Conspiring in his Memory
Title: Conspiring in his Memory
Author: afiawri
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter, Gina, Mozzie
Warnings: Spoilers for 2.09
Word Count: 200
Thanks: To photoash for betaing.
Peter expected piles of literature, outdated technology, maybe a wall papered in magazine clippings or something equally ludicrous, but Mozzie’s home was simple and ordinary, provided you didn’t look too closely.
When Neal shook himself out of his stupor and strode towards the bed, Peter thought he was going for the single book in the place, bookmarked and flush with the edge of the night stand, or the rack of identical glasses behind it, something inherently Mozzie, something he’d have touched recently. But Neal untied some fabric from the bedpost and opened it with careful fingers.
“An ascot?”
“Orange is Gina’s favorite.” Neal’s tone mimicked Mozzie’s.
“You going to tell her?”
Neal shook his head and glanced in Peter’s direction. “She didn’t love him.”
Peter rested a hand on Neal’s shoulder. “I know. She left.”
Neal nodded, staring at the ascot. The last thing Peter expected was for him to wrap it around his own neck and answer, “It’s probably best she didn’t know.”
But then, nothing had gone as he expected since Mozzie died. Nothing was the same.
Neal wasn’t the same.
“Our little benign conspiracy. About Mozzie.”
That startled a laugh out of Neal. Good. “He’d approve. Suit.”
Author: afiawri
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter, Gina, Mozzie
Warnings: Spoilers for 2.09
Word Count: 200
Thanks: To photoash for betaing.
Peter expected piles of literature, outdated technology, maybe a wall papered in magazine clippings or something equally ludicrous, but Mozzie’s home was simple and ordinary, provided you didn’t look too closely.
When Neal shook himself out of his stupor and strode towards the bed, Peter thought he was going for the single book in the place, bookmarked and flush with the edge of the night stand, or the rack of identical glasses behind it, something inherently Mozzie, something he’d have touched recently. But Neal untied some fabric from the bedpost and opened it with careful fingers.
“An ascot?”
“Orange is Gina’s favorite.” Neal’s tone mimicked Mozzie’s.
“You going to tell her?”
Neal shook his head and glanced in Peter’s direction. “She didn’t love him.”
Peter rested a hand on Neal’s shoulder. “I know. She left.”
Neal nodded, staring at the ascot. The last thing Peter expected was for him to wrap it around his own neck and answer, “It’s probably best she didn’t know.”
But then, nothing had gone as he expected since Mozzie died. Nothing was the same.
Neal wasn’t the same.
“Our little benign conspiracy. About Mozzie.”
That startled a laugh out of Neal. Good. “He’d approve. Suit.”