sheenianni | White Collar fic - Another Form of Art (Part III) (Reply)

Title: Another Form of Art (Part III)
Author’s Name: sheenianni
Fandom: White Collar
Spoilers: Minor from Season 1 - 3
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Mozzie
Raiting: PG
Content Notice: None
Word Count: ~ 14,800
Notes: This was written for veleda_k during the wcpairing exchange, whose story absolutely made my day. Huge thanks to rabidchild67 for betaing this fic, to November Leaving from fanfiction.net for cheerleading and helping me figure out my prompts, and finally to one other person who refuses to be named.
Prompt: Neal and Mozzie, pre-series. Wacky hijinks and zany schemes! Gen, please.
Summary: When Neal and Mozzie come to Europe, they decide to pull a heist that the world hasn’t seen yet. Pre-series.

Prologue -Part I - Part II - Part III - Epilogue

Part III

It was a cold night. Both Neal and Mozzie had to put on their jackets. They walked a short distance from the hotel before they came to the alley where Neal had hidden their motorcycle. Neal checked his watch.

It was an unnecessary act, of course. They had plenty of time to get to the tram depot. Only after they stole their tram would they be on a tight schedule. And it would be tight – it took Neal and Moz an hour to figure out how to pull the job with only two people. Even then, too much still depended on luck – and chance. But that was part of their life.

They put on helmets – not for safety, but because of several cameras that were easier to bypass this way.

They climbed on the motorcycle. Mozzie sat in the front, Neal slipped right behind him. After a moment of hesitation, he put his arms around Mozzie’s waist. Mozzie turned the motorcycle on.

They drove through the night city, the lights shining on them. Twenty minutes later, Mozzie stopped about ten meters from the depot. They got off the motorcycle and left it leaning on a nearby wall.

The depot was veiled in dark. The only source of light came from a small separate cabin that belonged to the depot’s guard.

“All right. Let’s go over it once again,” said Neal quietly. “I’ll distract the guard with a call. That should give you long enough to pick the lock, open the gate and slip in.”

“Then I pick a tram and wait,” nodded Mozzie. “In the meantime, you sneak into the guard’s house. Thirty minutes since your call – ”

“ – I’ll create another distraction.”

“I drive the tram outside – ”

“I’ll watch the guard and give you a signal when you can go. We’ll have one, two minutes maximum for you to get on the street out of the guard’s view,” said Neal. “It will be close.”

“I’ll get the motorbike into the tram while you return and join me,” said Mozzie.

“And then we drive the tram to our rendezvous point where it will meet our train,” finished Neal.

“Child’s play,” said Mozzie dryly.

Neal smiled. “Then let’s do it.”

* * *

The depot was quiet. Rows of trams were hiding in the dark. The only source of light was a small torch, held in the hand of a thief who had just successfully broken in.

Unlocking the gate and slipping inside had been easy. There were no cameras – only an old alarm system that Mozzie had taken out in a matter of minutes. He walked past several of the trams. Finally, he picked his target; a nice, standard old red model that was still very common on the streets.

It took him a while to figure out how to get into his tram, but in the end, he was successful. With a small feeling of victory, Mozzie climbed into the driver’s cabin.

He took the driver’s seat.

He adjusted the seat so that his feet would reach the pedals on the floor.

And finally, he looked on the driver’s panel in front of him.

There were exactly twenty eight buttons; each of them had a different function. Mozzie noted that most of them had inscriptions – but he had already prepared for this moment. He pulled out his own labels and marked the most important buttons.

Brakes. Lights. Point switches regulators.

He already remembered them. Yesterday, he had practiced driving – he stood directly behind the driver’s cabin, and as their route unraveled, he imagined pressing the buttons and pedals in his mind. But it would be preferable to play this safe – thus, labels.

Mozzie checked his watch. He still had sixteen minutes before Neal would create the second distraction. To Mozzie, it felt like an unnecessarily long delay – but he had agreed with Neal that it would be better to give the guard time to stop paying attention again after the weird phone call.

He wished he could turn on the lights. However, the windows were grated – which made the depot quite well-protected against the usual vandalism, but it also meant that they were transparent and a source light could attract the attention of the guard in his cabin.

Mozzie took a deep breath. Then put his feet on the pedals and pressed down the accelerator.

The tram didn’t move.

Mozzie took another deep breath and pressed the accelerator again.

The tram still didn’t move.

Mozzie felt droplets of sweat forming on his back.

He had told Neal driving a tram would be no problem. He had repeated it to him so many times that he had actually begun to believe it himself.

He looked at the driver’s panel. Everything seemed to be in order.

Shaken by his failure, Mozzie still tried to keep a cool head.

He had read the books Neal had stolen for him. Afterwards, he had torn out the “important” pages, translated them and made notes. He pulled out his own self-made manual and started flipping through the pages.

Yep, the accelerator pedal was the accelerator pedal. That meant that Mozzie had absolutely no idea what he was doing wrong.

He checked his wristwatch. Six minutes.

Maybe there was something wrong with the tram. After all, this was a depot for old and ‘backup’ trams. That would be just his luck to pick the one tram that was broken.

Mozzie stood up, took a step back and glared at the whole driver’s cabin. Then his face lightened up.

“A-ha!” he exclaimed and turned on a switch behind the driver’s seat.

Turn on the power supply switch.

Mozzie slipped back into his seat and once again pressed the accelerator. Slowly, the tram started to move – backwards!

“Sweet fancy Moses!” exclaimed Mozzie and immediately slipped off the accelerator. He once again stared at the driver’s panel.

Of course.

One of the switches, a small handle by his right hand, was turned into the wrong position. Mozzie corrected it, took a deep breath and tried to start the tram again.

This time, the tram obediently moved forward.

Mozzie wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked at his watch. He had exactly one minute to get the tram to the door of the depot. After that, Neal’s signal to move the tram outside could come anytime.

He drove to the door. Then he stopped and climbed out of the cabin. He came to the door and pulled out his phone. The signal was weak, but enough to recognize that someone was calling.

Then, Mozzie waited.

* * *

The phone call distraction had worked like magic when all they needed was for Mozzie to pick one lock and get into the depot undetected. However, they had known that for actually removing the tram from the depot, they would need something bigger.

There was a smoke detector in the guard’s cabin. There was also a cooking stove, a kettle and several potential sources of fire. If Neal set off the detector, the guard would be distracted looking for a fire and the alarm would hopefully make enough noise to drown out the sounds of a leaving tram. When the guard finally realized there was no fire, they would be long gone and he would be none the wiser that his depot was a tram short.

Neal checked his watch. Then he set off the alarm.

* * *

When Mozzie’s phone rang, he thrust open the door of the depot, ran back to the tram, jumped into the driver’s seat and drove to the depot gate, which Neal had already opened. He successfully used the correct button to switch the point switcher and drove out of depot area, until he finally stopped by the place where their motorcycle was waiting. He finally managed to lift it into the tram when he heard Neal’s quick running steps.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Perfect,” breathed Neal. “I closed the door and the gate, and I don’t think the guard noticed a thing.”

Mozzie gave him a grim smile. “Then let’s go. We have barely begun.”

* * *

Except for a few small bumps in the beginning when Mozzie was just getting the hang of the tram’s braking distance, the way through the city went much better than expected. If not for the tight expression on Mozzie’s face, Neal would have thought his friend was driving trams for a living.

Neal put on the signs that their tram was a ‘handling ride’, so the night passengers didn’t even try to approach their tram. Finally, they got to the point of a branch line, where the tram tracks and train tracks met.

“This one has to be switched manually,” said Mozzie, getting off the tram and using a level to change the position of a point switch leading to the branch. He then drove the tram on the branch, turned off the lights, the tram and reset the point switch to its original position – but Neal was no longer watching him.

He was busy looking for a suitable car.

He finally picked a nice model. He checked that the tank was full enough before he hardwired it. When the car’s engine started, Neal felt a powerful wave of exhilaration. He couldn’t help it. He laughed.

“Next stop, railway station,” he said cheerfully when Mozzie hopped onto the seat next to him.

And they took off.

* * *

Half an hour later, they arrived at the railway station. That was where things would truly get tricky, as Mozzie had proclaimed earlier.

Thanks to Jan’s information, they had a pretty good idea what they were against. It was a logical choice that Mozzie had to find and commandeer the locomotive. In the meantime, Neal had to infiltrate the railway station, pre-set the point switches for Mozzie and then reset them after Mozzie left so that they wouldn’t cause an accident by mistake.

Moz thought back to their conversation the day before…

“They don’t have any decent security system,” Neal had said during their planning. “It’s just a matter of slipping in, doing the settings and getting out.”

“You’re forgetting one thing,” said Mozzie. “These people who handle the station’s signalization and point switches know each other. They also won’t be easily distracted, because they’re responsible for the whole station, which means that if they screw up, trains could crash – ”

“ – people could get hurt – ”

“ – so these people will be damn careful,” finished Mozzie grimly.

There was a pause.

“Hey, Moz…” spoke Neal suddenly. His voice was unusually quiet and uncertain.

“What is it?” asked Mozzie.

Neal still hesitated. “Don’t you think it’s a bit… risky, this… thing with the locomotive? If we made a mistake – ”

“We won’t,” interrupted him Mozzie firmly. “I’ve triple-checked, and then triple-checked again. I’ve sextuple-checked. Besides, that’s why we’re doing this during the night when the railway station is mostly vacated. We have forty-two minutes gap at the station, during which no trains are leaving nor arriving. We can make it,” he said seriously.

Neal gave him a sharp nod. “Okay.”

And so they continued planning.

“If we just walk in, someone is bound to notice us and connect us to this later when the locomotive disappears,” said Mozzie grimly.

“That… is a problem,” agreed Neal.

“You could sneak in as a cleaning guy,” said Mozzie thoughtfully. “Nobody looks twice at someone in the cleaning uniform…”

Neal gave him his most charming smirk.

Mozzie frowned. “Well, that is exactly what we don’t need. … On a second look, that disguise might not be enough. You attract attention just by existing.”

“I can tone it down,” shrugged Neal.

“Of course you can,” Mozzie waved his hand. “Still…” He gave Neal a longer look. Then he shook his head. “No, that’s not gonna do it. We have to do something about your general prettiness. Let’s give you a disguise!”

“No, absolutely not!”

“Neal – ”

“I’m not letting you glue fake moustaches on me or give me freckles ever again!” exclaimed Neal in horror. He shuddered.

Mozzie pouted.

“Look, I’ll tone down the charm. Scout’s honor,” swore Neal.

Mozzie had sighed. “Then I guess that will have to do…”

Mozzie shook his head and returned back into the presence.

There was the locomotive he had picked. He climbed on and took a deep breath.

There was a time in Mozzie’s life that he wouldn’t hint about, not even to Neal. Nevertheless, during that time, Mozzie had spent five weeks learning to drive a train.

Together with the ‘brush-ups’ he had done recently, that knowledge meant that he might just be able to pull this off.

There were about a million buttons to turn on; handles to pull, switches to turn on…

Five minutes later, the locomotive came to life.

Once again, Mozzie waited for Neal’s signal that they were free to go.

Finally, the signal came.

Mozzie looked at the dash-board before him.

Suddenly, he noticed a small wooden owl hanging on a key-ring on the locomotive’s window handle.

Maybe he should get himself a lucky charm. A spider, those were supposed to bring luck… or a little black cat. Or maybe he should get a miniature island girl… That was something to consider later.

Mozzie spread his fingers over the dashboards.

A moment later, the locomotive moved forward.

* * *

Back in the car, Neal put his shaking hands on the steering wheel and uttered a short, hysterical chuckle.

The train had been late. One of the trains had been fifteen minutes late.

Things could have turned out… bad.

But nothing happened. Everything was okay. Mozzie and his train were safely on their way.

Neal wiped the sweat from his forehead. Then he put on a smile and took of, back to where they had parked their tram.

If their calculations were right, Mozzie would already be waiting there for him.

* * *

Despite their worries, everything was going smoothly… more or less.

They were back at the tram and train tracks crossroad. Street lamps were shining on the street. As quietly and inconspicuously as possible, Mozzie was trying to attach the tram behind the train. While he was plugging away with the (stolen) coupling, Neal was supposed to paint the tram black with their previously hidden sprinkler. They were still safely on their schedule, but there wasn’t much space for error.

Mozzie was busy searching his leather casing for a bigger spanner when he noticed Neal near by. He barely had the time to jump back before a flush of paint hit the spot where he had been standing.

“Hey! Careful! You almost hit me with that!”

Neal gave him a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, Moz. I didn’t notice you.”

“Oh, so Mr. Painter remembers to put polythene cover on the ground, but he can’t manage not to sprinkle on his friend,” muttered Mozzie under his breath.

“What did you say?” asked Neal. He just moved away with the hose and was now spraying the area on the left of the tram’s middle door. “Never mind; how far are you with our ‘conjunction’?”

Mozzie wiped his dirty hands into a cloth. “Done. You?”

“Just give me another sec,” replied Neal.

Mozzie rolled his eyes. “This isn’t an art piece, Neal! It doesn’t have to be perfect. Let it be and come!”

Neal tilted his head. “Hold on… there’s still a red place on the rear.”

“Neal!” exclaimed Mozzie quietly. “Come on!”

“Two seconds, Moz!”

Mozzie burrowed his hands in his pockets. “If we get caught, or if we derail, I’m blaming you for it.”

“Done!” called Neal a few moments later.

“Good,” said Mozzie in relief.

Critically, he looked at the scene before him.

On a railway close to a housing development, a locomotive was standing with a black tram attached to it. The tram was still dripping paint on the plastic covers that Neal had put around it to avoid bedaubing the street.

There was something almost poetic about the whole image… an image that should never be seen in any European city – that was never seen before and probably never would be again.

“Take a photo,” Neal reminded him as he took the used protection sheets and stuck them into a nearby garbage container. “Rodgers might want to see proof that we actually did this.”

Finally, they were ready to go.

“Out of a certain morbid curiosity,” asked Mozzie suddenly when Neal climbed next to him into the train’s cabin, “what is Rodger’s part of the bet?”

Neal uttered a weird chuckle. “Wanna guess?”

“Considering our own task, trying to come up with something that might beat it creates some… disturbing mental images,” replied Mozzie cautiously. “I think I’ll pass.”

Neal chuckled again.

There was a pause.

“All right. Shouldn’t we be going now?” asked Neal. “You know, since you said we didn’t have enough time…”

“Come on, Neal! What is Rodger’s bet?” asked Mozzie.

Neal blushed as he ran a hand through his hair. “He – ah – he is supposed to steal the Prime Minister’s artificial teeth.”

Wham.

Had Neal just said…?

The Prime Minister’s teeth.

Mozzie shook his head. “You two are never, ever drinking together again. … And when we win this bet? I’m picking our next job.”

“I’ll let you pick the next three if we can finally move from this place,” said Neal impatiently.

Mozzie shot Neal one last incredulous look.

Then he turned his attention to the dash-board and the train – together with the tram – moved off to the city limits.

* * *

They successfully passed all the point switches, until they finally got to their chosen old, unused branch that was deviating from the main railway. Neal watched as Mozzie got out and manually changed the point switch. Then they continued for a short while before they finally stopped, knowing that they were far enough from the main track not to be noticed immediately.

It was quarter past four in the morning, they were in woods thirty minutes past the city border – and they had just successfully completed their bet.

Once again, Mozzie opened the door of their tram. Together, they carried out the ‘borrowed’ motorcycle. Then Mozzie closed the door again.

Neal felt like he was flying.

He took the obligatory photos.

When he was done, he looked around for Mozzie.

Mozzie was standing in front of the tram, his hand half-raised as if he wanted to touch it. There was something soft, almost wistful in his face as he was staring at the black surface and the empty driver’s cabin.

Neal gently touched his shoulder. “Moz. We need to go.”

Wordlessly, Mozzie nodded and followed Neal to their motorcycle.

Turning his head, Mozzie cast a last longing look at the tram. Then he turned on the motorcycle and Neal once again took the seat behind him. Neal cast a last wistful look on the locomotive – but his and Mozzie’s calculations were sure about this; there was no way they could manage to get the locomotive back to the railway station; trying to do that would be an insane and unnecessary risk. It was the only fault of the otherwise perfect heist.

They drove to the point-switch and Mozzie changed it back to its original position.

And then Mozzie drove, and soon they were back in the city – then they were in the hotel – and at 5:39 in the morning, Neal and Mozzie were back in their beds.

Right now, the stolen black tram attached to a locomotive was the only witness to their night’s activities.

Epilogue