~ Disclaimer: Written for fun not profit. Thanks go to all those who really create the White Collar show and characters. And hoping that they reunite our favorite con and fed team, soon...

~NEW YORK

The news had claimed that shooting stars would be viewable tonight. They meant viewable with a telescope and likely in the country, not in New York's bright lights. Peter wondered if he took his binoculars and aimed at the sky instead of the suspects,he'd see them coming. He was not big on superstition. He didn't much believe that wishes came true either. But for awhile there, he'd started to. And he'd rather see those shooting stars than the awful view he had now.

He was feeling rather fatalistic at the moment. His eyes were on the blood pooling around the young undercover agent. He was moving, crawling for cover, so it probably wasn't a fatal blow. But the whole bust had gone to pieces. He couldn't help thinking that Neal would've caught the signals that something was going wrong sooner. He shook his head, returning fire as a gunman popped showed himself. The gunshots slammed into the nearby vehicles. Finally, the shots faded. His team took the book forgers down.

"How's Rogers?" Peter poked his head in at the hospital later.

"He's going to be fine." Jones shook his head. "He got made when the guy tested him on greek literature, by the way."

"Super." Peter sighed.

"I know what your thinking."

"You do?" Peter glanced up at him.

"Caffrey wouldn't have gotten caught like that."

Peter's lips tightened. His eyes met Jones. "He didn't run from us. He ran from Kramer." His voice was low.

"I know." Jones shook his head. "But... I just don't see a happy ending Peter."

Peter's jaw shifted. "I know."

Peter shoulder's were slumped as he strode through his house door. Elle met him with open arms. "Darn it Peter. You scared me."

"I'm fine El. Rogers will be too."

"I'm sure his fiance will be relieved. Now get changed. We have a dinner date to watch the meteor shower."

"Really?" Peter looked doubtful. "In New York city? Where would we go? And it's the middle of the week. We both have to get up early..."

An hour later they were in the one place Peter wasn't sure he could bear to go.

"El..."

"We were invited." She smiled, a little sadly.

"Okay."

They were welcomed by June and her granddaughter Samantha, who was clearly invigorated at being allowed an unusual late school night. They went up to the roof. Here, Peter had surprised Elle with tickets for vacation. It was right when Neal had started his parole with him. Peter swallowed at the memory. From the start the con man had worked his charm and weaved his way into their lives. He felt a pang of anger at Kramer. It had recurred frequently and reminded him that he'd really lost two friends. Neal when he'd been forced to run and Kramer, the mentor he'd looked up to who had tried to railroad Neal. He sighed inwardly. He was still in shock over that. If Kramer arrested Neal for something he'd actually provably done, he would've hated it but understood. But the sheer petty attitude he'd displayed at the hearing had dismayed him. He forced his mind back to the present when El squeezed his arm. He blinked, realizing they knew where his thoughts had wandered.

Sitting with their various beverages, they snacked on hors devours and took turns scanning the heavens with a telescope. They caught up on each others lives without actively avoiding the subject of their wayward companion.

"We need to make a wish when it comes." Elle said suddenly.

"Can we tell each other? Or will that make the wish not come true? And how many can we wish for?" Samantha asked brightly. "One for each star?"

June smiled. "We don't need to tell each other. I think we all can guess what we're wishing for."

Peter's eyes dropped. "I...don't really believe in miracles."

Elle took his hand. "The fact that we are all sitting together is a kind of miracle."

"And Samantha is healthy. That's one too." June said firmly. "Think about it Peter. The smallest creature is a miracle unto itself. You have to broaden your definitions." She hugged Bugsy, who smiled at her with his little pug face and panted.

Samantha cocked her head. Maybe sometimes you just have to decide to believe, even if you don't think you can. Believe me, I know. She grinned as she turned to the telescope.

Peter blinked at her, realizing that she certainly would.

"Here they come" Samantha gasped and pointed. She smiled. They all stared up, taking turns at the telescope as the miraculous lights fell from the sky.

One wished for Neal's safety. One for a miraculous return. And one for his happiness, wherever he was.

And Peter stared heavenward and decided to believe, not because he had faith but because he really wanted to, wanted to believe that a miracle could happen.

"To miracles." Peter said, making a toast with his beer clinking on El and June's wine glasses and Samantha's juice.

"Because we want to believe." June finished for him.

~ ELSEWHERE

Neal crashed into the wall as the big stranger slammed passed him. His eyes widened as the gun came up and fired at the older woman he was there to see. She ducked behind a couch. Stuffing from the cushions flew through the air. Her employees scattered. Neal's lungs screamed for air. His eyes swam, focusing on the Van Gogh, which seemed to have turned double and started impersonating a pop art style, circled his head in multiple colors. For an eternally long instant he expected Peter to burst through the door. What was taking him so long? Then air rushed back into his lungs and he remembered. He'd left Peter in New York.

He scrambled up as the villains (if that's what they were) got into a gunfight with his hostess. He ducked back around a corner. The firefight was going on the stairs. Neal ducked aside and shot out to the second floor balcony. In the distance, he could see a small shape in colorful shirt and straw hat running hard toward the villa. He scrambled over the stone rail and down the column, which had conveniently offset bricks in it's design.

He landed lightly and ran for the fence. He was over it easily. Neal slowed to a jog and then a walk. He fingered his sleeve, which was torn. He had scrapes on both arms.

"What happened!" Mozzie caught up with him.

Neal's blue eyes rolled. "Apparently my hostess had a bad business deal with someone."

"So you never found out if the Van Gogh was real?"

"No." Neal replied shortly.

"This was such a nice neighborhood." Moz grumbled. "What's the world coming to when you can't retire from the con in peace."

"You even found trouble in paradise. You didn't have to agree to consult on it you know. It's not like we need the money."

Neal shrugged. "I was curious. And it never hurts to gain a little good will. Might come in handy someday. Anyway, I don't think it had anything to do with us. As far as I know the whole transaction was legit. All she asked me to do was authenticate it." He didn't tell Mozzie about the momentary lapse in memory, when he'd thought that Peter and the team would charge in to rescue him. His friend would find that as horrifying as the bullets near miss.

That night, Neal sat on the beach watching the stars. Mozzie had meant to watch the shooting stars too. But he'd fallen asleep and was now snoring next to him. His teddy bear was under his arm He'd been very busy making sure that the shootout had nothing to do with them, that the Feds weren't closing in. Neal glanced over and gave a half smile. His eyes focused heavenward, bringing the binoculars to bear on the sky. Even without them, the lights so far from the city were brilliant. The sea air smelled fresh and glorious. The sky was filled with diamonds no-one could steal or forge. The water surged gently too and fro. He would never have seen this view in New York.

Yet somewhere, somehow, as the stars shone overhead, as meteor shower fell from the sky, Neal found himself wishing for a way back. A way back to friends and family which didn't include a prison sentence. It was an amazing thing, life. Before he'd wanted to get out. He'd wanted his freedom yet he didn't want to run. Now he wanted back in. Not into prison, but back to his home. Bright lights and all. This villa, this life, was a wonderful vacation. But it wasn't home. Neal counted the falling stars, counted his wishes and wished his friends well. If only deep down he could make himself believe it. Because he really wanted that miracle. To have the vacation and still have his New York home. He glanced one last time at his snoring companion and the teddy bear with mismatched eyes that were pointed at him.

He rose the wine glass to the bear, "to miracles."

THE END