Disclaimer: Here's my take on what happened between the Season 1 finale and Season 2. I do not own White Collar or its characters. This is a non-profit, made-for-fun fanfiction because I'm bored.
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They would find him any time now. He knew. The second hand on his wristwatch ticked incessantly, counting down to the moment that silver handcuffs would become his bracelets and a 6 by 8 his home for the next few...days? weeks? years? It didn't intimidate him now like it used to. Maybe that was because he'd spent 3 years and 7 months in a cell before he went all Prison Break. Oh yes, he remembered how long he'd been in there.
But why didn't he break out earlier? He frowned and downed another shot of scotch on the rocks. His frowned deepened. Tasted like water. He lifted his emptied glass to the bartender, "You have Crown Royal?"
"No mixers?" the bartender said.
"Nope."
The bartender shook his head, "Nah, pal. Why don't you head on home for the night?"
"Crown. Royal. Please."
The bartender shrugged, took the emptied glass and filled it up, sliding it across the bar to the dark-haired man who looked completely wasted.
"Where do you live?" the bartender said.
No answer.
The bartender tried again. "Got someone to get you home?" No reply. "I can call you a cab." No reply. "Bad day, huh?"
The empty glass slammed on the counter top. The dark-haired man with the shaky voice said, "You have no fucking idea."
"Caffrey!" Someone else shouted. Male.
The bartender looked up as a man in a suit flashed him an ID with a badge, gun in its shoulder holster. The bartender lifted both hands, "Nah man. I'm not Caffrey. I've got a license to work here. Ain't nobody in the back doin' shady business either. You can look."
"I'm not looking for you," the man in the suit said, turning to the wasted figure of Neal Caffrey. "I'm looking for him."
"Pee-uhhhr?" Slurred words. Didn't sound a bit like English.
"Yeah," Peter Burke said. "Let's get you home."
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TBC
