Ficlet (White Collar): Bittersweet
Title: Bittersweet
Author: cookielaura
Characters: Neal, Mozzie, gen
Rating: G
Wordcount: 560
Spoilers: Set between 3x16 and 4x01, spoilers for both
Summary: Neal misses NYC, but tries to make the best of his situation
Notes: Written for runthecon, for the prompt “a bottle of champagne” from sinfulslasher, thanks for the tag!
Neal pulled himself out of the pool, towelled himself off roughly and stretched out on the nearby lounger, deciding to let the Cape Verde sun dry the rest of the water droplets from his skin. He closed his eyes and turned his face towards the sky. At eleven in the morning, the warmth of the sun was just at the tipping point between pleasant and uncomfortable, and his skin prickled slightly in protest.
There were plenty of things he could be doing right now, rather than lying in the sun - the crates of unpacked art and artefacts lying in his villa attested to that - but it was only his fourth day on the island, and he seemed to be having trouble finding motivation to do anything other than swim and sleep. He told himself it was just jet lag.
“Mr. Maine!” came Mozzie’s voice, gratingly cheerful, and Neal opened one eye to see his friend come around the corner of the pool area, carrying a bottle and two glasses.
Neal pushed himself up into a sitting position. “A little early for that, isn’t it, even for you?”
Mozzie set the bottle down on the small table near Neal’s lounger and turned the label to face him. “It’s never too early for champagne.”
“Champagne?” Neal reached out and examined the label. “Veuve Monsigny Brut? Did that cost you all of twenty dollars?”
Mozzie snorted in derision. “Not much more than that, I must admit. But I didn’t have much to spare when I bought it.”
Neal put the bottle back down. “When did you buy it?” he asked, curious.
“Not long after you and I started our partnership. I knew we’d do great things together. And I bought this, to keep for when we completed our last big score.”
Neal nodded slowly. “For when we got everything we ever wanted,” he said, and his voice sounded hollow even to him.
Mozzie looked at him closely, but didn’t comment on his tone. “Figured this would count,” he said, gesturing out at the view, as the turquoise sea sparkled on the horizon behind Neal’s pool.
It was undeniably beautiful, Neal thought. It just wasn’t what he wanted to see. It wasn’t the New York City skyline, it wasn’t the concrete and glass of the F.B.I. offices, it wasn’t Peter’s pursed lips as he perused their latest case file, or Diana’s grin as she teased Neal about his fashion choices, or June’s soft smile as they danced in her living room, or Elizabeth’s determined expression as she insisted he have second helpings at dinner.
“Shall we?” Mozzie asked, indicating the bottle.
Neal blinked, trying to shake the thoughts of his old life. He was James now, carefree and wealthy, friend of Barry the treasure-hunter, with a whole island at their disposal. There were far worse places - and people - to be.
“Sure,” he said. “Pop the cork.”
Mozzie poured out the champagne and handed a glass to Neal. The bubbles floated up through the gold liquid and the smell wafted toward Neal: sweet, and slightly bitter.
“To everything we ever wanted, then?” Neal said, holding up the glass in a toast and doing his best to smile.
A look of sympathy passed quickly over Mozzie’s face. “How about, to new beginnings?” he suggested.
Neal’s smile was more genuine this time. “I can drink to that.”
Author: cookielaura
Characters: Neal, Mozzie, gen
Rating: G
Wordcount: 560
Spoilers: Set between 3x16 and 4x01, spoilers for both
Summary: Neal misses NYC, but tries to make the best of his situation
Notes: Written for runthecon, for the prompt “a bottle of champagne” from sinfulslasher, thanks for the tag!
Neal pulled himself out of the pool, towelled himself off roughly and stretched out on the nearby lounger, deciding to let the Cape Verde sun dry the rest of the water droplets from his skin. He closed his eyes and turned his face towards the sky. At eleven in the morning, the warmth of the sun was just at the tipping point between pleasant and uncomfortable, and his skin prickled slightly in protest.
There were plenty of things he could be doing right now, rather than lying in the sun - the crates of unpacked art and artefacts lying in his villa attested to that - but it was only his fourth day on the island, and he seemed to be having trouble finding motivation to do anything other than swim and sleep. He told himself it was just jet lag.
“Mr. Maine!” came Mozzie’s voice, gratingly cheerful, and Neal opened one eye to see his friend come around the corner of the pool area, carrying a bottle and two glasses.
Neal pushed himself up into a sitting position. “A little early for that, isn’t it, even for you?”
Mozzie set the bottle down on the small table near Neal’s lounger and turned the label to face him. “It’s never too early for champagne.”
“Champagne?” Neal reached out and examined the label. “Veuve Monsigny Brut? Did that cost you all of twenty dollars?”
Mozzie snorted in derision. “Not much more than that, I must admit. But I didn’t have much to spare when I bought it.”
Neal put the bottle back down. “When did you buy it?” he asked, curious.
“Not long after you and I started our partnership. I knew we’d do great things together. And I bought this, to keep for when we completed our last big score.”
Neal nodded slowly. “For when we got everything we ever wanted,” he said, and his voice sounded hollow even to him.
Mozzie looked at him closely, but didn’t comment on his tone. “Figured this would count,” he said, gesturing out at the view, as the turquoise sea sparkled on the horizon behind Neal’s pool.
It was undeniably beautiful, Neal thought. It just wasn’t what he wanted to see. It wasn’t the New York City skyline, it wasn’t the concrete and glass of the F.B.I. offices, it wasn’t Peter’s pursed lips as he perused their latest case file, or Diana’s grin as she teased Neal about his fashion choices, or June’s soft smile as they danced in her living room, or Elizabeth’s determined expression as she insisted he have second helpings at dinner.
“Shall we?” Mozzie asked, indicating the bottle.
Neal blinked, trying to shake the thoughts of his old life. He was James now, carefree and wealthy, friend of Barry the treasure-hunter, with a whole island at their disposal. There were far worse places - and people - to be.
“Sure,” he said. “Pop the cork.”
Mozzie poured out the champagne and handed a glass to Neal. The bubbles floated up through the gold liquid and the smell wafted toward Neal: sweet, and slightly bitter.
“To everything we ever wanted, then?” Neal said, holding up the glass in a toast and doing his best to smile.
A look of sympathy passed quickly over Mozzie’s face. “How about, to new beginnings?” he suggested.
Neal’s smile was more genuine this time. “I can drink to that.”