AN: Okay, so this has sooooooooo been done and done and done again. But I think every White Collar fan has been waiting in anguish to see how the whole situation will be resolved and have a pretty good idea of how it might all go down. So I apologise if this feels like all other fics of the same premise. It just had to come out though. Please be forgiving!

Disclaimer (for this and all subsequent chapters): I do not own any of the characters of Jeff Eastin and USA Network's White Collar.

"He took my wife..."

Neal felt shame engulf his body in a hot wave. He was crushed, not by Peter's words but by the words left unsaid.

...because of you.

"Peter..." He tried again, but stopped himself there. Who was he kidding? Nothing he could say would make any of this better, would fix what he had done.

So he stood silent, watching as his friend's emotions went from devastation to raw fury. He didn't back away as Peter stormed toward him and slammed him into the wall by the throat. Didn't flinch as he lifted his other fist with full intent to beat the shit out of the conman. Neal simply closed his eyes, knowing he deserved the worst Peter could deliver and more.

The blow never came. He heard Peter exhale shakily and felt him lower his arms. Neal opened his eyes but couldn't lift his head to look at the man before him. Tears brimmed as his gaze awkwardly flitted about the floor. Peter spoke with a rasp.

"Get him out of here. Get him out of my house." He ordered the room at large, clearly not caring who did the deed.

Diana stepped cautiously toward him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Boss, he knows Keller better than anyone we've got, and he might-"

"I want him gone!" Peter roared, the sound ringing off the surrounding walls. It effectively froze all bodies in the room. His voice then dropped to a low growl as he pointed viciously at Neal.

"Get him out of my sight. He's done enough, more than enough. Elizabeth is..."

The last words were a choked whisper, making Neal's own throat clench tighter. Peter turned away, leaning against the counter in attempt to regain control.

The rest was a blur for Neal. Jones had come up beside him to lead him to a vehicle that would take him home to June's. He couldn't recall much of that ride, looking back on it. The last thing he could remember clearly was, as he was directed out of the Burke house, the image of Peter retching into the kitchen sink, then slipping to the floor with his head in his hands. Neal would never forget that as long as he lived.