Fic: When Neal Was 30 (He Struggled with Prison Economics)
Title: When Neal was 30 (He Struggled with Prison Economics)
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal, Neal/Kate
Rating: Teen (some language)
Word count: 1674
Summary: It's Neal's thirtieth birthday. He's in prison, and the only thing he has to celebrate is a care package from Kate...but it hasn't arrived.
Notes: Written for embroiderama's birthday. Happy Birthday! I hope you had a much better birthday than Neal!
It was Neal's thirtieth birthday, and he still hadn't gotten anything from Kate.
Kate had always had a good sense of timing. When they'd worked for Adler, she could estimate the amount of time it'd take to get lunch at any nearby restaurant, give or take five minutes. Later, she'd demonstrated an almost psychic ability to learn guard shifts and plan getaways.
In prison, Kate's timing took on a new importance for Neal. She was always on time for visits, even when the visitor wing was understaffed. And she knew when to mail letters and packages to make sure he got them by a certain time. She was dependable, and dependability meant a lot in prison.
Like always, Neal woke up early, before the morning bell. While he washed up, he imagined what he would be doing if he was outside. He would sleep in, first of all. And then he would make himself a nicer breakfast than the fake eggs they served in the cafeteria. While he waited for his cell to unlock, he looked over Kate's latest letter once again.
I've sent you a package for your birthday. I mailed it already to make sure you'll get it in time, so don't be surprised if you get if you get it a few days early.
The letter was postmarked two weeks ago. If she'd already sent the package, then it had to be in the mailroom by now.
So why hadn't he gotten it?
Prison had a way of making small inconveniences into tragedies. With little else to look forward to, even a letter was something special. Getting a package would be the highlight of Neal's week.
And it wasn't just his own disappointment he had to worry about--he didn't want to tell Kate that her present hadn't arrived.
He tried not to worry about it until after the mail came. Of course it would come today. That was how it always worked--things arrived at the last minute, just when you were about to give up hope.
But when the mail cart came around, it passed right by him.
Sticking his head out of his cell, Neal said, "Hey, Marty, you sure there's nothing there for me?"
Marty, who was over six-five and had to lean over to push the mail cart, looked over his shoulder. "Sorry, man."
Neal slumped down on his bunk. How could it not come today? It wasn't even that the package itself was so important--he'd barely thought about what Kate was sending him. But Kate had sent it. It was the one acknowledgment of his birthday, and it hadn't come.
It was a long shot, but Neal decided to try to get an answer.
In the rec hall, some of the guys were watching an old basketball game on TV. Neal walked around them and stood in front of the painted white line in front of the guards' station. He peered into the window and smiled in a relaxed, neighborly fashion. After a minute, the CO on duty opened the door and stepped out.
"What is it, Caffrey?"
It was Hartwell--not the most agreeable CO, but not the worst, either.
"Sorry to bother you," Neal said, "but I wanted to check on the status of something."
"If this is about your request for a new pillow, I just put in the form two days ago."
"No, sir. Actually, my girlfriend sent me a package a couple weeks ago, but I haven't gotten it yet. I know the mail can be slow, but she's getting worried that it may have been lost."
Hartwell didn't look the least bit concerned. "It's still early. Give it a few more days."
"Is there any way to check the records? Just see if it's arrived?"
Hartwell sighed. "Either it's here, or it's not. If you don't hear anything about it in a few days, tell your girlfriend to take it up with the post office."
The response wasn't much more than he'd expected. If it'd been one of the other COs, Neal might have pushed more. But seeming too anxious to get mail was a red flag. It made the COs think you were waiting for something you weren't supposed to have.
Hartwell retreated back into the office, and Neal turned around to go back to his cell. Before he could get far, Ernie stopped him.
Ernie was sixty years old and looked harmless on the surface, like he a grandfather in a children's book. There was a rumor that he'd killed people for the mob, but he also worked in the mailroom.
Smirking, he said, "You think you're the only one not getting packages?"
Neal stopped in his tracks. "What do you mean? You're saying there's a hold-up in the mailroom?"
Ernie nodded. "There's a rumor that someone's trying to bring drugs in through the mail. They're going through everything."
"How long until my stuff gets through?"
"How the fuck should I know?"
Neal huffed. "Then why am I bothering talking to you?"
He started to walk away, and Ernie put a hand on his arm.
"Hey, you give me something, maybe I can put your package at the front of the line."
"What?" Neal asked.
Prison deals were rarely a good idea. Neal avoided trades for the most part. A lot of guys took willingness to deal as a sign that someone was easy to screw over.
"Get me four packs of smokes."
"Are you kidding? Four packs?"
It would deplete most of his commissary funds. He'd been thinking of buying some snack cakes as a sort of substitute birthday cake.
"If you want your precious care package before next week, that's the deal."
Under different circumstances, Neal would never agree to it. After all, it wasn't like his birthday present was likely to attract unwanted attention from the guards. He would get it...eventually. But maybe the fact that it was his birthday made him more desperate than he cared to admit.
"Fine. But I want it before the end of the day."
Ernie laughed. "You kidding me? What do you think I am, a miracle worker?"
"If you get it by the end of the day, I'll give you five packs."
Now he wouldn't be able to buy shampoo, either.
Ernie considered the offer, and nodded. "All right, hot shot. You've got a deal."
* * *
Neal bought the cigarettes from the commissary, looking longingly at the snack cakes the whole time (they weren't real food, but it wasn't like the cafeteria food was any better). Later, Ernie stopped by Neal's cell to get them.
"Where's my package?" Neal asked.
"Relax. I don't got it yet, but I will."
"I'm not giving you the cigarettes until I have my package."
"Then no deal."
With a sigh, Neal handed him three of the packs. "Here. A little more than half. You'll get the rest later."
That satisfied Ernie. And at least if Ernie screwed him over now, Neal would have a couple packs of cigarettes to trade with someone else, if he got desperate.
* * *
He'd hoped not to have to call Kate until he got her present. But after dinner, there was no avoiding it. It was his last chance to make a call that day, and Kate would worry if he didn't call her on his birthday.
Leaning against the painted concrete wall, holding the grimy phone receiver to his ear, he smiled when he heard her voice on the other end.
"Happy birthday. Did you get my present?"
"I did! Yeah. It's great. You didn't have to do that."
"Well, it wasn't much."
"It's perfect," he said quietly.
"Is everything all right?"
"Yeah, yeah. It's fine. It's good to talk to you."
"I'm glad you called. I know you don't really celebrate your birthday, but I hope you had an okay day."
"I did. I bought some snack cakes from the commissary and made myself a birthday cake out of them. A feat of a prison baking, if I may say so."
She laughed. "Does it count a baking if you don't actually bake anything?"
"Semantics."
They talked for a few more minutes, until Neal had to give up the phone to the next man in line. He'd felt good while he was talking to Kate, even after lying to her. But now that he was off the phone, he almost wished he hadn't called, and that Kate had never tried to send him anything.
When he thought about it, birthdays were really a let-down. On a holiday, it was easy to want something more than the tired routine of prison life. At least on Thanksgiving and Christmas, the cafeteria made an effort to serve food that wasn't horrible. But who cared about his birthday? Every guy in here had a birthday, and there were hundreds of men. Even Neal didn't care.
He was in his cell, waiting for the count and lockdown, when Ernie finally came by, carrying a box under his arm.
"Here you go, kid."
When Neal reached for it, Ernie pulled it back.
"Where are the rest of my cigarettes?"
Neal dug the packs out from under his mattress and handed them over. Ernie gave him the package, and left as quickly as he'd come.
The box was banged up. It had been opened, which was nothing new, but when he looked inside it was clear that the contents had been searched more thoroughly than usual. It was strange to think of glove-wearing COs going through his things.
At least nothing seemed damaged. Occasionally, stuff was, and they always said it must have happened in transit.
Neal flipped through the new sketchbook Kate had gotten him, and tried to drum up some enthusiasm to draw something. He should draw something he could send to Kate, as a thank-you.
Instead, he set it aside and got up to make another mark on his wall. He drew a thin, black line, indistinguishable from all the rest.
This entry was originally posted at http://citrinesunset.dreamwidth.org/104660.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal, Neal/Kate
Rating: Teen (some language)
Word count: 1674
Summary: It's Neal's thirtieth birthday. He's in prison, and the only thing he has to celebrate is a care package from Kate...but it hasn't arrived.
Notes: Written for embroiderama's birthday. Happy Birthday! I hope you had a much better birthday than Neal!
It was Neal's thirtieth birthday, and he still hadn't gotten anything from Kate.
Kate had always had a good sense of timing. When they'd worked for Adler, she could estimate the amount of time it'd take to get lunch at any nearby restaurant, give or take five minutes. Later, she'd demonstrated an almost psychic ability to learn guard shifts and plan getaways.
In prison, Kate's timing took on a new importance for Neal. She was always on time for visits, even when the visitor wing was understaffed. And she knew when to mail letters and packages to make sure he got them by a certain time. She was dependable, and dependability meant a lot in prison.
Like always, Neal woke up early, before the morning bell. While he washed up, he imagined what he would be doing if he was outside. He would sleep in, first of all. And then he would make himself a nicer breakfast than the fake eggs they served in the cafeteria. While he waited for his cell to unlock, he looked over Kate's latest letter once again.
I've sent you a package for your birthday. I mailed it already to make sure you'll get it in time, so don't be surprised if you get if you get it a few days early.
The letter was postmarked two weeks ago. If she'd already sent the package, then it had to be in the mailroom by now.
So why hadn't he gotten it?
Prison had a way of making small inconveniences into tragedies. With little else to look forward to, even a letter was something special. Getting a package would be the highlight of Neal's week.
And it wasn't just his own disappointment he had to worry about--he didn't want to tell Kate that her present hadn't arrived.
He tried not to worry about it until after the mail came. Of course it would come today. That was how it always worked--things arrived at the last minute, just when you were about to give up hope.
But when the mail cart came around, it passed right by him.
Sticking his head out of his cell, Neal said, "Hey, Marty, you sure there's nothing there for me?"
Marty, who was over six-five and had to lean over to push the mail cart, looked over his shoulder. "Sorry, man."
Neal slumped down on his bunk. How could it not come today? It wasn't even that the package itself was so important--he'd barely thought about what Kate was sending him. But Kate had sent it. It was the one acknowledgment of his birthday, and it hadn't come.
It was a long shot, but Neal decided to try to get an answer.
In the rec hall, some of the guys were watching an old basketball game on TV. Neal walked around them and stood in front of the painted white line in front of the guards' station. He peered into the window and smiled in a relaxed, neighborly fashion. After a minute, the CO on duty opened the door and stepped out.
"What is it, Caffrey?"
It was Hartwell--not the most agreeable CO, but not the worst, either.
"Sorry to bother you," Neal said, "but I wanted to check on the status of something."
"If this is about your request for a new pillow, I just put in the form two days ago."
"No, sir. Actually, my girlfriend sent me a package a couple weeks ago, but I haven't gotten it yet. I know the mail can be slow, but she's getting worried that it may have been lost."
Hartwell didn't look the least bit concerned. "It's still early. Give it a few more days."
"Is there any way to check the records? Just see if it's arrived?"
Hartwell sighed. "Either it's here, or it's not. If you don't hear anything about it in a few days, tell your girlfriend to take it up with the post office."
The response wasn't much more than he'd expected. If it'd been one of the other COs, Neal might have pushed more. But seeming too anxious to get mail was a red flag. It made the COs think you were waiting for something you weren't supposed to have.
Hartwell retreated back into the office, and Neal turned around to go back to his cell. Before he could get far, Ernie stopped him.
Ernie was sixty years old and looked harmless on the surface, like he a grandfather in a children's book. There was a rumor that he'd killed people for the mob, but he also worked in the mailroom.
Smirking, he said, "You think you're the only one not getting packages?"
Neal stopped in his tracks. "What do you mean? You're saying there's a hold-up in the mailroom?"
Ernie nodded. "There's a rumor that someone's trying to bring drugs in through the mail. They're going through everything."
"How long until my stuff gets through?"
"How the fuck should I know?"
Neal huffed. "Then why am I bothering talking to you?"
He started to walk away, and Ernie put a hand on his arm.
"Hey, you give me something, maybe I can put your package at the front of the line."
"What?" Neal asked.
Prison deals were rarely a good idea. Neal avoided trades for the most part. A lot of guys took willingness to deal as a sign that someone was easy to screw over.
"Get me four packs of smokes."
"Are you kidding? Four packs?"
It would deplete most of his commissary funds. He'd been thinking of buying some snack cakes as a sort of substitute birthday cake.
"If you want your precious care package before next week, that's the deal."
Under different circumstances, Neal would never agree to it. After all, it wasn't like his birthday present was likely to attract unwanted attention from the guards. He would get it...eventually. But maybe the fact that it was his birthday made him more desperate than he cared to admit.
"Fine. But I want it before the end of the day."
Ernie laughed. "You kidding me? What do you think I am, a miracle worker?"
"If you get it by the end of the day, I'll give you five packs."
Now he wouldn't be able to buy shampoo, either.
Ernie considered the offer, and nodded. "All right, hot shot. You've got a deal."
* * *
Neal bought the cigarettes from the commissary, looking longingly at the snack cakes the whole time (they weren't real food, but it wasn't like the cafeteria food was any better). Later, Ernie stopped by Neal's cell to get them.
"Where's my package?" Neal asked.
"Relax. I don't got it yet, but I will."
"I'm not giving you the cigarettes until I have my package."
"Then no deal."
With a sigh, Neal handed him three of the packs. "Here. A little more than half. You'll get the rest later."
That satisfied Ernie. And at least if Ernie screwed him over now, Neal would have a couple packs of cigarettes to trade with someone else, if he got desperate.
* * *
He'd hoped not to have to call Kate until he got her present. But after dinner, there was no avoiding it. It was his last chance to make a call that day, and Kate would worry if he didn't call her on his birthday.
Leaning against the painted concrete wall, holding the grimy phone receiver to his ear, he smiled when he heard her voice on the other end.
"Happy birthday. Did you get my present?"
"I did! Yeah. It's great. You didn't have to do that."
"Well, it wasn't much."
"It's perfect," he said quietly.
"Is everything all right?"
"Yeah, yeah. It's fine. It's good to talk to you."
"I'm glad you called. I know you don't really celebrate your birthday, but I hope you had an okay day."
"I did. I bought some snack cakes from the commissary and made myself a birthday cake out of them. A feat of a prison baking, if I may say so."
She laughed. "Does it count a baking if you don't actually bake anything?"
"Semantics."
They talked for a few more minutes, until Neal had to give up the phone to the next man in line. He'd felt good while he was talking to Kate, even after lying to her. But now that he was off the phone, he almost wished he hadn't called, and that Kate had never tried to send him anything.
When he thought about it, birthdays were really a let-down. On a holiday, it was easy to want something more than the tired routine of prison life. At least on Thanksgiving and Christmas, the cafeteria made an effort to serve food that wasn't horrible. But who cared about his birthday? Every guy in here had a birthday, and there were hundreds of men. Even Neal didn't care.
He was in his cell, waiting for the count and lockdown, when Ernie finally came by, carrying a box under his arm.
"Here you go, kid."
When Neal reached for it, Ernie pulled it back.
"Where are the rest of my cigarettes?"
Neal dug the packs out from under his mattress and handed them over. Ernie gave him the package, and left as quickly as he'd come.
The box was banged up. It had been opened, which was nothing new, but when he looked inside it was clear that the contents had been searched more thoroughly than usual. It was strange to think of glove-wearing COs going through his things.
At least nothing seemed damaged. Occasionally, stuff was, and they always said it must have happened in transit.
Neal flipped through the new sketchbook Kate had gotten him, and tried to drum up some enthusiasm to draw something. He should draw something he could send to Kate, as a thank-you.
Instead, he set it aside and got up to make another mark on his wall. He drew a thin, black line, indistinguishable from all the rest.
This entry was originally posted at http://citrinesunset.dreamwidth.org/104660.html. Please comment there using OpenID.