![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kathierif_ficTitle: High Noon
Author: Kathie
Fandom: White Collar
Disclaimer: Not mine, not true, blah.
Rating: FRT-13
Pairing: hints at Peter/Elizabeth
Summary: When Sheriff Peter Burke needs information, he goes to Neal Caffrey.
Warnings: AU and probably a ton of historical inaccuracies
Word Count: 1075
A/Ns: written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
au_bingo prompt Historical: Western. Has anyone ever visited Virginia City? The whole fic is based on the feeling that visiting that town left me with :D
It was, Peter Burke thought as he leaned back into the old, rickety, wooden chair, a day like every other day. The dusty main street was deserted and quiet, apart from a few horses that lazily flickered their tails to get rid of the flies, and a skinny dog looking for food. Peter had dragged the chair to the wooden planks in front of the sheriff’s office and had settled down there during the hottest part of the day to keep an eye on the street.
The air was visibly shimmering over the street from the heat, but it was quiet enough that Peter allowed himself to relax slightly. The bank was right across the street from his office, the saloon right next to him, and even with the certain knowledge that several of the miners were in there, drinking and playing away their wages, the air wasn’t filled with the aggressive tension that required of him to haul the drinkers into a cell, to regain their senses.
It was the quiet before the storm, he thought as he tipped his head in greeting as Miss Diane walked by, on her way to Mr. Jones’ grocery and hardware store.
Miss Diane lived alone, a strong and independent woman who hadn’t shown any interest in finding a husband and settling down. Peter respected her for her undeniable skill with a rifle and a colt. She was fierce and strong and loyal – the man who would manage to capture and hold her interest would be a lucky son of a gun, Peter thought.
Idly, he pulled the pocket watch out of his waistcoat. It was almost high noon; Elizabeth would arrive soon and they would either retire to the Sheriff’s office, where it was marginally cooler than out here, for a shared lunch, or they would dine at the town’s hotel together. There would be enough time between their scheduled meeting and three o’clock, when the stagecoach was due to arrive. It would bring guests, letters and money for the bank and it always was a welcome sight, not just for the townspeople, but for robbers and highwaymen as well.
They would have to be careful and keep their eyes open.
Peter glanced at his watch again. There was still time before Elizabeth’s arrival to talk to Jones, ask him to keep a discreet eye on the street and his rifle close, in case of trouble, and ask around subtly if news of planned mischief had reached the town.
Decision made, he stood and stretched his arms over his head before straightening his wide-brimmed hat and adjusting the colt at his hip in its holster. The Sheriff’s Star glinted in the midday sun, and Peter brushed his hand gently over it.
He left his chair where it was. Nobody would steal it; besides, it would be a signal for Elizabeth, in case she arrived earlier than anticipated, to let her know that he’d be back soon.
His boots were covered by a thick crust of dirt and dust, and he shrugged as he entered Mr. Jones’ store. He saw Jones chat with miss Diane while piling conserved goods, iron nails and ammunition for her rifle on the counter. Jones didn’t stop what he was doing, but he gave Peter a respectful nod.
Miss Diane turned around. “Sheriff,” she greeted. “Expecting trouble?” Her sharp eyes hadn’t missed the tense line of his shoulders or the fact that Peter kept his hand close to his gun.
Peter shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “Better keep your eyes open, who knows, with the stagecoach due later.”
Jones nodded. “You should ask Neal if he’d heard anything,” he suggested while measuring flour. “He’s in the saloon; has been all day.”
A small smile played around Peter’s lips. “I know, I was on my way there just now.”
Miss Diane lowered her head slightly to hide her smile and Peter lifted his fingers to his hat in greeting before turning and leaving the store.
The saloon was dark, the air sticky and filled with the smell of tobacco and cheap alcohol. An old piano stood pressed against the back wall, but nobody was playing it right now.
Peter squeezed his way through the maze of tables and returned the greetings of some of the people drinking here. His goal was the table at the back of the room, close to the kitchen and its exit. Four of the five chairs grouped around the table were occupied, but Peter was interested in only one of the men sitting here.
Good-looking, elegant and charming, Neal Caffrey was the smartest thief Peter had ever encountered. He’d arrested Neal twice, and twice Neal had returned here.
Peter kept a careful eye on him, but so far, Neal had resisted crime and had spent his days playing cards and taking other men’s wages, but playing cards wasn’t illegal and so Peter had let him be. He didn’t know why Neal didn’t move to one of the towns by the coast, where a fortune could be waiting for him, but against all odds and moral standards, he had formed a friendship with Neal.
Neal, who lived at the hotel, was a well-liked guest at Peter’s house, and Elizabeth and he got along particularly well, to the point where they teamed up on Peter to get him to do things and help with household chores he would otherwise forget because of his duties as Sheriff.
Neal gave him a slow smile from under the brim of his hat. His eyes were twinkling, and a wad of cash and piles of coins were heaped up in front of him. Apparently, it had been a good day for him, so far.
Peter returned the smile and took the free seat, which was opposite Neal, his hands folded on top of the table.
Neal’s eyes sparkled as he dealt the cards with quick, experienced fingers, and Peter’s smile widened as he slid a coin over the table and into the pile starting to form at its center.
The game was on.
Neal knew something that Peter wanted to know, and the challenge in his smile would not remain unanswered.
Neal had had a good day so far, but, Peter thought as he picked up the cards and glanced at them, this round, he would not win, because this time, he was playing against the law.
And the law would always come out on top.
~end.
Author: Kathie
Fandom: White Collar
Disclaimer: Not mine, not true, blah.
Rating: FRT-13
Pairing: hints at Peter/Elizabeth
Summary: When Sheriff Peter Burke needs information, he goes to Neal Caffrey.
Warnings: AU and probably a ton of historical inaccuracies
Word Count: 1075
A/Ns: written for
au_bingo prompt Historical: Western. Has anyone ever visited Virginia City? The whole fic is based on the feeling that visiting that town left me with :DIt was, Peter Burke thought as he leaned back into the old, rickety, wooden chair, a day like every other day. The dusty main street was deserted and quiet, apart from a few horses that lazily flickered their tails to get rid of the flies, and a skinny dog looking for food. Peter had dragged the chair to the wooden planks in front of the sheriff’s office and had settled down there during the hottest part of the day to keep an eye on the street.
The air was visibly shimmering over the street from the heat, but it was quiet enough that Peter allowed himself to relax slightly. The bank was right across the street from his office, the saloon right next to him, and even with the certain knowledge that several of the miners were in there, drinking and playing away their wages, the air wasn’t filled with the aggressive tension that required of him to haul the drinkers into a cell, to regain their senses.
It was the quiet before the storm, he thought as he tipped his head in greeting as Miss Diane walked by, on her way to Mr. Jones’ grocery and hardware store.
Miss Diane lived alone, a strong and independent woman who hadn’t shown any interest in finding a husband and settling down. Peter respected her for her undeniable skill with a rifle and a colt. She was fierce and strong and loyal – the man who would manage to capture and hold her interest would be a lucky son of a gun, Peter thought.
Idly, he pulled the pocket watch out of his waistcoat. It was almost high noon; Elizabeth would arrive soon and they would either retire to the Sheriff’s office, where it was marginally cooler than out here, for a shared lunch, or they would dine at the town’s hotel together. There would be enough time between their scheduled meeting and three o’clock, when the stagecoach was due to arrive. It would bring guests, letters and money for the bank and it always was a welcome sight, not just for the townspeople, but for robbers and highwaymen as well.
They would have to be careful and keep their eyes open.
Peter glanced at his watch again. There was still time before Elizabeth’s arrival to talk to Jones, ask him to keep a discreet eye on the street and his rifle close, in case of trouble, and ask around subtly if news of planned mischief had reached the town.
Decision made, he stood and stretched his arms over his head before straightening his wide-brimmed hat and adjusting the colt at his hip in its holster. The Sheriff’s Star glinted in the midday sun, and Peter brushed his hand gently over it.
He left his chair where it was. Nobody would steal it; besides, it would be a signal for Elizabeth, in case she arrived earlier than anticipated, to let her know that he’d be back soon.
His boots were covered by a thick crust of dirt and dust, and he shrugged as he entered Mr. Jones’ store. He saw Jones chat with miss Diane while piling conserved goods, iron nails and ammunition for her rifle on the counter. Jones didn’t stop what he was doing, but he gave Peter a respectful nod.
Miss Diane turned around. “Sheriff,” she greeted. “Expecting trouble?” Her sharp eyes hadn’t missed the tense line of his shoulders or the fact that Peter kept his hand close to his gun.
Peter shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “Better keep your eyes open, who knows, with the stagecoach due later.”
Jones nodded. “You should ask Neal if he’d heard anything,” he suggested while measuring flour. “He’s in the saloon; has been all day.”
A small smile played around Peter’s lips. “I know, I was on my way there just now.”
Miss Diane lowered her head slightly to hide her smile and Peter lifted his fingers to his hat in greeting before turning and leaving the store.
The saloon was dark, the air sticky and filled with the smell of tobacco and cheap alcohol. An old piano stood pressed against the back wall, but nobody was playing it right now.
Peter squeezed his way through the maze of tables and returned the greetings of some of the people drinking here. His goal was the table at the back of the room, close to the kitchen and its exit. Four of the five chairs grouped around the table were occupied, but Peter was interested in only one of the men sitting here.
Good-looking, elegant and charming, Neal Caffrey was the smartest thief Peter had ever encountered. He’d arrested Neal twice, and twice Neal had returned here.
Peter kept a careful eye on him, but so far, Neal had resisted crime and had spent his days playing cards and taking other men’s wages, but playing cards wasn’t illegal and so Peter had let him be. He didn’t know why Neal didn’t move to one of the towns by the coast, where a fortune could be waiting for him, but against all odds and moral standards, he had formed a friendship with Neal.
Neal, who lived at the hotel, was a well-liked guest at Peter’s house, and Elizabeth and he got along particularly well, to the point where they teamed up on Peter to get him to do things and help with household chores he would otherwise forget because of his duties as Sheriff.
Neal gave him a slow smile from under the brim of his hat. His eyes were twinkling, and a wad of cash and piles of coins were heaped up in front of him. Apparently, it had been a good day for him, so far.
Peter returned the smile and took the free seat, which was opposite Neal, his hands folded on top of the table.
Neal’s eyes sparkled as he dealt the cards with quick, experienced fingers, and Peter’s smile widened as he slid a coin over the table and into the pile starting to form at its center.
The game was on.
Neal knew something that Peter wanted to know, and the challenge in his smile would not remain unanswered.
Neal had had a good day so far, but, Peter thought as he picked up the cards and glanced at them, this round, he would not win, because this time, he was playing against the law.
And the law would always come out on top.
~end.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-22 03:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-13 04:30 pm (UTC)*hugs* thank you :D