A/N: So this is my first venture into the WC fandom. I'm active on the boards at usanetwork and have been reading the fanfic for a while now, have started to write at least three of these things but this is the first that I actually finished. So, this was inspired by a song called Let That Be Enough by Switchfoot, hence the title. But the Alternative title was Good Friends and Good Brandy...so, yeah. That's where this is going. I adore the character June and I think the friends/grandmother thing they have going is such a refreshing pairing for tv right now. So I, of course, had to go into it. Enjoy! -pj

"Neal," June was a bit startled to see someone sitting at the dining room table so late at night. She reached out to turn on a small lamp in the corner of the room, lighting it enough so that she could just barely make out his hunched figure in one of the cherry wood chairs, "you're not usually awake this late."

Neal was leaned over the table staring at an empty glass in front of him. June didn't have to wonder at what had probably been in it. He turned slightly when she said his name and the corner of his mouth went up in a sad imitation of his usually bright smile.

"Or if you are, you're never down here," she continued quietly, not wanting to pry, but not able to deny her curiosity completely.

Neal nodded and ran a hand through his hair as his gaze traveled back to the table. From the looks of his unkempt curls, he'd been doing that a lot that night, "yeah, sorry."

"No please, don't apologize," June smiled warmly as she retied her housecoat around her waist, padding across the antique Persian rug to a small dining cart by the wall, "I often come down for tea when I can't sleep and would love some company. Louisa makes a fresh pot before she goes to bed each night, care for some?"

She reached for the delicate china on the cart and Neal bit back a comment about preferring a bit of Chateau instead, or maybe a bottle.

"Sure, sounds great." He said, though his voice didn't back his words.

June watched Neal closely under the guise of preparing their tea. The young man, usually so impeccably dressed and well kept, looked as if he hadn't slept a single moment that night. His hair was mussed and his eyes glazed, his fingers playing absently with the silk of his pajamas. She liked Neal very much, trusted him as much as one could trust a man they'd known for less than a year. But she also knew him to be intensely private, mostly for her good she imagined, and he rarely spent time outside of his studio upstairs.

For him to have ventured out into the common area of the house looking as tired and, if pressed to describe it, vulnerable, as he did, she thought something must have really been bothering him.

She placed the small cup in front of him and he blinked, glancing up to smile his thanks and she was again struck by the tightness of the gesture. His smile usually came to him so easily. One of his most valuable assets she would guess.

"So?" she said finally, sitting down so there was one chair between them and they both barely fell into the dim light of the lamp. He looked up curiously and she dipped her chin, sipping her tea carefully. "What seems to be the problem?"

Neal's eyes flicked toward her with a hint of the mischief she was used to seeing, "what makes you think there is a problem?"

June raised an eyebrow, her cup held delicately between her slender fingers.

Neal sighed, realizing how obvious it must have been. He adored June, but he didn't honestly spend time with her that often. He sat back in his chair and ran another hand through his hair, his eyes glazing over with a blank, haunted look June disliked.

June, seeing his reaction, decided to try a different tac, "having trouble sleeping? Nightmares?"

Neal looked up and she could see the muscles in his jaw flexing, the gears in his head working. But then, that was Neal. Always thinking, calculating, five steps ahead of everyone else but always running as if afraid of falling behind. Byron had been like that too.

"Something like that," he said, the timbre of his voice low with sleep. He swallowed a few times, absently turning his cup round and round on the saucer, "You ever miss somebody so much…" he paused and June froze, she hadn't expected the depth of emotion in his voice, "so much it hurts? It hurts to even breathe?"

His eyes flicked to her a few times, as if uncertain if he should have revealed so much. If it was enough. How she would react.

June took another slip and then set the cup down carefully on the saucer, buying herself a few moments to compose her thoughts, "when I lost Byron," she began quietly, studying the ripples in the brownish liquid, "I wasn't ready. I thought we'd be together…forever," she looked up, Neal's eyes were locked on hers, "for months after that I had to sleep with a fan or television on because the bedroom was too quiet with only my breathing in it. It only served to remind me that he was gone."

Neal's chest ached with understanding, with the want to shed tears June was now fighting. He nodded, averting his gaze in hopes of keeping some composure.

"Sometimes I'll dream that she's come back. That she's there beside me, you know?" he glanced up, but quickly looked back down again. His leg bounced and he fought not to tap his fingers, fidgeting came naturally when he was uncomfortable, a job hazard he'd worked for years to break, "and sometimes I'll dream that I'm back inside and I'm still four years away from touching her face," he stopped to clear his voice and smiled bitterly, "I don't know what's worse."

He finally looked up and June caught her breath. It had taken years for her to get over losing Byron, but she remembered what it was like when it was still fresh. She would not have gone back to that for anything in the world.

"It will get easier Neal. I promise." She said quietly, her voice full of sadness.

Neal just nodded, his eyes dropping back down to the table. His mouth suddenly felt dry and he sipped his tea.

"Peter thinks she's conning me. Moz too," he said after a moment, "that she wants something-" he paused, "something she thinks I've got."

June ignored the coy wording, "and do you beleive that?""

"No," he said immediatly, then, a bit slower, "I don't know." Guilt seeped into his chest at finally voicing the words aloud, "sometimes I wonder. There's just so many things that don't add up," he shrugged, "then sometimes I just don't care. I just...I just want her back."

June sighed, setting her chin on her hand.

The bitter smile came back on his lips, "You know, four years in the SuperMax…you'd think I'd be used to being alone," he said, then flushed deeply. Perhaps he'd drunk more than he thought, "I just…"

"You want someone." June finished, reaching for his hand. It was trembling just a bit and she squeezed.

Neal shook his head. "Not someone. Her." He dropped his gaze back to the cup and turned his hand to grasp her fingers.

June gave him a sympathetic smile and one last encouraging squeeze of his hand, "do you want me to stay?"

Neal sighed and swallowed hard, "Could you? I mean I don't want to keep you up-"

"Never mind that," she cut him off with another smile and stood, "care for some more tea?"

Neal started to say 'yes' and then, "Got any Chateau?"

She shook her head, "no…but I do have a bottle of 1945 Cognac in the kitchen. Should I find us a couple glasses?"

Neal smiled fully for the first time that evening, "skip the glasses?"

June had disappeared through the swinging door into the kitchen, but her melodic voice carried back out to him, "pace yourself Mr. Caffrey."

"Not in my vocabulary, I'm afraid Ms. Carroll," he called back. He laughed quietly at whatever smart comment she'd shot back and waited for her return, his chest feeling just a little bit lighter. He knew he wouldn't get to sleep again that night, but that prospect suddenly seemed a little bit easier to bear.

And, for tonight, he let that be enough.

END - thanks for reading and drop me a line if you might. I mean, the button is right there...^_^