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Fic: Lost Boy 5/? - Impulse

Lost Boy - Impulse

Disclaimer: Sadly, I did not get this for my birthday. I am very disappointed.

A/N: I’ve got a billion ideas for this story, but they come to me in little bursts and in no order. Obviously I need to teach the plotbunnies a filing system. It would save me from having to do it. Anywhoo, I felt it was time to include Mozzie, so ta-da! He’s here! Oh, also, sorry that it's taken me so long to post this. My birthday was quickely followed by finals week (yuck!) so I've been insane and sleep-deprived the past several days.

The were in the kitchen when the tapping started.

Tap Tap Tap Tap.

Peter glanced at the clock and tried to figure out who would be dropping by unexpectedly at quarter after five. Diana was covering for him at work, and they weren’t even on any urgent cases, the last one being wrapped up shortly before this, ahem, situation began.


He glanced at Elizabeth, smiling, as she held Neal on one hip while he “helped” by stirring the pasta sauce, before heading towards the front door.


He scowled. Whoever this was, they were extremely irritating. If it was another salesman with a pitch about how wonderful their cleaning products were or how he could save so much money by switching his insurance carrier, he was going to get his gun.

He wasn’t going to use it. Just scare them a little.


Peter jerked the door open and was nearly smashed in the face by the wooden handle of an umbrella.

A pair of eyes blinked at him from behind a pair of thick glasses.


“What are you doing here?”

Mozzie scurried inside, and Peter closed the door behind him.

“The better question Suit, is who else is here.”

Peter resisted the urge he had to squeeze his eyes shut and rub at the bridge of his nose. It was a frequent urge when Mozzie was around. Instead, he sighed. “What?”

“Neal, Suit. He was supposed to meet me at four o’clock to discuss-” his eyes widened a fraction, and shifted around the room. “Things.”

Peter briefly considered pressing that interesting topic, but he knew (unless wine was involved) that he’d get nowhere, and he could smell garlic and tomato sauce and fresh bread coming from the kitchen, and decided that he’d really rather be in there than playing games with Mozzie. “Okay. And you’re here because…”

Mozzie frowned reproachfully. “You’re his keeper. Where is he?”

Peter was just about to come up with a very clever lie and misdirection (hey, Neal wasn’t the only one who could do it, he just got more credit for it because Peter only used his powers for good) when a happy burst of giggles came from the kitchen.

Mozzie’s frown deepened as he headed towards the sound.

Crap. Crap, crap, crap.

Peter tried to think of something to say to stop him as Mozzie reached for the kitchen door, but the only thing that would come to him was “freeze!” and that probably wouldn’t work. He followed, silently, and tried to think up some way of explaining the little boy in the kitchen. Maybe as El’s nephew. That might work. They did look rather a lot alike, after all, the same coloring and-



Mozzie’s baffled voice drew the attention of the other two in the room, and Neal grinned.

“Moz!” Hs cry was exuberant, but sounded rather a bit like “moth”. Not that Mozzie really noticed at this point.

“Wait a second,” Peter said, “how do you know that’s Neal?”

Mozzie shot one of those looks at him, like he was thinking unflattering things about Peter’s IQ and taking great amusement in it.

“And once again, you ask the wrong question, Suit. The better question is how did Neal get like that.” He pointed at the boy in question, who stood holding a sauce-covered wooden spoon, looking back and forth between the two men as if it were a tennis match.

Peter sighed again, and scooped Neal up before Satchmo could get any ideas about that spoon. “I think it had something to do with this idol thing-”

“A gold idol? Kinda small, has some odd-looking geometric writing all over it?”

“Yeah!” Peter replied excitedly, “Yeah, that’s it. It was part of someone’s private collection. When we went to return the La Fresnaye to him Neal couldn’t resist touching it. This happened right after that.”

“Was pwetty,” Neal told them, in between licks of the spoon. “Wanted to feewl the shiny.”

Elizabeth, who (up until now) had been quiet, asked the question Peter wanted to know. “Do you know how to fix it?” Something in her voice made Peter glance at her, but he mentally shrugged. He’d worry about it later.

Mozzie shook his head. “No way, Mrs. Suit. I’ve heard about a couple of things like this, but it’s way beyond my area of expertise.”

Peter removed the spoon from Neal’s hands as he’d moved on from licking it to gnawing on it. “Do you know anyone who would?”

“I generally try to steer clear of cursed objects. Can’t say I know anybody who wouldn’t.”

“Except, obviously, Neal,” Peter said wryly.

Mozzie shrugged. “Haven’t you noticed by now that he’s kinda got impulse control issues?”

Peter wasn’t even going to dignify that with an answer.


( 3 comments — Leave a comment )
Dec. 12th, 2010 02:19 am (UTC)
Okay, in addition to being appallingly cute, you've truly hit the strongest point of contrast between Peter and Neal in general:

(hey, Neal wasn’t the only one who could do it, he just got more credit for it because Peter only used his powers for good)


“Was pwetty,” Neal told them, in between licks of the spoon. “Wanted to feewl the shiny.”

Yeah, that about covers it. :-)
Jan. 7th, 2011 06:34 am (UTC)
You know, this is too damn adorable, and I was re-reading it (on ff.net, cuz there's an extra chapter there!) and I was just writing to gently prod for me ... pretty please? Also, Neal's lisp is like the cutest thing ever. Mowr pweese!!!
Jul. 7th, 2011 12:44 am (UTC)
haha! love Moz
( 3 comments — Leave a comment )