Title: You come with the dead who people my dreams

Fandom: Highlander/White Collar

Disclaimer: not my characters

Warnings: AU; future!fic

Pairings: none

Rating: PG13

Wordcount: 570

Point of view: third

Prompt: Moz realizing that Neal is older than him

Note: So, I wrote this ages ago. Years, even. I just never updated it here, sorry.

Moz has heard of Methos, of course. Most immortals think he's a myth, a fairy tale like unicorns and dragons. Moz isn't sure what to believe, but he knows that Neal thinks Methos is real.

Neal. He misses that kid. Moz watches over the Burkes until they both die (Suit on the job, Mrs. Suit in an accident), and then he moves on from New York. Goes to a Tibetan monastery and takes a breather, tries to find his peaceful center again.

It's been a couple of years when he feels the buzz. He resolves not to panic, but it gets closer, and then he can pick out two separate ones, and maybe they're here for sanctuary, too, but what if they're not?

"Mozzie," a voice cuts into his thoughts. A voice he knows.

"Neal?" he asks, standing, and yes, it's Neal. Someone's with him, slightly taller but slouching, dark hair, pale skin.

"Hey, Moz," Neal says. "This is my brother, Matt."

His brother Matt, another immortal, the one he ran to, and the Neal smiling at him is not the scared kid who fled headhunters three decades ago.

"You conned me," Moz says. "Very well, might I add."

Neal ducks his head, still smiling, and now Brother Matt grins, proud as an older brother should be.

"In my defense," Neal says, "when I met you, I'd been running the con for over four hundred years." He shrugs. "It was the best way to stay safe—pretend to be harmless, pretend to be young."

"That's what I do," Moz says. "How I've gone unnoticed." He studies Neal for a moment, looks at the beautiful smile and the brilliant eyes. "How did I not know?"

Matt steps forward, so Moz focuses on him. His buzz is muted; he feels young, younger than Neal. "My brother," Matt says, and his accent is impeccable, as common and unnoticeable as Neal's, "learned from the best, Marco."

Moz stares up at him, at his smirk and those dark eyes that shift shade as he watches. This man is old—he knows it in his bones. Old, and knows Moz's name, who he was before he died five centuries ago. Taught Neal a flawless con, and dealt with a pack of headhunters.

The muted buzz intensifies for a moment exploding out with enough power to knock Moz off his feet.

Sprawled on the floor, blinking spots out of his eyes, Moz says, "Methos."

Neal helps him up and Methos—a legend, a nightmare, someone Neal told him more than once was fact—tells him, "The kid and I owe you a favor, Marco."

The kid Methos calls him. But Neal must be old.

"You still looking for quiet?" Neal asks.

Moz shakes his head.

"We're going to run a con on the Watchers," Methos says.

"Watchers," Moz scoffs. "Bunch of Peeping Toms."

Neal chuckles, then continues, "The plan was, I'm Adam Pierson's teacher. Adam was a Watcher himself, then taken under Duncan MacLeod's wing, till they had a falling out. The Watchers know me as Nate Calston, and I'm fairly low-key." Neal grins at Moz. "But if you join us, we can both be your students. I'll still be slightly older, of course, to keep eyes off Matt."

Moz looks at Neal, then Methos. Their grins are identical. "Why not," he says. "It won't be boring."

"No," Neal says, while Methos smirks. "I can promise, it will not be boring."