White Collar: In My Veins

Disclaimer: White Collar and all of its characters and locations, etc. belong to their respective owners; I'm just borrowing. No copyright infringement intended! (though I would be deeply proud to work on this show)

Author's Note: This story came out of a Neal argument that I wrote immediately following two of the longest, most draining days of work that I've ever experienced. When I'd finished I realized that I wanted to know WHY he was in that place, so I went back to the beginning and wrote around that. This is also one of the most difficult pieces that I've ever written.

Many thanks to my dear, dear friend and White Collar co-conspirator Drama Queen of Whump over on the Psychfic forums; she was with me through this entire project and has helped me more than I can say. Also, to Jenn1984 here, who read through this when it was done and helped me with flow and things. Truly don't know what I'd do without these girls.

Oh, and this is set somewhere after season 3, assuming that the whole cliffhanger thing works out (which it will because otherwise there wouldn't be a show).

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CHAPTER ONE: Caffrey Turned Right

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Peter Burke enjoyed breakfast. He remembered describing it once as "this crazy ritual I do every morning when I sit down with my lovely wife and my delicious cereal, and no thoughts of Neal Caffrey." At least, he thought he'd said that. No, he had definitely said that. So why was the blue-eyed menace of a man once again interrupting him with a smile that was far too friendly, and a worrying look in his eyes?

He glanced at Elizabeth, who just shrugged and took another bite of her breakfast. With a sigh, he turned back to his friend. "Spit it out, Neal. What do you want?"

"Want?" Neal repeated, chuckling. "What makes you think that I want anything?"

"You're interrupting my breakfast, Neal; don't screw with me. What's up?"

"Nothing!" he insisted. "Actually, I was wondering if I could have a few days off."

"Why?"

"I thought you'd like that! A weekend where you get to do whatever you want - work cases I'm not allowed to touch, spend time with your utterly ravishing wife," he winked at Elizabeth, who blushed and grinned, "and best of all, I won't be around for breakfast again until at least Monday."

Peter narrowed his eyes. "You're pitching this way too hard," he decided. "I don't like it."

Neal sat back and threw his hands in the air. "There's no pleasing you sometimes!" he complained. "Elizabeth, please make a date with him or something so that I can take a break -"

"Hey, now don't you go turning your whining, begging, puppy-dog eyes on my wife," Peter snapped his fingers in Neal's face. "I already have a dog. Fine, fine, take the weekend off. Maybe you can use the time to catch up on some of that paperwork that you took home two weeks ago and "forgot" about."

"Peter, what is the point of a break if I'm still doing work? That's not a break."

"Not my problem." Peter took a sip of orange juice. "Look, I don't care what you do this weekend, as long as it doesn't involve you being in my house at meal-times. Okay?"

Neal grinned. "Excellent. Thank you, Peter."

"Nothing illegal, either!" Peter warned, gesturing with his cereal spoon. "I don't care how Mozzie rationalizes it."

"You have my word," Neal promised, crossing his heart in an exaggerated motion.

Peter shook his head as his friend walked out whistling, hands in his pockets. "Why do I feel like I just gave him permission to do something very stupid?"

Elizabeth touched his arm. "Honey, Neal works hard for you. How many cases have the two of you dealt with in the last month?"

"Six," Peter admitted grudgingly.

"A record in the office, if I remember correctly."

Peter sighed. "Something like that. So what?"

"So, let him have his break, and give him the benefit of the doubt. He's earned it."

"You're just saying that 'cause he told me we should have a date."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Was he wrong?" she asked.

"No..." Peter found himself grinning. "I'll take the day off."

The look of joy on his wife's face as he called Diana to tell her that she was on point for the weekend was almost enough to make him forget about Caffrey's suspicious behavior. Almost. He asked Diana to make sure someone checked up on Neal over the weekend, before hanging up the phone and offering his undivided attention to his wife.

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Neal waited until he was half of a block away from the Burke residence to drop his cheerful facade. He had his weekend, but he still wasn't sure if he was going to go through with the plans he'd been considering. Knowing he had the option made him question his own wisdom.

He debated calling Mozzie for advice, but thought the better of it; he already knew all of the things that his friend would say to him if he explained the situation. It was nothing he didn't already know, and honestly, nothing that he wanted to hear right now. He almost called Sara - was halfway through dialing her number - but couldn't bring himself to send the call. He didn't want her involved in this, either.

What Neal needed was some place to clear his head. He needed to sit and rest and think, and he wanted someplace neutral without any of the baggage that all of his normal haunts carried. Any place would do, really.

It didn't take long to find a cafe that looked quiet enough. He ordered tea instead of coffee - made no effort to flirt with the barrista - and tucked himself into a quiet back booth to run over the last twelve hours.

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He'd worked late last night. Peter had been determined to crack their current case before the weekend, and if Peter was staying late, that meant by default, Neal was staying late, too. By the time he'd made it back to June's house he was sore, tired, and his red-rimmed eyes wanted nothing more than to close for the next week.

Neal had wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep for the next few days, and if June hadn't waited up for him then maybe he would have. But she looked so troubled when he came in that he couldn't ignore it. So he sat down on the couch next to her, accepted the glass of Chardonnay that she offered, and coaxed the story out of her.

"A man came here looking for you today," she began at length. "A couple of hours ago. At first I thought that he might have been a friend of yours from the old days, and that Mozzie had sent him over; but he didn't know who I was talking about."

Neal shrugged. "I don't have many friends left from the old days," he said, "and Mozzie and Alex are the only ones who know that I'm living with you."

June nodded. "I know. And there was something about this man that I didn't like; you and Byron were stand-up criminals, but he wasn't like that. He looked dark, somehow." She sighed. "Anyways, I told him that he had the wrong house, but I could tell he didn't believe me. He told me to let you know that he'd come to see you, and he left you that." She nodded at a cream-colored envelope sitting on the coffee table. "I didn't touch it; for a while I was worried that it might be some kind of trick."

"What changed your mind?" Neal had become concerned as June had continued her story. His land-lady might not be young anymore, but her wits were as sharp as ever; if something was bothering her, he knew to take notice.

It took her longer that it should have to answer his question. "I don't think that he came looking to hurt you," she said finally.

"But you have an idea of why he did come," Neal pressed.

"I do," she nodded again. "His eyes...Neal, it was like looking at you. They were your eyes."

Silence reigned for a few minutes as Neal groped for a response. Conflicting emotions rose in his chest and nearly choked him with their intensity. Through his internal roller-coaster June stayed quiet, holding his hand and keeping him grounded. When the initial wave finally passed, Neal drew in a deep breath. "Do you really think it's him?" he asked. He didn't need to say the word for June to understand.

"I think that if you look in that envelope" she gave a pointed nod, "you'll find out."

It took more willpower than Neal had thought he possessed to do as June suggested. With trembling hands, he lifted the small envelope and slid his finger under the flap. Inside was a plain, unlined note card with several lines written in blocky, familiar handwriting. A time, a date, and a phone number. Neal stared at the card for a long moment, and he could feel June studying his face for clues. He nodded, and she sighed. "How can you tell?" she asked.

"The handwriting," Neal handed her the card. "But even without that, it's still him. The date, May 18th, that's the day that he left. It can't be a coincidence." He shook his head, trying to sort through everything that he was feeling. His eyes were drawn once again to that card. "What do I do?" he wondered out loud.

"Do?" June repeated. "I think that you should talk to him. Call him and set up a meeting, but do it on your terms. I know what that man put you through, but he is your father; he owes you an explanation, at least."

"What if I'm not ready to hear it?"

June took both of Neal's hands in hers and forced him to meet her eyes. "Then you make sure he gets what he deserves."

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Neal hadn't been able to sleep that night, after all. Endless questions and debates and ideas chased each other around his brain, making his head hurt. He'd thought that Kate's death was the hardest thing that he would ever have to deal with in his life, but he wasn't sure if he could handle this. His father was a wanted man still - the elder Caffrey had never been caught and tried for his crimes - but Neal balked at the idea of turning him in before he'd conned an apology out of him, or at least an explanation. something. A part of him, too, though, didn't want the inevitable disappointment of whatever the man would say to him.

He ran a hand through his hair, and groaned. He hated this. There were very few things in his life that Neal wasn't sure of, but his father was one of them, which he hated even more. He didn't want to be effected by this. Having lived with it for so many years, he resented the unspoken ultimatum that his father had given him with is message. Talk to me today, or never. Neal needed more than a few sleepless hours to consider the situation; it wasn't fair to expect this of him! He needed more time.

He looked up at the old-fashioned clock on the far wall. Five to nine. There were exactly three minutes left to make his choice.

Neal stood up and walked outside. In one direction, there was the way back to June's house. Home. Safety. Familiarity. In the opposite direction, at the end of the block, a payphone, and whatever else came with dialing the number on that note card in his pocket. An impossible choice.

Neal Caffrey turned right.

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A/N: Next bit should be up in a day or so. (: