Charmed, I'm Sure
Dec. 25th, 2011 04:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jackofknavesTitle: Charmed, I’m Sure
Author:jackofknaves
Rating: PG
Pairing: Peter/Neal, pre-slash
Summary: He was just so charming.
He was just so charming.
Peter had heard that line more than any other while investigating the elusive Neal Caffrey. Neal seemed to live his life by the movies, this odd gentleman’s code of thievery that, bizarrely, worked. The woman in front of him had gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, her hair done up in a hairstyle about thirty years too late, and would have been called “handsome” by anyone who thought in those terms anymore. Neal probably did, Peter thought suddenly, then chased that thought out of his mind, because he did not need to be thinking about how the criminal he was chasing currently thought of women.
“Oh, I knew that rascal,” and Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes because only Neal, the international art thief and master forger, would be referred to as 'that rascal'—“was up to something, but—"
Here it comes, Peter thought as he braced himself.
“He was just so charming,” she finished with a fond sigh. The wrinkles in her face relaxed and the fog over her eyes cleared a bit, leaving him with a woman who, for a brief moment, remembered what it was like to be pretty and in the throes of youth because of the attention of one handsome young man. Neal had that effect on people.
Peter sighed and thanked her for her statement, promising they would try to find and return the stolen Manet, but something about the way she fluttered her hand at him dismissively made him think that she would have given up twenty others like it just to feel that way again. It made him hate and admire Neal at the same time—which is actually how he felt most of the time when talking to Neal’s “victims”.
When he finally caught up with Neal, he was sitting at a restaurant with two glasses and place settings in front of him. Peter stopped in front of the table and Neal looked up with a smile firmly in place, as if he were waiting for this very moment. Peter fought the urge to check his watch because how in the world could he be late for this?
“Have a seat, Peter,” Neal offered, waving a hand toward the empty seat.
Peter, inexplicably, sat.
“You’re under arrest, Neal,” he said, feeling as if he should remind him somehow. This isn’t how arrests were supposed to go. But then again, when had anything gone as it was supposed to when Neal was involved?
“Oh, I know,” Neal said. He smiled again, and dammit, he was just so charming. “I just thought that you deserved a celebration for catching me.”
That classic smug, suave attitude belonged in a movie, along with the suit that probably cost more than his house and the twinkle in his eyes like he knew a secret that he was willing to share just with you.
“Normally,” Peter said dryly, “the criminal doesn’t celebrate the capture with me.”
Neal snorted delicately. “Please, would your fellow FBI agents—" he paused to wave at the back-up shuffling their feet awkwardly outside of the window—“buy you this good of wine?”
Involuntarily, Peter glanced at the label and nearly choked. “No,” he recovered swiftly, “probably not.” Definitely not, he added internally. Cheap bastards.
“Enjoy it, Peter,” Neal said, taking a sip from his glass.
But he couldn’t, because he was still an FBI agent, and charming be damned, Neal was still a criminal. That didn’t help ease the pangs of regret as much as he would have liked when he gently put the cuffs around Neal’s finely boned wrists.
He left Neal in the custody of another agent and as he wandered off to report, he heard the agent ask Neal something.
“Let Peter catch me?” Neal laughed. “How could I help it?” He heard a sigh, then Neal added, “He’s just so charming.”
Author:
jackofknavesRating: PG
Pairing: Peter/Neal, pre-slash
Summary: He was just so charming.
He was just so charming.
Peter had heard that line more than any other while investigating the elusive Neal Caffrey. Neal seemed to live his life by the movies, this odd gentleman’s code of thievery that, bizarrely, worked. The woman in front of him had gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, her hair done up in a hairstyle about thirty years too late, and would have been called “handsome” by anyone who thought in those terms anymore. Neal probably did, Peter thought suddenly, then chased that thought out of his mind, because he did not need to be thinking about how the criminal he was chasing currently thought of women.
“Oh, I knew that rascal,” and Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes because only Neal, the international art thief and master forger, would be referred to as 'that rascal'—“was up to something, but—"
Here it comes, Peter thought as he braced himself.
“He was just so charming,” she finished with a fond sigh. The wrinkles in her face relaxed and the fog over her eyes cleared a bit, leaving him with a woman who, for a brief moment, remembered what it was like to be pretty and in the throes of youth because of the attention of one handsome young man. Neal had that effect on people.
Peter sighed and thanked her for her statement, promising they would try to find and return the stolen Manet, but something about the way she fluttered her hand at him dismissively made him think that she would have given up twenty others like it just to feel that way again. It made him hate and admire Neal at the same time—which is actually how he felt most of the time when talking to Neal’s “victims”.
When he finally caught up with Neal, he was sitting at a restaurant with two glasses and place settings in front of him. Peter stopped in front of the table and Neal looked up with a smile firmly in place, as if he were waiting for this very moment. Peter fought the urge to check his watch because how in the world could he be late for this?
“Have a seat, Peter,” Neal offered, waving a hand toward the empty seat.
Peter, inexplicably, sat.
“You’re under arrest, Neal,” he said, feeling as if he should remind him somehow. This isn’t how arrests were supposed to go. But then again, when had anything gone as it was supposed to when Neal was involved?
“Oh, I know,” Neal said. He smiled again, and dammit, he was just so charming. “I just thought that you deserved a celebration for catching me.”
That classic smug, suave attitude belonged in a movie, along with the suit that probably cost more than his house and the twinkle in his eyes like he knew a secret that he was willing to share just with you.
“Normally,” Peter said dryly, “the criminal doesn’t celebrate the capture with me.”
Neal snorted delicately. “Please, would your fellow FBI agents—" he paused to wave at the back-up shuffling their feet awkwardly outside of the window—“buy you this good of wine?”
Involuntarily, Peter glanced at the label and nearly choked. “No,” he recovered swiftly, “probably not.” Definitely not, he added internally. Cheap bastards.
“Enjoy it, Peter,” Neal said, taking a sip from his glass.
But he couldn’t, because he was still an FBI agent, and charming be damned, Neal was still a criminal. That didn’t help ease the pangs of regret as much as he would have liked when he gently put the cuffs around Neal’s finely boned wrists.
He left Neal in the custody of another agent and as he wandered off to report, he heard the agent ask Neal something.
“Let Peter catch me?” Neal laughed. “How could I help it?” He heard a sigh, then Neal added, “He’s just so charming.”
