A/N: This is my first White Collar fic. Unbeta'd.

Spoilers: /

Characters: Neal, Peter, Mozzie and some bad guys.

Friendly Fire

+ Present + Monday 7.45 pm

Neal didn't feel any pain when the bullet pierced his skin. It was only moments later his brain registered the burning sensation. Falling to the ground, Neal tried to breathe. It can't be this hard. Inhale. Exhale. His eyes searched for the man who had just pulled the trigger. Peter Burke's wide eyes stared back at him, the agent's gun still trained on Neal.

+ Present + Wednesday 3.14 pm

Neal Caffrey woke up to the sound of someone snoring. Turning his head to the left he found his FBI partner sleeping in what looked like an uncomfortable chair. Neal spotted an empty plastic cup on his bedside table. Silently, to make sure he didn't wake Peter, he reached for it with his left hand. It was childish, but he couldn't resist. After all, Peter deserved some form of payback. Neal threw the cup at Peter's head and didn't miss.

Peter's eyes flew open and the older man slammed his head against the window behind him. Rubbing the sore spot the FBI agent looked down at the cup and then focused on the ex-con in bed. Feeling a small twinge of guilt, he decided to let it slide… for now.

"How are you feeling?" Peter asked instead.

Neal thought about it for a few seconds. He felt… a little high.

"I'm good." Figuring he was high on painkillers, he decided he couldn't complain.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"You shot me," Neal deadpanned.

Peter didn't know if Neal's serious face was a joke or not.

"It worked didn't it?"

Dropping the serious face, Neal gave Peter a smile instead. He had to give Peter that much. Shooting that guy through him had been close to brilliant. Not that he'd say it out loud.

"Thanks, Peter."

Subconsciously, Neal tugged at the sling supporting his right arm.

"Are you sure you're okay? Is your shoulder bothering you?"

Peter had a bit of a mother hen thing going on. Neal shook his head in reply. "Shoulder's fine. It's just…"

Neal figured it was time to tell Peter why he hated guns.

+Past+ Two years before prison

Neal had been shot before. It had been a demi-accident, Mozzie's words not Neal's. Only Moz could come up with something so innocent. Neal had only agreed to call it that in order to soothe his friend's guilty conscience.

"Keep that away from me," Neal warned, not taking his eyes of Mozzie's gun.

"It's not even loaded."

"Doesn't mean I want it near me. Why do you need a gun in the first place?"

Mozzie eyed his friend, shocked. "Do I strike you as a contract killer these days? Protection of course."

True, they didn't have the safest job available and they couldn't take anything for granted. To some extent, it was a form of freedom Neal felt he'd lost. Sometimes, Neal missed the dreams he had before he became an art forger. It hadn't been the only example of why Neal hated irony. No one's truly free.

Mozzie was holding the gun now, checking the trigger.

"Don't poi-"

"I know, don't point that thing at me. The safety's on, it's completely harmless. Look, -"

Escaping the gun with a loud bang, the bullet pierced through the table and embedded itself in Neal's calf.

Neal remembered falling and Mozzie's shocked expression. No, Mozzie, the safety wasn't on and the gun was definitely loaded. He didn't remember much of the short trip after that.

Mozzie took him to a doctor, an old friend of his. In reality the man was a vet, but Mozzie would never admit that. The man could offer much needed medical assistance and that was all that mattered. Dr. Prince owed Mozzie and someone who owes Mozzie is doomed to get caught in a strange situation sooner or later.

"You shot him?"

"No questions," Mozzie reminded Prince. The short conversation they'd had over the phone had been embarrassing enough for him.

The Vet threw him a look, eyes filled with disbelief.

"Okay, help me get him on the table," the older man continued. He wouldn't dare test Moz's paranoid side.

Neal allowed the two men to move him from his spot against the wall. He wasn't in much of a position to protest even if he wanted to.

+Present+ Monday 7.36 pm

So when Neal felt the pressure of the gun against his right temple, a chill ran down his spine. He hated guns, really really hated guns.

It was supposed to be an easy case, a walk-in-the-park undercover thing. Of course they hadn't counted on one of the criminals recognizing Neal. The young ex-con felt he was in trouble as soon as one of the goons started whispering. Their boss didn't need any convincing and aimed his gun.

Neal was too close, he couldn't make a run for it. He could only hope that Peter would show up and soon, he knew they were listening.

"Now's not the time to make hasty decisions here." The distress part was obvious, but Neal couldn't help saying the magic words anyway. He felt caught and a little desperate.

Any time now, Peter.

"FBI! Drop the gun!"

Neal could've breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Peter's face, if not for the thug boss grabbing him and pressing a gun against his head. It happened in a matter of seconds, Neal didn't even have time to move or feel stupid for not getting down.

Peter was here to save his ass… again. He trusted the man more than anyone he'd ever known. The agent would not let him down.

When Peter fired his gun, Neal was surprised that he was the one going down.

+Present+ Wednesday 4.22 pm

"Oh," was all Peter could manage. "So you and Mozzie-"

"Have a bit of a strange bond," Neal admitted. "But I know he's there when I need him."

"And the other way around." Peter nodded. "That's why you don't like guns?"

"Guns mean violence. Violence holds nothing, it's empty."

Peter felt the need to change the subject. "That still doesn't explain where you learned to shoot like that."

Neal could only appreciate Peter's attempt at lightening the mood. "Can't have everything in one day, Peter."

A moment of silence fell, leaving the partners lost in thought.

"You shot me," Neal repeated his earlier words.

Peter smiled. "You're welcome."

The End