This is my first White Collar Fanfic, hope it does the show justice, because I was terrified to try it out. Credit for characters goes to Jeff Eastin and the White Collar crew completely. This story line, however, belongs to me.
Neal was acting strange. And it wasn't that he was hiding something criminal, or at least, Peter didn't think he was. That famous Burke gut instinct wasn't ratcheting up his suspicion level for that reason, or at least, Peter didn't think it was. Then again, maybe he was just getting soft.
But there had been so many times he'd been wrong about Neal and had jumped to conclusions far too quickly. Of course, Neal had been involved in things, on quite a few occasions, where Peter had been right to jump to said conclusions. Neal himself was just impossible to completely figure out, as his handler had realized over the past few years.
Sighing, Peter ran his hands over his face and sat back in his chair, resting a finger on his chin as he surveyed the bullpen, watching his CI with rapt attention.
As good as the supposedly reformed con was at masking his emotions and blurring the lines that most people were defined by in their lives, even the great Neal Caffrey had his limitations.
Recently, Neal had been acting a little shy of cautious, if such a thing were possible. There was nothing outwardly wrong with the young man, no. His trademark million dollar smile still held naturally in place whenever someone passed by and greeted him, or struck up a conversation because Caffrey looked so damned forlorn when trying to deal with mortgage fraud cases one after the other. Even Diana began to feel sorry for him, Peter could tell, as the day wore on.
What had caught Peter's attention was the fact that Neal kept outrageously within his radius. Guilt gnawed at his stomach as he snuck a reluctant glance at the report he'd quietly ordered for Neal's movements for the past week. There'd been nothing that would cause the Marshals reason to be concerned. But Peter knew Neal; he wasn't just a tracking anklet code to him.
Caffrey was always on the move, always fidgeting or chatting, but always needing something to occupy him, to test him. The fact that he had adopted the strange back and forth everyday between the Bureau and his apartment at June's was more than enough to make Peter think that there must be something wrong.
He refused to believe that Neal would just give up old habits suddenly. There had to be something else.
So he watched as the ex-con attempted to focus on the dwindling supply of mortgage fraud files on his desk, clearly determined to not be distracted for at least a little while longer.
Peter couldn't tear his prying eyes off of his friend, not until he resolved that, if Neal were troubled in any way, Neal would come to him. They had gotten to that point by now, right?
The week prior, a local crime syndicate run by brothers had allegedly begun an illegal operation in replicating US dollar bills. That much, the Bureau knew. They hadn't quite mastered the skill, and were looking for someone who could. That was Neal's in. The take down had gone smoothly, without a hitch, and after a couple of days on edge undercover, he hadn't even had his life threatened once. There had been no need for the cavalry to bust in, guns blazing, to save his life.
Peter had let him head home early and get some rest. Even Diana had joked a grudging job well done. Jones had simply slapped him on the back and headed back to the office to handle paperwork.
And Neal wanted to relax, but as the brothers were led away, the tension didn't leave him, something still nagged at the edge of his conscience. The whole thing had been a little too clean, a little too easy.
"You're starting to sound like Mozzie," he berated himself under his breath before he headed home.
Since then, he'd taken it easy and played it safe, but he couldn't brush off the feeling that he was being watched.