Mozzie

Together, They Fought (A Five Times Fic)

Title: Together, They Fought (A Five Times Fic)
Author: eldorah
Word Count: 4,395
Rating: PG
Characters: Mozzie, Peter, Neal
Spoilers: 6.06 – Au Revoir
Warnings: None
Beta Credit: Many thanks to the lovely rose_of_sharon1, who diligently read more revisions of this than I can count. Thank you, my friend. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
Summary: Set during what is perhaps the worst year of their lives, five times Peter Burke helped Mozzie, and one time Mozzie returns the favor. 


The First Time

The grass was soft beneath his feet as he slowly made his way across the park. The flowers that were blooming on the trees above him dropped petals like a path leading to where he knew the others were gathered. The sun teased him with brilliant rays, touting a perfect day. But Mozzie could tell almost everyone’s lie, and this day was far from perfect.

When he arrived at the spot, a little piece of metropolitan heaven nestled far away from prying eyes, most everyone had already arrived. Elizabeth and Peter were sitting in the front row, flanked by Diana and Theo, Jones, and Hughes. On Elizabeth’s other side was June, and next to June was an empty seat Mozzie knew was saved for him. But instead, he stopped in the back row, choosing a seat well away from the others in the very corner.

The memorial soon started, and people took turns standing to speak. Clinton went first, then Diana. Alex arrived as Reese was standing, sneaking into a chair in the last row of the aisle opposite to Mozzie. Some of the other agents shared stories of Neal in the office, Neal in the van, Neal joking around with them. After a brief silence, June stood.

And then, only Peter and Mozzie remained. From the front row, the agent turned around, scanning the back with soft brown eyes, and Mozzie knew he was being given the courtesy to speak first. However, his reddened eyes dug craters in the ground, pleading with Peter his unwillingness to say a single word. He couldn’t. Everything was quickly becoming too real, and while part of him was desperate for some conspiracy theory to explain this all away, the other part of him feared it wasn’t a con. He needed Peter to say something, anything, for the both of them, because neither of them could even come close to explaining how this felt. 

The agent finally stood and Mozzie heard him saying words: impeccable taste, good heart, friend, partner, brother. All of these words were so true and yet so very wrong all the same. Peter Burke was perhaps the only other person here to experience so acutely this brokenness that had paralyzed Mozzie for the past few days. Their hearts were shattered, beaten and crushed into tiny pieces that had been left behind on the floor of that cold morgue. There were just no words for that.

Suddenly, everyone was standing, engaging in idle chatter that grated on Mozzie’s ears. He needed to leave, to run far, far away from here, alone, because if he stayed he would surely break down and showing weakness made him prey. But at the same time, he ached for companionship. He ached for someone to assure him it would be okay. He ached for the friendship that he lost in Neal.

Mozzie stood in the back row, trying hard to gather himself enough to coherently escape the park. As he turned to go, he felt a hand on his shoulder. The grip was heavy, strong, secure, culminating in a gentle squeeze. It conveyed reassurance; it conveyed hope. Turning around, the conartist saw everything that he desperately needed to hear in Peter’s eyes.

I know.

Peter’s closest friend was gone too; Mozzie wasn’t alone. And as he followed the petal laced path back out to the street, a warmth filled his core. Peter had managed to replace one tiny piece of his broken heart with just a gentle touch. It wasn’t much, but he was more whole than the day before, and that was something huge.


The Second Time

Peter felt wrong climbing the rickety steps of the escape hatch. He wasn’t even sure if this place was what he was looking for, but he had checked Neal’s tracking data enough times over the years to notice a trend.

Whenever Mozzie disappeared, Neal would come here. Sometimes he’d stay for no more than a minute; other times, it would be a little longer. But Neal was perhaps the only person to ever make Mozzie fabricate out of the nothingness he so often seemed to become, and so Peter had to trust his best friend’s judgment.

As the FBI agent stumbled over the final step leading to the rooftop of the old building, he sighed and looked around. Somehow, even in the midst of all of the aching pain of his recent loss, his partner still managed to lead him to some of the most brilliant views of this great city.

“Can I help you?” a slight yet grubby looking man approached him.

Peter walked toward him, delicately trying to avoid the droppings that carpeted the roof.

“I am looking for Estelle.”

The bird keeper eyed Peter curiously, and the agent was sure that his Brooks Brothers suit and tie combination was not common in the wardrobe of those whom frequented this place.

“Are you -- ” the man started to ask.

“A friend,” Peter cut him off, and then pleadingly, “Estelle. Please.”

The man nodded and went to one of the four huge hutches that bordered the building. After pulling out a silver bird that looked exactly like all of the others, the man held out his hand, allowing Estelle to perch while Peter loaded her carrying case with a tiny scroll.

Then, the man handed the bird to Peter.

“How do I - ”

“Just like this,” he said gently as he threw his arms out and up.

Peter eyed the bird for a moment, watching as her flecks of green and purple glistened in the sunlight. Then, mimicking what he had just seen, he flung his arms up into the air. Estelle fluttered above the roof for a second, gaining control and orienting herself with her tiny package, and then took flight into the sun.

“Thank you,” Peter said as he turned to go. The man waited until the agent took his first step onto the old escape ladder before he called out again.

“Suit. It’ll do him good to hear from you.”

Surprised, the agent offered a slight smile and a nod before he left. He had done what he could; the rest was up to Estelle and Neal.
---------

Mozzie was elbow deep in a manuscript detailing the conspiracy theory surrounding the apparent formation of sweat at Elvis Presley’s viewing when he heard the screech of his homing pigeon outside his window.

“You’re early, my fair lady, and quite out of shape,” he said worriedly, allowing her to come to rest on his extended arm, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, old friend?”

She hummed contentedly in response as the conman offered her a piece of millet in exchange for her struggles. Then, he gently removed the scroll from her leg.

“Hope is the thing with feathers, my girl,” Mozzie quoted quietly to the bird as he ran his fingers over the rolled paper.* There was really only one person who ever contacted him by carrier pigeon.

Prying open the tiny piece of mail, Mozzie’s heart fell. Even upon first glance, the sloppy print was a far cry from Neal’s impeccable cursive.

However, after looking more closely, a smile slowly made its way across his lips for the first time in several weeks. A black and white photo of a tiny, not-yet-fully-formed human being stared back at him. The sender had even thought to circle a certain anatomical region in case there was any question of gender.

The note read:

“Working on a name – looking for something refined, yet charismatic. Extremely intelligent, but with a sense of humor. Must like hats. Suggestions? J

Mozzie snickered, pocketing the photo and note with the smile still cemented upon his face. He turned back to his manuscript, but soon decided against it. Maybe, just for today, he could take a day off of his research to relish in this one small celebration of new life, and the continuation of one very special legacy.


The Third Time

Peter sat in the international terminal of JFK with a world atlas spread across his legs. Earlier this month, it was Copenhagen. Then Amsterdam, followed by Marseille and Prague. Last month, it had been Madrid and various airports in the Azores. The month before, a sampling of the Greek isles.

Mozzie was eccentric in every other way, so Peter highly suspected this was some very individualized and unique foray through stage one of grief and not an excursion of criminal intent. However, the conman had overlooked one very, very important thing.

All of his plane tickets had been initially bought under the name Dante Haversham, until the last one. Arriving in JFK in approximately five minutes was a Teddy Winters, and thanks to the flag Peter had put on the name following the Little Star case, Teddy had little chance in hell of getting past security and back into the country.

Hence Peter’s extended “lunch break” and forty-five minute haul all the way out to Queens.

As people started flooding in from the loading dock, the agent stood to scan the crowd. It wasn’t long before he caught the glossy head of his late partner’s sidekick.

“Suit?!” Mozzie stopped in his tracks, completely surprised for a moment before comprehension gripped him, “Damnit. You flagged my name, didn’t you?”

“What was I supposed to do, Mozzie? You were the major suspect in a crime.”

“Alleged crime,” the bald man corrected, and then, “I won’t be taken to your crude establishment of bureaucratic nonsense! I will not be questioned!”

“Relax, Mozzie, just relax and trust me,” Peter assured.

“Trust a Fed? Have you lost your mind?”

The harsh words stung, but Mozzie conceded to following the agent, dragging behind his Hawaiian printed carry-on. At this point, Peter considered it a victory.

Sure enough, they had barely made it out of the gate before the first security officer approached them flanked by two NYPD officers. After a quick flash of his badge, the officers retreated, and they were again on their way.

By the time they had reached the vestibule of the airport, Mozzie was paler than a ghost and Peter thought it might have been easier to plaster his badge across his forehead rather than to take it out and flash it every time they had gotten questioned. But, Teddy Winters made it out sans handcuffs, and that meant Peter’s mission had been accomplished.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Peter asked as he watched the endless circular parade of other people’s luggage on the conveyer belt.

“In every life, there is a turning point. A moment so tremendous, so sharp and clear that…one knows, absolutely knows…that one’s life will never be the same,” Mozzie quoted sadly.**

Peter heaved a long, sullen sigh as he spotted a suitcase matching the ridiculous pattern of Mozzie’s carry-on bag. “So, I take you didn’t?”

The bald man just shook his head miserably in response, his eyes focused down at his shoes. Peter sighed again, giving the man a gentle squeeze on the shoulder after placing the bag beside him.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” the agent offered after a minute.

“And get in the car with a Fed?” the quirky man replied, shades of the old Mozzie resurfacing ever-so-slightly, “Unlikely. I have a ride.”

Smiling, Peter held his hands up in mock surrender. “You win. Just, take care of yourself, Haversham.”

“You too.”

Peter smiled and turned to walk away, only to be called back once more.

“Thank you, Sui…. Peter.”

“You’re welcome, Mozzie,” he said, grinning, and Mozzie watched with a small smile as the agent disappeared into the crowd. 


The Fourth Time

Christmas had always been Mozzie’s favorite season. The lights, the snow, the scent of evergreen in the air – all of it had a certain charm that a conman could never enjoy any other time of year. As a child, Mr. Jeffries had always done a fantastic job making sure to create something magical during the holiday season, but after Mozzie left the orphanage, there was something lacking. He had desperately missed having someone in his life to share the season’s joy with.

That was, until the first Christmas after he befriended Neal. Neal, he had been a creator of magic, a lover of love, and sometimes, despite his criminal record, Mozzie had to believe his heart was made of pure gold. His friend had always become a slightly different person during the holidays, and it had been an unspoken agreement between them that they would table any cons or heists as best as they could during those two beautiful weeks of December leading into January. There was just something so sacred about the season that neither willed to taint.

In the days leading up to Christmas, Neal used to decorate his dwelling with so many lights that Mozzie was sure he would draw attention from the Feds lurking outside. Ritually, the two friends would pick out a tree, and after bringing it home to Neal’s place, they would spend the rest of the night trimming it. The charismatic conman was always so particular when it came to the placement of the ornaments, but when all was said and done, the evergreen was a true masterpiece, rivaled only by the likes of the art they sought to steal.

Christmas night was always the most special. Mozzie had other…obligations…to attend to on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning, but he was always greeted with a warm cup of holiday cheer and a masterfully prepared dinner when he finally arrived at Neal’s apartment. Over the years, they had shared this evening with a small number of people, from Kate and Adler to Sara and June, and some years, they celebrated with just the two of them. But always, always, they had been together. They were family.

This Christmas, though, the painful and lonely void had reappeared to swallow Mozzie whole. Elizabeth had sent him countless invitations to her annual family gathering, but Mozzie hated superficial things like that. He was never one for small talk, and the thought of large crowds in small places sickened him. He much preferred to spend a quiet Christmas with one or two people he really cared about, and Neal had understood that.

The conman was well on his way to inebriated, having skipped dinner (nothing could come close to Neal’s Christmas feast, anyway), when a rhythm in iambic pentameter sounded on his door. He briefly thought about ignoring it, but his desperation for companionship won over and he soon began unlocking all eight of the deadbolts that secured his safehouse. When he cracked the door open, he was surprised to find Peter.

“It’s cold out here,” was all the agent said, “May I come in?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mozzie said, baffled as he unlocked the last remaining chain, “I thought you and Mrs. Suit were having a holiday Burkefest tonight?”

Peter huffed, “I was in the neighborhood.”

Mozzie responded with a skeptical look.

“Alright, I wasn’t in the neighborhood. We saw you hadn’t RSVPed and I… Elizabeth, was worried about you. So I stopped by and picked up some dinner. Mind if I join you?”

The conman smiled warmly. “Please do.”

“Good, good. I, uh, couldn’t find any crickets in little tortillas or whatever it is you like, but I stopped by El’s favorite restaurant and this was the weirdest thing on the menu,” the agent replied as he slid a take-out container across the table to Mozzie. “It’s squid. It might have gotten cold somewhere around Thursday, though. I wasn’t sure which house you’d be in.”

Mozzie snorted as he took a bite. “I’m going to need to burn this safehouse now. Which other ones will I have to replace?”

Peter smiled as he sat down across from Mozzie and opened his own steak and potatoes. “I’ll never tell. How’s the food?”

“It’s perfect,” Mozzie replied earnestly, taking another big bite and allowing just a little bit of that holiday cheer he had missed so much to fill his core. It wasn't Neal's Christmas feast, but it sure tasted good. “Thank you, Peter.”


The Fifth Time

There were no arrows and x’s marked in chalk on the concrete beneath his feet, but he knew just which bench to go to. Flashbacks of this very scene from so many years ago played in his mind’s eye as he sat down on the hard wood and settled in to wait.

If it had been anyone, anyone else who asked to meet for coffee at such an obnoxious hour on this particular Tuesday morning before work, he would have declined in no uncertain terms. Today, Peter Burke wanted nothing more than to be alone. He wanted to imagine that this day didn’t exist, because sometimes, although it cut like knives straight through his heart to admit, it would have been easier if it never had. But because it was Mozzie, and because he knew Neal would have wanted him to be there for his… their… friend, he had accepted the cryptic message left on a post-it note attached to his front door two weeks ago.

This time, though, his phone never rang, and when Mozzie finally sat down on the bench behind him, there was no odd voice that had been run through a changer before it reached his ears.

He never said anything about mockingbirds in a park, or asked what color the mockingbird was, or anything about avians of any sort, but that was fine. Peter preferred less dialogue, especially on this day. He had snuck out of the house early to avoid conversation, leaving El only a short note on the counter. He wasn’t sure he would be up for any of Mozzie’s mind games this morning, and apparently, neither was Mozzie.

Peter turned around and placed a warm cup of tea of some exotic flavor on the ledge between them, and Mozzie offered him a paper pastry bag in return. Turning back to his side, he opened the bag, letting out something between a laugh and a sob when he saw what was inside.

The agent’s stomach turned at the flaky pastry, but he broke off a piece of it and brought it to his mouth anyway. On the other side, he could hear Mozzie doing the same. Then, he placed the rest of the Cronut beside him, exchanging it for his newspaper. He had every intention of opening it to the sports section, but he took just a moment to peruse the front page, hoping to find a story to uplift his spirit. Today was March 21, Neal’s birthday.

After a while, at 7:43, which was exactly the time the agent needed to leave in order to make it to the office on time, Peter heard the soft beep of Mozzie’s watch. Turning around, the quirky man tapped his paper twice on the back of Peter’s seat, and the agent stood just in time to see Mozzie’s small smile. Thank you, Peter, he could read in the small wrinkles of his face.

“Mozzie,” Peter called out as the conman turned to go, “Try to have a good day today.”

“Thank you for coming, Peter,” the man replied with a nod and a lift of his own paper, and then, he was gone.


Mozzie Returns the Favor

Mozzie hangs up the phone, his hands shaking fiercely as his mind slowly churns, trying to process what he had just heard. Neal is alive. Neal is alive. Neal is alive.

Every emotion is hitting him at once and he feels like he is about to short circuit.

Exuberant, uninhibited joy. Neal is alive.

Burning rage. Neal is alive, and he didn’t tell me?

Consuming confusion. Neal is alive, and he didn’t tell me, and he let me (and Peter) believe that he was dead for a year?!

But mostly unbridled joy. NEAL IS ALIVE!

Mozzie shakes his head as he shoves his cardboard box in the garbage and pays off his shill, trying to literally clear his mind. Neal has asked him to do some things for him before he flies out there, but more than anything he just wants to jump on the next plane to Paris right this very second. Whether he would hug Neal or deck him when he got there was up for debate.

He can’t though. He can’t just jump on a plane even though he wants to because right now Peter doesn’t know. Right now, Mozzie is liberated from the jail that is life without Neal and Peter is still stuck in the finality that death (usually) brings. He needs to help set Peter free. He owes the agent that much after all he’s done this past year.

So instead of jumping on a plane like he so achingly wants to do, Mozzie flees Madison Square Park and rushes back to his safehouse. Here, he grabs the vintage bottle of Bordeaux he had pilfered from Neal’s collection the night before the Pink Panthers heist. He uncorks it, scribbles a number on the cork, recorks it, and catches a taxi all the way out to Brooklyn. His cab fare is almost forty dollars, but he only has a hundred dollar bill and he shoves it at the driver anyway. It doesn’t matter. Neal is alive, Neal is alive, Neal is alive. Peter needs to know.

Standing on the stoop, Mozzie delicately places the bottle of wine so Peter will see it when he gets home. He runs up and down the steps a few times, trying to mimic the path Peter will take when he gets home to ensure it will be seen. Then, Elizabeth opens the door, holding Micro-Suit Neal. He is a beautiful, beautiful baby, and Mozzie wants to cry. He wants to laugh, to scream, to jump up and down and let go and just sob, but none of these are options right now. So instead, he settles in next to Elizabeth as she feeds Micro-Suit Neal, and he tells the baby the story of how Peter and Neal broke into the submarine as he waits for the agent to get home.

Peter eventually comes, holding the bottle of wine, and although it pleases Mozzie to know the Suit has found the bottle, suddenly he has to say goodbye. It’s funny. He knows he will see the Suit again, as Peter will surely be on the first plane to Paris once he figures out Neal’s clues. But, it feels as though they survived a war together, and this moment seems bittersweet. Mozzie does his best to be cryptic and genuine at the same time, but his mind is racing and he isn’t sure if he succeeded.

With a last look behind him at the happy Suit family, Mozzie leaves. He catches another taxi to a container yard where he picks the lock to 701. Everything is here, as Neal had hoped. Mozzie isn’t sure how it all got here. Maybe June had it moved, or maybe Neal had moved it before he left. He’s sure Neal told him on the phone but he doesn’t remember because he had been caught up in the sound of Neal’s voice. Neal is alive.

Mozzie still feels a little wrong leaving Peter. He knows he will figure it out, come to the container yard, see the newspaper and put the pieces together. But he owes the Suit for everything, everything he’s done in the past year to make sure Mozzie survived this mess. This feels a little like lying, and Mozzie suddenly understands why Neal couldn’t lie to Peter all of those years. Peter Burke is a Suit, but Peter Burke is also a very good man.

His hands clasp his phone in his pocket as he loses precious, precious seconds he so desperately wants to be using to run to the airport. He could call Peter and just tell him. But that’s not what Neal wanted and maybe the phones are tapped. Someone’s always watching and that could endanger them all. He could go back to Brooklyn and tell Peter face to face, but that doesn’t seem right either. Micro-Suit Neal needs to sleep and it’s almost eleven pm.

Then, an idea dawns. He reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out the “lady”. Recalling his conversation with Peter just before Neal’s phone call, Mozzie gingerly places the queen of hearts against a Landseer at the front end of the container. He then walks into the back of the container, imagining the route Peter’s eyes will take, starting with the mannequin and tracing throughout the space until he lands on the newspaper. Then, on his way out, his eyes are drawn to the queen of hearts, and he smiles. This card will extinguish any doubt that may linger in the agent’s mind. It will tell Peter he cares enough to tell him where he is. It will tell him that he knows that their best friend is alive too, and that he will see him soon in Paris.

It will tell him that together they have fought this year-long war of grief and heartache, of misery and denial and depression, and that today, they have finally won.

Mozzie decides that this is good, and so he closes the container door and checks to make sure it is secure. He is soon on his way to Paris, on his way to Neal, knowing that Peter is not far behind.

When he steps off the plane and into the Parisian airport, Neal is waiting for him. His eyes are bluer than he ever remembers; his smile is warmer than the sun. Mozzie hesitates, but the fortress he’s built around himself only stands for a breath before it crumbles and he folds himself into Neal. He has decided that the right hook Neal so much deserves can wait. Neal is alive.

Suddenly, he feels his burner phone vibrate against his pocket, and he rips his eyes off of his friend for just a second to check the text. It is from Peter; concise, simple, yet so very satisfying.

Thank You, Mozzie.

Mozzie smiles as he pockets the phone and looks back up at Neal. He knows Peter will be here soon, and finally, everything feels right in the world.

Thank you for your time.

---------

*Quote is from a poem by Emily Dickinson, found here: “Hope” is the thing with feathers

**Quote is by Julia Quinn, found here.
This was absolutely wonderful!!!!!!!!! So touching and tender. The ending was perfection. Thank you so much for sharing this amazing story. You made my eventing.
Lovely collection of snipets. Love the way Peter looks out for Mozzie without being overbearing. I always like it Mozzie calls him by his name instead of "suit". Mozzie leaving Peter clues to Neal being alive , loved the term "Micro-Suit Neal." that so Mozzie
Thank you so much! I am glad that you enjoyed this!! Yes, I also love when Mozzie calls Peter by his real name instead of Suit.. Suit is funny, and very, very Mozzie, but to me when he uses his real name, Mozzie realizes Peter is also a friend. Thank you again!
(Anonymous)
I loved this--it fixes every hole that the finale left, and was so perfectly in character and sweet. Like Mozzie, I can't help but feel that Neal deserves a punch in the nose, but I can also understand his overwhelming joy. I would love a sequel where Peter arrives in Paris, but this is perfect just as it is, too.
Thank you so much! :D I am sure a long conversation (and plenty of wine) is soon to follow between Mozzie and Neal... I imagine Mozzie is not very happy to be have been conned like that on multiple levels. I will think about a sequel.. I do have ideas about Peter's arrival in Paris, as well! Thank you again!
Love Peter and Moz watching out for each other, Moz has definitely become part of the Peter's world (and Diana's because of Theo). And now Peter, Neal and Moz will all be together again.

Thanks for sharing.
Thank you so much for reading and commenting! Yes, Moz, whether he likes it or not, is slowly weaving his way into the Suit's world... :)

Thank you again!
Oh, so, soooooo wonderful \o/ And all Peter and Moz, they are really our beloved odd couple on the show, and getting to read about their very unusual friendship is such a treat :D Awwww. It is so great that during that year Mozzie was not alone, he still had his friends, family really :D

Wonderful all around \o/
::hugs:: Thank you! I am so happy you enjoyed this! I can't imagine Peter leaving Mozzie alone during that year... it's in his nature to need to protect something... even if it is his Mozzie. :)
awww this was sweet. It's good that at least Peter and Mozzie had each other.
lovely collection of Peter-Mozzie moments!
Thank you so much!! :) Yes, it is good that at least Peter and Mozzie could lean on each other during that time.
Oh that was lovely and moving. Peter & Mozzie looking out for one another!!

I especially like the part about Peter using Estelle to tell Mozzie about baby Neal and how he joined Moz for coffee on Neal's birthday.
Thank you so much of reading and commenting! I am really glad you enjoyed this, especially the part with Estelle... I am partial to that image as well. I can imagine Peter's internal conflict about whether or not he wanted to go, and his confused face as he set her into flight.

Thank you again!
Aww, this was so perfect. I love the understand between Peter and Mozzie and the quiet support they give each other. LOL micro suit!
Thank you so much!! It's good to know you like Mozzie's nickname for Neal Burke, Micro Suit... I couldn't decide how that one was going to go over. :)
God, that was beautiful to read! Love the nod to the road their friendship has taken over the years, and the way Peter looks out for Moz is just this side of beautiful and heartwarming. Would love to read Peter's reunion with Neal, possibly from Moz's POV. Great story, thanks for sharing this gem!
Thank you so much! I really appreciate that! :) I think that in canon, Peter and Moz were better friends than either would ever admit. I do have some ideas about Peter's reunion with Neal, so hopefully I can make some sense out of them and put them in words soon. Thank you again for reading!
Oh, that was so sweet and touching and funny and perfect. I love the bond that grew between them - especially this season. But here, you showed that it isn't just because of Neal, they are friends no matter what. Granted, strange friends... :D

You wove the grief and anger and happiness so well. Bravo.
Thank you so very much!! The friendship that has slowly been forming between the two of them over the years and especially this season has been one of my favorite things to watch! And yes, it is a strange friendship indeed. :D

Thank you again!!
Oh my god, this is beautiful. I particularly love the third time, even more so because that's something I never thought of, and I love when people do that! I love how you've portrayed the Peter-Moz friendship. Great fic!