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Entry tags:
White Collar fic: 3x14 tag, "Tensile Strength"
Title: Tensile Strength
Fandom: White Collar
Word Count: 1200
Pairing: references to canon pairings
Summary: Tag to 3x14, "Pulling Strings". "I know why you're here," Peter says out of the corner of his mouth.
Crossposted: http://archiveofourown.org/works/336168
~
Tensile strength measures the force required to pull something such as rope, wire, or a structural beam to the point where it breaks. (from Wikipedia)
~
Neal looks over his shoulder at Diana as he leaves the office. He can read the tension in her body language, but nothing else.
"You coming, Caffrey?" Jones asks, holding the elevator. Neal hurries to catch up, sliding gracefully through the doors and making Jones laugh.
"Big plans for what's left of the weekend?" Neal says, leaning on the elevator's polished wall.
"Not anymore." They share a rueful glance -- the casual camaraderie of the working stiff (called into the office? on the weekend? yeah, man, been there) -- and Jones nods to the wrapped blue box in Neal's hand. "Care for a ride?"
Neal grins. "Admit it, you just want to meet Elizabeth's parents and gather dirt on Peter."
"Busted." Jones grins back.
"Wait until you see his sweater."
***
Neal is all set to stall against Peter's inevitable redirecting-and-removal efforts until Elizabeth can head him off, but El is the person who answers the door, accompanied by a cheerful blonde woman who seems to have stepped straight out of central casting for Midwestern Mom. El seems delighted to see them, and Neal has El's mom eating out of his hand in a matter of seconds. She's exactly the sort of person who has "easy mark" written all over her -- such as a very different, much less scrupulous sort of individual might notice, he reminds himself.
"I know why you're here," Peter says out of the corner of his mouth.
"You invited me," Neal murmurs back, wide-eyed and innocent.
"Eight hours ago. The need is past."
"Does that mean you and Mozzie saved Christmas all by yourselves? Hey!" Peter kicks him in the shin -- luckily it does nothing, since Peter is wearing soft-toed slippers -- and then passes him a glass of wine to make up for it.
Dinner in the Burke household has been over for hours, but Neal and Jones soon find themselves being fed and pampered by the mother-daughter team of Burke & Mitchell -- the thought occurs to Neal that El's mother is very much like Elizabeth, except even more so. Diana shows up in the middle of this, and Neal takes advantage of the distraction provided by a roomful of people to quietly observe her. Diana is always hard to read, though, tonight more than ever. She's closed-off and a little subdued, but that could be because of her engagement. (And Elizabeth has already secured a promise to be considered for their wedding planning -- Neal should've started a betting pool on how long that would take.)
When El's mom breaks out the Pictionary and starts dividing everyone into teams, Neal catches the look of wide-eyed horror on Peter's face and excuses himself on the basis that having an artist on either team would be unfair. This leaves the teams uneven, so Peter promptly captures Neal and herds him off to the patio under the pretext of discussing today's case.
It's a pleasant night, warm and calm. Satchmo follows them outside. Peter closes the door behind them, and then, before sitting down, reaches behind one of the bushes and whistles softly to Satch. He tosses something to the dog.
"What's that?" Neal asks as Peter sits across from him at the patio table. Whatever it is, Satchmo is now chewing on it.
"Nothing important." Peter leans back in his chair, closes his eyes for a moment. From inside the house, there's a burst of cheerful laughter, and Neal watches, through the window, the incongruous sight of two FBI agents, Mozzie, Elizabeth and El's parents all playing board games together. They appear to have gone with guys vs. girls, and since this puts Elizabeth and Diana on the same team, Neal's pretty sure that Team Guy is doomed. Right now Mozzie is enthusiastically -- but drunkenly, and with no talent whatsoever -- scribbling something that looks like a many-armed squid.
Glancing over at Peter, Neal finds him watching them too. Peter looks up, sees Neal's eyes on him, and smiles crookedly. "I owe you one."
"Yes, you do," Neal remarks pointedly.
"Oh, come on. Tell me you didn't have fun today."
"I admit nothing." Neal frowns at Satchmo, who is flopped under Peter's chair, happily gnawing away. "Does Satchmo's rawhide bone have hair?"
"I said never mind that, and stop trying to change the subject."
"What about you?" Neal counters. "I distinctly saw a smile in there earlier."
"Okay, so El's parents aren't the worst thing that could possibly happen to me on a weekend."
"Better than paperwork on a mortgage fraud case?"
Peter acknowledges the point with a tilt of his beer. "Better than being shot in pursuit of a suspect ..."
"Better than prison."
"Better than chasing a Stradivarius with your ex-girlfriend?" Peter says, watching him closely.
"Oh, you aren't going to let that go, are you? All right, I'll give you a multiple choice quiz. It was a nightmare of epic proportions." Neal pauses to sip his wine. "Or it was a pleasant afternoon with lovely company. Or some combination of the above. Take your pick. By the way, you must have been so caught up in planning the perfect family weekend that you forgot to mention Kramer would be in town."
Peter doesn't even look abashed. "If I'd told you, would you have done anything different?"
"Probably not," Neal concedes. "I would've appreciated some warning, though."
"Noted."
Neal eyes him, but Peter's expression doesn't give anything away.
"Have you thought about what your testimony is going to --"
"Neal, stop asking."
"Worth a try," Neal says, with a hint of sulk.
"Drink your wine. It's expensive; that means it's good."
It actually is good wine, which means El probably picked it out. There's another burst of laughter from inside the house; Peter sighs, and slouches deeper into his chair, closing his eyes again. His whole body has melted into an exhausted, relieved-looking, chair-shaped puddle. Neal knows what Peter is like in social situations, and guesses that he's probably been wound up tighter than a steel spring all day.
In the presence of Peter's obvious relief and relaxation, Neal finds himself relaxing too -- the tense muscles in his neck unwinding as the wine sends tendrils of heat seeping outward from his core.
There's a part of Neal that wants to keep pushing. He thinks that in Peter's present state of mind, he probably could manage to get an honest answer to at least one of the questions that are currently making the ground unstable beneath his feet. Why is Kramer in town? Do you know he's digging through my files? Are you thinking about testifying for me or against me?
But ... he doesn't. There is a tentativity to the peace between them, this warm thread of comfort that stretches between them in the summer night -- so much stronger than Neal could have ever guessed, yet so fragile it feels as if it might snap (like a violin string, he thinks) under the wrong kind of pressure. And he doesn't want to risk that. Not now. Not ever, if he can help it. This just feels too good: the night and the wine and the friendly silence, the knowledge that Peter is absorbing comfort from Neal's presence, the same way that Neal is soaking in Peter's solidity, his there-ness.
Besides, if he can only get an honest answer to one question tonight, the choice of question is very clear.
"Peter," Neal says, and Peter opens his eyes. "What is that thing in Satchmo's mouth?"
~
Fandom: White Collar
Word Count: 1200
Pairing: references to canon pairings
Summary: Tag to 3x14, "Pulling Strings". "I know why you're here," Peter says out of the corner of his mouth.
Crossposted: http://archiveofourown.org/works/336168
~
Tensile strength measures the force required to pull something such as rope, wire, or a structural beam to the point where it breaks. (from Wikipedia)
~
Neal looks over his shoulder at Diana as he leaves the office. He can read the tension in her body language, but nothing else.
"You coming, Caffrey?" Jones asks, holding the elevator. Neal hurries to catch up, sliding gracefully through the doors and making Jones laugh.
"Big plans for what's left of the weekend?" Neal says, leaning on the elevator's polished wall.
"Not anymore." They share a rueful glance -- the casual camaraderie of the working stiff (called into the office? on the weekend? yeah, man, been there) -- and Jones nods to the wrapped blue box in Neal's hand. "Care for a ride?"
Neal grins. "Admit it, you just want to meet Elizabeth's parents and gather dirt on Peter."
"Busted." Jones grins back.
"Wait until you see his sweater."
***
Neal is all set to stall against Peter's inevitable redirecting-and-removal efforts until Elizabeth can head him off, but El is the person who answers the door, accompanied by a cheerful blonde woman who seems to have stepped straight out of central casting for Midwestern Mom. El seems delighted to see them, and Neal has El's mom eating out of his hand in a matter of seconds. She's exactly the sort of person who has "easy mark" written all over her -- such as a very different, much less scrupulous sort of individual might notice, he reminds himself.
"I know why you're here," Peter says out of the corner of his mouth.
"You invited me," Neal murmurs back, wide-eyed and innocent.
"Eight hours ago. The need is past."
"Does that mean you and Mozzie saved Christmas all by yourselves? Hey!" Peter kicks him in the shin -- luckily it does nothing, since Peter is wearing soft-toed slippers -- and then passes him a glass of wine to make up for it.
Dinner in the Burke household has been over for hours, but Neal and Jones soon find themselves being fed and pampered by the mother-daughter team of Burke & Mitchell -- the thought occurs to Neal that El's mother is very much like Elizabeth, except even more so. Diana shows up in the middle of this, and Neal takes advantage of the distraction provided by a roomful of people to quietly observe her. Diana is always hard to read, though, tonight more than ever. She's closed-off and a little subdued, but that could be because of her engagement. (And Elizabeth has already secured a promise to be considered for their wedding planning -- Neal should've started a betting pool on how long that would take.)
When El's mom breaks out the Pictionary and starts dividing everyone into teams, Neal catches the look of wide-eyed horror on Peter's face and excuses himself on the basis that having an artist on either team would be unfair. This leaves the teams uneven, so Peter promptly captures Neal and herds him off to the patio under the pretext of discussing today's case.
It's a pleasant night, warm and calm. Satchmo follows them outside. Peter closes the door behind them, and then, before sitting down, reaches behind one of the bushes and whistles softly to Satch. He tosses something to the dog.
"What's that?" Neal asks as Peter sits across from him at the patio table. Whatever it is, Satchmo is now chewing on it.
"Nothing important." Peter leans back in his chair, closes his eyes for a moment. From inside the house, there's a burst of cheerful laughter, and Neal watches, through the window, the incongruous sight of two FBI agents, Mozzie, Elizabeth and El's parents all playing board games together. They appear to have gone with guys vs. girls, and since this puts Elizabeth and Diana on the same team, Neal's pretty sure that Team Guy is doomed. Right now Mozzie is enthusiastically -- but drunkenly, and with no talent whatsoever -- scribbling something that looks like a many-armed squid.
Glancing over at Peter, Neal finds him watching them too. Peter looks up, sees Neal's eyes on him, and smiles crookedly. "I owe you one."
"Yes, you do," Neal remarks pointedly.
"Oh, come on. Tell me you didn't have fun today."
"I admit nothing." Neal frowns at Satchmo, who is flopped under Peter's chair, happily gnawing away. "Does Satchmo's rawhide bone have hair?"
"I said never mind that, and stop trying to change the subject."
"What about you?" Neal counters. "I distinctly saw a smile in there earlier."
"Okay, so El's parents aren't the worst thing that could possibly happen to me on a weekend."
"Better than paperwork on a mortgage fraud case?"
Peter acknowledges the point with a tilt of his beer. "Better than being shot in pursuit of a suspect ..."
"Better than prison."
"Better than chasing a Stradivarius with your ex-girlfriend?" Peter says, watching him closely.
"Oh, you aren't going to let that go, are you? All right, I'll give you a multiple choice quiz. It was a nightmare of epic proportions." Neal pauses to sip his wine. "Or it was a pleasant afternoon with lovely company. Or some combination of the above. Take your pick. By the way, you must have been so caught up in planning the perfect family weekend that you forgot to mention Kramer would be in town."
Peter doesn't even look abashed. "If I'd told you, would you have done anything different?"
"Probably not," Neal concedes. "I would've appreciated some warning, though."
"Noted."
Neal eyes him, but Peter's expression doesn't give anything away.
"Have you thought about what your testimony is going to --"
"Neal, stop asking."
"Worth a try," Neal says, with a hint of sulk.
"Drink your wine. It's expensive; that means it's good."
It actually is good wine, which means El probably picked it out. There's another burst of laughter from inside the house; Peter sighs, and slouches deeper into his chair, closing his eyes again. His whole body has melted into an exhausted, relieved-looking, chair-shaped puddle. Neal knows what Peter is like in social situations, and guesses that he's probably been wound up tighter than a steel spring all day.
In the presence of Peter's obvious relief and relaxation, Neal finds himself relaxing too -- the tense muscles in his neck unwinding as the wine sends tendrils of heat seeping outward from his core.
There's a part of Neal that wants to keep pushing. He thinks that in Peter's present state of mind, he probably could manage to get an honest answer to at least one of the questions that are currently making the ground unstable beneath his feet. Why is Kramer in town? Do you know he's digging through my files? Are you thinking about testifying for me or against me?
But ... he doesn't. There is a tentativity to the peace between them, this warm thread of comfort that stretches between them in the summer night -- so much stronger than Neal could have ever guessed, yet so fragile it feels as if it might snap (like a violin string, he thinks) under the wrong kind of pressure. And he doesn't want to risk that. Not now. Not ever, if he can help it. This just feels too good: the night and the wine and the friendly silence, the knowledge that Peter is absorbing comfort from Neal's presence, the same way that Neal is soaking in Peter's solidity, his there-ness.
Besides, if he can only get an honest answer to one question tonight, the choice of question is very clear.
"Peter," Neal says, and Peter opens his eyes. "What is that thing in Satchmo's mouth?"
~
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I thought about revealing Neal's gift, but couldn't think of any good ideas, so decided to leave it up to the reader's imagination. Was that a Tiffany's box? See, it's a good thing I didn't say anything, because I would've gotten it wrong. *g*