A quite tiny oneshot, set early in Season 2. As indicated in the summary, it contains spoilers for the Season 1 finale, and I guess for Season 2 too, since that's when it happens.

Not sure what to think about this...it didn't turn out the way I wanted it to, but it didn't go completely wrong either. Well, anyway, enjoy, and I'd love to hear what you think.

Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar.

Doubts Gone Down

"Thank you for this," Neal Caffrey said earnestly, handing Agent Peter Burke a thin black rectangle of FBI identification. Peter flipped it open and a photograph of a young, dark-haired man with bright blue eyes stared out at him – but not quite as bright as they were now, gleaming with moisture, churning with feeling.

Peter shook his head, denial and disbelief written all over his easygoing features. He looked at Neal, who met his eyes for just a moment before turning away with a hurriedly emphatic, "I gotta go."

"You said good-bye to everyone but me," Peter fired suddenly at the conman's retreating back. Neal slowed, then stopped, all within the space of a second, but didn't turn around until the agent forced a response with a curt, "Why?"

Neal shrugged, his attempt to be casual brought down by the pained seriousness scrunching up his expression. "I dunno."

"Yeah, you do. Tell me." Peter was inexorable.

"I don't know, Peter - "

"Why?"

"You know why -"

But Peter Burke was used to Neal Caffrey and his excuses and his alibis, and they both knew it. "Tell me."

The two men stared at each for a brief, long moment, and then Neal surrendered angrily, off-balance and riled-up after the exchange. "'Cause you're the only one who could change my mind."

He'd been trying to look anywhere but at Peter before, but now his glistening blue gaze searched Peter`s honest, open brown one, desperately seeking something. The harsh lines on the older man`s face softened slightly as he asked steadily, "Did I?"

Shifting his weight from side to side in highly uncharacteristic nervousness, Neal twisted his neck to look at the airplane swallowing the runway behind him, his elegantly mussed dark hair blowing in the wind, then turned back to Peter, his mouth open as if some part of him did want to answer. Then he looked toward the plane once again, his body following his head this time, and he started to walk away. But his steps were uneven, less brisk this time, less confident.

Then he stopped, rocking back on his heels, and he turned yet again, seeming almost helpless not to. But when he spoke again, there was a decision in his narrowed eyes, in the set of his mouth as his lips formed the word that had so quickly, so naturally become a staple in his vocabulary. "Peter."

A trickle of hope bled through Peter's controlled façade.

Neal swallowed but didn't blink. "I'm going. Kate…Kate is…this is what I want, what I've been working for. I'm going, Peter."

The agent's eyes widened even as his expression shuttered, drawing himself back slightly as his consultant, his friend, turned for the last time, became smaller and smaller in the distance as he strode forward rapidly and reached the plane.

Not once did he so much as glance back.

Neal Caffrey bolted upright in bed, tangling his legs in the sheets as he thrashed in panic for a moment before relaxing slowly, gradually recognizing the softness of sheets underneath him rather than hard pavement, warm room-temperature air instead of skin-biting wind. But even as his racing heart calmed itself, he could feel the shape of the words on his jaw, the way they tasted on his tongue.

"I'm going. Kate…Kate is…this is what I want, what I've been working for. I'm going, Peter."

Somehow, the flavour was bittersweet, leaving his throat constricted, his mouth dry. He reached up and rubbed his face with both hands, inhaling deeply.

It was almost time for him to get up, anyway. He climbed lithely out of bed and dressed more distractedly than usual, casting his shirt, pants and tie only a cursory glance to make sure they didn't clash. Once clothed, he prowled the apartment restlessly, tapping his fingers on the counter, settling on the couch for a minute and then jumping up to pace, then repeating the cycle. Outside of heists he wasn't exactly renowned for his patience, but this was excessive even for him. But why, why was that?

He envisioned the look on Peter's face when he'd said, "I'm going," and suddenly the bittersweet taste was all bitter. It was only a dream – although he was having a harder time persuading himself of that than logic dictated he should – but still, he wished he'd added something, something about him and Peter that would have made things okay; he wished Peter had said something else, too. He wished he'd looked back, just once, just one last time. In fact, it kind of killed him that he hadn't.

"It was just a nightmare, just a nightmare," he found himself chanting tunelessly, trying to calm down. But even that only frustrated him more. That hadn't been a nightmare, had it? He'd been about to leave for Kate, for a new life, the plane hadn't exploded – he flinched violently at that thought - he'd been on the path to freedom. That was what he wanted, was what he'd been working for. It shouldn't be scary or disturbing or feel so wrong.

Yet here he was, breathing like he'd just taken a crisp walk, fiddling with his suit like a student at his first job. Neal Caffrey excelled at fooling people, and those people did sometimes include Neal Caffrey himself, but even he couldn't deny that those symptoms did not point to a good dream.

That morning at breakfast, June asked him three times if he was all right (and he didn't hear her once), the wonderful food sat unpleasantly on top of a knotted stomach, and he spilled his Italian coffee.

Agent Peter Burke jerked upright so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash, the whole mattress lumping up under his sudden weight shift. Next to him, Elizabeth rolled over with a sigh, her fingers clumsily grazing his hip. "Honey, are you okay?" she slurred sleepily.

Elizabeth. Right, Elizabeth. Peter drew in a sharp breath and exhaled heavily, hastening to quietly reassuring her. "I'm fine, El. Sorry I woke you."

She let out a drowsy murmur of "I love you", half-open eyes fluttering shut. Peter waited tactfully for her to fall deeply asleep again before carefully rising and leaving the bedroom. If there was anything in the universe that would have him wide awake in milliseconds, it was Neal Caffrey. That hadn't even been the first nightmare he'd ever had that involved Neal. It was just that most of the times his nightmares weren't so…close to reality. After all, if that plane had waited just another minute to blow up, that might have been exactly the way things would have gone down. And if he hadn't been aware before of just how much that prospect terrified him, he was now.

He put some coffee on, leaning against the kitchen counter and frowning. He had no business being so perturbed by this. Neal was a grown man, a capable one at that, entitled to making his own choices, even if they occasionally fell outside of the law. If he wanted to get on that plane, he was getting on that plane, and Peter couldn't stop him. But he'd had to try.

He just wasn't sure he'd succeeded.

He thought of the sincerity Neal had put into that charged phrase: "'Cause you're the only one who could change my mind." He knew lately Neal had begun to make more and more of an effort to level with him, and he appreciated it, but he had to say, he'd never believed Neal quite so much before as he had in that one moment. He wasn't stupid, he wasn't kidding himself – Neal had meant that, he really had. Neal had a lot of faith in Peter's power, even over Neal himself.

But Peter had already been questioning how well he'd lived up to that faith, then and before and now, and the dream – nightmare - had only multiplied his doubts by a thousand.

He poured himself the coffee, the hot liquid merely ramping up the slight sick feeling in his gut that watching Neal walk away from him like that had brought. He shouldn't have expected Neal to choose him, the FBI Agent keeping him on a leash, over Kate, the woman he loved. But damn, it had hurt – it still burned inside him a little, and it hadn't even been real.

He drained his coffee and departed in search of his suit, firmly telling himself that even if he had failed, or at least been about to fail, to persuade Neal of the value in sticking to his legitimate life here, he'd been granted another chance. He'd do whatever it took to get Neal's heart, not just his head, in this job. It was already halfway there, he could feel it. And now more than ever, he was convinced that Neal Caffrey was worth the trouble.

"Morning, Neal," Peter said gruffly as he stepped into the office, but instead of sweeping on by as usual, he stopped in the doorway, intently scrutinizing Neal.

Something flickered in those bright blue eyes, but they never lost their sparkle. The young man greeted him with a brilliant smile, and just because there might be a little something hiding behind it – this was Neal Caffrey they were talking about, when wasn't there? – didn't mean it wasn't genuine. "Good morning, Peter."

Unable to keep his lips from quirking up minutely in response, Peter turned away quickly as if nothing had happened, taking in the files neatly spread out in front of Neal. "Got anything new for me?"

Neal's smile hadn't faded one bit, taking on just a touch of smugness now. "You know, I think I might."

And as they sat down and put their heads together over the papers, solving a case with some banter and snide anklet comments in between, settling comfortably into their routine, the agent and the ex-con reflected that sometimes, a nightmare was just a nightmare.