A/N: I'm not sure where this came from. I had wanted to do a White Collar fic for a while now, but never really got inspired to write something. I must be a little cruel today, considering tonight is a new episode of WC and I'm making Neal all angst-y. Well, I can assure you it didn't start that way. As you can probably see by the first couple of paragraphs. But then I take a turn for the worse when a favorite song of mine comes over the radio. It reminded me so much of Neal that I had to shove it in his face. I think I must be cruel. Anyways. I'm gonna go back to the Heroes and Phantom section before I hurt something.
Disclaimer: Honestly, I wouldn't have Kate exist if I owned White Collar. I also don't own the song.
Pairings: Mentions of Kate/Neal and (maybe, if you squint really, really hard and stand on your head while wearing 3D glasses) hints towards Peter/Neal.
Warning: Slight language, mentions of alcohol.
Song: Forget and Not Slow Down, by Relient K.
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Neal Caffrey was a good man. Well, as good as one could get while being a conman and thief. He, if he was completely honest with himself, had too big of a heart to really be affected by the greed and love of what he stole. To be utterly honest, he just thought it looked nice. And it was a challenge. With all those tech-y security stuff, they were asking to be robbed. They taunted in the face of thieves and, naturally, they eventually had that taunting bite 'em in the ass.
After a while, though, he began to truly appreciate what he took. He wasn't greedy. No. He would never stoop to such a low as that. Those people always got cocky, then they got caught, then they got in jail fights and got tattoos. He didn't really want a tattoo. But he appreciated it. The people who made these…they were skilled. Talent beyond anything he could imagine. He doubted anyone could match such beauty. He didn't care for monetary value—though it was a nice bonus, occasionally. He did have to make a living, you know—he cared about the fact that they were beautiful. And, though he wasn't vain either, he figured he was pretty good looking as well.
You see, once he could appreciate the beauty of all these things, he began to appreciate himself. And he never really had a high esteem. The littlest flaw made him self-conscious since he was seven, and it was only until he found the warmth and beauty in everything around him that he began to appreciate what good he did, what he did right.
He wasn't surprised when he got caught. Peter Burke was good. Real good. He could remember the little 'gifts' they had left each other. A letter, a small present, a nod ones way when something went right. It was a love-hate relationship that left them breathless and sweaty. Neal figured it was pretty close to hate-sex, but he never mentioned such a thing to Peter.
He knew, eventually, that he would let Peter catch him. Kate had always said it was crazy when he told her that, and often times he would end up sleeping on a couch if he didn't fix things. But he was being truthful—a thing he sometimes indulged in when lying became too much. He knew he'd let Peter catch him, because the game couldn't be played forever and the good guy always won. He just didn't expect losing Kate because of it.
Kate…God, she was perfect. Strong, beautiful, indulging in his world just for the fun of it, witty, humorous. She was everything he ever wanted, but the moment he began this cat-and-mouse game with Peter, he somehow pushed her away.
He sighed, taking another swig of the bottle in his hand.
It was kind of odd. The man who originally was his enemy and the one who caused this rift was now his friend and trying to help him find Kate. Ah, irony. He let his head fall back, counting the tiles and small, bleached water stains on the ceiling from his position on the couch.
It was one of the rare moments where he turned the radio on as loud as he could without disturbing Jane, grabbed some alcohol, and wallowed in his own pity. He groaned; blinking hard as his vision swam for a moment. He rarely ever got drunk, but the moment he started thinking about all the things he'd done, the things that pushed Kate away, he started chugging a little faster and a little more. To his left, the radio sung out to him in the form of a male voice.
"It's time to decide she's out of my mind. 'Cause it'll be me unless I put some thoughts to rest and leave some faults behind. I'll watch the glint in my eye shine off the spring in my step, and it could be blinding depending on the amount of you that I reflect. 'Cause I could spend my life just trying to sift through what I could've done better, but what good do what-ifs do? Oh, oh. Oh, oh. There's something I should tell you now."
Neal suddenly had the overwhelming urge to throw his bottle at the radio and get rid of the annoying voice. Sure, it might be shockingly and painfully correct. But he was drunk. He didn't care.
Biting his lip, Neal turned to the back of the couch and curled into a ball. If someone said he had cried, he'd simply say he was a good man. Well, as good as you could get when being a conman and thief.