Fic: Save It for a Rainy Day (White Collar, General Audiences)
Title: Save It for a Rainy Day
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal, Peter, Diana, Jones.
Rating: General Audiences
Word count: 1237
Summary: Neal's sentence comes to an end, and the finality of it feels differently than he expected.
Notes: Written for run_the_con, for embroiderama's prompt, "umbrellas."
Neal hadn't exactly expected a party, but the summary request to turn in his consultant ID and clean out his desk was even less festive than he would have given the FBI credit for.
He hadn't even had the anklet off for more than five hours. He was still getting used to the weight of it being gone, and didn’t know when he would be used to it. It was strange, like he was slightly off-balance.
Peter stood beside Neal's desk, hands on his hips.
"I know this is a pain. But it’s just a formality. I am talking to some people about getting you a real job with the FBI as a consultant-I mean, if you're still planning to stick around." He gave Neal an almost hesitant look.
Neal looked up. He was emptying out his tie drawer into a file box. There really wasn't much to pack, all things considered. Even if he was officially reformed, there was always going to be a conman in him, and no self-respecting conman made himself vulnerable by leaving too many personal effects in an insecure desk. For four years, he'd cultivated a workstation that looked individual without containing anything he would mind winding up in an evidence box.
"Where else am I gonna go?" Neal asked with an innocent smile.
"You're free to go anywhere you want," Peter said. Grinning, he said, "In fact, maybe you should take a vacation. Do it now before you join the legitimate workforce and lose your freedom again."
That was certainly one way of putting it.
"You sound like Mozzie," Neal said. "He thinks having to pay income tax is akin to slavery."
"Mozzie would think that…."
More and more recently, Mozzie had been accusing Neal of venerating the idea of a law-abiding life. And yeah, maybe his head had been in the clouds. He'd spent so much time imagining what freedom would be like, thinking of the anklet as an anchor that was holding him back. But now it was like he'd been sent adrift. He was that eighteen-year-old again, running without a plan or an identity. The worst part was, he couldn't think of a single reason to feel that way now.
"I have had a job before this, you know," Neal said.
"Oh, yeah?" Peter asked with a small smile. "When?"
"When I was sixteen, I worked in a movie theater for a while."
"Sneak into many movies?"
"It’s not sneaking if you work there."
He put the bust of Socrates in the box. The last item.
Outside the glass doors, the elevator dinged and Jones and Diana got off.
"Thought we might be too late," Jones said as they came inside. "That you’d already be on a flight to Cancun by now."
"Why does everyone think I’m in a rush to get out of here?" Neal said with mock offense. "I’m starting to think you’re giving me a hint."
"Nonsense," Peter said. "In a few days, you’ll probably be hauling these boxes back in here. But until then, there’s one more thing you need to pack. Excuse me."
Peter scurried over to his office, leaving Neal with Jones and Diana.
“So,” Diana said, “this is it. How does it feel to be a fully contributing member of society again?”
“Again?” Jones said with a grin. “When was he ever a contributing member of society?”
Neal raised his eyebrows. Looking at Diana, he said, “He does have a point.”
“Oh, you’ll give fine,” she said. “If you’re not ready now, you’ll never be. The question is, is the world ready for Neal Caffrey?”
“I don’t know if the world’s ever gonna be ready for that,” Jones said.
Neal chuckled and shook his head.
He knew, deep down, that his life could continue more or less the way it had been. He had enough stashed away to give himself a comfortable life until he died. So he felt stupid getting caught up in the future, when there was no real risk of poverty. But he also knew that if he didn’t do something more with his life, he’d never be able to face some of these people again.
He had to remind himself that he had good plans. If he wasn’t a consultant for the FBI, then he’d find work as an authenticator, or a security expert. The legitimate world wasn't nearly as daunting as Mozzie liked to believe.
Jones and Diana smiled at something over Neal’s shoulder, and Neal turned to see Peter, who was carrying a small but full gift basket.
Neal broke out into the grin. “A present? I didn’t know the FBI cared so much about former CIs.”
“Well,” Peter said, “maybe this is more of an unofficial gift.”
“We thought you could use it,” Diana said, “since you might not be getting free coffee every day for a while.”
Peter set the basket on Neal desk, and Neal undid the tie around the cellophane. Opening it, he saw an assortment of coffee and a mug.
"Very nice," he said, nodding. "Much nicer than FBI coffee." He looked up. "And you're sure you're not trying to keep me from coming back?"
He pulled an envelope out of the basket and pulled out the congratulations card. He scanned the names inside it with a small smile.
"The store didn't have any 'Congratulations on finishing your prison sentence' cards," Peter said. "This one'll have to do."
"It's great...."
Neal set aside the card. There was something else tucked in the basket behind a bag of coffee. Neal pulled it out.
"An umbrella?" he asked, looking up at Peter.
Peter shrugged. "You told me once we only paid you enough for a rainy day, remember? That you could only afford an umbrella?"
"Ah. Good old rainy day account."
Peter grinned like he did whenever he knew he’d made a bad joke, and expected Neal to call him on it. "Figured it was the least we could do."
Neal didn't point out the corniness. Instead, he looked down at the umbrella with a small, contemplative smile. Holding it up, he said, "Just what I need."
Peter pulled a digital camera out of his suit jacket. "Before you go, I think we need some pictures."
He called over the new probie, Greg, and had him take the camera. Peter stood next to Neal, draping a heavy arm around his shoulders. Diana and Jones crowded close to his other side.
Neal realized he still had the umbrella in his hands. Instead of putting it down, he held it in front of him, folding his hands around it.
He smiled through three pictures before Peter removed his arm from his shoulders. Neal set the gift basket on top of his file box and prepared to go.
"You're coming over for dinner tonight, right?" Peter said.
"Of course. I'll be there."
"You'd better. I think El is getting you a cake."
Neal balanced the box on his hip. Holding up the umbrella, he said, "Thanks. At least I'll be ready for a rainy day."
"Don't mention it."
As Neal started to walk toward the door, Peter called to him again.
"Hey, Neal."
Neal turned around.
"I meant what I said. This isn't the end. No matter what happens."
Neal nodded. "I know."
Diana held open the door for him. He jabbed the elevator button with the end of the umbrella and stepped inside.
This entry was originally posted at http://citrinesunset.dreamwidth.org/94846.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal, Peter, Diana, Jones.
Rating: General Audiences
Word count: 1237
Summary: Neal's sentence comes to an end, and the finality of it feels differently than he expected.
Notes: Written for run_the_con, for embroiderama's prompt, "umbrellas."
Neal hadn't exactly expected a party, but the summary request to turn in his consultant ID and clean out his desk was even less festive than he would have given the FBI credit for.
He hadn't even had the anklet off for more than five hours. He was still getting used to the weight of it being gone, and didn’t know when he would be used to it. It was strange, like he was slightly off-balance.
Peter stood beside Neal's desk, hands on his hips.
"I know this is a pain. But it’s just a formality. I am talking to some people about getting you a real job with the FBI as a consultant-I mean, if you're still planning to stick around." He gave Neal an almost hesitant look.
Neal looked up. He was emptying out his tie drawer into a file box. There really wasn't much to pack, all things considered. Even if he was officially reformed, there was always going to be a conman in him, and no self-respecting conman made himself vulnerable by leaving too many personal effects in an insecure desk. For four years, he'd cultivated a workstation that looked individual without containing anything he would mind winding up in an evidence box.
"Where else am I gonna go?" Neal asked with an innocent smile.
"You're free to go anywhere you want," Peter said. Grinning, he said, "In fact, maybe you should take a vacation. Do it now before you join the legitimate workforce and lose your freedom again."
That was certainly one way of putting it.
"You sound like Mozzie," Neal said. "He thinks having to pay income tax is akin to slavery."
"Mozzie would think that…."
More and more recently, Mozzie had been accusing Neal of venerating the idea of a law-abiding life. And yeah, maybe his head had been in the clouds. He'd spent so much time imagining what freedom would be like, thinking of the anklet as an anchor that was holding him back. But now it was like he'd been sent adrift. He was that eighteen-year-old again, running without a plan or an identity. The worst part was, he couldn't think of a single reason to feel that way now.
"I have had a job before this, you know," Neal said.
"Oh, yeah?" Peter asked with a small smile. "When?"
"When I was sixteen, I worked in a movie theater for a while."
"Sneak into many movies?"
"It’s not sneaking if you work there."
He put the bust of Socrates in the box. The last item.
Outside the glass doors, the elevator dinged and Jones and Diana got off.
"Thought we might be too late," Jones said as they came inside. "That you’d already be on a flight to Cancun by now."
"Why does everyone think I’m in a rush to get out of here?" Neal said with mock offense. "I’m starting to think you’re giving me a hint."
"Nonsense," Peter said. "In a few days, you’ll probably be hauling these boxes back in here. But until then, there’s one more thing you need to pack. Excuse me."
Peter scurried over to his office, leaving Neal with Jones and Diana.
“So,” Diana said, “this is it. How does it feel to be a fully contributing member of society again?”
“Again?” Jones said with a grin. “When was he ever a contributing member of society?”
Neal raised his eyebrows. Looking at Diana, he said, “He does have a point.”
“Oh, you’ll give fine,” she said. “If you’re not ready now, you’ll never be. The question is, is the world ready for Neal Caffrey?”
“I don’t know if the world’s ever gonna be ready for that,” Jones said.
Neal chuckled and shook his head.
He knew, deep down, that his life could continue more or less the way it had been. He had enough stashed away to give himself a comfortable life until he died. So he felt stupid getting caught up in the future, when there was no real risk of poverty. But he also knew that if he didn’t do something more with his life, he’d never be able to face some of these people again.
He had to remind himself that he had good plans. If he wasn’t a consultant for the FBI, then he’d find work as an authenticator, or a security expert. The legitimate world wasn't nearly as daunting as Mozzie liked to believe.
Jones and Diana smiled at something over Neal’s shoulder, and Neal turned to see Peter, who was carrying a small but full gift basket.
Neal broke out into the grin. “A present? I didn’t know the FBI cared so much about former CIs.”
“Well,” Peter said, “maybe this is more of an unofficial gift.”
“We thought you could use it,” Diana said, “since you might not be getting free coffee every day for a while.”
Peter set the basket on Neal desk, and Neal undid the tie around the cellophane. Opening it, he saw an assortment of coffee and a mug.
"Very nice," he said, nodding. "Much nicer than FBI coffee." He looked up. "And you're sure you're not trying to keep me from coming back?"
He pulled an envelope out of the basket and pulled out the congratulations card. He scanned the names inside it with a small smile.
"The store didn't have any 'Congratulations on finishing your prison sentence' cards," Peter said. "This one'll have to do."
"It's great...."
Neal set aside the card. There was something else tucked in the basket behind a bag of coffee. Neal pulled it out.
"An umbrella?" he asked, looking up at Peter.
Peter shrugged. "You told me once we only paid you enough for a rainy day, remember? That you could only afford an umbrella?"
"Ah. Good old rainy day account."
Peter grinned like he did whenever he knew he’d made a bad joke, and expected Neal to call him on it. "Figured it was the least we could do."
Neal didn't point out the corniness. Instead, he looked down at the umbrella with a small, contemplative smile. Holding it up, he said, "Just what I need."
Peter pulled a digital camera out of his suit jacket. "Before you go, I think we need some pictures."
He called over the new probie, Greg, and had him take the camera. Peter stood next to Neal, draping a heavy arm around his shoulders. Diana and Jones crowded close to his other side.
Neal realized he still had the umbrella in his hands. Instead of putting it down, he held it in front of him, folding his hands around it.
He smiled through three pictures before Peter removed his arm from his shoulders. Neal set the gift basket on top of his file box and prepared to go.
"You're coming over for dinner tonight, right?" Peter said.
"Of course. I'll be there."
"You'd better. I think El is getting you a cake."
Neal balanced the box on his hip. Holding up the umbrella, he said, "Thanks. At least I'll be ready for a rainy day."
"Don't mention it."
As Neal started to walk toward the door, Peter called to him again.
"Hey, Neal."
Neal turned around.
"I meant what I said. This isn't the end. No matter what happens."
Neal nodded. "I know."
Diana held open the door for him. He jabbed the elevator button with the end of the umbrella and stepped inside.
This entry was originally posted at http://citrinesunset.dreamwidth.org/94846.html. Please comment there using OpenID.