Summary: Neal Caffrey hates hospitals. Set during the episode "Burke's Seven". AU. Minor spoilers (for who the gunner was).

Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar or any of the characters. Oh and although the title was inspired by a line in this actual fic, it is also similar to Eva Ibbotson's novel "In the Company of Swans", which I also do not own.

Note: This fandom roped me back in with that last episode. I'm working on a couple more fanfics (and in other fandoms as well) but I've got a couple nice ones planned for our beloved Neal Caffrey. Enjoy!

Zwei Note: Special thanks to TJ-TeeJay for pointing out an important spelling mistake. The story has been revised to fix that change.

…

In the Company of Friends

A White Collar Oneshot by: Lost-Remembrance (Red Tail)

…

"Mozzie wasn't the intended target. FBI Agent Peter Burke didn't know how he didn't see it coming beforehand: Caffrey had some sort of bad luck attached to him that just drew trouble to him like a moth to flame.

Of course it was Neal Caffrey. After everything he had been through, Peter felt like slapping himself for not realizing it sooner. Almost ever single thing that

Mozzie was still shacked up in the hospital despite his verbose protests and unsuccessful escape attempts. Luckily a fiery little brunette had charmed Mozzie enough to (grudgingly) stay until the doctors felt safe enough to release him.

And now Neal was missing. Great. Why was it always Mondays?

…

Neal Caffrey, con man extraordinaire, really didn't plan to get into half the situations he managed to get wrapped up in. He blamed it on his charming charisma and wonderful personality. Everyone just couldn't get enough of him. Peter, when he had heard this, retorted that is was actually his inability to shut his mouth and aggravate their suspects that got him into trouble. Neal preferred his hypothesis.

Neal honestly didn't mean to end up in the situation he found himself in. He had everything prepared in his mind, a clear set of steps and a masterful sting. Then Julian Larssen had started tailing him.

Neal thought he had the situation under control, but then Julian turned the tables when he turned his wrist, lifted his arm, and spun free from Caffrey's seemingly steady hold. Then Larssen lifted his forearm, nestling it tightly into Neal's throat all within seconds.

"Tell you FBI friends to back off." Larssen growled, anger evident in his limbs. Neal's own fury grew as he caught sight of the person who pulled the trigger and landed Mozzie, his closest friend, in the hospital. "They're making it very difficult to leave the city and that just won't do." Larssen continued to growl out threats and offers of the one who ordered the hit on Mozzie.

Neal's stomach clenched at the thought of someone ordering Mozzie's death. The short bald man rarely made waves with anyone. He had offered his services of some sort at some point of his life for various con artists around the world. His friendship was highly valued to Neal—and nothing, not even the name of Kate's killer, would be able to change his decision.

"Never." Neal spat out after Julian finished proposing his deal to the suave conman.

"Well, that simply won't do. I have my orders and I may not be stupid enough to not obey them," Neal felt a spark of confusion at these words, wondering just what Larssen was talking about, "but that doesn't mean I can't express my frustration." He lifted one shoulder, as if shrugging in apology before a feral grin crossed the older man's face. Neal felt a stab of white-hot pain slice through his body. Larssen pulled his hand away and Neal fell forward, collapsing against Julian.

The hitman lent down, tilting his head to whisper into Neal's ear, "You should have taken the deal," he hissed, "blood loss and trauma does crazy things to the human mind. Too bad New York is notorious for armed robberies and assaults… Poor Neal." Gently, with almost tenderly affection, Julian positioned Neal on the ground, pulling out his wallet enough that it was in visible sight.

Neal's eyes were wide and sightless with pain. Julian walked away, pulling the leather gloves off of his fingers and stuffing them into his pocket. He strolled past a rather scruffy looking man. After the man let out a cry of surprise, he knew the man discovered Neal's crumbled form, sprawled on the ground with blood slowly seeping out of the knife. Hopefully the man wouldn't be foolish enough to remove the knife or touch the wound. Julian walked up to a payphone and shifted his pitch, calling in an anonymous tip just in case the man was too high on whatever substances were flowing through his veins to call the police while he was rummaging for any cash.

He hung up the phone before they could trace the line and ignored other orders of the operator to stay on the line and give his name and phone number. He rolled his eyes.

He pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open. He had things to do. Hopefully Neal would learn his lesson and stay out of the situation if he knew what was best for him.

…

Neal hated hospitals. They were places of death, invalids, and sterile environments free of earthly delights. The food was bland and often in some form of gelatin. They didn't cater the delights every human should have at their disposal; good coffee and fine wine at the bare minimum.

Then again, not everyone had the same champagne tastes as Neal. He didn't hide the fact that he preferred finer things and the life of the rich and fabulous. He liked to consider himself one at times.

Another reason why Neal hated hospitals: it seemed that he was never able to keep his thoughts collected and specific when he was lying in a hospital bed. Maybe it was the plan walls or the drugs that often had funny side effects on him, but either way Neal disliked being unable to properly conduct his mind to meaningful tasks. He couldn't formulate an escape while he was doped up on pain meds, could he?

Well, there was that one time…

Neal groaned in frustration. He blinked his eyes open after he resigned himself to the fact that he was indeed in a hospital and it wasn't just a nightmare. His eyes felt crusted together and he knew, between his dry mouth and the starchy sheets on top of him and beneath him that he also looked like hell. He let his eyes flutter shut. They felt like they weighed a ton each. There was no point in trying to fight the effort to keep his eyes open.

The lights were too damn bright anyway. And what was with that annoying beeping? Couldn't they turn down the volume of that thing? Just a little bit? People were trying to sleep here after all.

The brunette didn't land in hospitals often. Here or there he had managed to be admitted under one of his aliases (which was promptly burned shortly thereafter), but mostly he made by with short emergency room visits. His line of work was dangerous, but it wasn't as dangerous as the special ops. Sometimes a con went south and he was nicked with a blade or grazed by a stray bullet of a do-gooder cop. He usually just suffered sprains if anything, and that was something that a little R&R could easily fix.

Of all the things that he hated most about hospitals it was the company, or the lack there of. Kate hated hospitals with a passion. Although she loved him, she decided any crazy thing that he did to land himself in there, he could get himself out of. Ever since he was a child, he couldn't remember coming to consciousness to a familiar friendly face. There were nameless doctors and nurses of all ages, shapes, and sizes. Sometimes there were cops, but never, never was there one in sight that made him feel wanted.

Made him feel like waking up and not sinking back into the black nothingness of unconsciousness.

"Neal?" Neal's muscles tensed. Something was wrong. Alarm bells shot through his head, pumped adrenaline through his veins. Flight or fight. Neal Caffrey was never a name meant for a hospital database. Something was wrong. No one was meant to speak that name in these bare halls. When his body tensed, a sharp stab of pain cut through the muddled fog he was drowning in. He was hurt. The cotton surrounded him and enveloped him in a warm and comforting cocoon. He still couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. He couldn't remember landing in the hospital. What had happened?

A gentle hand brushed against his forehead and his eyebrow twitched. He tried to keep his breathing steady and no give any indication that he was actually awake—let them think he was as helpless as a kitten. He'd use it to his advantage. The fingers gently pulled sweaty and tangled bangs away from his forehead. They were gently pushed off to the side and a cool feeling—a damp washcloth met his brow.

His eyes slowly opened until they were thin slits, wide enough for him to look out and observe who it was that was tending to him.

"Neal Caffrey," panic and pain once more at the name, "I know you're awake, you can't fool me." The voice didn't sound angry. The female speaking seemed amused, the lilts of her words as if she was playing with him.

His vision cleared and a woman met his eyes. At first, his mind supplied the image of a nurse, tending to the handsome poor youth that had injured himself somehow ("poor boy, no family or friends have come to visit the poor bird at all"), but the image quickly melted away. His body was tense with shock at first before he exhaled with relief, slowly relaxing back into the hospital bed.

El's smiling face greeted him. "How are you doing?" She questioned, leaning forward to pat at his forehead once more. Neal's eyes closed in delight at the cool feeling.

He opened his mouth and could feel his chapped lips cracking. He licked his lips with a tongue that felt like it was made of cotton and El, sweet El, seemed to understand his frustration and reached to the side, pulling forth a glass of water. "Mozzie was kind enough to share one of his bendy straws for you." Her eyes showed the truth; Mozzie had been worried. That she had been worried.

"Honey," Neal jerked his eyes to the doorway and was surprised to see a large basket of flowers with a card displayed; "get well soon", and a bottle of nice wine with a bow wrapped around it. "I hope this was the right one. I couldn't remember which one was supposed to go to Mozzie and which one was for Neal…" El giggled. Neal couldn't express which he found more surprising; the fact that Peter had willfully carried a giant basket of flowers into a hospital or that he was in fact here in this very room… with Neal Caffrey.

Neal blamed it on the drugs, he really did. He had cried since he was a child and he swore away tears for the rest of his life. Real men didn't cry. They were the comforters to the ladies who wept and silently asked to be carried away from their pain.

Peter awkwardly set down the flowers on a nearby bedside tablet. Neal stayed silent, almost in shock, as his eyes caught the other cards on the table, from Cruz and Jones. He had no doubt that Mozzie's room was similarly decorated. The coy smile on Elizabeth suggested she had a heavy hand in reminding the adults of the room the importance of the simpler displays of affection.

When Peter pulled back from safely delivering the basket he pulled back with a proud smile and looked up to the twinkling gaze of his wife. He smiled as well and raised an eyebrow, curious as to the secret hiding in her smile. His eyes drifted to the hospital bed where his partner had laid unconscious for the past two days. His eyes widened in shock.

Neal offered a weak smile and didn't bother to raise his hand to wave to his partner and handler. He didn't want to move them. He hated IVs and needles, especially when a line blew or broke and needed to be reinserted. "Hey, Peter." He himself winced at the sound of his voice. Even the water hadn't soothed the sound of unused vocal chords. He was raspier than a hundred year old man who smoked cigars all his life.

The surprised look in Peter's eyes melted away. The agent's stiff posture lowered into a more relaxed position, as if he was in the company of friends. A friendly smile quirked his lips slowly into a broad grin that was contagious. The other two couldn't help smiling as well.

Neal leaned up and rolled his shoulders a bit to loosen the stiffness in them. "Man, I feel like a truck ran over me. How long has it been?" He felt like he had been asleep for days.

Peter shook his head and smirked at his partner, "About a day or two. The EMTs found you pretty quick but some druggie took the knife from you to try and pawn it off." Neal raised an eyebrow at that. "You managed to catch an infection though, so that complicated things a bit for the doctors. You had a bad reaction to one of the antibiotics they had you on, so they knocked you out." Peter peered at him, "I swear you do it for the attention." His eyes flickered to El mischievously.

Neal looked affronted, "Why Peter, I could never compete against you for your lovely wife." He raised El's hand to his lips and placed a chaste kiss on it, giving her his dazzling smile that wooed countless women.

"Oh you two!" El chuckled, her eyes strangely shiny, and shook her head, "Never change." She leaned back in her chair. One eye was keeping an eye on the clock, silently determining a good time to go and collect Mozzie so the friends could be reunited once more.

"Hey, partner. It's good to know you're okay." Peter's hand on his shoulder seemed to transmit everything that Peter couldn't put into words; the fear and panic at receiving the call from the hospital, the anger towards the man who robbed Neal and proclaimed his innocence towards the stabbing, and the depression of seeing the exuberant man so still, pale, and lifeless.

"It's good to be back," Neal said, feeling as if he'd just woken from a hundred year sleep. And he realized, with a budding feeling of warmth, that he truly meant it. Maybe it was just the company, but perhaps hospitals weren't quite as bad as he thought they were.

FIN