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tj_teejayTitle: And Isn't It Ironic, Don't You Think?
Author: TeeJay
Genre: Gen
Characters: Neal
Summary: New York can be dangerous to roam alone at night. Neal has to learn that the hard way.
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: More Neal!Whump. It's like an addiction I can't shake. *sighs*
Written for Round 4 of yesterday's![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
thenewpub challenge. Theme this week was "Literature", this was for prompt "Framing Device".
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.
In retrospect, Neal realized he should probably not have carried a large, expensive looking box emblazoned with a huge B&H logo through the streets of New York at night. Because that would just invite the muggers to snatch it out from under your arm.
As it so happened, the guy who'd jumped him in the dark side street had just had that exact intent. Until the moment that the figure clad in black had suddenly appeared at his side, he'd never given the possibility of being mugged even a second thought.
Of course Neal didn't just want to just let go of $2,000 worth of video recording equipment, so he'd yelled a few choice words at the guy and taken chase.
The mugger had zero tolerance for patience or insubordination. The subdued pop with which the gunshot rang out from the firearm that came out of nowhere, was in stark reciprocity to the pain it caused as it ripped through Neal's flesh. 'Fuck, no!' shot through his head as he went down, clutching his hands to his shirt that was already turning crimson.
It was all he could do not to lose consciousness, and as he sank down with his back against the wet concrete, cool, soft raindrops caressed his face. He turned his head, and in the murky light he could make out the object he had sunken down next to. It was an old, carelessly discarded box with a B&H logo on it, soggy from the November rain.
The last thought Neal had before everything faded to black was how poetically ironic in its own way that really was.
Author: TeeJay
Genre: Gen
Characters: Neal
Summary: New York can be dangerous to roam alone at night. Neal has to learn that the hard way.
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: More Neal!Whump. It's like an addiction I can't shake. *sighs*
Written for Round 4 of yesterday's
thenewpub challenge. Theme this week was "Literature", this was for prompt "Framing Device".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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In retrospect, Neal realized he should probably not have carried a large, expensive looking box emblazoned with a huge B&H logo through the streets of New York at night. Because that would just invite the muggers to snatch it out from under your arm.
As it so happened, the guy who'd jumped him in the dark side street had just had that exact intent. Until the moment that the figure clad in black had suddenly appeared at his side, he'd never given the possibility of being mugged even a second thought.
Of course Neal didn't just want to just let go of $2,000 worth of video recording equipment, so he'd yelled a few choice words at the guy and taken chase.
The mugger had zero tolerance for patience or insubordination. The subdued pop with which the gunshot rang out from the firearm that came out of nowhere, was in stark reciprocity to the pain it caused as it ripped through Neal's flesh. 'Fuck, no!' shot through his head as he went down, clutching his hands to his shirt that was already turning crimson.
It was all he could do not to lose consciousness, and as he sank down with his back against the wet concrete, cool, soft raindrops caressed his face. He turned his head, and in the murky light he could make out the object he had sunken down next to. It was an old, carelessly discarded box with a B&H logo on it, soggy from the November rain.
The last thought Neal had before everything faded to black was how poetically ironic in its own way that really was.
