A/N: This story is for Flappie Dungeon, who insisted that I write another crossover for White Collar and Burn Notice. Nothing belongs to me; no, not even the idea for the story, because Flappie Dungeon was the one who suggested that Peter, Elizabeth and Neal go on a holiday and meet Michael and Fiona. Enjoy! However, I must warn you that it has no plot. You have been duly cautioned. :)

Friends in Miami

"Hey, hun! I'm home." Peter kissed his wife on the cheek as Satchmo barked loudly. "Hi, Satchmo. Have you been a good dog today?"

"Woof!"

"Honey, I have something to tell you."

Peter turned his attention from his dog to his pretty wife. "What is it?" He could see that she was clearly excited over something.

"Well, you remember that contest that I joined a couple of weeks ago?"

"Yeah, and?"

"Guess who won? I'll give you a tip: she's right in front of you."

"You did?" Peter enveloped Elizabeth in a bear hug. "Congratulations! So what's the prize?"

"An all-expense paid trip for four to the Sunshine State!"

"Four?" Peter's furrowed brow was an obvious indication of his bewilderment. "Who else is coming?"

"I was thinking that Neal could use a break as well—"

"No, no, no, no, no," Peter protested vehemently while shaking his head with each successive 'no'. "I will not have him anywhere near us on our holiday. I don't want him within a hundred miles of Miami. I want him to stay right here in New York, within his two-mile radius."

Elizabeth looked at Peter reproachfully. "Honey, think about it. Neal hasn't been on a holiday since you caught him—"

"Yes, because he's a convicted felon who wears a tracking anklet!" Peter broke in again.

"You know that he's been stressed out lately," reasoned Elizabeth. "This will be good for the both of you. Besides, if Neal didn't come with us on our trip, you'd be worrying about what he might be up to throughout the entire week."

"Great. Just what I need: more Neal. But, El—"

"No more 'buts', Peter." Elizabeth put a finger to his lips.

"Hey, Peter!" Neal greeted Peter cheerfully as Peter walked out of the elevator.

"Hi, Neal," answered Peter with far less enthusiasm.

"So, when will we be leaving for Miami?" Neal sounded like an excited child who had never been on a holiday before.

Peter glared at Neal. "Next Monday. Is Mozzie coming?"

"Yes, he is. He didn't like to say no to Elizabeth when she asked, even though he'd prefer to stay in New York."

Peter groaned inwardly as he opened the door to his office.

"I can't wait," Neal continued. "I haven't been on a holiday in ages."

"Yes, and that's because you're a criminal who belongs behind bars!"

"Ouch, Peter. That hurt."

Peter looked at Neal balefully.

"Look, I'm sorry if you think that I'm ruining your holiday, but for the record, I wasn't the one who had the idea in the first place."

"Don't you have work to do?"

Neal raised his hands in mock surrender as he exited Peter's office.

"It's hot here," Mozzie complained.

The sun was blazing merrily away in the cerulean blue sky overhead, and the sidewalk was crowded with sightseers and beachgoers in scanty articles of clothing.

Neal stood on the pavement, gazing appreciatively at all the pretty blondes and brunettes clad in swimwear that surrounded him.

"Neal!" summoned Peter. "Come over here and make yourself useful. Help me to carry these suitcases up to our rooms."

"Doesn't the hotel have porters for that?" asked Neal, with a slight tinge of annoyance.

"I have something better," retorted Peter. "I have you."

Neal's jaw dropped open at Peter's unkind remark.

"Honey, you shouldn't say things like that," chided Elizabeth. "Apologize to Neal."

"What? I don't wanna apologize to him."

"Say you're sorry, Peter," Elizabeth prodded.

Peter exhaled loudly and muttered, "Fine. I'm sorry."

"I forgive you," replied Neal magnanimously, although Peter's tone had obviously indicated that he was the furthest thing from being contrite.

"Now cheer up, and let's go get some drinks at the bar, alright?"

"It's a hot day, Mikey. I could sure use a Mojito right now." Sam sat down in a chair opposite Michael at their usual table in Carlito's.

"You can always use a Mojito, Sam."

Sam chuckled. "True."

"So, you have a job for me?" asked Michael, while leaning forward and removing his aviators.

"Yeah. My lady friend has this other friend who's in trouble, and she asked me if I could help out. Of course I said yes, but the problem is that it's a two-man job, Mikey, and I was wondering if you could lend me your expertise."

"What's this I hear about a two-man job?" inquired Fiona, as she slipped into the seat next to Michael.

"Nothing Mikey and I can't handle," was Sam's confident response.

"Well, if it involves any guns or C4, be sure to let me know."

At that moment, Peter and Elizabeth Burke walked past. When Peter heard what Fiona had said, he froze in his tracks. However, before he could even turn around or open his mouth, Elizabeth pulled his arm.

"Keep walking, honey. You're not on duty."

"But—"

"You're on a holiday, Peter. You need to relax. She was probably kidding."

Peter remained unconvinced. "She might have meant it. And anyway, it doesn't feel like a holiday with Neal and Mozzie here."

"They're our friends, honey," said Elizabeth, as the four of them took their seats at the bar.

They ordered some drinks, and chatted about what to do for the rest of the afternoon. Just then, Fiona left her seat and walked over to the bar. As soon as Neal spotted her, he flashed his most charming smile at her.

"Hello."

"Hi."

"Can I buy you a drink?" queried Neal, with the same dazzliing smile etched on his chiselled face.

"Sure."

"My name's Neal. Neal Caffrey. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I'm Fiona Glenanne."

"That's a really nice name." Neal smiled yet again; completely unaware of the fact that Fiona was utterly impervious to his charms. "So what would you like to drink?" Neal gestured at the bar.

"I'll have what you're having. Is it good?"

"It is pretty good, yeah." After ordering another glass for Fiona, he asked, "So, what brings you to Miami?"

"I live here, actually. I'm guessing you're not from around here. Am I right?"

"You are, indeed. I'm from New York. These are my friends." Neal swivelled around to introduce Peter, Elizabeth and Mozzie to Fiona, but they were gone. "That's odd."

"You should probably go and look for them," suggested Fiona.

"Yeah, I should. I wouldn't want to be lost in Miami. I had a really nice time talking to you, Fiona. Is there any chance that we could continue this conversation?"

"I wouldn't bet on it."

"Could I give you a call later?"

"That's a good idea. Let me give you my number." Fiona unzipped her bag and rifled through its contents. Neal espied a cell phone, some lipstick, a few bobby pins, a gun and a roll of duct tape. Neal stared at the weapon in horror. He had never been very partial to guns.

After a while, Fiona finally found what she was looking for: a piece of paper and a pen. She hastily scribbled her name and her number on the sheet of paper, and handed the paper to Neal. "Call me." Then, she turned on her heel and walked back to the table where Sam and Michael were discussing the details of the job.

"Someone asked me for my number," Fiona informed Michael.

"Who?" Michael questioned indignantly.

"That handsome man leaving the bar." Fiona waved at Neal as he walked past.

"Did you give it to him?" demanded Michael.

"Yes."

"Fi!" Michael remonstrated.

"What? I showed him the gun in my handbag. I doubt he'll be calling me anytime soon. Why do you ask? Are you jealous?"

"No, of course not; why would I be?" Michael responded, with a good attempt at nonchalance.

Fiona narrowed her eyes at Michael as he gave her his biggest grin.

Under his wife's soothing influence, Peter managed to relax for the rest of the trip. Neal behaved himself and gave no cause for worry, which also happened to be a great help. Peter even relented to the point where he quit darting malevolent glares at Neal for purportedly ruining his holiday.

When they returned to the office the morning after getting back from Miami, Neal asked Peter if he had enjoyed himself for the past week.

"More than I'd expected, with you and Mozzie there. What about you? I'm sure you met many people."

"I did. There was this woman who gave me her number, but I never called her," Neal mused.

"Why, wasn't she pretty enough?"

"She was very pretty, but she had a gun in her bag. And you know how I feel about guns."

Peter's ears pricked up. "A gun? Did she have a license for it?"

"I wouldn't know, Peter. I never asked her. It's not exactly the kind of thing that you ask a person when you first meet them. 'Hey, can I have your number? And oh, do you have a permit for that firearm?'"

"I would."

Neal sighed in exasperation. "Anyway, thanks for inviting me along on the trip. I had fun, Peter."

"Believe me, if I had my way, you would have stayed right here in New York. You have El to thank for that. But I had fun too," Peter admitted.

As Peter watched Neal walk out of his office, something that Neal had once said crossed Peter's mind.

"Out of all the people in my life... you're the only one I trust."

Maybe, just maybe, Peter could help Neal to become a better person; to leave behind his former life as a conman; to make wiser decisions in life. Undoubtedly, their relationship was not founded on mutual trust and confidence. After all, Neal had never been known for his honesty. However, what was that saying that Peter had heard somewhere before? Wasn't it something along the lines of "the only way to make a man trustworthy is to trust him"? Maybe Peter should start believing in Neal for a change, instead of constantly attributing fictitious thoughts and intentions to him.

Peter left his office and walked over to Neal's desk. "Hey, Elizabeth and I plan on going out for dinner this Friday. We're inviting a couple of friends to join us. Do you want to come?"

"Of course I would!" was Neal's positive reply.

It was a small step, Peter thought to himself. But it was a step, nonetheless.