Author's note: I know, another post Judgement Day fic. I can't help it; these little things just keep coming to me. This doesn't move the plot along, or answer any questions, it's just my take on what characters might be feeling and thinking.

Girl Talk

A White Collar Fan Fiction

Disclaimer: White Collar is the property of Jeff Eastin and USA Network. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made. At least my me.

"You know, I think it might be easier if he were dead!"

"Sara!" Elizabeth Burke slammed her coffee down so hard on the table latte foam oozed out of the plastic lid and down the side of the paper cup. Wordlessly Sara handed her a wad of paper napkins. She smiled tightly at her friend.

"That's not funny!" Elizabeth mopped at the spilled coffee. "Not even in jest." She looked around for a place to put her sodden napkin, sighing as she placed it on the edge of the small plastic table.

"Elizabeth, look at us." Sara's hand flicked inclusively between the two women. "We are sitting in the middle of a food court in an outlet mall," she rolled her eyes in distaste, "because we're both afraid that someone is following us, or listening to us. We're afraid to be seen together because some agent of some organization might think we know where Neal Caffrey is. Which we don't." She paused for breath. "If I knew he was dea . . . , if we knew for sure he wasn't coming back, we could all go on with our lives."

Elizabeth might have believed the other woman's tone of righteous indignation if she hadn't seen the tell-tale glitter of unshed tears in Sara's hazel eyes. Elizabeth didn't know if they were tears of anger, or frustration, or fear – they were probably all three – but it really didn't matter; she felt exactly the same way.

"Is that what you want, to mourn and go on with your life?" she asked Sara gently.

"I don't know!" Sara took a sip of her Starbucks and looked away. "No," she finished quietly. "But I'm tired of living this way. I'm tired of wondering, and of not knowing. And I'm really tired of not being able to do anything to find out!" Her voice rose again in exasperation.

"I understand completely," Elizabeth agreed. She looked at the throngs of shoppers swirling around them, surprised to find them oblivious to the cataclysm that had shaken the people closest to her. The backwash of Neal's disappearance was so all encompassing in her life, she tended to forget most of the world was unknowing and uncaring.

"How's Peter?" Sara's question reined in Elizabeth's wandering thoughts.

"Peter's fine," she answered automatically. She'd answered the same question so many times, from people who were truly concerned – and from people who weren't – that she didn't even think about her answer anymore. One look at
Sara's disbelieving face, however, told her that she needed to be more honest this time.

"Well, he's as fine as he can be under the circumstances," she amended. "The investigation and the administrative leave haven't been easy, but the accusations; they've been the worst." Peter suffered every time someone implicated him in everything from aiding and abetting, to planning the escape, to hiding Neal in their basement! Elizabeth suspected the sharpest pain came from the fact that Peter had indeed warned Neal away. Peter had told Neal to run, and broken the law in the process.

"Peter's feeling unsure, maybe a little lost," his wife explained, "and he's really not used to feeling that way."

Elizabeth damned Phillip Kramer to the deepest circle of hell for what he had done to her husband. He had taken the law – and the justice system – and twisted it for his own purposes; and by creating a crack in that particular foundation of Peter's life, Kramer had forced him to step outside the law. That Peter was feeling lost was a bit of an understatement.

But Elizabeth knew that Peter Burke's unerring sense of justice had survived the onslaught intact. It was his sense of justice that allowed him to signal Neal to run. Peter believed – no, he knew – that Neal didn't deserve the punishment Kramer had in store for him. Neal Caffrey, Peter's partner and friend, wasn't the man Phillip Kramer wanted to punish. He was looking for the Neal Caffrey from four years ago. That man was gone. He had been replaced by the new Neal, the one Kramer refused to see, the one Peter had told to run. And with that, justice had prevailed between the two friends.

The cool touch of Sara's fingers on her hand stopped Elizabeth from shredding the remaining napkins. She smiled awkwardly, shoving the tiny pieces to join the wet paper at the edge of the tale. For several minutes neither woman spoke. Instead they watched groups of young mothers and toddlers, and groups of giggling teenage girls, all going about the acts of shopping and socializing. The normalcy of it all seemed to steady the two friends.

"You know," Sara said, "I think Neal is feeling the same way."

"What?" Elizabeth looked at her blankly.

"I think he's feeling lost, unsure."

"Neal?" Elizabeth's eyebrows arched in disbelief. Neal Caffrey was never uncertain of anything, she thought. Her brows drew together suddenly, and she leaned in across the table. "Sara?" she asked intently, "you haven't been in contact with . . ?" She stopped, unwilling to say the name. "He hasn't . . . ?"

"What? No!" Sara looked around, checking for eavesdroppers, aghast that her friend would even think that. She didn't see any agents closing in, ready to question her. Relieved, she continued.

"We talked, the night before the hearing started," she explained. "We talked almost the whole night long." Sara smiled at the memory. "We told each other a lot of truths that night. Neal really isn't the man we all think he is." She looked down, twisting the phalanx of bangles around her wrist. "Most of his adult life has been one huge misdirect," she continued.

"Sara, what do you know?" Elizabeth asked urgently. "If you know something that will help, you need to tell me. Or to tell Peter."

"I don't know anything!" Sara answered defensively. "Or at least I don't know anything that would help right now." She looked off in the distance, staring at something only she could see. "There's nothing I can tell you, specifically." Her eyes returned to Elizabeth, meeting her gaze straight on. "I can tell you that he meant what he said. He didn't want to run. He wanted to stay. With me, you, Peter, June, the FBI, all of it." She reached out, impulsively taking the other woman's hand. "Elizabeth, I know he didn't want this. He must feel as lost as Peter does."

Elizabeth looked down at the hand clasping hers. She noted the short nails and the bitten cuticles, so unlike the calm, cool Sara Ellis she presented to the public. Oh, they were all suffering through this! A thought crossed her mind, and she had to ask.

"Sara, your job isn't in jeopardy too, is it?"

"No. Not really. At least I don't think so." Sara's laugh was without humor. "I suppose you could say I'm under increased scrutiny. Having the FBI interrogate you – repeatedly – doesn't do a whole lot for your reputation." She reached for her coffee, which was now cold. She looked at it, then shoved it away untouched.

"And there's nothing any of us can do about any of it," Elizabeth finished. "What a mess!" she sighed.

Sara merely nodded in agreement. There really wasn't anything else to say.

"I just wish I knew." Except that, Sara thought.

"We all do." Elizabeth looked down at her watch. "I suppose we should be getting back. Did you drive here?" she asked.

"I rented a car. I said I was going to visit friends." Sara grimaced. Unnecessary explanations imply guilt, she thought. She hoped she wouldn't be in for another round of questioning by the Marshals.

"Maybe we should do some shopping," Elizabeth suggested.

"What?" Now Sara looked at her blankly.

"Well, we each drove an hour out of town to go to a mall. It would certainly help our cover stories if we came back with something we bought." Elizabeth looked around at the stores within their line of vision.

Sara stood and picked up the cups, carrying them to the nearest trash can. "I did see Jimmy Choo as I walked in," she stated.

"Shoes, really?" Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "That's so stereotypical, ever since Sex and The City."

"I know, but I was thinking of picking up a couple of pairs of sandals." Now Sara wouldn't meet Elizabeth's eyes. "Maybe I'll take some time off; you know, get away from it all."

Elizabeth grabbed her arm. "Sara, what do you know?"

"I don't know anything," Sara assured her. "But there was one of those bobbly hula dancer dolls hidden in Neal's apartment. It probably doesn't mean anything." She looked a little sheepish. "But at least it feels like I'm doing something."

Elizabeth patted the arm she'd been holding.

"Jimmy Choo's it is."