![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hoosierbitchTitle: you don't know me
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: White Collar
Notes: Written for run_the_con, the prompt "You don't know me." I'm really clever at titles...
Summary: Neal doesn't know a lot of things.
Sometimes he didn’t know what the truth was. He’d spent a lot of his life lying. Hell, he’d spent most of his life using a fake name.
He’d started to suspect something was wrong when Diana gave him a set of beautiful, expensive charcoal of different densities for his birthday, and he’d had to pretend to be grateful. He didn’t actually like charcoal. He’d just gotten used to them in prison, when pencils were all he’d had; pencils and whatever pencil-like art supplies Bobby could smuggle inside for him. He’d kept using them afterwards just...out of habit.
So he thought about it. He tried out different things. He found out he lliked watercolors. He liked pastels. He liked oil paints. He liked colors.He drew a picture of Elizabeth and Peter together, from memory, the colors vivid. Not a single dark or sharp line in the entire piece.
He thought maybe he had his own style.
He bought jeans, since he’d never disliked them; he’d just never looked back after Adler had upgraded his wardrobe. They were rough and stiff and he didn’t want to wear them for as long as it would take for them to turn into something that worked for him. He’d been through that with his prison uniform; he’d pass up the opportunity to repeat it with denim.
Peter found the jeans in his closet one day (the tags still on) and laughed and laughed and laughed. Neal, dressed in linen, eventually laughed along too.
*
Moz got him drunk on a Wednesday. (Shiraz, the good stuff; Moz refused to indulge his experimentation with different kinds of booze. Apparently, if he wanted to ‘go slumming with Budweiser,’ he wasn’t allowed to do it at June’s.)
Drunk and wasted with oil paint smeared all over his hands Moz had asked him what he wanted. Neal had opened his mouth to answer but had to stay silent once he started looking for words.
The next day at work Peter made it a point to speak extra loudly and slam doors and eat his lunch with his mouth open. He had no pity for the hungover.
By the end of the day, despite the fact that he’d had to excuse himself to the restroom twice to be sick, he thought he might have figured out what exactly it was that he wanted.
*
“I think I’m in love with Peter and Elizabeth,” he told Moz, cradling a half-empty glass of Chardonnay and staring into it mournfully because he really wanted it to be a Blue Moon. And also because he felt like a lovesick teenager, and that wasn’t a good look on anyone, let alone a fully grown man.
“I know,” Moz said.
“What?
“Everyone knows. June knows. Diana knows. Hell, even Jones has noticed. Some intern in the FBI’s HR department is running a better pool about when the three of you will get your shit together.” He squinted at Neal. “I know you’re high on your revelation and all right now, but please wait at least five weeks before making any sweeping declarations of love, all right? I have a lot of money riding on mid-June.”
“You’re part of an FBI betting pool?”
“I’m part of many FBI betting pools.”
Neal thought about it and then sighed. Of course Moz was. And of course Moz had known. “You know me better than I know me,” he complained.
“That's because you barely know you,” Moz countered. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue.”
“Wrong. It’s pink. Take a look at your wardrobe sometime.”
“What’s my favorite number?”
“Four,” Moz said.
“How’d you know that?”
“I know many things.”
He’d been four before witness protection.
He wondered what else he didn’t know about himself.
“One last question,” Neal said.
“They like you too,” Moz said with a huge sigh. “And yes, I do mean like like you.”
“Stop knowing everything about me,” Neal complained.
“No.”
“Five weeks?”
“I’ll take you out to dinner with my winnings.”
*
He didn’t know if he’d be ready when his five weeks were up.
*
“I like beer,” he said the next day at Dinner With The Burkes, which both he and Moz enunciated like it was the title of a Mamet play. “I still love wine. I do. I love good wine, I crave great wine, and I’ll deal with cheap wine. Especially if Moz is buying. But I like beer too.”
Peter looked down at the bottle of beer in his hand, bottle opener paused with the lid still bent. “Do you want this?”
“No,” Neal said. “I want the same wine that Elizabeth’s having. I'm just saying.”
He wanted them to know.
He wanted them to know him.
The next time he came over, Elizabeth asked before bringing out the drinks and he and Peter had a beer while she sipped her cabernet.
*
In the end it took nine weeks. Nine weeks: denim, hard cider, walks in the rain (terrible) fog (beautiful) snow (eh), twelve dinners with the Burkes, three nights of dominoes with June and Moz where they all cheated shamelessly and June dropped hints about how much she'd loved both Byron and Ford .
*
"I like you," Neal said, six-pack of Blue Moon in one hand and a bottle of Cabernet in the other. The doorstep of the Burkes' house felt smaller than normal. "Um. Just thought you should know. Want to watch 'Butch Cassidy?' It's on AMC tonight."
"I'd rather make out on the couch while it plays in the background," Elizabeth said mildly, taking the wine. "Peter! Neal's here, and he has something to tell you."
Neal stayed on the doorstep and waited for Peter. If Peter was going to tell him to leave he didn't want to have to put his shoes and coat and scarf back on in order to leave the house. He stayed there balanced on the balled of his feet, the Blue Moon bottles were clanking in his shaking hand.
"I like you," he said to Peter, when he finally stood in front of Neal, his arms crossed. There was a long silence. "Sorry. It’s--it’s not important, it’s just this thing I’m trying. Like the jeans? And walks in the rain, which I don’t like, and pina coladas, which I do, so--"
"I like you too,” Peter said. Neal felt like his heart actually skipped a beat, his whole being going on hold for a second as it adjusted to this new truth. “I just gave up hope when Moz's deadline in the pool passed."
"What? Did everyone know about that but me?"
"I knew," Elizabeth chimed in.
"Now you know too," Peter said softly. "Now we all know." He held the door open and took the bottle of wine from Neal as he came inside. They kissed for the first time then, each of them with one hand full, Neal’s coat still on, Paul Newman and Robert Redford bickering in the background.
Neal didn’t know a lot of things. He was looking forward to learning.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: White Collar
Notes: Written for run_the_con, the prompt "You don't know me." I'm really clever at titles...
Summary: Neal doesn't know a lot of things.
Sometimes he didn’t know what the truth was. He’d spent a lot of his life lying. Hell, he’d spent most of his life using a fake name.
He’d started to suspect something was wrong when Diana gave him a set of beautiful, expensive charcoal of different densities for his birthday, and he’d had to pretend to be grateful. He didn’t actually like charcoal. He’d just gotten used to them in prison, when pencils were all he’d had; pencils and whatever pencil-like art supplies Bobby could smuggle inside for him. He’d kept using them afterwards just...out of habit.
So he thought about it. He tried out different things. He found out he lliked watercolors. He liked pastels. He liked oil paints. He liked colors.He drew a picture of Elizabeth and Peter together, from memory, the colors vivid. Not a single dark or sharp line in the entire piece.
He thought maybe he had his own style.
He bought jeans, since he’d never disliked them; he’d just never looked back after Adler had upgraded his wardrobe. They were rough and stiff and he didn’t want to wear them for as long as it would take for them to turn into something that worked for him. He’d been through that with his prison uniform; he’d pass up the opportunity to repeat it with denim.
Peter found the jeans in his closet one day (the tags still on) and laughed and laughed and laughed. Neal, dressed in linen, eventually laughed along too.
*
Moz got him drunk on a Wednesday. (Shiraz, the good stuff; Moz refused to indulge his experimentation with different kinds of booze. Apparently, if he wanted to ‘go slumming with Budweiser,’ he wasn’t allowed to do it at June’s.)
Drunk and wasted with oil paint smeared all over his hands Moz had asked him what he wanted. Neal had opened his mouth to answer but had to stay silent once he started looking for words.
The next day at work Peter made it a point to speak extra loudly and slam doors and eat his lunch with his mouth open. He had no pity for the hungover.
By the end of the day, despite the fact that he’d had to excuse himself to the restroom twice to be sick, he thought he might have figured out what exactly it was that he wanted.
*
“I think I’m in love with Peter and Elizabeth,” he told Moz, cradling a half-empty glass of Chardonnay and staring into it mournfully because he really wanted it to be a Blue Moon. And also because he felt like a lovesick teenager, and that wasn’t a good look on anyone, let alone a fully grown man.
“I know,” Moz said.
“What?
“Everyone knows. June knows. Diana knows. Hell, even Jones has noticed. Some intern in the FBI’s HR department is running a better pool about when the three of you will get your shit together.” He squinted at Neal. “I know you’re high on your revelation and all right now, but please wait at least five weeks before making any sweeping declarations of love, all right? I have a lot of money riding on mid-June.”
“You’re part of an FBI betting pool?”
“I’m part of many FBI betting pools.”
Neal thought about it and then sighed. Of course Moz was. And of course Moz had known. “You know me better than I know me,” he complained.
“That's because you barely know you,” Moz countered. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue.”
“Wrong. It’s pink. Take a look at your wardrobe sometime.”
“What’s my favorite number?”
“Four,” Moz said.
“How’d you know that?”
“I know many things.”
He’d been four before witness protection.
He wondered what else he didn’t know about himself.
“One last question,” Neal said.
“They like you too,” Moz said with a huge sigh. “And yes, I do mean like like you.”
“Stop knowing everything about me,” Neal complained.
“No.”
“Five weeks?”
“I’ll take you out to dinner with my winnings.”
*
He didn’t know if he’d be ready when his five weeks were up.
*
“I like beer,” he said the next day at Dinner With The Burkes, which both he and Moz enunciated like it was the title of a Mamet play. “I still love wine. I do. I love good wine, I crave great wine, and I’ll deal with cheap wine. Especially if Moz is buying. But I like beer too.”
Peter looked down at the bottle of beer in his hand, bottle opener paused with the lid still bent. “Do you want this?”
“No,” Neal said. “I want the same wine that Elizabeth’s having. I'm just saying.”
He wanted them to know.
He wanted them to know him.
The next time he came over, Elizabeth asked before bringing out the drinks and he and Peter had a beer while she sipped her cabernet.
*
In the end it took nine weeks. Nine weeks: denim, hard cider, walks in the rain (terrible) fog (beautiful) snow (eh), twelve dinners with the Burkes, three nights of dominoes with June and Moz where they all cheated shamelessly and June dropped hints about how much she'd loved both Byron and Ford .
*
"I like you," Neal said, six-pack of Blue Moon in one hand and a bottle of Cabernet in the other. The doorstep of the Burkes' house felt smaller than normal. "Um. Just thought you should know. Want to watch 'Butch Cassidy?' It's on AMC tonight."
"I'd rather make out on the couch while it plays in the background," Elizabeth said mildly, taking the wine. "Peter! Neal's here, and he has something to tell you."
Neal stayed on the doorstep and waited for Peter. If Peter was going to tell him to leave he didn't want to have to put his shoes and coat and scarf back on in order to leave the house. He stayed there balanced on the balled of his feet, the Blue Moon bottles were clanking in his shaking hand.
"I like you," he said to Peter, when he finally stood in front of Neal, his arms crossed. There was a long silence. "Sorry. It’s--it’s not important, it’s just this thing I’m trying. Like the jeans? And walks in the rain, which I don’t like, and pina coladas, which I do, so--"
"I like you too,” Peter said. Neal felt like his heart actually skipped a beat, his whole being going on hold for a second as it adjusted to this new truth. “I just gave up hope when Moz's deadline in the pool passed."
"What? Did everyone know about that but me?"
"I knew," Elizabeth chimed in.
"Now you know too," Peter said softly. "Now we all know." He held the door open and took the bottle of wine from Neal as he came inside. They kissed for the first time then, each of them with one hand full, Neal’s coat still on, Paul Newman and Robert Redford bickering in the background.
Neal didn’t know a lot of things. He was looking forward to learning.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-28 04:46 am (UTC)“No.”
*dies* This whole piece is adorable, but especially that scene. ♥
(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-29 02:58 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-30 01:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-25 01:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-25 02:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-25 01:48 pm (UTC)THIS:
He wanted them to know.
He wanted them to know him.
OMFG I CAN'T STAND IT!
(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-25 02:55 pm (UTC)Thanks, bb! I haven't posted fic since JULY. I forgot how good feedback feels...
(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-25 02:07 pm (UTC)I just...I can't even begin to tell you how much I love this!!!
GAH!
*dies and iz ded*
(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-25 02:56 pm (UTC)*revives you*
Thanks so much!
(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-25 02:37 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-25 02:57 pm (UTC)(That's my flustered happy sound.)
Thank you so, so much!
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-25 03:16 pm (UTC)And the FBI pool!!! Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee :D
Thank you so much, seeing a new story from you always makes me super happy :D
(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-25 03:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-25 03:26 pm (UTC):D :D :D
You killed me. I mean, the whole story is lovely and touching and everything, but that line is just so funny :D
(Calming down now.)
Seriously, this is gorgeous. I really haven't been in the mood for the OT3 lately, but this was so light-hearted yet vulnerable, so lovely; a wee bit funny and a bit painful, but simple and raw and honest and beautiful.
I love that you included Mozzie, June and Diana, even if only indirectly.
Love it.
(PS: And now I need a retrospective story with June/Byron/Ford.)
(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-02 09:23 pm (UTC)And June/Byron/Ford is totally canon. Yup. Lalala...
(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-25 04:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-02 09:23 pm (UTC)I'm so happy that this resonated with you. I feel like I'm in that same place, too! Thank you so much for the wonderful comment. ♥
(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-25 05:43 pm (UTC)The realization of his new love story, so sweet too.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-02 09:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-25 07:46 pm (UTC)Especially love omniscient Moz. <3 <3 <3
(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-02 09:24 pm (UTC)*huge grin*
(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-26 04:45 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-02 09:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-26 04:48 am (UTC)I'm so glad you're back writing again!
(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-02 09:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-26 05:37 am (UTC)And I got a chuckle out of Mozzie joining in on the FBI betting pool.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-02 09:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-26 01:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-02 09:25 pm (UTC)Thanks, darling! Hi, icon!puppy. :-)
(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-26 09:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-02 09:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-27 01:59 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-02 09:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-27 05:13 am (UTC)(This fic is sheer wonderful in fic form. I love that everyone, including the burkes, were wiring on I'm-so-clever-I'm-five-steps-ahead Neal. Oh Neal.)
(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-02 09:27 pm (UTC)*loves them all*
*and you*
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-27 04:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-02 09:27 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-28 05:02 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-02 09:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-28 05:15 am (UTC)I can't tell you how much I love the way you write Mozzie here - these lines are my favorite:
“Stop knowing everything about me,” Neal complained.
“No.”
(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-02 09:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-28 09:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-02 09:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-02 04:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-02 09:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-05 10:59 pm (UTC)“You’re part of an FBI betting pool?”
“I’m part of many FBI betting pools.”
Hee! Oh, I adore your Mozzie. Neal's best friend, asolutely, but with a few ulterior motives tucked away.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-06 12:04 am (UTC)