Title: Pros and Cons of Chivalry
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: G
Length: 1650-ish words
Note: AU missing scene for 2.16. Moz/Sara. Also written for wc_rewatch. Much thanks to mergatrude for beta. <3
Summary: Mozzie is led astray.


Moz was finalizing plans for the biggest heist of his life when Sara burst into Neal’s apartment. He hastily stuffed the scrawled lists into his inside breast pocket and smoothed down the resulting outer bulge. “Neal’s not here.”

“I know. He’s at Peter’s house.”

They stared at each other for a moment, as Moz tried to discern what was going on. Sara’s mouth was set, and her hair was practically giving off sparks.

“Watch out,” muttered Moz. “The furnishings are flammable.”

Sara ignored that. “You’re not doing anything right now. Buy me a drink.”

Moz drew himself up. “Actually, I have do some place to be.”

A warehouse on the waterfront. An unbelievable cache of riches to steal. On the other hand, a drink would count as a partial alibi, and the night was long. And Sara clearly needed a shoulder to either cry on or pummel. It was the least he could do, given his prediction of heartache had become a self-fulfilling prophesy in a mere few hours.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll get my scarf.”


*


Mozzie guided her to a seat at the bar, judging a table or, God forbid, a booth, far too intimate. After all this was Sara Ellis, ruthless insurance investigator, and given his plans, the timing was exceedingly delicate. He drank slowly.

Sara didn’t. She gulped the first cocktail in silence and was halfway through the second when she muttered, “Tell me again how con artists can’t be trusted.”

“Is this about Alex?” Mozzie imbibed an inexplicable pang of stale disillusionment along with a mouthful of his drink.

“No,” said Sara, but they both knew she was lying. “Forget it, I don’t need your pity.”

“And vice versa.” Moz looked at the stylish woman beside him and considered all the trouble Alex had caused over the years. The casual petty betrayals. Running off with the music box. “Neal’s an idiot.”

“Neal—” Sara drained her glass as punctuation and continued with drunken emphasis, “—is having dinner at Peter and Elizabeth’s house. With Alex Hunter.”

Mozzie choked on a mouthful of martini. “Alex is dining at Casa Suit?!”

He tried to imagine her making small talk with El. Was the Suit planning to extend his Stockholm Program to the entirety of Moz’s acquaintance? All the more reason to distract Neal with priceless art and railroad him out of town.

“I suppose Neal was worth the price of admission.” Sara scowled.

“You’re getting maudlin, and Neal is my friend. I’m not available for a rebound.”

It was mostly an invitation for another dismissive insult, which in turn would provide an excuse to end the tête-à-tête so Moz could get on with the pressing task of locating the warehouse with the U-boat, but he was distracted by Sara’s perfectly arched eyebrow and the casual ease with which she summoned a barman to order another round of drinks.

“Oh, please,” she replied, before the barman had even turned away. “My pride is my only damaged organ.”

“Well, what do you want with me, then? I know you were only drawn to Neal for his—” Mozzie gestured to encompass his own face and pate. “—genetic lottery ticket.”

“It wasn’t only that.” Sara slumped slightly. “Everyone I work with is scared of me.” A silent scathing losers hung in the air.

“And you think Neal isn’t? He does have a modicum of common sense, you know.” Mozzie considered, then added, for the sake of accuracy, “A very small one.”

Sara rolled her eyes. “At least he has good reason to fear me. And the grace to hide it.”

“Not to mention his winning genetic lottery ticket,” said Mozzie, because she hadn’t.

Sara looked annoyed. “You know, I’m not quite as shallow as you’re implying.”

Mozzie observed her with polite skepticism, but resisted throwing her previous insulting remarks back in her face.

But she was watching him. “What about you?”

The question was ambiguous, and he chose the safer answer, gesturing again. “My aura of complex deduction tends to keep the girls away.”

“You mean your carefully cultivated front.” She met his eye, daring him to contradict her.

“It serves some purpose, I admit.” Mozzie sighed. She was astute and beautiful, and her pride was hurt, and Neal wasn’t the only one with a quixotic sense of chivalry and a weakness for wit. Neal had passed up scores time and again for the sake of Kate’s big blue eyes. Perhaps it was inevitable for Mozzie to fall into the same chivalric trap, on an epically larger scale. He sighed again and pushed his drink away. “You want to beat Neal at his own game?”

Sara wasn’t so drunk that her eyes didn’t narrow. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about a dangerous adventure and the finder’s fee of a lifetime—split seventy-thirty.” He was secretly appalled at himself. It went against every value he held dear. But his impulse wouldn’t be denied, and besides, if he was going to repatriate the treasure, it would create a media Armageddon, and he’d definitely need a frontman. It would serve Neal right if the hero’s mantle went to someone else, for once. “If I recall correctly, you’re in retrievals?”

“Mozzie?” Her voice had a husky quality, mellowing its harder edge. Her lips were very red.

“Believe me, I don’t say this lightly.” He pulled the papers from his breast pocket and smoothed them on the bar, then snatched them up again when he saw the bartender glance their way.

Sara had noticed too. “We should move to a booth.”

“Coffee,” counter-offered Mozzie, appalled at his own indiscretion. “Coffee, and a plan.”


*


They followed the trail left by the transmitter Neal had wired into the limo, and to Mozzie’s secret surprise, it led them straight to the warehouse. There were two nondescript security guards out front, but it was two-thirty by this time, and their vigilance was on the wane. Mozzie let off a localized EM blast to disable their phones and radios while Sara “distracted” the guards with her baton.

Mozzie helped bind their wrists and ankles, then sat back on his heels and blinked at her cheerful expression. “You enjoyed that.”

“Catharsis.” She grinned. “Besides, they’re henchmen for a wannabe supervillain. What do they expect?”

Mozzie couldn’t fault her logic. The attempt to drown Neal, Alex and the Suit in the dry dock had been absurdly elaborate, even by his standards. “Come on.”

After that, everything was easy. The art was already loaded onto a truck, and the keys were even tucked into the sun visor. Sara took the wheel, and Moz checked everything was secure, then climbed into the passenger seat.

Sara looked at him. “Where to?”

“Anywhere but here, for starters.”

She laughed and revved the engine as if it were a Maserati Birdcage, rather than a 16-foot truck, and then they blasted through the doors. “Think we should call someone about the security guards?”

“Eh, it’ll be light in four hours. They’ll be fine.” Mozzie was trying not to dwell on how straight-forwardly the project had progressed. He could have pulled it off himself, if he’d tried, and absconded with a fortune well beyond the average person’s wildest dreams.

Sara drove three blocks in silence, then pulled over into a loading zone. “Are you sure you can bring yourself to hand all this over to the authorities, Mozzie?” she asked, as if she could hear his thoughts. “There must be millions of dollars’ worth of art back there. It’s a big ask for a hardened criminal such as yourself.”

Mozzie huffed. “Is this a trick question?”

“I’m just saying, it seems uncharacteristically noble of you.”

“I’m aware.” Gloom was descending, and he couldn’t suppress a slight moan. “However, I fear the die is already cast.”

Sara looked confused.

“Due to present company’s involvement.”

Her eyebrows settled back into place. “I highly doubt any of the valuables in this truck are insured with Sterling Bosch.”

Her eyes were alight with excitement, in marked contrast to her contemplative tone, and her hair was giving off an entirely different kind of electricity. Mozzie felt an inconvenient stirring of attraction. She really was far more than Neal deserved; he’d always be too busy dallying with the Suit to truly appreciate her. Besides, he had Alex now.

Mozzie shook his head to clear it. “Meaning? Are you honestly telling me your only qualm is loyalty to your corporate overlords?”

“I’m loyal to my career,” she said smartly, smacking his arm. Letting her hand linger.

“And yet it sounds as if you’re encouraging me to run off to a tropical island with no extradition. Or suggesting we do. Forgive me if I’m a touch confounded by this unforeseen turn of events.” He sent her another searching glance. “This is a test, isn’t it?”

“If it were, you’d be scraping through with a C.” She unfastened her seatbelt and slid closer. “I’m just saying—”

She paused, long enough that Mozzie has to forcibly suppress a twitch. “What?” he asked impatiently.

“Well, you’re either not scared of me, or you’re even better at hiding it than Neal is.” She lowered her voice. “And this Indiana Jones-style escapade was a lot of fun. I usually work alone.”

“So?”

“So…” She moved even closer. “After we’ve called the FBI, I think we should celebrate.”

Mozzie slumped. “After we’ve called.”

“What did you think I was going to say, Moz? It’s Nazi loot.” She rolled her eyes, then sent him a sly look. “Though… as a compromise, and with the right incentive, I might be persuaded to look the other way while you pick out a souvenir.”

Mozzie licked his lips. He’d come this far. And to be honest, he could think of several possible incentives already…


END