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White Collar/Carnivale crossover (you knew it had to happen)
*facepalm* I don't really have anything to say for myself here.
Pertinent background for anyone who wants to read this without having seen Carnivale: one of the fundamental aspects of Carnivale mythology is that each generation of humanity also includes people (or human-looking beings, anyway) who are the Avatars of Light and Darkness. They're sort of Good and Evil incarnate, but they're people first and foremost (meaning they can choose to be other than what they are). The Avatar of Light can heal people, including resurrecting the dead, but has to steal the life from nearby living things in order to do it. The Avatar of Darkness has a nebulous array of various offensive/defensive powers (it seems to be whatever is needed for the plot *g*), as well as spooky black eyes when using them.
Title: Not Entirely Black and White
Fandom: White Collar/Carnivale crossover
Word Count: 2000
Rating: PG, gen
Summary: An AU-ish, Carnivale-verse take on the first season and a half of White Collar. Peter was raised on his grandmother's stories of good and evil. He never expected to encounter living proof in New York City.
Peter doesn't remember his grandfather. "Clay was a good man," Peter's grandmother used to say, but he died before Peter was born, and Peter never got to meet him -- something he would have loved to do, since his grandfather used to play in the major leagues. A long time ago. Long before the family changed their name to Burke and moved a thousand miles east; this happened when Peter's father was a boy, for reasons that, even all these years later, Peter only vaguely understands.
"Is it like witness protection?" child Peter had asked his grandmother, and she'd nodded and smiled, and said, "Something like that."
His grandmother raised him on cinematic tales of magic and heroism, epic battles between good and evil that she swore were true. "Oh, Libby," his mother would say, rolling her eyes. "Don't go confusing the boy." After one of his grandmother's stories gave him nightmares, his mother knelt down, took Peter's face between her hands, and said, "Honey, you know that Grandma Libby's stories aren't true, don't you?"
"Yes, Mom," Peter said.
But there was always a part of him that wondered. He grew up believing in God and angels and saints -- even though he drifted away from the Church as an adult, a part of him never really stopped believing in all of that -- and his grandmother's stories were not so different. Did it really make sense to believe in miracles that happened two thousand years ago, and yet, to disbelieve that miracles could happen fifty years ago in Utah? Miracles that his grandmother claimed to have seen with her own eyes?
***
And when Kate steps through the hotel room door, raises her head to look at him with those coal-black eyes, his grandmother's stories all come rushing back.
"Hello, Peter," she says. Her eyes revert to blue almost instantly, but he knows what he saw, and what it means. She doesn't carry a gun. She doesn't need it. She could kill him in a heartbeat if she wanted to.
"Hello, Kate."
His breathing doesn't return to normal until long after their conversation is over and she's left the room. He doesn't think he tipped his hand. Kate doesn't know that he knows what she is. He's pretty sure that if she did know, he would never have left that hotel room alive.
***
Peter wonders how Neal fits into all of this. If Neal knows what Kate is. If he would care if he knew.
Questions his own sanity, too. Wonders if he saw what he thought he saw, if Kate is what he thinks she is.
He tells himself that it doesn't change anything. She's still a criminal, even if they don't have anything on her, which means that she's still on the opposite side of the law -- his enemy by default. This is about the law. If Kate never hurts anyone, then she's as entitled to the protection of the law as anyone else. And if she does -- well, then he'd have to go after her anyway. The law is what's important here, not anything else that she (or Neal) might or might not be.
***
When Kate dies in an exploding plane, Peter's first thought is astonishment that she can die. He wasn't sure.
"Let me go," Neal sobs, struggling, screaming. "Let me go. I can help her. I can save her!"
"No one can save her," Peter murmurs into his ear.
"I can," Neal says.
The Marshals show up just then, swarming everywhere, and Neal fights them so hard that they have to sedate him. It's completely unlike him, this wild, physical panic, a loss of emotional control so strong that his con-man's silver tongue has deserted him. All he can think of is getting to Kate -- or what's left of her.
Much later -- long after Kate's remains have been buried, long after his partnership with Neal has been re-established, long after it doesn't matter anymore -- Peter allows himself to wonder if he kept Neal away from her on purpose. If he knew, even then, what Neal wanted to do. What Neal would have been fully prepared to do.
***
He suspects various things about Neal, but he isn't positive that Neal is anything other than fully human until he is poisoned along with Wesley Kent.
Peter is dying. He can feel it -- his body shutting down, his vision telescoping to darkness. Dimly he is aware of Neal hauling him to the elevator, and then --
-- then he's waking up, breathing easily with the thousand-pound gorilla off his chest. He opens his eyes to find Neal hovering over him, pale face glistening with a light sheen of sweat, eyes wide and worried.
"Peter?"
"Kent," Peter groans and tries to sit up. Neal pushes him back down.
"Peter, don't. Wait for the paramedics."
He doesn't feel like waiting for the paramedics. He feels just fine -- and that's not right, because the last thing he remembers, he was anything but fine.
Peter turns his head to the side and looks along the marble floor into Kent's open, lifeless eyes.
***
According to the paramedics, Kent must have gotten a much bigger dose than Peter. Kent's heart gave out, but Peter is just fine -- his vitals are already back to normal by the time the paramedics arrive.
And that, Peter knows, is absolute bullshit. He and Kent both drank the Armagnac, and Kent wasn't chugging the stuff. Kent might have had a drink beforehand -- no, not possible. As fast as the digitalis took effect, he had to have ingested it at the same time Peter did.
And Peter felt the stuff killing him. By all rights he should be as dead as Kent.
Instead Jessica Breslin is going down for Kent's murder, and Peter's as healthy as he ever was.
And Neal is very quiet, hardly speaking at all as Peter drives him home after they've taken a statement. It is possible that he's quiet because he just watched Peter's brush with death, and he's still shaken up by it. At least, that's what everyone at the FBI office seems to think.
It is also possible that Neal just killed a man to save Peter's life.
And that scares the hell out of Peter. He's not sure who he's more afraid for: himself, or Neal, or the entire population of this city.
"Good night," Neal says quietly, reaching for the door handle.
Peter almost lets him go. Almost. They don't have to speak of this; Neal clearly doesn't want to. They can go back to work tomorrow and it'll be just like it was before.
Except that it's not.
"Can I come up?" Peter asks.
Rather than giving him an answer, Neal says, "I know about the music box," and it's Peter's turn to go still.
"I guess we both have secrets, then," Peter says.
Neal turns and looks at him, his face unreadable.
"If I get the music box," Peter says, "can we talk about what happened today?"
He can see Neal thinking it over, shuffling masks, deciding which one to choose. But in the end, he's not wearing a mask at all when he says, "Okay."
***
Once Neal understands, really understands, that Peter knows what he did and isn't angry at him -- Peter knows he should be, but he also knows that Neal acted in fear on the spur of the moment; it's accidental manslaughter at worst -- Neal's cool-as-a-cucumber facade crumples into relief. Relief too deep to simply account for the fact that Peter's not upset with him. Peter wonders if Neal has ever had anyone to talk to about it before.
El is still in San Francisco, so there's no one waiting for Peter at home. The music box lies on the table between them, finally opened and, yet, forgotten and abandoned, as the conversation has moved on to other things.
"I never really knew anything about myself until I met Kate," Neal says, eyes downcast, twirling the wine glass in his graceful fingers. "Not that she knew much more than I did. Kate ..." He draws a slow, shuddering breath, and hastily changes the subject.
There are still huge swathes of Neal's past that remain hidden. Peter can sense some of the things Neal is talking around, and doesn't push him. There will be time for all of that later, once they've worked their way to a better understanding of whatever this thing is with Neal, and what it means for them.
The important thing is that Neal knows he can talk to him on this. Knows he can come to him. And there's one thing that Peter feels an urgent need to impress upon him, although he waits until the very end of the conversation, when they're both sleepy and a little drunk. He wants it to be the last thing Neal hears as Peter walks out the door, because he wants Neal to think about it and get it. So he allows Neal to walk him to the door, the music box wrapped up and tucked under his arm -- Peter's not letting it stay with Neal until he's 100% sure what Neal plans to do next.
"I'll contact Moz and have him look at it. If anyone can break the code, he can."
Peter nods. It's tempting to leave it there, but no, not with so much on the line. "Neal," and he waits until he has Neal's full attention. "What you did today, for me ... don't ever do it again. Not like that. Not a human life, Neal."
Neal catches his breath. "You were dying, Peter."
"I don't care." It still haunts him -- he thinks will haunt him forever -- that Kent died so that he could live. "No one has the right to make that decision. Not you. Not anyone."
Neal studies him with unreadable eyes. Finally he says, "Isn't that what you do?"
Now it's his turn to react -- in anger, at first, but then he takes it as the serious question that it is. He remembers holding back Neal, as Neal tried to run to Kate. Remembers shooting Fowler, not knowing at the time that Fowler was wearing a vest.
"That's on me," he says at last, slowly, thinking it through. He owes Neal an honest answer. "Every time I draw my gun, I know that I might have to make that decision. Wearing this gun means I signed up to make that choice and deal with the legal and personal consequences. It's a responsibility. A heavy one."
"I didn't get a choice," Neal says.
"I know." Peter reaches out, takes Neal's hands and turns them over, palm up. "You still have the gun, though."
There's a hitch in Neal's breathing, like the start of a sob, but when Peter looks at his face, it's calm. He withdraws his hands carefully, tucks them into his pockets. "I meant it when I said I'd never lied to you, Peter, and I never want to, so I can't make a promise I'm not sure if I can keep."
"Fair enough. Just think about it."
Neal nods, silently, and Peter starts to turn away.
He's taken completely off guard when Neal catches him by the shoulder and hugs him -- quick, light, there and gone so fast that Peter could almost imagine it never happened. Then Neal's hands are back in his pockets, and he says, "See you tomorrow ... partner?" His voice hangs on a question, soft and tentative.
"See you, partner," Peter says, and even with a thousand unknowns still hanging between them, he doesn't regret saying it, not for the look on Neal's face.
~
Pertinent background for anyone who wants to read this without having seen Carnivale: one of the fundamental aspects of Carnivale mythology is that each generation of humanity also includes people (or human-looking beings, anyway) who are the Avatars of Light and Darkness. They're sort of Good and Evil incarnate, but they're people first and foremost (meaning they can choose to be other than what they are). The Avatar of Light can heal people, including resurrecting the dead, but has to steal the life from nearby living things in order to do it. The Avatar of Darkness has a nebulous array of various offensive/defensive powers (it seems to be whatever is needed for the plot *g*), as well as spooky black eyes when using them.
Title: Not Entirely Black and White
Fandom: White Collar/Carnivale crossover
Word Count: 2000
Rating: PG, gen
Summary: An AU-ish, Carnivale-verse take on the first season and a half of White Collar. Peter was raised on his grandmother's stories of good and evil. He never expected to encounter living proof in New York City.
Peter doesn't remember his grandfather. "Clay was a good man," Peter's grandmother used to say, but he died before Peter was born, and Peter never got to meet him -- something he would have loved to do, since his grandfather used to play in the major leagues. A long time ago. Long before the family changed their name to Burke and moved a thousand miles east; this happened when Peter's father was a boy, for reasons that, even all these years later, Peter only vaguely understands.
"Is it like witness protection?" child Peter had asked his grandmother, and she'd nodded and smiled, and said, "Something like that."
His grandmother raised him on cinematic tales of magic and heroism, epic battles between good and evil that she swore were true. "Oh, Libby," his mother would say, rolling her eyes. "Don't go confusing the boy." After one of his grandmother's stories gave him nightmares, his mother knelt down, took Peter's face between her hands, and said, "Honey, you know that Grandma Libby's stories aren't true, don't you?"
"Yes, Mom," Peter said.
But there was always a part of him that wondered. He grew up believing in God and angels and saints -- even though he drifted away from the Church as an adult, a part of him never really stopped believing in all of that -- and his grandmother's stories were not so different. Did it really make sense to believe in miracles that happened two thousand years ago, and yet, to disbelieve that miracles could happen fifty years ago in Utah? Miracles that his grandmother claimed to have seen with her own eyes?
***
And when Kate steps through the hotel room door, raises her head to look at him with those coal-black eyes, his grandmother's stories all come rushing back.
"Hello, Peter," she says. Her eyes revert to blue almost instantly, but he knows what he saw, and what it means. She doesn't carry a gun. She doesn't need it. She could kill him in a heartbeat if she wanted to.
"Hello, Kate."
His breathing doesn't return to normal until long after their conversation is over and she's left the room. He doesn't think he tipped his hand. Kate doesn't know that he knows what she is. He's pretty sure that if she did know, he would never have left that hotel room alive.
***
Peter wonders how Neal fits into all of this. If Neal knows what Kate is. If he would care if he knew.
Questions his own sanity, too. Wonders if he saw what he thought he saw, if Kate is what he thinks she is.
He tells himself that it doesn't change anything. She's still a criminal, even if they don't have anything on her, which means that she's still on the opposite side of the law -- his enemy by default. This is about the law. If Kate never hurts anyone, then she's as entitled to the protection of the law as anyone else. And if she does -- well, then he'd have to go after her anyway. The law is what's important here, not anything else that she (or Neal) might or might not be.
***
When Kate dies in an exploding plane, Peter's first thought is astonishment that she can die. He wasn't sure.
"Let me go," Neal sobs, struggling, screaming. "Let me go. I can help her. I can save her!"
"No one can save her," Peter murmurs into his ear.
"I can," Neal says.
The Marshals show up just then, swarming everywhere, and Neal fights them so hard that they have to sedate him. It's completely unlike him, this wild, physical panic, a loss of emotional control so strong that his con-man's silver tongue has deserted him. All he can think of is getting to Kate -- or what's left of her.
Much later -- long after Kate's remains have been buried, long after his partnership with Neal has been re-established, long after it doesn't matter anymore -- Peter allows himself to wonder if he kept Neal away from her on purpose. If he knew, even then, what Neal wanted to do. What Neal would have been fully prepared to do.
***
He suspects various things about Neal, but he isn't positive that Neal is anything other than fully human until he is poisoned along with Wesley Kent.
Peter is dying. He can feel it -- his body shutting down, his vision telescoping to darkness. Dimly he is aware of Neal hauling him to the elevator, and then --
-- then he's waking up, breathing easily with the thousand-pound gorilla off his chest. He opens his eyes to find Neal hovering over him, pale face glistening with a light sheen of sweat, eyes wide and worried.
"Peter?"
"Kent," Peter groans and tries to sit up. Neal pushes him back down.
"Peter, don't. Wait for the paramedics."
He doesn't feel like waiting for the paramedics. He feels just fine -- and that's not right, because the last thing he remembers, he was anything but fine.
Peter turns his head to the side and looks along the marble floor into Kent's open, lifeless eyes.
***
According to the paramedics, Kent must have gotten a much bigger dose than Peter. Kent's heart gave out, but Peter is just fine -- his vitals are already back to normal by the time the paramedics arrive.
And that, Peter knows, is absolute bullshit. He and Kent both drank the Armagnac, and Kent wasn't chugging the stuff. Kent might have had a drink beforehand -- no, not possible. As fast as the digitalis took effect, he had to have ingested it at the same time Peter did.
And Peter felt the stuff killing him. By all rights he should be as dead as Kent.
Instead Jessica Breslin is going down for Kent's murder, and Peter's as healthy as he ever was.
And Neal is very quiet, hardly speaking at all as Peter drives him home after they've taken a statement. It is possible that he's quiet because he just watched Peter's brush with death, and he's still shaken up by it. At least, that's what everyone at the FBI office seems to think.
It is also possible that Neal just killed a man to save Peter's life.
And that scares the hell out of Peter. He's not sure who he's more afraid for: himself, or Neal, or the entire population of this city.
"Good night," Neal says quietly, reaching for the door handle.
Peter almost lets him go. Almost. They don't have to speak of this; Neal clearly doesn't want to. They can go back to work tomorrow and it'll be just like it was before.
Except that it's not.
"Can I come up?" Peter asks.
Rather than giving him an answer, Neal says, "I know about the music box," and it's Peter's turn to go still.
"I guess we both have secrets, then," Peter says.
Neal turns and looks at him, his face unreadable.
"If I get the music box," Peter says, "can we talk about what happened today?"
He can see Neal thinking it over, shuffling masks, deciding which one to choose. But in the end, he's not wearing a mask at all when he says, "Okay."
***
Once Neal understands, really understands, that Peter knows what he did and isn't angry at him -- Peter knows he should be, but he also knows that Neal acted in fear on the spur of the moment; it's accidental manslaughter at worst -- Neal's cool-as-a-cucumber facade crumples into relief. Relief too deep to simply account for the fact that Peter's not upset with him. Peter wonders if Neal has ever had anyone to talk to about it before.
El is still in San Francisco, so there's no one waiting for Peter at home. The music box lies on the table between them, finally opened and, yet, forgotten and abandoned, as the conversation has moved on to other things.
"I never really knew anything about myself until I met Kate," Neal says, eyes downcast, twirling the wine glass in his graceful fingers. "Not that she knew much more than I did. Kate ..." He draws a slow, shuddering breath, and hastily changes the subject.
There are still huge swathes of Neal's past that remain hidden. Peter can sense some of the things Neal is talking around, and doesn't push him. There will be time for all of that later, once they've worked their way to a better understanding of whatever this thing is with Neal, and what it means for them.
The important thing is that Neal knows he can talk to him on this. Knows he can come to him. And there's one thing that Peter feels an urgent need to impress upon him, although he waits until the very end of the conversation, when they're both sleepy and a little drunk. He wants it to be the last thing Neal hears as Peter walks out the door, because he wants Neal to think about it and get it. So he allows Neal to walk him to the door, the music box wrapped up and tucked under his arm -- Peter's not letting it stay with Neal until he's 100% sure what Neal plans to do next.
"I'll contact Moz and have him look at it. If anyone can break the code, he can."
Peter nods. It's tempting to leave it there, but no, not with so much on the line. "Neal," and he waits until he has Neal's full attention. "What you did today, for me ... don't ever do it again. Not like that. Not a human life, Neal."
Neal catches his breath. "You were dying, Peter."
"I don't care." It still haunts him -- he thinks will haunt him forever -- that Kent died so that he could live. "No one has the right to make that decision. Not you. Not anyone."
Neal studies him with unreadable eyes. Finally he says, "Isn't that what you do?"
Now it's his turn to react -- in anger, at first, but then he takes it as the serious question that it is. He remembers holding back Neal, as Neal tried to run to Kate. Remembers shooting Fowler, not knowing at the time that Fowler was wearing a vest.
"That's on me," he says at last, slowly, thinking it through. He owes Neal an honest answer. "Every time I draw my gun, I know that I might have to make that decision. Wearing this gun means I signed up to make that choice and deal with the legal and personal consequences. It's a responsibility. A heavy one."
"I didn't get a choice," Neal says.
"I know." Peter reaches out, takes Neal's hands and turns them over, palm up. "You still have the gun, though."
There's a hitch in Neal's breathing, like the start of a sob, but when Peter looks at his face, it's calm. He withdraws his hands carefully, tucks them into his pockets. "I meant it when I said I'd never lied to you, Peter, and I never want to, so I can't make a promise I'm not sure if I can keep."
"Fair enough. Just think about it."
Neal nods, silently, and Peter starts to turn away.
He's taken completely off guard when Neal catches him by the shoulder and hugs him -- quick, light, there and gone so fast that Peter could almost imagine it never happened. Then Neal's hands are back in his pockets, and he says, "See you tomorrow ... partner?" His voice hangs on a question, soft and tentative.
"See you, partner," Peter says, and even with a thousand unknowns still hanging between them, he doesn't regret saying it, not for the look on Neal's face.
~
no subject
It's completely probable that this is all you intend, and that's fine, but I'll say that I'd love to see more.
Actually, on the subject, would you mind if I tinkered in this world a little? It's fine if you'd rather I not, I'll understand completely, but my mind went like this: 1. I want more of this. 2. Specifically, I want the story of Neal and Kate, supernatural avatars in love. 2. Come to think of it, I want to write that. I totally want to write what happens when an antichrist and a messiah love each other very much. So, if you have no objection (which, once again, would be fine), I'd like to give it a go.
no subject
And I have absolutely no problem at all if you want to play with the idea - go for it with my blessing. :) I'd love to see what you come up with!
no subject
Really, here's what I remember from Carnivale: 1. The opening (I love tarot) 2. The girl/girl kiss 3. The incest. 4. The eternal ghost rape episode, which quite frankly I would forget if I could. So, while I'm not going to wear myself out trying to stick to Carnivale canon, I'd like some idea of what I'm doing.
But here's a snippet, which may or may not have to change. (I don't know what kind of person you intended Kate to be in your AU, but I ended up writing as I always write her, plus being the incarnation of darkness.)
One could say it started when Kate kissed him that first time, even more logically, one could say it started when they both were born. One could even take the long view and declare that to understand the two of them, one had to look back to the beginning of time.
But for Neal it started two weeks after that first kiss. They were coming back to Kate's apartment after dinner. Neal was searching Kate's expression, wondering if he might be invited in, but she was as inscrutable as ever. She was wearing her familiar smile, the one that said, I know something you don't know. It wasn't a smug, or gloating look, just matter of fact, as if she had some secret line to the heart of the universe.
Neal loved that look because he loved everything about her, and he never pried because he knew what it meant to have a secret.
They were on the steps of Kate's building when she let a pained sound. Neal looked down and saw the still body of a kitten. It took him a moment to recognize it as belonging to Kate's neighbors, though Kate doted on it as it were her own. ("I like cats," she told him once, slightly tipsy. "I'm not sure if I'm supposed to, but I do." She refused to explain what she meant by that.)
"What do you think happened?" Neal asked gently.
"She's so little," Kate said. "It could have been so many things." She looked on the verge of tears.
Neal reached out, placing his hand over Kate's. His fingers brushed against the tiny body. In that moment he saw only her, felt only her, the only thought in his head, I would do anything to make you happy.
The kitten lifted her head, gave Kate's hand a little lick, and bounded off inside. Kate's expression morphed from grief to joy to confusion in a matter of seconds. She looked around. "Those pigeons weren't dead a second a go."
Neal looked. Right, dead pigeons. Well, he liked cats better than pigeons anyway. Kate was looking at him strangely, which didn't seem fair. A suddenly alive cat with suddenly dead pigeons was weird sure, but there was no reason to leap to "my boyfriend can reanimate the dead." Right?
"Upstairs," Kate commanded softly. And because she was Kate, Neal followed. They were both silent until they were in Kate's apartment with the door closed. Neal turned to her, trying to think of something to say. He never got the chance, because she was kissing him, fiercely, desperately, and deeply. She had never kissed him like this before, like she was touching his soul, like she saw right down to his core. "I thought I was the only one," she whispered.
Neal's eyes widened as he took that in. "You're like me?"
Kate shook her head. "No," her voice was bitter and hard and tinged with darkness. "No, the things I do are very different."
"You don't have to talk about it," Neal assured her. He hugged her. "You're such a miracle."
"That's not how I'd put it," Kate murmured, but he didn't hear her.
no subject
(I'd actually had a slightly different role in mind for Kate than antichrist, which really will only make sense if you've seen season two because this particular twist isn't even hinted at in season one, but Kate=antichrist works equally well with the dynamic that I had imagined anyhow!)
no subject
I'm now really curious what role you had in mind for Kate, but I prefer to remain unspoiled. I'd like to come back to it after I've finished the series, if you don't object. I'm having fun with my AU of your AU, but I'm really interested in what you were thinking.
Okay, all right, I'm just going to friend you. (Or the DW equivalent.) I have major adding anxiety, but I will feel less weird about commenting on random posts if I have you added. Unless that makes you uncomfortable, which I will be okay with.
no subject