I do not own the copyrights to White Collar
Note: I apologize upfront if I have spelled Peter, or Neal's last name wrong. I watched this series off Netflix through our Wii; I hope I heard his last name correctly.
I also apologize for any mistakes; my beta reader was busy. Therefore, I hope this doesn't read too horribly bad.
More than Words can Say
The night was dark and the wind whipped around my coat and scarf. I'd come a long wise to see one man I hoped would still be alive; Peter Birk.
Peter Burke, an FBI agent, or should I say retired agent; Best friend, mentor and the closest thing to a Father figure my own father had; least that is what he told me growing up. He'd talked of a man named Jones, and two women named Diane and Sarah; all with great affection. The only other female name I'd heard him mention; other than my mother, and it was only once was Kate. He'd not mentioned any other name other than Kramer; and –trust me- it hadn't been spoken with affection.
The lack of warmth towards Kramer explained my urge toss my lunch but, fortunately, the site of the Burke home came into sight and pushed the urge over an unseen cliff. My feet only stopped when my hand rapped on their door.
"Hello, may I help you?" A woman with pure white hair stood in front of me and wrinkles had touched her once smooth skin, but that smile and those eyes?
"Mrs. Burke?" I spoke with my hands buried in my pockets to keep them from freezing.
"Yes?" Her tone was just as light and cheerful as my father had described.
"Is your husband home?" I prayed like mad he hadn't passed on, or I'd be mortified for asking such a question.
"Yes, come on in." Elizabeth showed me into the front room where a man who could be no other person other than Peter Birk sat hooked up to an oxygen machine. The contraption did nothing to take away his dignity as the bright aurora surrounding the man could not be hid
"Peter Burke, I'm glad to finally meet you." I stuck out my hand and he shook it while asking if he knew me.
"No, but you knew my father and I've come to deliver a message." For a split second his eyes tensed up as if I might be the offspring of some evil spawn he'd tossed into the clink years ago, but instantly relaxed when I only pointed to the couch and asked if I could sit down.
"Sure." Mrs. Burke brought me a cup of orange juice as her husband pointed to the chair which sat next to him. "So, what's the message? And who is it from?" Peter asked as he saw me glance out the window and then straight back at him.
"Neal." I didn't have to say any last names as his eyes flew wide open. "He wanted me to thank you for warning him Kramer meant him no good."
"Who are you?" He sized me up, but since I looked nothing like my father the man understandably made no connection with the person now talking to him and the reformed con he'd caught two times; no, actually , three but I don't count the third one as my father had purposely led the FBI to the warehouse the counterfeiters were in. Personally, I'd thought that whole scene totally hilarious.
"Patricia, Neal's daughter." I do not use the new name my father used once he split New York for it would mean nothing to this man.
"Neal, how is he?" Agent Burke sits straighter and his eye beg for any information I can give him.
"We buried him last month." I find myself choking on the words and fight tears from falling.
"I'm so sorry." Elizabeth leans over and touches my hand as her husband asks what happened.
"Some idiot got drunk and decided driving was a good idea." I find myself taking a deep breath. "Anyhow, that message I was asked to deliver." I lay my hands on his upper arm as words repeat themselves in my inner ear. It is those words I tell Peter Burke.
Tell Agent Peter Burke he's worth more than words can say. He believed in me when others told him I'd never change. Tell Elizabeth I knew marriages could work though I saw hundreds, no, thousands, of them falling apart all around me. Tell them I would have died for them, for Jones, Diane and Sarah. Mostly tell Peter I can't thank him enough , for warning me about Kramer with a simple look and shake of his head.
Peter's eyes had moistened up and we both cried as I hugged him and gave him yet another thank-you on behalf of my father. I left knowing I had one last thing to do before heading home.
The corridors of the convelescent home were sterile and horribly lonely. I ignored what little staff was on duty and went straight to room 101. In that bed laid a man with ugly eyes and skin I think should have been buried last year.
"Who are you?" The man's voice rasped out as I shot him a look which shouted pity and disgust were mixed in the same bowl.
"You're worst nightmare…" I lean over and grasp the rail. The man practically withers under my glare, "…that is I would be if it weren't for two men."
"And that would be?" He asks still physically cringing away from me.
"Peter Burke and…" I lean in closer, "…Neal Cafferey." I stand back up as the man's eyes fly so wide open I think it might not be natural. "I just came to say I hope you burn and rot for how you treated those men and others I've since found out about." I leave a man so full of guilt that his own conscience may as well have been the bonfire my father always built in the fall.
Guess I'd better let go of any ill feelings towards Kramer I tell myself as I climb back onto a plane headed south I want to be like Peter and my father; not a man who allowed himself to hold onto anger and –in my opinion- greed. With that I agree silently that Agent Peter Burke is worth more than words can say for he gave my father a new lease on life and thereby gave me wonderful footsteps to follow.