White Collar - "Crossing Paths"
Mar. 1st, 2011 03:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tj_teejayTitle: Crossing Paths
Author: TeeJay
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whitecollar100 Prompt: #34 Coffee
Genre: Gen
Word Count: 300
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Neal crosses paths with a beautiful, young woman in Turkey. Pre-series.
Author's Note: I'm sure this is not canon-compliant, but let's just assume that it's a possibility. Also, I just spent a week in Turkey on vacation, so now you know where this came from.
Disclaimer: White Collar, its characters and its settings belong to Jeff Eastin and USA Network. And, guys? Your characters are not only welcome, they're wonderful. I'm just borrowing, I promise.
Author: TeeJay
whitecollar100 Prompt: #34 Coffee Genre: Gen
Word Count: 300
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Neal crosses paths with a beautiful, young woman in Turkey. Pre-series.
Author's Note: I'm sure this is not canon-compliant, but let's just assume that it's a possibility. Also, I just spent a week in Turkey on vacation, so now you know where this came from.
Disclaimer: White Collar, its characters and its settings belong to Jeff Eastin and USA Network. And, guys? Your characters are not only welcome, they're wonderful. I'm just borrowing, I promise.
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Neal didn't think he'd seen the sky a clear, rich, blue color like this before. A half finished, tiny cup of pleasantly bittersweet Turkish coffee rested before him on the table of the cozy rooftop café in Antalya's Old Town.
When a shadow fell over his face, he looked up. The woman standing in front of him was tall, svelte and beautiful. She spoke in perfect American English, "Excuse me, is this seat taken?"
For a moment, Neal entertained the idea of replying in a Turkish accent, but quickly dismissed the notion. "Not until now."
"A fellow American, I see."
"So it seems." He looked at her a little more closely, and realized she looked vaguely familiar. He had seen her before, but where?
"Are you here for business or pleasure?"
Neal pondered this, because somehow it was both. He opted for the safe answer. "Pleasure, mostly. Yourself?"
"I like to explore, and I've heard Turkey was supposed to be very beautiful. So here I am, exploring."
It sounded just as non-committal as Neal's answer. He studied her again, and then realization hit. She'd been there, at the museum. She'd tagged along with the group of tourists following the American tour guide, but hanging back just far enough to look inconspicuous while at the same time leaving enough room to study the exhibits individually. The pattern had seemed familiar to Neal—too familiar.
An hour later, filled with pleasantly enticing conversation, he sat staring at the empty coffee cup she'd left behind, and Neal realized he hadn't even asked her name.
It wasn't until a year later that Neal found out their mutual interest in art went far beyond studying exhibits in museums. And it would also be there and then that she'd tell him her name was Alexandra Hunter.
When a shadow fell over his face, he looked up. The woman standing in front of him was tall, svelte and beautiful. She spoke in perfect American English, "Excuse me, is this seat taken?"
For a moment, Neal entertained the idea of replying in a Turkish accent, but quickly dismissed the notion. "Not until now."
"A fellow American, I see."
"So it seems." He looked at her a little more closely, and realized she looked vaguely familiar. He had seen her before, but where?
"Are you here for business or pleasure?"
Neal pondered this, because somehow it was both. He opted for the safe answer. "Pleasure, mostly. Yourself?"
"I like to explore, and I've heard Turkey was supposed to be very beautiful. So here I am, exploring."
It sounded just as non-committal as Neal's answer. He studied her again, and then realization hit. She'd been there, at the museum. She'd tagged along with the group of tourists following the American tour guide, but hanging back just far enough to look inconspicuous while at the same time leaving enough room to study the exhibits individually. The pattern had seemed familiar to Neal—too familiar.
An hour later, filled with pleasantly enticing conversation, he sat staring at the empty coffee cup she'd left behind, and Neal realized he hadn't even asked her name.
It wasn't until a year later that Neal found out their mutual interest in art went far beyond studying exhibits in museums. And it would also be there and then that she'd tell him her name was Alexandra Hunter.
