omg, a WC fic that is not Peter/Neal?! (Don't worry, I am just as surprised as you.) But this plot bunny is not mine, rather it belongs to lectorel of tumblr, and after reading it: I just could not get it out of my head. So here is my first ever attempt at fem!slash :D
Full bunny:
A White Collar AU where Neal is a girl, still called Neal.
Besides for forging, her second great talent is tailoring, which she uses to make all her vintage suits fit her. She's gloriously femme, with long hair she always does up in these amazing styles, heels, and perfect make-up.
In the back of her closet, she has a few vintage dresses too, for the days she feels like being fancy, and (even further back) a pair of blue jeans and an oversized sports jersey that belonged to Kate, that she wears when she misses her girlfriend so bad she can't breathe.
And as much as she loves her loft, and June, and even working with Peter, sometimes the city seems like it's closing in on her, walls rising to trap her. She's so used to hiding herself, her sexuality, her relationships, her vulnerabilities, that she doesn't know how to reach out, but god, she's so lonely sometimes…
XXX
everybody loves somebody (here in Madison Square Park)
XXX
She turns around and she knows, she is not at all what they (anyone really) expect when they say: Neal, like that one single word can encompass everything she is.
In return, she gives them the Caffrey grin, all lipstick and ulterior motives in the curl and curve of her mouth. If only to hide the blatant loss Peter no longer tries to make her talk about. Instead, he lets her have her peace, eyes closed.
And she remembers what names they get called: friends at best, and sisters at worst. Neal doesn't glare but Kate does. In turn, Kate doesn't object when Neal drags her over and kisses her on her full pink lips.
It is in moments like these that the blood rushing through their ears is finally enough to wash out everyone else's need to whisper and comment. It is also moments like these that Neal will pull back, reluctant, and catch Kate's perfect sun-kissed cheeks, dark lashes and darker lust when she turns her baby blues to her.
Neal doesn't melt but she does pull Kate to her feet, away from their favorite spot in the park, passing by Caesar playing their favorite song on his violin, beneath the New York sky.
Eyes closed, Neal imagines Kate's hand is still in hers (here in her empty Riverside loft).
XXX Kuro