gyzym | White Collar; Genfic; Anything But That, G

Yeah, I wrote a whole long fic and now it's 4 AM (when did that happen?) and I'm too tired to edit it and any sensible beta is asleep. So here, have a quick little moment of Neal and Peter genfic, and I'll be back once it's, you know, normal human hours, with the more substantial fair.

Title: Anything But That
Genre: Gen, Neal & Peter
Rating: G. PG if you object to the use of light swearing.
Warnings: None!
Spoilers: Also none.
Summary: Neal objects to one of his many supposed crimes.

"This guy is scum," Neal says, throwing the file onto the table. "Clearly scum. Can't we just go arrest him for that and go home?" There's a little bit of a whine to his voice, probably because they've been at the office for twelve hours. Neal tends to chafe when he's in one place for too long, but research is research.

Of course, privately, Peter agrees with him. He wishes there was some exception to the probable cause rule for people like this--it couldn't be more clear that this asshole is behind every one of the schemes he's connected with, no matter how circumstantial the evidence.

Still, he thinks it's a little rich, coming from Neal.

"You know," Peter says, covering a smile with his hand, "someone could say the same thing if they read your file."

Neal grins cheekily at him. "But then they'd meet me," he says easily. "My winning personality is hard to ignore."

"I've noticed," Peter replies, dryly. "But I'm serious here, Neal. Counterfeiting, con artistry--"

"Alleged!" Neal protests.

"Art theft, fraud," Peter continues blithely, and Neal raises both hands in mock indignation.

"Hearsay," he laughs. Peter grins.

"Not to mention the bond forgery you were convicted for, not to mention the racketeering--"

"Hey!" Neal cries. He sounds indignant for real this time, and Peter raises an eyebrow. Neal scowls back. "I was never involved in any of that."

Peter laughs in open astonishment. "Neal," he says, "I'm not going to send you back to prison if you don't protest hard enough for your list of supposed crimes."

"Crime," Neal shoots back, "singular." Peter raises the eyebrow again and Neal hurriedly adds "Not that I did any of them. But I'm especially protesting that one."

"Why?" Peter asks, honestly curious, and Neal narrows his eyes.

"It's that word," he snaps. "Racketeering. There's no dignity in that." Peter makes a clearly disbelieving face and Neal says "Hear me out. What was the first thing you said--counterfeiting?"

Peter nods, and a faraway grin graces Neal's features. "That's not the world's classiest word either," he admits, "but there's something fun about it. Old school. Like, I don't know--like 'smuggler.'" He correctly reads the expression on Peter's face and says "Not that I did that either. But still. You see my point?"

"I think I see what you think your point is," Peter replies. "I'm pretty sure that as far as an objective viewpoint would go, you don't have one."

"Fine," Neal says, narrowing his eyes so far they're practically slits. "What's the next thing you said? Con artistry?" When Peter nods, Neal sighs and waves a hand. "Artistry," he repeats scathingly, "clear enough. Next?"

"Art theft?" Peter says, trying to remember the order.

"Theft, thievery, even stealing--they fall into the smuggler category," Neal says. "With a little dose of panache on top. I'm fine with that--adds an air of mystery. Next?"

"I think the next one was fraud."

Neal wrinkles his nose in distaste. "That one leaves a bit of an aftertaste," he admits, "but sometimes a man allegedly has to do what a man allegedly has to do." Peter snorts, and Neal glares at him. "Then there's the crime I was convicted for, and people forge steel, so I sleep alright over it."

"That is not at all the same," Peter starts, "and your loss of sleep should definitely be less about the word and more about the crime--"

"Racketeering," Neal interrupts him, "is the stupidest word in the criminal dictionary. I can't believe anyone does it, it's so idiotic."

"You know you're making absolutely no sense."

"I'm a racketeerer," Neal offers mockingly, and scoffs. "Ridiculous. Demeaning. I racketeer? Equally moronic. The past tense is worse--I racketeered today, it went well? This afternoon's racket was a success?" He shakes his head in disgust. "It all makes you sound like you've been playing music too loud at a party or attacking tennis equipment."

Peter stares at him for a long moment, until Neal shifts uncomfortably and shrugs. "I'm a complicated man," he says. Then he leans forward, and adds conspiratorially "I feel the same way about embezzlement. Don't tell anyone."

Peter blinks, twice, and then Neal's patented grin slips over his face, and Peter laughs so hard Jones has to comes in to make sure that no one's choking.