[Fic] Don't Blow Your Top

[kittydesade]

Title: Don't Blow Your Top
Fandom: White Collar
Characters: Neal, Peter
Word Count: 637
Rating: PG
Summary: Neal has eclectic music tastes.
A/N: Written (quickly, at work) for mundane_bingo. Spot the band.

Neal liked a wide range of music, but somehow it never occurred to anyone that he liked German industrial rock. Or anything harder than Black Sabbath.

And for the most part it was true. He liked music because it had an interesting tune, or interesting lyrics, or a beat he could dance to, and most of that was predictable, but some of it wasn't. German industrial rock fascinated him on several levels. Partly because of its history, the idea of music as performance art, pounding on the walls of the Grand Palais to vinyl and synthesizers in night clubs, and the transition thereof. Partly because of the lyrics, which were more poetical than seemed on the surface, if you spoke German or had a good translator.

Partly because it was really, really good to sing along to when you were angry and frustrated. German was a good "angry" language for an English speaker.

Neal was tapping his fingers on the table and snarling along with the music when June opened the door for Peter.

"Neal!" Peter's fingers curled in his headphones and tugged them off, not altogether gently.

He gave the FBI agent a baleful and kind of sullen look. "I was listening to that."

"I noticed. What the hell is that? And why were you listening to it at..." Although now Peter had the expression of someone who was actually listening, and the sound coming out of the headphones was decidedly quieter than ear-shattering. "You heard me knocking, didn't you."

"I did." And he'd ignored. "I was listening to that. What's so urgent?"

"You were listening to German death metal?"

"It's industrial, it's different. What did you come here for?"

Peter was making faces at him. It was kind of cute, really. "How is... never mind, I don't want to know. Come on, we've got a robbery down off Broadway."

"Off-Broadway?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

"No, you said..." Neal decided that going into a discussion of the comparisons in venue was probably about as futile as a lecture on the political implications and satirical aspects of industrial music. "Never mind. Let's go."

"What were you working on?"
"Nothing."

Peter gave him the look that said he knew Neal better than that, but he didn't push. They got into the car and started the drive in silence, allowing him time to settle down and get himself focused for whatever case they had ahead of them. Neal appreciated that.

"Okay, I have to ask. What were you listening to?" Peter burst out while they were stopped at a red light.

Neal's lips twitched. "German industrial."

"... You speak German?"

"No."

More staring. Or rather, glancing between lights. "Somehow you don't strike me as the industrial rock type."

"I have eclectic tastes. You might be surprised." Maybe, anyway. It was always possible Peter had some sort of secret stash of records somewhere, the way Neal didn't look like the kind of guy to be banging along with What Do You Know Deutschland.

Peter shook his head a little. "But why?"

"Because it's interesting. Did you know that, for a band that's been linked to two separate school shootings, many of their songs contain anti-war and anti-violence themes?"

The look he received for that comment was deeply skeptical and a little amused. "They don't sound anti-violent."

He decided not to tell Peter about the one song that sounded like an invocation to Satan that was actually a recipe for cake. "Did you know they originated in France, actually, that when Bush made his famous us or them speech they were one of the first to sample it into their anti-war songs? "

Peter was still giving him that look. "No, I did not know that."

"Car."

Brakes and car horns squealed. "Thank you, I saw that."

"Just checking."