag.