Work Text:
the man with a plan
Gen: Neal & Mozzie
PG
WC: 670
Written for 
run_the_con and 
cookielaura, who tagged me with photograph.
A/N: HUGE spoilers for the Season Finale, 4x16.
5 knocks.
7 knocks.
5 knocks.
“Entre, Moz,” Neal called out. When he heard Mozzie come in behind him and close the door, he said, “Haikus? We done with Iambic Pentameter?” He poured himself some orange juice and set the carton on the table.
“It takes too long to get anywhere.”
“Shakespeare’s loss,” Neal said absently.
“So, I’ve been thinking about our little problem.” Mozzie took off his cross-body bag and began laying the contents out on the table. Map, folded papers, and inexplicably, cigar cutter.
“Our little problem being that my partner’s been framed for murder by my father.”
“Ok, so not a little problem,” Mozzie conceded. He took in Neal’s apartment, the usual messiness, the wooden photo of Neal and Peter in tuxedos on the bookshelf, glass smudged like it had been handled recently. “Look, you can find your father, but we still need someone who knows the system, so we can lay this at Pratt and Callaway’s door. Doesn’t mean anything if the Suit gets clear of the murder if he’s still working for Callaway. Boss Suit’s not going to let him go.”
Neal nodded, unsurprised, the thought clearly having already occurred to him. “So I get Peter and we run.”
“As much as it pains me to say this, it’s probably better if you stay. The Suit needs you in the office to shuttle information back and forth from his minions. And you’re probably the only one who can track down James. I can take care of the Suit.”
Neal looked oddly touched. “You’d do that for me?”
“Of course,” Mozzie said, exasperated. Grand larceny, fleeing the country, evading FBI manhunts - he and Neal had an excellent friendship.
“So, let’s bust my partner out of prison.”
As these things went, it wasn’t the craziest thing Mozzie had heard, not even the most ambitious thing they’d planned this month, but breaking an FBI agent out of a federal prison did have a sort of panache that he appreciated.
“I’ll get on it. Think we can do it in two weeks?”
“Possibly,” Neal said thoughtfully. “Let me think about it, dig around, see if there are any palms we can grease to make it go faster.”
Mozzie beamed, the anticipation a low hum of excitement under his skin. “All right, brother from another mother.”
“That is - please don’t say that again.”
“Yeah,” Mozzie said. “I didn’t really think that one through.” After a short pause, he added, “Brosef.”
“Not better, Moz.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I know.”
Neal looked at Mozzie for a moment, then said softly, “You know, ‘Brother’ is okay, though. If you want.”
Mozzie shrugged, tried for nonchalant, but realized it probably came off as more of a spasm, which Neal was kind enough not to comment on. “I’ll call you later,” he said hurriedly, his voice tight and shaky even to his own ears.
He left before Neal could see his expression fall apart, the way his heart leapt into his throat. At the orphanage, he’d seen boys come and go, adopted by people with soft hands and kind voices, and he had never been first pick, not ever. He wanted his parents, sure, had always convinced himself that one day they might come back for him, and they’d think they were perfectly happy until his parents had another baby, one that Mozzie could read stories to at night, teach advanced algebra concepts and applications, and share all of his secrets with, silly and whispered in the dark. And then they’d realize what true, perfect happiness was.
Mozzie took off his glasses, made a few impatient swipes at his eyes. He had a reputation to maintain, he was the Dentist of Detroit. But a little idle speculation never hurt anyone, and he couldn’t help the way his past shimmered and rewrote itself, inserting Neal into all his imagined childhood memories, making them shine a little brighter, with Neal teasing him good-naturedly and laughing softly in his ear.
The end.