Title: White Roses

Author: Lady Black-Malfoy

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar.

AN: In light of the ninth anniversary of 9/11 I decided to write a one-shot based during and after the tragedy. This story is not meant to be offensive, so please, do not take it that way. I was not in New York when it happened so I have not experienced it first hand and this may not be one-hundred percent accurate. I tried to get it as close as possible though, in respect to the people who were involved. It's dedicated to all the police officers, fireman, and civilians who were killed in the tragedy, along with all our servicemen and women out there. Sorry about the numbers on the bottom, but as much as I tried I just can't get rid of them.

Numb. That was the only way to describe how Neal Caffrey felt. He was kneeling on the debris-ridden sidewalk, staring at his shaking hands that were covered with dried blood, blood that wasn't his. The suit that he had been wearing was destroyed, his face was covered in a gray film of something, and his hair was a mess. None of that mattered though.

"Sir! Sir! Are you hurt?" A man's face suddenly entered his line of vision, looking concerned. Absently, Neal realized it was an officer of some kind, probably police. "Are you hurt?"

"What? No, it's not mine…" He attempted to wipe off the blood on his pants, but the action only dirtied his hands more. The gray dust was everywhere, and he tried to draw breath but ended up coughing violently. He bent over from exertion, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he clutched at his throat. One of those small plastic water bottles was quickly offered, and Neal snatched it up, greedily drinking the clear liquid. The officer produced another bottle from somewhere and waited until Neal was finished before holding it out.

"Here. Let's get that stuff off of your face," the officer said, indicating that Neal should tip his head forward. For some reason the softly spoken comment drew Neal's attention to his helper, and he paused for a moment, really looking at the officer.

The man's brown eyes were surprisingly clear as he met Neal's cloudy gray eyes. His hair was still covered in the soot, but his dark face was clean, the water having taken the worst of it off. He gestured again for Neal to bend forward, and the conman slowly complied. Moment's later cool water hit the top of his head, flowing down into his face. He raised his hands, and despite the tremors, ran them through his hair and then over his face, cleaning off the gunk.

"Thanks," he mumbled. As he wiped his hands off on his pants, he avoided looking the man in the eye. Neal knew at the moment the man was not focused on just who he was, but what he was: someone who needed help. If it had been any other time, or place, the man might have been more cautious. The thought did not make him feel relieved, rather he felt detached still.

"Can I get some help over here?" A woman's panicked voice came through the haze of debris, reaching Neal and the officer. He glanced at Neal and then placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Think you'll be okay, kid?" Worry had crept into the man's voice again, and Neal waved him off.

"I'm fine. Thank you," he said earnestly, bringing himself to meet the man's eyes when he spoke the last part. Despite the seriousness of the situation, the man acknowledged the thanks and gave Neal a soft smile. The heavy hand left his shoulder a moment later. He watched as the officer rushed off to the direction of the yell, disappearing into the gray cloud.

Seconds later, another type of panic gripped him, and he scrambled for his cell phone in his pocket. When his slippery fingers finally grasped it and he flipped it open, the screen read 50 MISSED CALLS. He swore and rushed over to a side alley. It's not that he needed privacy; he just couldn't stand to be in the silent street anymore. Dialing his voicemail, he listened to the messages in mounting horror.

'Hey sweetie. Remember, I booked plane tickets for us. The flight leaves at eight tonight, so be back by then. Love you, bye.'

'Neal, it's Kate. I really need you to pick this up. It's all over the news. Come on Neal!'

'Pick up the damn phone right now Caffrey! Pick it up!'

'Neal, answer the fucking phone! Neal!' Kate's sobbing voice echoed loudly through the speakerphone, and he slid down the wall, gripping the phone tightly. Staring at it wide eyed as another message played, sounding the same as the last one, he suddenly couldn't stand the sound of her pain anymore. His fingers flew across the keypad, dialing her current cell number. The phone didn't even ring once before she answered, her voice shaking.

"Neal? Oh my god Neal…" She whispered his name again, as if she couldn't believe whom she was talking to. As if she never expected to talk to him again.

"Kate," he simply said, at a loss of something better to say. On the other end of the line he heard her break down when she finally heard his gravelly voice. The sound of her tears brought the ones he had been holding back forward, and he let the phone slip through his limp hand. It hit the ground with a dull thud, the layer of dust protecting it from the fall. He ignored it though, instead putting his head in his hands, sobbing as the feeling returned and the world shattered around him.

It was a chilly night in New York City, and Neal Caffrey rubbed his hands together, trying to regain some feeling in his fingers. He was sitting on a park bench in Battery Park City, waiting for his FBI partner. Three white roses sat in his lap, and he put a gentle hand over the delicate flowers when a light breeze picked up, crinkling the plastic wrapper it was in. It was his first September Eleventh since he had gotten out of prison, and he was finally able to restart his familiar ritual. Usually he did it with Kate, but this year he would have to do it alone.

Or maybe not, he thought when he caught sight of FBI Agent Peter Burke striding towards him with his wife following at his side, clutching his hand. El was carrying a similar package to Neal, but with roses of different colors. As they drew closer Peter looked slightly surprised to see the flowers in Neal's hands.

"Hello El. Peter." He rose from the bench gracefully and gave Elizabeth a one armed hug, careful not to ruin the flowers. "How was dinner?"

"Hello Neal. Dinner was amazing! Thanks for picking the Casa La Femme for us. I've always wanted to try Egyptian," she said with a soft smile. They both ignored Peter's indignant 'Hey!' and Neal answered.

"You're welcome. I figured it would be much preferred over Papa's Pizza," he said, shooting Peter a look.

"Yes, yes, thank you again Neal for making my wife a happy woman. Just remember who it was that was sitting across from you at that fancy Casa La… thing," Peter finished lamely. El laughed and reached for his hand before leaning up against his chest to give him a chaste kiss.

"I'll never forget that honey," she said softly gazing into his eyes, and Neal coughed drawing the two lovebird's attention away from each other before it got too intense.

"As much as I'd love to stand here watching you two have sex with your eyes, it's cold. Do you mind saving that for the bedroom?" He grinned at Peter's blush, and El swatted at him from her position in the man's arms. The mood turned more serious, though, as the couple reluctantly broke apart with El resuming her tight grip on Peter's hand.

"Are you ready then?" the agent asked, catching Neal's eyes. He nodded his ascent and began to walk down the streetlamp lit sidewalk, the two following closely. Thankfully, the memorial site was not that far away from the park, so they didn't have too far to walk. It did give Peter some time to question his consultant. Well, it was more his wife questioning him since she seemed to be able to get more out of Neal than Peter ever could.

"Neal?" she asked quietly, "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure El," he responded just as quietly.

She glanced up at Peter and at his encouragement she questioned, "I hope you don't mind me asking, but who are your flowers for?"

"No, I don't mind El," Neal said, sighing. "I just hope your husband won't arrest me."

"That depends on what you did Neal," Peter said, flashing him a fleeting look.

Neal closed his eyes momentarily, a grimace crossing his face. El shot Peter a worried look, but he just shrugged, curious himself for the consultant's answer. He opened his eyes and started talking, softly at first but his voice gaining a bit of strength.

"It's not really something I like to talk about. The only other person who really knows about it is Kate, since she was involved. The FBI didn't even know we were in the city," he paused and glanced at Peter who motioned him to continue. The agent had a bad feeling of where this conversation was headed but he was curious.

"We had been at the end of a con; some insurance fraud scheme I had cooked up that I don't even remember what it was about anymore. The insurance office happened to be on the seventy-seventh floor of the North Tower."

El gasped and gripped her husband's hand tighter. Peter was staring at the conman in shock, even though he had expected something similar. He remembered there had been that whole September they had seemingly lost the man's trail. Although if he was honest, a simple conman like Neal had not been at the top of the Bureau's list at the time. Neal carried on with his story.

"I got a job as a receptionist, I remember that much," he said, a distant look on his face. "That morning I had just gotten in from a coffee run. There were only four of us in the office when the plane hit the building. It felt like an earthquake or a bomb hit. We had no clue what happened; it was only later that we learned it was the plane impacting."

"Oh Neal," El said, tears in her eyes. She released Peter's hand, and Neal paused in the middle of the sidewalk. When she stepped in front of him, she caught his bright eyes and reached for his empty hand, squeezing the calloused extremity. "What happened?"

"The elevators were down so we had to use the stairs," he said blankly. Peter stepped forward and put a hand on the consultant's shoulder, which seemed to give him some amount of strength. It was obvious that he hadn't spoken about it with anyone in a long time. "One of the girls had gotten hurt when a book shelf came loose from the impact and hit her in the head. I was able to stem the blood flow, but she was having trouble walking after about twenty flights. We met another group headed down, and one of the men offered to help me carry her.

"It happened after we hit the thirtieth floor. The woman passed out and we had to pause; she had been hit harder than we thought. We knew we had to keep moving though, but she was just too heavy for us to carry. Another man from the other group offered to take my place and I consented." The tears finally leaked out of the corners of his eyes, and he had to look away from El's somber face.

"They were slower than us, so they told me to get the other women to safety. I protested but eventually caved when they said they'd wait for help. We never met anyone else going down."

Peter's grip tightened on his shoulder and El reached up to gently wipe a tear away from his face.

"Do you know what happened to them?" Peter inquired kindly, watching his wife comfort Neal. They had both lost friends that day, but he couldn't imagine how hard it must have been for the con-man deciding to trade places.

"Yeah. They ah, were on the missing person's board. I recognized the pictures the next day." His voice shook slightly. "Every year since then Kate and I would place three white roses on the memorial. When I went to prison she did it by herself, and now that she's..."

El pulled the distraught Neal to her chest, meeting Peter's eyes over the man's shoulder. Her mascara was streaked and her eyes red as she held the now weeping man. Peter hated seeing his wife cry, and normally he had no clue how to handle crying women. But this time something felt different. It took him a moment to realize what it was, and when he did he was slightly unsettled. One look at the consultant's shaking shoulders though, and the unsettled feeling was replaced with sorrow for his friend. Steeling himself, he stepped forward and took the two people he realized he cared most about in the world into his arms.

"Hey, it'll be okay," he murmured, kissing El softly on the top of her head and tightening his grip on Neal as the man shook in their arms. "It'll be okay."

A petal from one of the white roses that had been in Neal's hand fluttered off, and it drew Peter's eye up before the wind quickly took it off into the night. The movement had brought his gaze towards the columns of light where the two towers once stood, and for a little while every year, stood again in remembrance.

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