Mozzie stared intently at the painting before him. He had spent the last hour carefully mixing varnish and paint to achieve the correct ratio. A friend of his had offered to pay him to age a forged painting for him. The bald man had agreed, running a little low on funds for the month. The piece was big, too difficult for the small man to move alone, and to make matters worse it was raining outside, making the painting impossible to move for at least a day. That meant he was stuck in a drafty, abandoned warehouse when he could be warm and comfortable in Sunday, his Saturday safe house.
Shivering slightly, he zipped his jacked up higher around his chin. Adjusting his glasses slightly, Moz began painting the varnish over the painting. He had barely started when suddenly a door behind him slammed open. Whipping around, he watched as a teenager, soaking wet, ran into the room before quickly shoving the door shut against the storm outside. The kid was tall and far too thin. He wore tattered jeans and a stained black hoody. Long, dark brown hair that almost reached his shoulders was pin straight from the water weighing it down. The boy shivered, a small puddle forming beneath him.
Mere moments after his arrival, the figure looked up, and Moz found himself staring into stunning, clear blue eyes. The man's eyes filled with suspicion and panic at being found, the younger's filled with exhaustion and just a bit of fear. Then, the brunette's eyes flickered to the painting. Astonishment suddenly filled his face and his voice was laced with disbelief.
"You're kidding me."
Suspicion and paranoia raced through Moz's veins, not that that was unusual. The boy sighed, wringing his hair out before doing the same to his clothes. Even with just a little water removed, Mozzie discovered that the boy's hair wasn't straight at all, but was actually quite curly. Giving up his mission of getting any drier, the teenager began sauntering towards the man.
"Is that Arria and Poetus?"
Mozzie blinked in surprise, swiftly looking between the boy and the painting. "Uh, yeah?" He shook his head. Why was he answering the kid? He needed to get rid of him! "Wait, no. You need to leave! Get out of here!"
Apparently he wasn't very convincing because the kid snorted. "Please, after all the time it took me to find you?"
"Find me?" Suspicion overload. Paranoia now in hyper drive. "Who sent you? What do they want? How did they find me?" He was always so careful…
"Whoa, calm down." Hands were thrown up in a gesture of peace. "I didn't mean you specifically."
"…oh." Normal levels of paranoia restored. "Well, regardless, go away. Go home!"
Rolling his eyes, the teen turned around. "Fine."
Moz sighed with relief at how easy that had been, when suddenly, after taking two steps, the boy abruptly spun on his heels to face the criminal again. With a sly grin, he threw his arms out.
"Honey, I'm home!"
It was a bit difficult to speak with his jaw on the ground. "You live here?"
A shrug. "I live wherever the wind takes me. And tonight a storm dropped me off here. And of course, without even trying, I find the person I need."
"What do you mean?"
"I want to get into the business."
Whatever Moz had been expecting, it wasn't that. "Business?"
"Yeah, you know. Forgery, counterfeiting, stuff like that."
The bald man frowned. "Why would you want to do that? I don't know what movies you've seen, but crime isn't all fun and games. 'Fear follows crime, and is its punishment'."
"Voltaire?" The boy asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Don't change the subject."
Secretly, Moz was impressed. This kid identified the painting that was forged and knew who he was quoting. He was obviously intelligent, which begged the question…
"Why do you want to become a criminal?"
"Because I'm good at it."
"…What?"
The boy sighed. "I'm good at forging. Well, art at least. I don't really know about other stuff, but paintings, sculpture, stuff like that, I'm good at."
"Then, why do you need me?"
"Again, not you specifically. I just need someone already in the business, to help get me in. See? Picking pockets can only get me so far, I need to fry some bigger fish."
Moz thought for a second before sighing. "Fine, I'll help you establish some contacts. But-" He raised a finger, "you have to stick with me for awhile. My conscious wont let me live with myself if I assist in getting you killed."
Smiling a perfect conman's smile, the boy replied. "I was hoping you'd say that." At the confused look the man gave him, he continued. "Hey, I said I was good, not that I didn't have anything to learn from someone who's better."
Damn, the kid was a charmer, and a good one at that. Moz had no doubt that with that smile and those eyes he could get anything he wanted. He'd already snagged Moz, hadn't he?
"How old are you kid?"
"17."
"Really?" He asked skeptically. 15 maybe, but he looked younger.
"Why would I lie?" The boy asked with a raised eyebrow. "If I'm older, I wouldn't lie about being younger. And if I'm younger, why wouldn't I lie and say I'm 18 to make myself a legal adult?"
Accepting this logic, the older man shrugged before holding out a hand. "I'm Mozzie. Or Moz. Whichever."
Grasping his hand, the boy smiled. "Good to meet you."
"And what do I call you?"
His smile grew, and his eyes gleamed deviously.
"I haven't decided yet.
It wasn't until a week later, as they were walking together to one of Mozzie's safe houses for the night, that the boy sprouted randomly,
"Neal Caffrey."
Turning to gaze quizzically at his companion, Moz was met with a sly smile. "Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
The older con laughed and shook hands with the boy once more. "Nice to meet you, 'Neal'."
"Are you serious?"
El and Moz turned in shock to find none other than Agent Peter Burke standing in the doorway, having overheard the story. His face was full of shock.
"Neal Caffrey is just an alias?"
Oh, deary Mozzie is hard to write (Well, for me at least. XP). Sigh, yet another chapter screaming for me to re-write it better. But, perhaps you disagree. Or extremely agree and feel like telling why. Either way, reviews are always awesome! xoxo ~BFMS