[fanfiction] "The Baddest Boy Scout In NYC" by Sinkwriter

[sinkwriter]

Just a little ficlet for a new fandom, because they slayed me emotionally with this week's episode and I couldn't let things go at that cliffhanger... I just couldn't.


Title: The Baddest Boy Scout In NYC

Author: sinkwriter

Fandom(s): White Collar

Character(s): Neal Caffrey, Mozzie

Rating: PG

Spoilers: White Collar, Seasons 1 and 2, up through the fall finale episode 2x09 "Point Blank." DO NOT read this if you haven't seen this week's episode and don't want to be spoiled!

Disclaimer: Characters owned by creator Jeff Eastin and USA Network, but made vivid by the talents of actors Matthew Bomer and Willie Garson.

Author's Notes: My first attempt at White Collar fic. My take on what happens not long after the cliffhanger end of this week's episode (one can only hope).

Written for whitecollar100, Prompt #004, Target. Went for the 300-word limit.

Feedback: I gratefully welcome your thoughts.

Summary: Among friends, not everything needs to be spoken to be understood.

The Baddest Boy Scout In NYC

Mozzie enters the room, his steps careful, his face pale.

Neal leads him to the table and sits him down, watching for signs of discomfort. Brings him tea from the gilded set Mozzie gave June after they bonded over kung fu films.

Neal collapses into the chair next to him. "I can't believe you were wearing a vest..."

Mozzie rolls his eyes. "Have I taught you nothing? Always come prepared, Neal."

"But you were bleeding. How could you possibly have--"

Moz salutes with his cup, speaking smugly between sips. "Strategically placed dye packs, my friend. Corn syrup, a little red, a little blue--" He pauses, considering. "You know, the trick is the thickener. Some people like flour, but that can get clumpy and ruin the effect."

Mozzie sounds fine, but he can't hide shaking hands. Neal watches, sucking in a breath.

He'd been sitting on that park bench, waiting for their contact to show, drinking tea when it had happened.

"Listen, Mozzie--"

I pulled you into this. It's my fault.

"I prefer using chocolate syrup. It makes the blood look authentic. Tastes good, too."

"Moz--"

I'm sorry.

His friend swallows, sets down the cup, points an accusing finger at him. "Just because a guy looks like he's put on some weight doesn't mean he's fat. He could be wearing a vest." He gives Neal a pointed look over the top of his thick glasses.

Neal exhales a shaky breath. "Right."

"I work out, you know." Mozzie offers the quirk of a smile.

Neal meets his eyes. Knots in his stomach untangle. "I know."

They sip in silence for a few minutes, until Neal can't hold it in any longer.

"Seriously, Moz. Dye packs?"

"It doesn't seem so stupid now, does it?"

Neal grips his arm and grins. "Welcome back, Moz."


end