Author's Note: This is a small piece that has been a long time coming. I'm a relatively new White Collar fan, which is why this is my first WC fanfic. I'm usually more of a one-shot or multiple chapter kinda gal. Drabbles (which are stories consisting of exactly 100 words, by the way—many fan fiction authors don't seem to be aware of that fact) or double-drabbles (= 200 words) never leave enough room for me to say what I wanna say, but this one somehow worked out. Hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: White Collar, its characters and settings belong to Jeff Eastin and USA Network, and not to me. And, guys? Your characters are not only welcome, they're wonderful. I'm just borrowing, I promise.
Neal did not cry—at least not in front of people. He would make the occasional exception, with people he trusted. That list wasn't very long. In fact, it only consisted of two people. Three, maybe, if you counted Elizabeth.
Crying was a sign of weakness. Neal didn't show weakness. He'd become a master of crafting masks to cover the real Neal Caffrey when things hit too close to home. Weakness was what he allowed only in quiet, darkened rooms where he could spiral into dark places without being seen.
Weakness was for moments where the rug was being pulled out from under him to send him into tilting freefall. Weakness was for when fears and worries became so menacing that he didn't stand a chance to do anything other than succumb. Like the idea that he could not only lose the woman he loved but also his best friend. Like the idea that if he did, it would also be his fault.
Weakness was what Neal gave in to in the wee hours of the night after haunting dreams and fitful sleep. It was one of the few times where he allowed himself to cry, without reserve or restraint.
