AN: Written for prompt #1 of the 12 Days of White Collar.

The Space Between the Planets

Cheride

Mozzie sat silently on the sofa, staring blindly into the not-quite-darkness that surrounded him in the loft. A small Christmas tree stood just outside the sleeping alcove, twinkling lights creating a festive glow as they reflected off the glass doors that led to the balcony and its breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline. In Mozzie's hand, of course, was a wineglass, and the liquid it held was far from his first serving. But he'd finally slowed down, and now wasn't any more interested in his wine than he was in the lights on the tree.

He didn't know—or care—how long he'd been sitting there when June slipped quietly into the room.

"Mozzie, my dear," she said gently, "you really should come downstairs."

He didn't answer.

June lowered herself to the couch beside him, placing a soft hand against his cheek. "Mozzie. He wouldn't want this, you know. He loved the holidays so much, the joy that's everywhere. He'd want you to still enjoy it."

Mozzie still didn't speak, even when she reached out and took the glass from his hand. After taking a fortifying drink for herself, she placed the glass on the coffee table next to the open bottle. She shook her head a little when she realized the other three bottles sitting there were already empty.

Settling back more completely onto the sofa, June sat close, letting their shoulders touch. After some time had passed, she shivered and rubbed her hands together briskly.

"You should've at least turned on the heat up here. You'll catch your death of cold."

"The cold space between the planets," Mozzie murmured. "Where men perish."

"What was that, dear?" June was glad Mozzie was at last speaking, though she'd have been more glad if he made some sense.

It took another couple of moments before Moz finally replied, and though his tone was still recognizable as the slightly didactic yet almost reverent tenor he reserved for uttering someone else's words, tonight it was overlaid with sadness. And the obvious languor of the wine.

"'When friendship disappears,'" he intoned, "'then there is a space left open to that awful loneliness of the outside world which is like the cold space between the planets.'" He took in a shaky breath before adding, "'It is an air in which men perish utterly.'" Then he blinked his big round eyes and let his head loll back against the cushion, staring up at the ceiling.

"Oh, Mozzie." June resisted the urge to turn and wrap the man in her arms, knowing he likely wouldn't appreciate such a physical show of affection. But she also knew it was likely no one needed a hug more, so she stayed close, and discreetly swiped the back of her hand across her misty eyes.

In the early weeks after Neal Caffrey's death, June had worried about Mozzie's refusal to accept it as real, convinced it was all an elaborate con. Even now, months later, she wasn't sure he'd ever completely accepted it.

But, after those first few weeks, there had come the grief and depression she'd been expecting. Mozzie had withdrawn from all social interaction, choosing to spend his time either alone in one of his many safe houses or locked in Neal's apartment, working his way through the wine collection. He didn't work; there was no more parchesi or book club. He refused Elizabeth's phone calls, and no longer babysat for Diana and little Theo. He didn't even share his conspiracy theories or sweep the house for bugs. As much as June had expected Mozzie to grieve, she worried more about him then than she had when he'd been in obvious denial. He'd lost all the odd quirks and eccentricities that made him Mozzie.

But eventually, as people do, Moz found a happy medium; he found a way to go on. And if he still harbored fantasies of Neal living on a tropical island hiding from "the man," or pulling elaborate heists across Europe, well, June understood that everyone coped in their own way.

But as the calendar pages dwindled and the signs of Christmas began appearing, Mozzie once again began drawing in on himself, leaving June to worry anew. When he had declined her invitation to join her family's Christmas Eve gathering but then shown up this afternoon asking to spend the day in Neal's loft, she had almost refused, not wanting him to wallow in grief, but had ultimately simply said, "You know the way," and left him to whatever holiday melancholy he was feeling. Now, almost eight hours later, she was wondering if that might have been a mistake, so still she stayed close.

"I never used to stay in the city," Mozzie said suddenly into the darkness, breaking into June's thoughts. "For the holidays, I mean. When people started talking about the Thanksgiving bird, I packed up and headed out until after the new year, somewhere I could be alone. All the hustle and bustle this time of year, everyone running around pretending to be happy. Who needs it?"

"They're not all pretending," June told him softly, countering the bitterness in his own tone.

"Most of them don't know they're pretending, but that doesn't mean they're not. I should know; I grew up pretending."

"Mozzie—"

"Don't get me wrong," Moz interrupted, "I know Mr. Jeffries tried to give us a good Christmas. But he couldn't give us the only thing we ever wanted, so, pretend. But when I grew up, I didn't want to pretend anymore."

"Ironic for a con man," June said with a small smile.

"Perhaps, but it was just easier to take myself out of the equation than it was to act like I enjoyed 'the most wonderful time of the year.'"

"So what changed?" she asked, though she certainly already knew.

Mozzie almost smiled, though he still sat unmoving, head tilted back and avoiding eye contact. "The first year I knew Neal, after the Adler con had fallen apart, he and I were working with Kate, teaching her the ropes. We didn't have anything really, getting by from job to job. I was used to it, but Neal . . . he'd gotten used to living a better life working for Adler, and Kate had never really known anything different; it was hardest for her. But they were kids, young and in love, and nothing kept them down for too long. They were so excited about spending their first holidays together, gaga over everything, and that just seemed like all the more reason to get away.

"The day before Thanksgiving that year, I told Neal I was gonna disappear for a while, that I'd be back after the new year. But you know Neal, such a sentimentalist. He said even though things hadn't worked out like we'd planned, we should all be thankful that we weren't in jail or homeless and that we still had each other." Mozzie shook his head, rolling it against the back of the couch. "Can you believe that kid? Anyway, he talked me into staying for Thanksgiving and the fanciest meal we could afford; he even dragged me into helping cook."

Mozzie did smile then, remembering, and finally sat up to face June. But the wine still kept him more effusive than she'd ever heard him, at least about purely personal matters.

"What happened?" June prompted.

"Oh, Thanksgiving was lovely," Moz answered, waving a hand airily. "Maybe one of the best I've ever had. But I still wasn't planning to stick around any longer. I'd crashed at Neal's place after dinner, and when I woke up Friday, he and Kate were gone, so I was getting ready to just go when they came back, dragging a Christmas tree, laughing and singing, talking about making decorations and where they could find the best deal on lights. It was all so domestic, traditional. I couldn't believe it; that wasn't what I signed on for. So I told Neal again I was leaving, and he started trying again to get me to stay, telling me how we could make it the merriest Christmas ever."

But then Mozzie fell silent for a moment, his expression growing cloudy. This time June didn't push, just waited until Mozzie was ready to talk again. And, eventually, he was.

"It wasn't what I signed on for," he repeated, sadly this time. "So you know what I said to him? I'll never forget it. I told him, 'Grow up, Neal. A merry Christmas is overrated and nothing you can do changes anything.'" Mozzie blinked his eyes rapidly for a second and reached to grab a gulp of wine from his nearby glass, then continued his story.

"We hadn't even known each other a year yet, so I didn't know everything about his life, but I knew a lot—for a criminal, he could be painfully honest and trusting."

"Perhaps he was just good at knowing who he could trust," June suggested.

Mozzie scoffed at the idea.

"Okay," she conceded with a small smile, "you might have a point with that one. Though I still say he was right more often than he was wrong. But what about your Christmas?"

"Ah. As I was saying, I already knew a lot about him—certainly knew enough to know he hadn't had much better luck with the holidays than I had . . ."

She filled in the blanks. "You knew enough to know that what you said would hurt him."

With a heavy sigh, Mozzie hung his head. "Yeah. He looked at me like I'd run over his puppy, then backed up and did it again." He shook his head at the memory. "We knew each other a long time, disagreed about more than a few things over the years, had our share of fights, and I know that's not the only time I hurt him, but it's the only time I was ever intentionally cruel to him."

He poured another glass of wine. June considered telling him he'd obviously had more than enough, but he just as obviously needed to talk, so if he needed the wine to do that, June would simply listen, make sure he didn't drink enough to do any true damage, and then be there to nurse him through the inevitable hangover.

After he'd downed another half a glass, Moz continued again. "I railed at him for probably ten minutes, all about how he was never going to succeed in this business until he learned that people and their traditions were meant to be exploited and not revered, that relationships are a means to an end and will ultimately only weigh you down, that he had to find a way to get through life on his own and in his own way, not try to fit in and be the same as everyone else, and that he sure as hell didn't need to be trying to drag me down with him."

June looked at him sorrowfully, imagining how the words had hurt Neal, but seeing firsthand how they'd also hurt Mozzie, surprising though that was. She wasn't sure what kind of comfort she could offer for something that happened so long ago, but she knew she had to try.

"Mozzie, my dear, you may have been hurtful, even deliberately so, but Neal wouldn't blame you for speaking your mind. You didn't say anything to him you didn't believe to be true. You and he never completely shared the same worldview on many things; that's never been a secret, but he loved you anyway. He obviously forgave you for any pain you caused."

"Of course he did!" Mozzie shouted, the sudden anger seeming even louder in the darkness. But then he drew in a shuddering breath and tried to pull himself together. "Sorry, June," he said, returning to his quiet sadness.

"Of course he forgave me," he went on, "he's Neal. No matter how much I tried to convince him otherwise, he believed relationships should be cherished.

"After I'd finished yelling at him, he asked me to give him thirty minutes before I left. Said he didn't want me to leave angry, and he didn't want to say something he'd regret, so he went for a walk. While he was gone, Kate really laid into me." He grinned a little bit. "Neal always thought she was such a refined little princess, but she showed me her inner sailor that day."

June laughed. "We women like to keep a little mystery."

"If I were particularly crass, I might argue that we'd all have been better off if Kate had kept a little less mystery."

"I'm glad you're not that crass." June patted his hand. "But are you going to tell me what happened when Neal got back?"

He shrugged lazily. "I fell for the typical Caffrey charm. He came back twenty-five minutes later and spent his last five minutes sweet-talking me. He thanked me for waiting and apologized for upsetting me. Then he told me that a good con should always be willing to learn—something he'd already learned from me and he threw it right back in my face—and asked me to give him this one holiday to teach me something. He said it was possible to have a merry Christmas and that he knew how to make it happen, even for me, and promised he'd never ask me to stay for the holidays again if I'd give him just this one year. Then, to top it all off, he told me his Christmas would be merrier if I was there, but no matter what happened, it was already better just because we'd met." Moz rolled his eyes and tried not to draw attention to the moisture that was gathering in them. "He was such a sap."

"He was," June agreed, her own eyes glistening. "So you stayed?"

"Of course. Typical Caffrey charm, I told you. And for the next month, he was like some kind of North Pole tour guide or something. We made ornaments for the tree, just like he and Kate had talked about. First stupid dough ones, like kids make, though Neal's looked like fine art, of course. Then he taught us how to make origami birds. And then he remembered I'd told him I knew how to blow glass, so he found this glass artist who let us use his studio one afternoon and we made a few ornaments there. We strung popcorn and watched cheesy movies and made cookies to take to old folks' homes. But that was just the beginning."

Mozzie's face was growing more animated as he spoke, and finally the sadness was leaving his eyes as he smiled more and more.

"One night we hit a few toy stores and relieved them of some of their excess inventory, got some giant Santa sacks and stuffed them full and dropped them off at the children's hospital and a couple of group homes. Then we leaked the story to the press, including the fact that after finding out where the toys had ended up, the stores decided to just consider it a donation. There was no way they'd try to take the toys back after that kind of publicity."

"That was you?" June cried. "I used to work on the hospital's fundraising committee. You have no idea how many other donations we were able to secure from other businesses who felt like they needed to keep up after that."

Mozzie laughed gleefully. "Neal would've loved that!"

June smiled fondly. "Yes, he would've. What other kind of mischief did you get up to?"

"We got all dolled up one night and crashed a few fancy parties, lifted some cash off the big spenders. The next day, we went to one of the discount department stores and watched for the people who were . . . struggling. Checking prices, counting their pennies, you know. We'd give them a few hundred dollars and then go find someone else. I have never had so much fun giving away money.

"One day we commandeered some of the advertising boards over at Rockefeller Center. It didn't take them long to get things back under control, but for a couple of hours, they had to let everyone skate for free.

"We went to the park and snapped Polaroids of people starting their carriage rides, then Neal would do a pastel drawing and give it to them when they got back.

"Every day, June. Every day for a month, we did something just to make someone happy." Sorrow slowly crept into his tone again as his tale began to wind down. "Mostly we stuck to legal things, but Neal threw in just enough conning and pilfering to keep me satisfied. And then every night we'd go back to that crappy apartment and watch a stupid Christmas movie or walk through the city and look at lights. One night we even caroled at a couple of houses! It's like we were living in some kind of alternate universe Hallmark movie. Conventional, but with a twist.

"It was the best Christmas I ever had."

Mozzie stopped talking then. His hands trembled slightly as he lifted the wineglass to his lips, and if he noticed the lonely tear that had finally welled over to streak his face, he gave no sign.

June gave him a moment before she squeezed his hand and offered him a sad smile. "It sounds lovely. Exactly the kind of Christmas I'd expect Neal to create for you."

"Yeah. It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize he actually had done it just for me."

"Not just for you. Himself, too. He obviously intended to keep his promise and let you spend the rest of your holidays alone."

Mozzie hitched a questioning eyebrow at her. "How do you figure?"

"Oh, Mozzie, my dear." She reached out and patted his cheek. "How could you be so smart and still so clueless? He was making every holiday memory with you he could. All the traditions, twisted though they may have been, in case he never got to do it again. And I assume he kept his promise? Never asked you to stay again?"

He stared at her for a long moment, and then Mozzie finally dragged a hand across his face, drying his eyes. "He never had to. We were mostly on the run after that, and where he was, I was, no matter the time of year. We still had surprisingly pleasant holidays—he always made sure of it—but we had to be careful. They were nothing like that first year.

"Then he was in prison, and he did break his promise then. I stayed in the city because he asked me to be with Kate. By that point, she and I had mostly made our peace—I was so mad at her for so long—but I still would've preferred to be on my own. But he was inside and there was nothing else I could do for him, so I did it. And she and I would go out for dinner someplace quiet and reminisce about the good old days, which wasn't as awful as it sounds. And then he was out again, and it was holidays here, or even at the suit's—which also wasn't as awful as it sounds. And every year since he's been out, we even pulled a toy job again, just a little more low-key."

His eyes suddenly widened almost comically. "You can never tell the suit!" June grinned and made the requisite assurances, and didn't point out how unlikely it was that Peter didn't already know. Moz kept talking. "The point is, with Neal, Christmas always felt like . . . well, Christmas. I'd never had that before, honestly didn't even know it was possible, and now . . ."

Mozzie sighed heavily. "I lectured him so many times on the importance of not getting attached—not to places, things, even people. And certainly not to traditions that only exist to trap everyone into further subservience to the establishment and its almighty dollar." He spoke softly now, the raw despair he'd mostly held at bay throughout his tale finally seeping into his voice like there was nothing left to hide. "But here I am, drunk in a city that I never wanted to be in during December, and I shouldn't have stayed, except I can't imagine anyplace else I should be, but I realize now I have no idea how to spend Christmas without him." He sighed again, a gusty hollow sound mostly designed to prevent a sob from escaping instead. "If he knew, I'd never hear the end of it."

Finally unable to ignore her instincts any longer, June reached out to envelop Mozzie in a warm embrace, pulling him close and murmuring quiet reassurances as she fought back her own tears. And though he was hesitant and slightly awkward, Moz reached his own arms around her, holding tight and letting the comfort flow around him.

After some minutes, when there was no longer any danger of losing control, Mozzie released her and June let him pull away.

"Thank you, June," he said solemnly. "And I'm sorry I've kept you from your family."

The message was clear, and June rose gracefully to her feet, smiling down at him. "Nonsense, my dear. You're family." She let her eyes rest on his, her sincerity glowing even in the shadows. "Surely you understand that's what Neal was really giving you all those years ago? What he gave us all. You, me, Peter and Elizabeth, Cindy, Samantha, even Agents Berrigan and Jones. We're all Neal Caffrey's family, and that doesn't change just because he's gone. We're family." Not expecting an answer, she gently caressed his cheek one last time and moved toward the door.

"We're having coffee in the parlor; come down whenever you're ready, dear." Then she paused, turning back from the open doorway.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "Cindy is going to stay over tonight, and there's not much of a moon."

Mozzie twisted around, looking at her in confusion. "June?"

She smiled. "I was thinking it might not be too late for us to make a Christmas delivery at the children's hospital."

A smile slowly spread across his face as Moz jumped up, slightly unsteady on his feet. "Then I am definitely going to need coffee."

His mind already racing with the details needed to carry on with the unorthodox tradition, Mozzie paused before following June downstairs, taking one last look around the apartment. "I'm still here," he said, "just like you wanted. I've got this now.

"Merry Christmas, mon frère," he whispered and closed the door, leaving the lights twinkling in the not-quite-darkness of an empty room.

~END~

The 12 Days of White Collar continues the entire month of December; find all the challenge details on tumblr (Operation: More White Collar) and join in with a little something of your own!

Mozzie's quote (and this title) is from Hilaire Belloc.

Thanks for reading!