Title: The Hardest Part

Summary: Neal and Peter have a hard time moving forward after Elizabeth's kidnapping. Things get worse when a bank robbery case brings up questions about Neal's father and a friend from Neal's past shows up.

Spoilers: This takes place Post-Checkmate.

Disclaimer: I do not own White Collar or its characters.

Peter had never felt so exhausted before 9 PM. After having been awake for more than twenty-four hours, after fighting to save his wife's life- and the life of his friend, he was ready for some sleep. As he pulled back the covers of the bed it dawned on him how tired he truly was, after spending the day pretending as though he was okay. Elizabeth stood at the end of the bed, watching him with empty eyes. Though she looked tired, she also looked as though she might never be able to close her eyes again.

"Are you sure you're okay with staying here?" Peter asked. "Your mom offered-"

"No," Elizabeth said, shaking her head, "god no. The last thing I need right now is my mom criticizing me for letting myself be put in danger, and you would not want to hear the things she's been saying about you."

With a half-hearted smile, Peter considered that El was probably the only person who would actually avoid talking to their parents after being kidnapped.

"Right. Your mom, not our number one fan." Outside the wind picked up, and Elizabeth shivered as a soft roar of thunder shook the house. "El..."

He crossed over to the other side of the room and placed both his hands on her arms. To no success, he tried to get her to meet his eyes, but El just looked way, obviously fighting to not let even the smallest tear escape. She had been so strong today, and to anyone else it would look like the entire ordeal hadn't bothered her. But he knew that was only her way of coping; she never let herself appear weak.

"It's okay," he said, "El, look at me." At last, she did. And there were the tears. "You've been through a trauma. You don't get training for this. There is no rule book. No one's going to judge you for how you deal with this."

Elizabeth just kept shaking her head and broke away from him. Facing the window as the rain beat down hard, she gazed outside as she gathered her thoughts. He waited, patiently, though the anxiety of wanting to help her was growing. When it was obvious that she wasn't going to answer him, he pleaded:

"Please, Elizabeth, talk to me."

She stepped beside her, joining her in gazing at their reflection in the glass. He was horrified by what he saw- he had never seen Elizabeth so fragile.

"I can't believe I let him take me," Elizabeth admitted, "I should have been able to stop him. I'm an F.B.I. agent's wife. Why wasn't I able to defend myself?"

"Say what you want, but I think even Stephen King would be impressed by your escape plan," he joked. She didn't laugh. "You were brilliant, Elizabeth. No one blames you, no one would ever blame you. I'm an F.B.I. agent, and look at all the trouble I've gotten myself into. Sometimes bad things happen to the best of us. What's important is staying strong, and you, Elizabeth, are the strongest person I know."

This earned him a small, gracious, smile from Elizabeth. As she crossed her arms, she gazed at him through the glass. She allowed him to wrap his arms around her, and he held her close, thankful that he had been able to get through to her.

"You were cute in your army camouflage," she admitted, "and I heard you made one pretty impressive bad guy."

"Neal told you about that?" Peter said, horrified.

Elizabeth laughed a little.

"Stealing National Guard trucks, fooling the NYPD?" She said. "I think Neal's becoming a bad influence on you."

He was horrified that the very thought would cross her mind- whether she was joking or not.

"Even Neal hated having to do that," he said.

Lightening illuminated the room just as another round of thunder ripped through the air. Elizabeth jumped away from his arm, and even Satchmo ran into the room and hid beside Peter. Elizabeth bent down and hugged the dog, clinging to him as though the two understood what each other was going through. Satchmo just panted; his eyes were wide and watering in despair; Peter closed his eyes and sighed. Keller had even traumatized the dog. There was only one way any of them were going to be able to get any sleep tonight.

"This isn't going to work," he announced.

An hour later, Neal opened the door on the second knock. His eyes turned immediately to Peter, who nodded towards Elizabeth and Satchmo, who hadn't left their side since the storm began. Elizabeth offered Neal a smile, but even though she was again pretending like nothing was wrong she looked tired enough to prove she was lying.

"Hi Neal," Elizabeth said quietly.

"Hi Elizabeth," Neal replied, confused.

He looked to Peter for help. Peter hesitated, feeling ridiculous now that he had gone through with his idea. But the hallway was freezing, and he felt like he might fall over if he didn't get some sleep soon.

"Can we stay the night?"

Neal looked from Peter, to Elizabeth, to the dog, obviously shocked that Peter was coming to him for help. Nevertheless, either out of kindness, or perhaps desperation to get back to sleep, Neal nodded.

"Yeah, sure."

He let them in, and Satchmo immediately dashed beneath Neal's bed.

"Even the dog couldn't sleep?" Neal teased.

"We felt bad about leaving him," Peter admitted, "are you sure you don't mind?"

"Well I'm definitely not going to make you drive back home in this," Neal said, waving a hand towards the rain outside, "seriously though, it's not a problem. You two can even have the bed if you want."

"No, we're fine," Peter said, "we came prepared."

He held up the sleeping bags and pillows he had fished out of the closet, stored away for a weekend of camping they hadn't gotten around to yet.

"Right," Neal said, "well, help yourself to food or whatever."

"Thanks, but I think we'll just go straight to sleep," Peter replied.

Three hours later Peter lay awake in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling, hands crossed behind his head. Elizabeth was sleeping soundly beside him, or at least pretending to sleep, but despite his exhaustion he couldn't sleep himself. His mind wondered, his body was shaking, and his eyes were wide open as though subconsciously he was ready to jump to their defense at any moment. Once the room had gone dark and silent, Peter couldn't shake the feeling that they were still in danger. F.B.I. instincts tended to be hard to leave behind once he got home, and after a day like yesterday he should have known it would be hard to adjust to normality again. He had tried to move on, tried to act like he was strong enough to overcome this, but at the end of the day he was still left with that haunting moment of finding out his wife had been taken. The desperation of needing to save her, of knowing that he had let her be put in danger and that she could be hurt, had still not left him. Guilt was slowly taking over, creating a cold anxiety that shook him to the bone.

Though he was alone in his thoughts, he still sensed the presence of someone else being awake.

"Are you asleep?" He asked to no one in particular.

"Nope."

Peter couldn't help but to feel relieved when Neal replied.

"Are you?" Neal asked.

"Nope."

"Rain's stopped," Neal commented.

"Yup."

Now he wished he hadn't said anything. Now Neal would want to know why he was awake in the middle of the night, looking for someone to talk to. He would also want to know why they had come running here to hide, like children wanting to sleep in their parents' bed.

"Is Elizabeth asleep?" Neal asked.

Peter turned to his wife, who looked convincing enough to him. He smiled as he watched her sleep, listening closely as she breathed.

"Yup," he said.

"Good."

Silence. Then it dawned on him: Neal hadn't been able to sleep either.

"I think I heard Satchmo eating something," Neal said, "hope it wasn't a rat."

The thought was disgusting, but Peter ignored him, knowing Neal was avoiding what they both weren't wanting to talk about. At last, Peter sighed.

"I can't sleep," he said, "want a drink?"

He knew Neal was smiling as he replied:

"Thought you'd never ask."

The warm night air felt comforting as he accepted the glass from Neal.

"Cheers," he said, turning then to the city before them.

Arms resting against the rail, Peter watched as the city lived on. Lights were still on in some of the office buildings. In the distant streets, car horns impatiently sounded off like trumpets in a marching band. But it was peaceful, somehow, and deep down he knew why: it was normal. That was why real estate agents would say that a view was worth more than money could ever buy. The city that lived on before them would always be there, exactly the same every day, waiting for them to join in.

"I've been trying to decide how this view looks best," Neal said, "sunset, sunrise, nighttime, or during a beautiful sunny day."

"It's priceless, no matter when you're looking at it," Peter admitted, "this is the kind of view people in New York live for."

"I know," Neal said with a smile.

Neal took a sip of his wine, but then the glass just lingered motionless in his hand, as though he really didn't care about it. Peter watched him, waiting for him to say what was on his mind. But like Elizabeth, Neal seemed reluctant to talk about what they had been through. He then noticed Neal scratching at the cut on his head, and Peter remembered to ask:

"How's your head?"

"Fine," Neal said without thought, "how's the eye?"

"Fine."

He was used to black eyes, cuts, and bruises. It was the stories behind them

that were painful. Sighing, Peter's eyes traveled up to the cloudy night sky. Somewhere out there, Keller was standing underneath the same sky, swimming in bottles of champagne as he laughed with pride over his own cleverness.

"Where do you think Keller is right now?" Peter said.

Neal shrugged.

"Waiting somewhere to be taken out of prison," Neal said, "or more likely, sitting in some fancy hotel, trying to decide which island to buy. That was supposed to be my island. My fancy hotel. Hell, I could have bought a whole chain of hotels."

He then shook his head.

"I don't mean that," Neal continued, "I just hate to see him get away with it. I know stealing the treasure was wrong, but at least with Mozzie the money would have been in good hands. He would have probably opened up a whole neighborhood of orphanages in Detroit. Keller will probably buy a casino somewhere."

Neal glared at the ground below them, and Peter looked away, out of respect. Somehow, as angry as he was at Neal, as disappointed as he was, he still somehow felt sorry for his friend. Somehow, he sympathized with how important that treasure was to Neal and Mozzie and how it would have changed their lives. But he would never admit this to Neal.

Exhaling deeply, Neal cleared his throat.

"Peter, there's something I need to tell you," he said.

Peter closed his eyes. He didn't want to hear this. Neal's voice shook with the guilt of a man who had been hiding a secret for far too long, but Peter already felt that he had been betrayed enough times for one week.

"Neal, no," Peter said at last, "no, Keller confessed. We can just move on."

"No, Peter-" Neal held a hand up to him to catch his attention, "this is serious."

They looked each other in the eye, and Peter swallowed. Neal's guilt scared him; he was about to hear something that would be hard to forgive. Again. But at that moment, Neal's hand shot to his head. Eyes closed, Neal doubled over in pain, stumbling back a few steps. Peter held onto Neal's shoulder, catching him before he could fall.

"I'm fine!" Neal insisted, pushing Peter away. Neal shook his head and then look around, regaining awareness of where he was. "Nothing I can't handle."

Before he could finish his sentence, Neal stumbled back again, falling rather ungracefully into a chair. He held his head in his hands for a moment, and then shook his head as though shaking the pain away.

"Sorry," Neal muttered.

"Don't be."

Peter sat down across from him. He realized that he was studying Neal like he was a suspect, and the patio was an interrogation room. Neal is a suspect, he reminded himself. If it wasn't for Keller's confession, Neal would probably be in prison right now. The range of crimes, both large and small, that Neal might have

possibly been responsible for was mind-blowing, and Peter knew that if he looked hard enough he would find a reason to get Neal into trouble anyway. But now, Neal looked as though he wanted to save Peter from that trouble altogether. After letting out a long sigh, Neal finally spoke again. He looked Peter straight in the eye, like a son ready to apologize to his father.

"I broke into your house, Peter. I got into your safe and got a copy of the manifest."

Neal didn't break eye contact, even as Peter's eyes grew dark and angry. He felt like knocking the table over; he felt like shouting. But Elizabeth was still asleep inside, and truthfully he was desperate for what Neal said to be a lie.

"You did what?"

Neal swallowed, and although he maintained composure his hand began beating rapidly against the table.

"Back when we were still planning on selling the treasure, we needed to know how much you knew," Neal continued, "we knew that if we sold something that was on the manifest you would have found out immediately."

"Damn right I would have!" Peter exclaimed. "What the hell were you thinking, Neal? When was this?"

Now Neal looked away, with the sad eyes of a guilty puppy.

"That night you called me and offered to talk," Neal said, "I'm sorry, Peter, I should have told you everything right then."

Peter sat back, arms crossed, now reminding himself of his father when he was a teenager. Those glares he would get, the way his father could make him feel like a failure just by looking at him, seemed way too familiar at the moment. He

hated having to be in this position, but he hated even more that Neal put him in it.

"But you didn't," Peter said, keeping calm, "because now you had to decide."

"Should I stay or should I go?" Neal said, completing his sentence.

"Even after that, you were still considering running?"

Neal looked at him, as though oblivious as to how Peter couldn't understand.

"It's more complicated than that, Peter."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Peter looked instead to the night sky and noticed the clouds thinning out. He remembered standing here with Neal, not all that long ago, as they confessed the stories of how they met, as Neal told him all about the beginning of his life of crime. Maybe it was time that he learned more.

"Then tell me," Peter said, "we've got a long way to go until the sun rises."

Neal studied him, uncertain, before replying.

"You're giving me full immunity?"

Peter nodded.

"I want to know everything, Neal." Neal shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the thought. "I'm not asking you to let me read your diary or anything. I just want to know what led you to this...this life. What pushed you down this path."

"Peter, we're friends, and I respect that," Neal began. Peter had to laugh. "I do! But there are some things, some things even Mozzie doesn't know. There are some things that I try to forget. But the treasure, Keller, it's not all a result of some traumatic childhood experience or anything. I think you have the wrong idea here."

"Do I?" Peter said. "Seems to me that a con man that goes in this deep, that's willing to risk everything- everything for something as grand as the greatest collection of stolen treasure ever discovered, has to have some kind of motive." Neal still hesitated. "Look, Neal, I'm saying this is a friend. I'm saying this because frankly, I'm hurt. Elizabeth's been hurt. And I just want to know why. That plane that was so conveniently waiting that day with Jones' case, that was you two, wasn't it? How the hell did you even pull all this off?"

To his surprise, a grin spread across Neal's face.

"Admit it," Neal said, "you're impressed."

"Maybe I am," he admitted, "but that doesn't make me any less angry. Less disappointed."

Despite how angry he was, it was true that he couldn't help but to admire

how clever Neal and Mozzie were. They were truly a great team, and it would be amazing to see what they could do if they were on the right side.

"I'm serious, Neal," he continued, "pretty soon there's going to be a hearing, and it's going to be more in depth and tougher than any trial you've had to go through. They're going to question you, they're going to question me, and they're going to completely analyze your entire character. You're going to have to get used to admitting your faults and the fact that you betrayed me. This is going to be hard, on all of us. So I have to know if you're ready. Neal, if there's any part of you that would still rather be out there, selling that stolen treasure and buying private islands, I have to know."

Neal looked away, angry and frustrated, but Peter didn't care. The more he considered his own words, the more he realized what a risk he would have to take to keep protecting Neal. His career was on the line with this. If he lied for Neal, if he bent the truth in even the slightest way, and they found out, he would be finished.

Head collapsed in his hands, Neal sighed and then rubbed his hands over his face.

"Being a con man, it's like an addiction," Neal admitted, "you surround yourself with good people, and you might have a fighting chance of giving it up. But then there are people like Mozzie, people who you still care about even though they keep you holding onto this horrible life, and you just can't...you can't let go. I would have lost either way, Peter. You or Mozzie. New York or freedom. And even still, no, I don't know if I can give all that up. I feel like I'm in too deep, like I've been hiding from a school bully, and it's inevitable for the past to catch up with me. As much as I want to let go of that life, it's still apart of me, just like the

F.B.I. is apart of you."

"No!" Peter exclaimed, slamming his fist onto the table. "The F.B.I. is something I had to work hard for. The White Collar division wasn't just something that someone decided would be fun to try. I had to fight for this job, and I'm damn proud. I've done a lot of good, and I wouldn't trade this life for the world. Not for my own island, not for casinos or fancy hotels. Nothing. A life of crime, that's a choice. At one point in time you stood there, with two roads in front of you, and you chose the wrong road."

"And yet it's the road that led me to meet Kate and Mozzie, and I refuse to regret that," Neal said. He looked offended, but Peter still had a hard time understanding why Neal couldn't reason with this. "It's the road that led me to you, to Elizabeth. Do you really think fate would have allowed us to meet any other way?"

Peter shrugged. He hadn't considered that, and he wouldn't admit that the thought of never meeting Neal bothered him. He knew he was supposed to be supporting Neal's freedom, but even he knew that if it wasn't for Neal's crimes they never would have become friends. But recently, with the kidnapping, with finding out about the treasure, that friendship was looking more and more like it just wasn't meant to be. Finally he settled with an answer that made all of this okay:

"But that doesn't mean that you can't change," Peter said. "Maybe you met me, Elizabeth, and hell even Mozzie, so that you can see reason and stop living this ridiculous life of crime. You impress people by stealing their most prized possessions. You take pride in being a thief, in being successful at hurting other people. You're not violent, Neal, but you still effect people's lives in negative ways."

Neal shook his head, obviously still reluctant to let go of his belief.

"You just don't understand," Neal said quietly.

He left Peter with that. As much as Peter had hoped for a further confession, he had a feeling that this was as far as they were going to get tonight. 24 hours without sleep was slowly turning into 48, and the minute he relaxed he remembered how completely exhausted he was. Neal looked just as tired; and Peter also worried that a fight like this could be the beginning to the end of whatever trust was left between them.

Standing up, Peter placed a hand on Neal's shoulder.

"Get some sleep, kid," he said. "We both need it. This is the hardest part- surviving, deciding, being able to live with yourself. But you gotta decide, Neal. If I'm going to stand up for you, if I'm going to keep putting my job on the line for you, you have to be ready to give up this life. Completely."

Neal didn't say anything, instead he simply followed Peter back into the apartment. But before they stepped inside he finally spoke up:

"Peter-" Neal turned towards Peter, stopping him just before they reached the door. With haunted eyes, full of desperation, Neal was begging to be listened to. "I'm sorry."

Peter wanted to be able to accept this, wanted to be able to admire the fact that at least Neal had confessed to him about the manifest even though he didn't have to, but he knew this was a lot deeper than a simple apology. But he didn't have the heart to tell Neal that right now. Instead, he simply nodded.

Defeated, Neal opened the door and within minutes, they were each back where they had been a couple of hours ago- in the dark, in silence, realizing that they still would not be able to sleep.