A/N: Based off the "sick scene" mentioned in my fic Sky Sailing. You don't have to read that first, bu I'd suggest it.

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When Peter comes into the office and finds that Neal isn't there, he doesn't worry. He's early by at least twenty minutes and unless there's an interesting case or some sort of problem, Neal is always right one time. Exactly. Down to the second, on occasion.

Twenty minutes pass and Peter still isn't worried. Everyone was late sometimes, and Neal Caffrey was no exception. His alarm just went off a bit late.

Another thirty and suddenly there's a small pit of worry settling in his stomach. So he does the logical thing; he pulls up tracker data and calls. The tracker says Neal is still in his apartment and there's no answer from the phone. This, in Peter's mind, means one of three things. Option one is that he's figured out how to pick the lock on his anklet and has put it on Bugsy (again). Option two is that he's been kidnapped by someone who has a grudge against him (again). Option three is possibly the worst, because that one means he's mortally injured and possibly dead.

Peter was a pessimist at the best of times. Especially when it involved Neal.

By lunch he was slowly being driven insane with the infinite possibility of "what ifs" that uncontrollably ran through his mind. So he did what any normal friend would do when another friend -who happened to be a conman- didn't come to work.

He broke into Neal's apartment.

Technically, he didn't break in. He had a key via June ("If I'm away and something happens," she said) so there was no breaking, just entering. Unless Mozzie was there, Peter was in the clear.

The apartment was silent to an almost eerie level and there was no sign of anything or anyone having broken in. That, to the very least was a relief. Neal would have put up a struggle and left clear evidence of that struggle, even if it was just a scratch on the door. Which meant there was another reason for his not coming to work?

"Neal?' Peter called carefully, suddenly realizing there could also have been a viable medical reason behind his partner's (friend's, a large part of him corrected) disappearance.

There was a cough from the bedroom, followed by a raspy, "here."

Peter was at the door before the word was even uttered.

"Can I come in?" He asked.

"Just one second!" Came the hurried answer. Neal couldn't fake being sick, Peter knew that. What he also knew was that Neal probably had something to hide. No surprises there, but it almost hurt that Neal still felt the need to hide things from him.

So, Peter being Peter, he walked in anyway. Just as Neal was carefully -if not quickly- trying put a small canvas under the mattress. It was tilted slightly, a flash of deep blue visible.

Neal slowly set the upside-down canvas onto the nightstand. The flowing cursive letters did not go unnoticed, but Peter couldn't make out what they said. The wide-eyed conman, who was already flushed with a fever, turned an even deeper shade of reddish pink, clearly embarrassed. "You… didn't see that, did you?" He asked. Peter shook his head slowly.

"Nooo." He said, dragging out the word more than necessary. "Why shouldn't I see what it is?" He asked suspiciously, one eyebrow raised.

Neal's eyes flickered slightly to the canvas. "I don't want to talk about it, Peter." He said quietly, coughing into his sleeve. "Why are you here?"

Peter rolled his eyes at the cons suspicion and mild glare, a slight smirk on his face. "I'm here because I was worried. Why didn't you call me?"

A strange silence hung in the air. Neal physically deflated, shivers that had probably been held off until that point wracking his overly-thin frame. "Didn't seem important. I called Hughes." Peter blinked. How could he think it wasn't important? With the younger man's bad and still worsening luck it was a wonder he wasn't dieing in a ditch somewhere, so Peter had a right to know if it was something as simple as the flu! So yes, it was very important.

But Peter didn't let his annoyance show, instead walking over to his friend with that same -one-eyebrow-raised-hands-on-hips look he gave him when Neal did something stupid. "Next time, call me too. Half the day I was worrying you decided to try to use your anklet as the dogs knew collar and the other half hoping you weren't rotting in an alley somewhere." He thumped Neal lightly on the back of the head - something he picked up from an ex-marine friend he'd worked with on a case a few years previous. Neal whined weakly, rubbing the affronted patch of skull.

"What was that?" He moaned childishly.

"I think the term the probie used was "Gibbs slap"." Peter said.

"Gibbs?"

"He works for NCIS."

A slight pause.

"Oh." He coughed again, and Peter scooted away.

"Keep your illness to yourself." Neal grinned, purposely coughing on the agent. Peter glared.

"What?" Neal said, eyes wide in feigned innocence. "You're the one who came in, so it would be your own fault if you ended up sick."

Peter's glare intensified. "No, it's your fault for coughing on me."

Neal blinked tiredly, laying back down on the pillows and curling in on himself. "Tha's not the way El'll see it." He slurred slightly, blue eyes closing as his breathing quickly evened out. Peter smiles slightly, covering the consultant in a decidedly fatherly gesture with the blanket. No one had to know about that, right?

"Not if I have anything to say about it." He muttered, glancing (not for the first time) at the canvas. He decided not to tell Neal about his quick peak, even if it was just to the back. "See you tomorrow."

Besides the haunting of his subconscious, Peter didn't think about the name Brielle Caffrey again for quite some time. Nor did he think about one of the few times he really worried about Neal without good reason.

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A/N: Ha ha! I knew I'd get this out eventually! Glad it was sooner rather than later. How many references to something non-White Collar related did you spot? 'Cause I got at least four that I consciously noticed.

Oh, and for a random disclaimer (first time I've put one of these in a while...): I didn't steal it! I swear! No, really. Mozzie did it and gave it to me. That's not commiting a crime, right? Right.

~Piki :B