White Collar Ficlet - Summer Nocturne

Title: Summer Nocturne
Rating: PG
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey/Peter Burke/Elizabeth Burke, Satchmo
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~ 550
Summary: Written for a prompt - Satchmo, Neal – Fireflies.

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 For Neal, one of the unspoken benefits of his relationship with Peter and Elizabeth was Satchmo. The big, aging Labrador took to him like he was an endless bowl of kibble. Neal enjoyed ever particle of slobber, ever stray bit of fur, and though he'd die before admitting it, every whiff of "labra-gas." Having to endure the trials and tribulations of dog ownership meant his was part of something greater, more powerful, more enduring than skin and heat and lust.

Dog ownership also meant discovering the joys of suburbia, taking Satch on long rambles through the streets of Brooklyn, discovering hidden parks and tiny playgrounds, the mysteries of a life not defined by cons and capers and marks and misdirection. The dog was a great listener, and while he never actually turned to Neal to give him advice, he certainly helped Neal work through a big part of his grief and anger.

The only thing Satchmo ever asked for in return was regular scratches behind the ears (and if Mommy and Master weren't looking at the base of his tail, where it felt sooooooooooooooo good). And the occasional game of fetch. And squirrel chases.

One night in late June, Neal tossed the last mortgage fraud file he could bear to look at on the table and told Peter he was done. Peter simply grunted in reply - it was too hot to even speak coherently. Elizabeth was dozing on the couch, dressed in the bare minimum for decency's sake. Satch looked up at Neal, tail wagging in a happy, hopeful expression of doggie anticipation. He was hot too, and all the water he drank (Mommy was a good mommy and gave him ice cubes to play with) was making him anxious.

Neal grabbed the leash and Peter's wallet and announced that they were going out for ice cream. Peter didn't even bother to grunt, but Elizabeth asked for lemon ices instead of her usual chocolate swirl. Neal supposed he should be self-conscious about the big block of black plastic on his ankle, but he was just too hot to give a damn and wear long pants. 

Neal and Satch ambled up the block in search of the ice cream truck that made nightly rounds all summer long. They didn't bother to dodge the spraying hydrant - the water felt too good on hot skin and Satch actually stuck his nose in the fixture trying to lap at the water as it came out. He got little to drink, but the water got underneath the fur and felt good.

They walked complete harmony, the sounds of children playing in the streets a happy counterpoint to Neal's slightly squishy flip-flop footfalls and the jingle of Satchmo's tags against his collar. Not surprisingly, there was a line of kids and parents and adults, some with dogs, some unfortunately alone, waiting at the ice cream truck. Neal didn't feel like making conversation, so they crossed the street and went into a small, ungated park to wait out the crowd. In former days, it had been a haven for drug users but now, the only things that lit up there were the fireflies. 

Neal and Satchmo found a comfortable spot under a tree and sat in companionable silence, enjoying the ephemeral flickers of life moving in an eternal cycle.