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elrhiarhodan
Title: We Shall Come Home - Chapter XVIII
Author:
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elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Pairing/Characters: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Reese Hughes, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Mozzie, Satchmo, plus other characters.
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Word Count: ~ 3700 (this chapter) ~61,000 (total)
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Summary: Transformed beyond recognition, beyond comprehension, Peter and Neal are lost in the woods and desperately try to get home. A tale of friendship, sacrifice, loss and ultimately, of love. Nightmares stalk Peter, denying him the rest he needs. Neal and Moz have a pair of one-sided conversations.
We Shall Come Home is not a work in progress. New chapters will be posted once a week, on Tuesdays.
Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | Chapter V | Chapter VI | Chapter VII | Chapter VIII | Chapter IX | Chapter X | Chapter XI | Chapter XII | Chapter XIII | Chapter XIV | Chapter XV | Chapter XVI |Chapter XVII |
CHAPTER XVIII – WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
WHILE PETER SLEPT, NIGHTMARES STALKED HIM. Scenes of all the times he had saved Neal replayed in his mind, and each time, at the end, where he rushes to the rescue – each time, he was too late. And Neal paid the price.
He’s back in the airport hanger, rushing to catch Neal before he gets on the plane and disappears with Kate, disappears forever.
Neal’s upset that he’s come after him. “What, you here to arrest me?”
As the scene unrolls, he hears himself trying not to beg, keeping his tone light, as if he were afraid of spooking Neal. He doesn’t have a badge, he doesn’t have a gun. All he has is his will, his humanity, his belief that Neal was meant for something better than this. He laughs lightly, bitterly.
“I'm still a civilian. And I know about Mentor. And I know you can walk away and it's all legal.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
Neal tone is bitter, and Peter doesn’t understand. Hurt wars with anger.
“I'm here as your friend.” It’s the truth – the raw and unvarnished truth – but only part of the whole truth. Doesn’t Neal know that there is nothing he wouldn’t do for him?
“You understand I'm getting on that plane.”
Peter tries to tell him something...but it doesn’t come out as he intends. “I also know you're making the biggest mistake of your life.”
“This is what's best for everyone, Peter. You go back to your life; I get to have one of my own.”
Neal clearly doesn’t want to listen to him. He’s like a headstrong child, an unbroken horse. He doesn’t realize that he belongs here, with Peter – not out in the dangerous world, unprotected, where he could be injured or killed. Where the wrong thought, the wrong move could ruin him forever.
Neal’s upset that he’s come after him. “What, you here to arrest me?”
As the scene unrolls, he hears himself trying not to beg, keeping his tone light, as if he were afraid of spooking Neal. He doesn’t have a badge, he doesn’t have a gun. All he has is his will, his humanity, his belief that Neal was meant for something better than this. He laughs lightly, bitterly.
“I'm still a civilian. And I know about Mentor. And I know you can walk away and it's all legal.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
Neal tone is bitter, and Peter doesn’t understand. Hurt wars with anger.
“I'm here as your friend.” It’s the truth – the raw and unvarnished truth – but only part of the whole truth. Doesn’t Neal know that there is nothing he wouldn’t do for him?
“You understand I'm getting on that plane.”
Peter tries to tell him something...but it doesn’t come out as he intends. “I also know you're making the biggest mistake of your life.”
“This is what's best for everyone, Peter. You go back to your life; I get to have one of my own.”
Neal clearly doesn’t want to listen to him. He’s like a headstrong child, an unbroken horse. He doesn’t realize that he belongs here, with Peter – not out in the dangerous world, unprotected, where he could be injured or killed. Where the wrong thought, the wrong move could ruin him forever.
Peter tossed in the hospital bed. He tried to open his eyes, but he didn’t have the strength to drag himself out of this drugged cocoon. He pulled and twisted. But he couldn’t move, something was holding him back, keeping him from Neal.
The snow swirls around them, and he’s cold. It’s getting dark and a storm is brewing. Maybe if he delays Neal long enough, the plane will be grounded and he’ll have more time to convince Neal to stay. Even to make room for Kate. He’ll keep them safe – he’ll keep Neal safe this time. No more running. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to keep his friend from making the biggest mistake of both their lives.
And so he pleads and hates himself for being reduced to this. “You already have a life – a good one. Right here, with me. You have people who care about you – no one cares for you more than I do. You make a difference. You do – you make my life better.”
He feels himself on the edge of tears, and he almost stops breathing when Neal reaches in his coat and hands Peter his FBI ID. And as much as he wants to hold Neal close, he’s frozen, he can’t move except to take the slim leather folder.
“Thank you for this.” At least Neal’s gratitude is genuine.
Peter looks at the folder, with the picture, the mug shot of Neal, bloated and unkempt. So unlike the man in front of him.
The snow is swirling around and the jet’s engines are firing up. Peter looks from the ID to the plane. Kate’s sitting in the seat next to the door, her face pale and worried. Peter can see that from twenty feet away. She shouldn’t be worried – Neal’s going to go away with her, leave him behind.
Neal doesn’t even say goodbye, just “I got to go.” Peter’s still frozen as Neal starts walking towards the plane. Why can’t he move?
And so he pleads and hates himself for being reduced to this. “You already have a life – a good one. Right here, with me. You have people who care about you – no one cares for you more than I do. You make a difference. You do – you make my life better.”
He feels himself on the edge of tears, and he almost stops breathing when Neal reaches in his coat and hands Peter his FBI ID. And as much as he wants to hold Neal close, he’s frozen, he can’t move except to take the slim leather folder.
“Thank you for this.” At least Neal’s gratitude is genuine.
Peter looks at the folder, with the picture, the mug shot of Neal, bloated and unkempt. So unlike the man in front of him.
The snow is swirling around and the jet’s engines are firing up. Peter looks from the ID to the plane. Kate’s sitting in the seat next to the door, her face pale and worried. Peter can see that from twenty feet away. She shouldn’t be worried – Neal’s going to go away with her, leave him behind.
Neal doesn’t even say goodbye, just “I got to go.” Peter’s still frozen as Neal starts walking towards the plane. Why can’t he move?
Peter yanked harder on the restraints, his legs scrambling against the sheets, trying to run, but he was bound tightly, for his own safety. He dimly recognized El’s voice, calling out to him, telling him to calm down. There were strange mechanical noises – not the rush of jet engines, but pings and tinny alarms. Then there was another voice and another. Someone touched his face – that wasn’t Elizabeth’s hand, and not Neal’s either. There was a sharp prick against his arm and he sank back into sleep, but the dream didn’t change and his fear only intensified.
Neal’s walking away from him, towards Kate, towards disaster. Peter still can’t move, although all he wants to do is tackle Neal to the ground, to keep him here, with him. It’s not supposed to end like this.
He calls after Neal. “You said goodbye to everyone but me. Why?”
Neal turns back. “I don't know, Peter.”
His answer is a lie and they both know it.
Peter presses him “Why?”
Neal gives him a typical Neal answer. “You know why.”
He’s not going to let Neal get away with that. “Tell me.”
Neal looks at him, and Peter’s stunned by the tears in his eyes. “Because you’re the only one who could change my mind.”
Peter hears himself whisper, “Did I?”
To his shock and horror, Neal doesn’t come back. He turns from Peter and walks quickly to the plane, never stopping, never looking back. As he puts his foot on the steps, as he reaches out for Kate, the plane explodes.
Peter hears himself screaming, “No. No! NO!”
Neal’s gone in an instant, engulfed in flame, and Peter is still frozen. But his senses are overloaded – the stench of the jet fuel, plastic and metal, and over that the stench of burning human flesh. He can feel his own skin on fire where bits of shrapnel and melted plastic and bone fall on him.
He can finally move, and all he does is fall to the ground, weeping in his grief. Neal is gone, and it’s his own fault. He was too late, too late. Always too late.
He calls after Neal. “You said goodbye to everyone but me. Why?”
Neal turns back. “I don't know, Peter.”
His answer is a lie and they both know it.
Peter presses him “Why?”
Neal gives him a typical Neal answer. “You know why.”
He’s not going to let Neal get away with that. “Tell me.”
Neal looks at him, and Peter’s stunned by the tears in his eyes. “Because you’re the only one who could change my mind.”
Peter hears himself whisper, “Did I?”
To his shock and horror, Neal doesn’t come back. He turns from Peter and walks quickly to the plane, never stopping, never looking back. As he puts his foot on the steps, as he reaches out for Kate, the plane explodes.
Peter hears himself screaming, “No. No! NO!”
Neal’s gone in an instant, engulfed in flame, and Peter is still frozen. But his senses are overloaded – the stench of the jet fuel, plastic and metal, and over that the stench of burning human flesh. He can feel his own skin on fire where bits of shrapnel and melted plastic and bone fall on him.
He can finally move, and all he does is fall to the ground, weeping in his grief. Neal is gone, and it’s his own fault. He was too late, too late. Always too late.
And the agony continues. Peter’s too drugged to wake, to fight against his nightmares.
He is in the conference room, Jones and Diana are with him. They’re dissecting the video feed from the elevators, chuckling a bit over Mozzie’s overly theatrical disguise. Blake, their newest probie, comes in and hands Clinton a folder. He shows it to him and Peter’s heart stops.
He shouts for Jones to pull Neal’s tracking data. He’s not far – the data from the overlay map puts him in a private cigar club.
How the hell has Neal gotten himself mixed up with a gunrunner, a racketeer with connections to the Columbian drug trade? A man who’s as comfortable with a machete as he is with a steak knife?
He drives like a maniac, all the while praying that Neal’s unparalleled ability to talk his way out of anything and his advanced sense of self-preservation are keeping him safe. Peter forces himself to keep calm. Everything in his training tells him that going in with guns blazing would be the worst possible way to handle the situation.
And all his caution, all his well-reasoned, by-the-book approach is for nothing. As he and Diana step across the threshold, he’s jolted by the sound of a gunshot and the thud of a body hitting the carpet.
Two steps take them inside the club, and he’s greeted by the sight of Christopher Navarro and his thugs standing over Neal. There’s a small bullet hole over his heart and a spreading bloodstain. Peter falls to his knees and tries to stop the bleeding.
Neal turns to him and tries to tell him something, but there’s blood in his throat. There’s blood everywhere, and he can’t hear Neal, he can’t save Neal and he’s too late, he’s always too late.
He shouts for Jones to pull Neal’s tracking data. He’s not far – the data from the overlay map puts him in a private cigar club.
How the hell has Neal gotten himself mixed up with a gunrunner, a racketeer with connections to the Columbian drug trade? A man who’s as comfortable with a machete as he is with a steak knife?
He drives like a maniac, all the while praying that Neal’s unparalleled ability to talk his way out of anything and his advanced sense of self-preservation are keeping him safe. Peter forces himself to keep calm. Everything in his training tells him that going in with guns blazing would be the worst possible way to handle the situation.
And all his caution, all his well-reasoned, by-the-book approach is for nothing. As he and Diana step across the threshold, he’s jolted by the sound of a gunshot and the thud of a body hitting the carpet.
Two steps take them inside the club, and he’s greeted by the sight of Christopher Navarro and his thugs standing over Neal. There’s a small bullet hole over his heart and a spreading bloodstain. Peter falls to his knees and tries to stop the bleeding.
Neal turns to him and tries to tell him something, but there’s blood in his throat. There’s blood everywhere, and he can’t hear Neal, he can’t save Neal and he’s too late, he’s always too late.
Peter fought against the restraints, reaching for Neal, trying to save him in these nightmares. He relived Neal’s kidnapping at the hands of Ryan Wilkes – and instead of saving Lindsey Gless, she and Neal were murdered, their bodies dumped into the Hudson River, only to be found four long agonizing months later.
Every case he’s worked with Neal, every time that Neal had been in jeopardy haunted him now. He saw Neal dead in the Dutchman’s warehouse, he watched as Maria Fiametti blew his brains out, as Neal jumped and missed the awning and lay like a broken doll on the sidewalk, as he was raped or shanked in prison, or beaten to an unrecognizable pulp outside a Soho nightclub.
Peter was sedated and he couldn’t wake up, but the nightmares chased him from his rest. There was no escaping the images of Neal dead, destroyed because he was too late, too frightened, too cautious, too rule-bound to save him.
In the moments between the darkness and the dawn, his psyche delivered the worst blows of all.
It’s high summer and Peter’s sweating, but not just from the heat. He knows Neal’s desperate. He’s not going to stay put, despite the anklet and the lockdown of his radius to his apartment. He’s watching for Fowler, but Neal’s out there, somewhere, waiting to pounce.
He chases Garrett through the museum, but the man is two steps ahead of him and when he's stalled by the guard, it gives Fowler just enough time to jam the door. And he’s too late again.
Mozzie calls to tell him that Neal’s got a gun.
The guard doesn’t have a key and Peter takes matters into his own hands, using a fire extinguisher to break the latch, and as he pushes his way into the room, there’s a crash and a shot and he can’t get in, he can’t stop Neal from making the biggest mistake of his life.
He can hear Neal shouting at Fowler. “I have five shots left – that's the only warning you will get.”
Fowler voice is indistinct, Peter can’t hear his answer, but it seems to enrage Neal.
“TELL ME WHY YOU KILLED KATE!”
Peter keeps pushing at the door, but he can’t get in. It opens just wide enough that he gets a terrifying view of the confrontation.
“You bought the explosives! You blew up the plane to get rid of us!”
He keeps pushing and pushing, shouting at Neal to put the gun down, but Neal ignores him, and Peter realizes that he can’t even hear his own voice.
The dialogue between Neal and Fowler becomes more desperate – Neal’s shouting at Fowler, who is standing there like a target, like a man waiting for his executioner to pull the switch.
“You think I wanted to spend the last year of my life chasing you and a stupid box? It cost me everything! My career is over. My wife is gone.”
Peter finally breaks into the room, Neal doesn’t take his eyes off of Fowler as he warns him off.
“Stay out of this, Peter.”
As if he could.
He chases Garrett through the museum, but the man is two steps ahead of him and when he's stalled by the guard, it gives Fowler just enough time to jam the door. And he’s too late again.
Mozzie calls to tell him that Neal’s got a gun.
The guard doesn’t have a key and Peter takes matters into his own hands, using a fire extinguisher to break the latch, and as he pushes his way into the room, there’s a crash and a shot and he can’t get in, he can’t stop Neal from making the biggest mistake of his life.
He can hear Neal shouting at Fowler. “I have five shots left – that's the only warning you will get.”
Fowler voice is indistinct, Peter can’t hear his answer, but it seems to enrage Neal.
“TELL ME WHY YOU KILLED KATE!”
Peter keeps pushing at the door, but he can’t get in. It opens just wide enough that he gets a terrifying view of the confrontation.
“You bought the explosives! You blew up the plane to get rid of us!”
He keeps pushing and pushing, shouting at Neal to put the gun down, but Neal ignores him, and Peter realizes that he can’t even hear his own voice.
The dialogue between Neal and Fowler becomes more desperate – Neal’s shouting at Fowler, who is standing there like a target, like a man waiting for his executioner to pull the switch.
“You think I wanted to spend the last year of my life chasing you and a stupid box? It cost me everything! My career is over. My wife is gone.”
Peter finally breaks into the room, Neal doesn’t take his eyes off of Fowler as he warns him off.
“Stay out of this, Peter.”
As if he could.
The landscape of the nightmare shifted, and he wasn’t a player in it anymore. He watched the events unfurl, a helpless bystander. And yet he was still in that room, trying to talk Neal down, despite knowing that he was too late, that his words would be ineffective against the inevitable disaster.
He tries to reason with Neal. “Put the gun down. Neal, don't do this...”
Neal finally answers Peter directly. “You know he killed Kate.” He lowers the gun halfway, only to raise it again when Fowler answers.
“I didn't kill her.”
Neal’s voice is as unsteady as his arm. “Who did?”
“I –”
Neal doesn’t let Fowler get more than a single word out. His focus is completely on Fowler now. “What do you know? Tell me what you know!”
And then to Peter’s horror, Fowler taunts Neal. “You want to kill me? Go ahead and pull the trigger.”
Peter is once again reduced to begging. “Neal, please, do not do this.”
It’s as if he never said a word. “I know he killed her. He killed Kate.”
He tries to reason with Neal, but he knows it’s pointless. Neal’s going to shoot Fowler. “If you pull that trigger, you will regret it for the rest of your life, Neal. You're not a killer.”
“I want him to know how it felt. How she felt.”
He’s close enough to see Neal’s finger on the trigger, squeezing. “Look at me. Look at me, Neal. Neal. Look at me, Neal. Come on.”
Neal doesn’t look at him and he doesn’t listen to him and he pulls the trigger. This time, Garret Fowler isn’t wearing a bullet-proof vest – and it’s not as if one would have helped him anyway, since Neal’s shot is perfectly placed between his target’s eyes.
Fowler falls to the floor, his brains splattered on the wall behind him.
Peter is frozen; he watches helplessly as Neal turns to him.
“Why didn’t you stop me, Peter? Why did you let me shoot him?”
“I tried...I tried. You wouldn’t listen to me.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”
“Neal, listen, I’ll get you a lawyer – we’ll argue extreme emotional distress. We’ll beat this.” Peter tries to move, but he’s immobile, pinned by the weight of his grief.
Neal shakes his head. “No, Peter. It’s too late. It’s always too late. You’re always too late.”
Peter can finally move, but just as Neal said, he’s always too late. He reaches for Neal as he turns and puts the gun under his jaw. Neal pulls the trigger and he is spattered with bone and blood and brain.
Neal finally answers Peter directly. “You know he killed Kate.” He lowers the gun halfway, only to raise it again when Fowler answers.
“I didn't kill her.”
Neal’s voice is as unsteady as his arm. “Who did?”
“I –”
Neal doesn’t let Fowler get more than a single word out. His focus is completely on Fowler now. “What do you know? Tell me what you know!”
And then to Peter’s horror, Fowler taunts Neal. “You want to kill me? Go ahead and pull the trigger.”
Peter is once again reduced to begging. “Neal, please, do not do this.”
It’s as if he never said a word. “I know he killed her. He killed Kate.”
He tries to reason with Neal, but he knows it’s pointless. Neal’s going to shoot Fowler. “If you pull that trigger, you will regret it for the rest of your life, Neal. You're not a killer.”
“I want him to know how it felt. How she felt.”
He’s close enough to see Neal’s finger on the trigger, squeezing. “Look at me. Look at me, Neal. Neal. Look at me, Neal. Come on.”
Neal doesn’t look at him and he doesn’t listen to him and he pulls the trigger. This time, Garret Fowler isn’t wearing a bullet-proof vest – and it’s not as if one would have helped him anyway, since Neal’s shot is perfectly placed between his target’s eyes.
Fowler falls to the floor, his brains splattered on the wall behind him.
Peter is frozen; he watches helplessly as Neal turns to him.
“Why didn’t you stop me, Peter? Why did you let me shoot him?”
“I tried...I tried. You wouldn’t listen to me.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”
“Neal, listen, I’ll get you a lawyer – we’ll argue extreme emotional distress. We’ll beat this.” Peter tries to move, but he’s immobile, pinned by the weight of his grief.
Neal shakes his head. “No, Peter. It’s too late. It’s always too late. You’re always too late.”
Peter can finally move, but just as Neal said, he’s always too late. He reaches for Neal as he turns and puts the gun under his jaw. Neal pulls the trigger and he is spattered with bone and blood and brain.
Peter screams and opens his eyes. He’s finally awake.
DIANA BARELY BEAT HUGHES AND JONES TO THE HOSPITAL; THEY MET UP AS SHE WAS WAITING FOR THE ELEVATOR. Hughes gave her a one-word command.
“Report.”
In a hushed voice she told him all she knew – which wasn’t much more than that Neal was still a dog, that he had been badly injured defending a group of small children and that his condition was precarious. Diana swallowed against her tears, trying to maintain her professional distance while reporting Neal’s status and what the vet had relayed to her.
“Where is Caffrey – Neal – now?” Hughes wasn’t unaffected either.
“He’s with Havisham – a safe house nearby.”
“Do you trust him not to disappear with Neal?”
“Yes, sir. Neal’s too ill and Havisham won’t risk moving him now.”
Hughes scrubbed at his face; the weariness that had been dogging all of them for so many days was taking its toll. “You want to tell Peter, or do you want me to?”
Diana was surprised at the choice she was given, but she didn’t let it show. “Sir, I was there, I’ve seen Neal – I think it would be best for me to give Peter the news. And it’s not all bad; we’ve found him, and isn’t that the most important thing of all?”
Hughes nodded, and Jones caught her eye. They were going to have to talk about this. She had her theories, and she knew that Clinton had his, too.
There was still an agent posted outside of Peter’s room. It was a formality only, but they couldn’t pull the guard without reason – and no one except the three of them, the little guy and the Burkes knew that Peter’s life wasn’t in danger, at least not from external forces.
Elizabeth Burke was standing outside her husband’s room, talking with a gray-haired woman in a white jacket. Diana assumed this was Peter’s doctor. From Elizabeth’s body language, she was angry and agitated, and the doctor was trying to calm her down.
Diana pasted a smile on her face – because, as she’d told Hughes, they had recovered Neal, and that was good news.
Mrs. Burke spotted them and pushed the doctor out of the way in her rush to meet them. “You found Neal?”
Diana nodded, not trusting her voice, and was shocked when Peter’s wife all but collapsed. “Oh, thank god.”
Hughes and Clinton helped her get Mrs. Burke into a chair. Her mask must have slipped, because the delighted relief that was in her eyes faded. “What’s the matter? Neal – is he …”
Diana sat down next to Elizabeth and took her hand. “He’s still a dog.” Peter’s wife nodded, she seemed to expect that. When Diana didn’t immediately continue, Elizabeth squeezed her hand, almost crushing her fingers.
“What’s the matter?”
Diana swallowed and looked up at Hughes. He was no help, and neither was Clinton. This was going to be all on her.
“Neal was hurt. Badly.”
NEAL COULDN’T BELIEVE HOW WEAK HE WAS, HOW MUCH HIS BODY HURT. But what was even more unbelievable was what the doctor told Diana and Mozzie –he was dying, his heart would give out. That couldn’t be right. He couldn’t have heart disease – he took care of himself, he exercised, he ate well. Even the red wine he drank was supposed to be good for his heart.
But he wasn’t human – and it seemed that the powers that consigned him to this canine form were going to have the last laugh. The vet thought he should be put to sleep – it would be the humane thing to do.
And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing after all. He could barely stand, he had a difficult time controlling his bowels, and he was in a lot of pain. Maybe if humans treated each other with the care they gave their pets, the world would have a lot less suffering.
But he wasn’t ready quite yet – he needed to see Peter one last time. And Elizabeth. He needed to know that they were all right.
Mozzie came back, and Neal tried to smile, but just ended up panting. It was certainly a red letter day – his friend let a Suit into one of his precious safe houses. Even he didn’t know about this one, and it was so close to Peter and Elizabeth’s. He hoped Moz wouldn’t abandon it afterwards.
“Neal, I’ve been doing some research …” Moz paused and looked at him; the expression on his face dropped in dismay and he sighed. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Sorry, Mozzie. So sorry. But of course his friend didn’t hear his apology.
Neal shivered as Moz wiped him down, and then sneezed at the strong smell of the ammonia that he used to disinfect the floor.
“You okay?”
Neal barked – the only answer he could give that Moz would understand.
“Would you like some water?” Mozzie didn’t wait for an answer; he filled a shallow bowl and set it down, then helped Neal onto his belly, so he could drink. Neal lapped up all of the water, but he was exhausted by the time he finished, and he knew he was going to need to pee in a little while. And make a mess again.
But Moz, his ever ingenious friend, fixed that, wrapping something around his belly – a diaper – so that he wouldn’t go all over everything again. Neal sighed – this was not a life he wanted to live for much longer.
Moz sat down on the floor next to him, and Neal rested his chin on his friend’s knee.
“Like I said before…” Moz waved a hand in the general direction of his hindquarters. “I’ve been doing some research on your predicament. And I was there when the Suit became bipedal again. I hate to say it, kid…but I think you’re screwed.”
Neal sighed again. Yeah, Moz…I have to agree.
Moz, of course, couldn’t hear him. He rambled on a bit. “This whole thing has been a pastiche of myth and fairytale, you know. A bit of Greek mythology – and that deer – could they be any more obvious?”
What about the deer? And who are they?
Maybe Moz did hear him. “A Persian Fallow Deer – I mean, why not just put up a billboard and announce that they’re staging a version of the Actaeon myth.”
But it’s not the Actaeon myth, Moz. Actaeon was turned into a deer, not a dog.
“Okay, okay. I get your point. But don’t you see…this whole thing has been a weird exercise – an adventure designed by a committee.”
Moz, can you hear me?
His friend tilted his head, looking for all the world like a curious, bespectacled robin. “Of course I can’t hear you Neal. You’re a dog. And you’re not telepathic.”
Moz – you CAN hear me. You can. Neal tried to get up and lick Moz in his joy. But he gently pushed Neal away.
“Down boy. As much as I like you, I really don’t want your slobber on my glasses.”
Damn it, Moz wasn’t listening. Well, he was – but he wasn’t really paying attention.
“Anyway, I can’t seem to find anything in the Western Canon that’s going to make you human again. I don’t know why the Suit got so lucky, though.”
Maybe you need to discard your white privilege and look beyond what Harold Bloom and Joseph Campbell tell you to read.
“Hmmm, maybe I should look beyond Harold Bloom and Joseph Campbell – although Campbell did write a book on Eastern mythology.”
Yeah, and he called it “Oriental” mythology, Moz. That should tell you something about his perspective. Neal was getting tired of arguing with a man who refused to hear him.
“When I think about the Suits, I get curious. Was it Mrs. Suit’s kiss? If she kisses you, will you become a man again? That seems too simplistic, even for the Western Canon.”
Moz looked down at Neal. “I wonder…” He got on his hands and knees, so he was eye level with Neal, and took off his glasses.
Neal had an idea of what was coming, and although he hoped this would work, he had no expectations.
Mozzie’s lips were warm and smooth against his nose, smelling a little bit like the lip balm he preferred. There was a tingle (but that could have been from the menthol in the lip balm) and nothing else.
“Ahh, it was worth a shot.” His friend sighed. “Regrets are illuminations come too late.”
Neal crawled a little closer, put a heavy paw on Mozzie’s knee and butted his head against Mozzie’s chin. I love you, my friend. And I have no regrets.
To Be Continued
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-12-21 02:07 pm (UTC)Hair pulling right before Christmas is just plain mean! LOL
I do love that Moz kissed Neal. That was sweet!
no subject
Date: 2011-12-21 03:10 pm (UTC)Just two chapters left.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-26 08:04 am (UTC)Good news... even though I'll be on a train again when you post the next one.
Poor Doggy!Neal. I want him to be All Better really soon now!
::pets Dog!Neal::
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Date: 2011-12-21 03:00 pm (UTC)*goes_back_to_chewing_her_fingernails_in_anticipation*
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Date: 2011-12-21 03:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-21 03:52 pm (UTC)That was wonderful
Date: 2011-12-21 03:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-21 04:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-26 08:09 am (UTC)Well, he's been playing the sort of emotional-manipulation games with Neal that I'd expect from a grade-school kid ("If you're MY friend you can't be Peter's friend too!"). I hate that (in canon) Mozzie has been pressuring Neal to make an either/or choice, even though the consequences would be *extreme* if Neal ran.
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Date: 2011-12-27 06:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-21 05:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-25 05:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-26 12:07 pm (UTC)