The IA meeting is finally here!

So Macy pointed out in her review that this story is just about two years old... which really made me have to go back and look at the date, because I can't believe it's already been two years since I started it! Crazy! I had ideas for this chapter in my head since the beginning, and I really, really hope it I did it justice. It's a nice long chapter, and I hope you all enjoy what it came out to be.

I want to thank everyone who's still reading this story, and a huge thanks to those who've left their thoughts. It means so much!

This chapter is dedicated to Macy, Rosemoor, Caseylf123 and PrePsychPineappleLover. Thank you for sharing your thoughts each chapter, it means the world! Thank you thank you thank you! This one is for you. :)

I really hope this chapter reads well and that everyone is staying safe and happy all around the world. I'll be back soon!

~cosette141

Peter took a breath, standing on the steps outside the IA offices. Looked at his watch. He was twenty minutes early. At first he made sure of that so as to make a good impression, but now, standing here, feeling the adrenaline and caffeine thrum in his veins, he realized he was going to need every second to ready himself.

If he even could.

If this meeting didn't go well, Neal would be trapped in that prison for years, with god knows what happening to him, and Peter's own career could potentially be destroyed in the process.

No pressure.

Elizabeth offered to skip a meeting with a new client this morning to be here with him, but he encouraged her not to. Her career had already suffered enough. Per her-very adamant-request, he'd call her the moment he was done.

Peter breathed out, going over the major points in his head and the questions he really hoped they didn't ask. But soon his twenty minutes were over and he began to head inside.

The building was vast, the ceilings high above him. The giant doors fell shut behind him and Peter felt his heart pick up, just a little, in speed.

He made his way toward the reception desk and took a breath as the smartly-dressed woman gave him a polite smile and asked, "Good morning, sir. Name?"

"Special Agent Peter Burke," replied Peter, hoping this wouldn't be the last time he could address himself with his title.

She clicked away before raising her head again to say, "Tenth floor. I'll let them know you're here."

Peter nodded stiffly, heading toward the elevator. The doors slid open, revealing no other occupants, and he got on alone. The doors slid shut behind him, leaving him in silence as it lifted him through the building.

Peter leaned against the back wall, taking in the small space, and relating it immediately to Neal's current residence. Peter couldn't imagine living in such small quarters. He knew that Neal was a criminal, that criminals needed to serve time for what they've done, but for some reason, after knowing Neal the way he knows him now…

The thought just didn't feel quite as right as it used to.

Soon enough, the doors revealed the tenth floor and Peter made his way toward the meeting room.

An agent was waiting at the door and Peter was ushered into the room, momentarily surprised by the intense view of the city through floor-to-ceiling windows. The room was as vast as the building itself, and the conference table was at least three times the size of the one in White Collar, if not larger. There was one chair on the side Peter approached, and he knew without being told it was for him.

Across from the chair, beyond the table, was another table, where three other empty chairs stood behind. Microphones sprouted from the table before each chair in the room.

With a heavy breath, Peter lowered himself into the chair behind the table, sitting up straight, briefly smoothing his tie and suit jacket-his good tie and good suit. Elizabeth had gotten it for him for not too long ago.

He sighed.

Clasped his hands on the table.

And he waited.

In the fashion of many professionals, the IA agents were a few minutes late, taking their time. Peter tried not to let the irritation bubble up in his chest. But irritation was still better than fear, so he let it.

The door finally opened, revealing three men in suits, and another man in a less expensive suit, who quickly walked behind Peter, sitting at a desk and picking up a pen. He watched the room attentively. Peter understood; a transcriptionist.

He really had to answer carefully.

Peter let out another tense breath as the three men took their time sitting down and getting situated.

I can do this.

The IA agent in the middle-seeming like the one with more weight in the decision-raised his microphone. He looked at Peter for the first time. "Good morning, Agent Burke."

Well, I still have the title so far.

"Morning." said Peter politely.

"My name is Agent Thomas," said the IA agent, picking up a file in front of him and flipping it open. He sounded tired; bored. Like he had somewhere he'd rather be.

Makes two of us.

"Do you understand that you are here due to your suspension," he went on, flipping a page, "for assaulting, and then shooting," His brows raised at that one, as if he still couldn't wrap his mind around it. It took all of Peter's self control not to snap a response, "Agent Garret Fowler, as well as for the involvement of your CI's breach of a work-release deal you cut with him, and his invovlement in the murder of Kate Moreau?" He put the file down, raising an eyebrow at Peter, giving him a look that said you get a lot done in one day.

Peter listened to the rundown with as much self-control as he could bear. Taking a breath before he responded, because damn it sounded bad, he simply answered the man's question. "Yes."

But he wasn't letting the man think he agreed with it.

"Though," Peter went on, professionally but adamantly, "I'd like to clarify that-"

But Agent Thomas lifted a hand to stop him, and Peter bit down on the words, feeling more irritation build in his gut. The man silenced him like a parent would silence a rowdy child.

"There will be time for that." said Agent Thomas. He looked back into the file. The man radiated power and authority.

And it pissed Peter off to no end.

"Agent Fowler reported that you, and I quote," he lifted the page closer to him, "'decked him.'" He put the file down. "Care to explain why you openly assaulted an OPR agent?"

Peter let out a breath, trying to hang onto that fragile self-control. He'd practiced this answer, many times. "I wouldn't have if he hadn't laid a hand on my wife."

Agent Thomas looked back down at the paper. "That information didn't make it to the file."

Of course it didn't. Trying not to feel like a boy in the principal's office explaining his side to a schoolyard fight, Peter said, "Fowler showed up at my wife's work, and he harassed her. When I showed up, she told him to get away from her. He didn't, and he touched her." Peter huffed out a breath. "I may have overstepped in my reaction," he said through nearly gritted teeth, "but I can assure you, it wasn't uncalled for."

Agent Thomas had quite the talent for blank expressions, making him almost as hard to read as Neal. He lingered his gaze on Peter for another moment, then looked back at the file. "Very well," he said, his tone as blank as his expression. "Let's move on. Not only did you punch Agent Fowler, you shot him as well. Care to explain that?"

"He was threatening one of my agents, Agent Diana Berrigan," said Peter evenly. He knew for sure he wasn't in the wrong on this one. "He had his gun trained on her, and he was threatening to shoot." Peter shrugged. "I was faster."

Agent Thomas watched him for a moment more, and Peter began to feel very uncomfortable under the man's gaze. He flipped a page, and Peter relaxed just a little. He was moving on.

For now.

"Let's talk about Mr. Caffrey." said Agent Thomas. "You and he were both on the hangar when the plane was about to take off."

Peter felt his heart pick up.

Here we go.

Agent Thomas dropped the file on the table and clasped his own hands. "I'd like you to tell me what happened, Agent Burke."

Feeling again like a child in the principal's office, a position Neal was in most of the time, Peter sat up a little straighter and he composed himself. "The jet exploded."

Nothing changed in Thomas' expression. "Neal Caffrey is a felon." he said simply, and the way he said felon made Peter's composure shift just a little. "Will you explain the deal you had with him?"
"He was serving the remainder of a four-year sentence under my supervision."

Thomas lifted the file again, referring to it as he said, "He was wearing an electronic monitoring anklet with a…" He squinted a little at the file, and looked back at Peter with something akin to suspicion. "Two mile range?"

"Yes."

Thomas put the file down. "But he wasn't wearing it at the time that the plane exploded."

It wasn't a question.

The two agents flanking Thomas shared an almost disgusted look with one another. Thomas looked at Peter like he was sure Peter was in cahoots with a criminal gang.

Peter huffed out a breath. "No."

Agent Thomas covered his microphone to lean over to the agent on his left, whispering. They're allowed to do that? Peter looked back toward the transcriber, who wasn't writing it down. The transcriber caught his "really?" look, and simply shrugged.

Some "justice" system…

Agent Thomas returned to his microphone. He grabbed the file off the table and stood, reading from it. "Do you believe that Mr. Caffrey was attempting to flee the country?"

The question he was waiting for. "No." said Peter firmly. And like water through a broken damn— "He cut a deal with the Office of Professional Responsibility. That allowed him-"

Again with the hand.

Peter shut his mouth as Thomas raised his hand to cut him off. Peter seethed silently in his chair. He exchanged another look with the transcriber. Surely he should be allowed to give his entire side of the story without constantly being silenced.

But the transcriber just gave him another pitying shrug and Peter roughly turned back around.

Agent Thomas lifted his gaze back to Peter's. "Do you believe Mr. Caffrey wanted to kill Kate Moreau?"

"That's ridiculous," said Peter, shaking his head. "No." He clasped his hands on the table, trying to give them something to do besides want to overturn this ridiculously huge table.

Thomas stopped his pacing. "Do you believe that someone wanted Caffrey dead?"

Unfortunately…

...yes.

That was perhaps the scariest part of the entire mess.

Because they failed.

And depending on the strength of their motivation, they might try again.

Peter thought long about his answer before speaking. If they even let me get more than three words in. "Neal was a felon," he began. "He was convicted of bond forgery and, as you can see in those files, he was suspected of doing a hell of a lot of other things. Yeah. Neal was a pain in the ass. So, did someone from that past want him dead?" Peter shrugged. "Maybe." And then something in his eyes changed, a spark of pride and determination jumped into them, lifting his posture. "But he also helped me clear a ninety-three percent conviction rate and…" What started off as a nod to Neal's importance as a CI quickly spiraled into making the man's point. "...that makes enemies too," he amended. "But I don't think any of this explains why the jet exploded." And quickly, before he could get interrupted for changing the subject, he said, "You want an answer to that? Ask Garret Fowler."

On the contrary, Thomas didn't try to shift the conversation back on track. He took Peter's segway. "Fowler," he repeated. "The OPR agent you shot."

Right. "He was wearing a vest," offered Peter dully. "Talk to him."

Agent Thomas sat back down, without breaking eye contact with Peter. "Right now we're talking to you." As Peter seethed even hotter, Thomas opened the file again, "Why don't we go back over the timeline Neal Caffrey has been working as your CI." Thomas flipped some pages, and Peter inwardly groaned. "The first case Caffrey assisted you on, he breached the radius of his anklet."

"He did that," said Peter, trying not to sound heated, "while trying to catch Curtis Hagen, otherwise known as 'The Dutchman'. Hagen's men caught him and took him hostage. My team and I managed to find Caffrey before they shot him." It wasn't the exact truth, not in Neal's case, anyway, but that was the story the file knew so that was the story he was sticking to.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. Peter knew instantly-with a little sinking of his heart-that this man was no fool. "Caffrey was caught?" he repeated, with the slightest amount of disbelief underlying the seemingly aloof words. He lifted his gaze to Peter's. "It took you, Agent Burke, years to catch Caffrey. Interesting that Hagen was able to so easily."

"That's what happened." said Peter evenly, each word a piece of truth. Not the whole truth, but the truth nonetheless.

Damn, he was spending too much time with Neal.

Thomas was silent, something going on behind his blank mask for a moment before moving on to another page in the file. "Not a few months ago," said Thomas, "we have record of Caffrey's anklet placing him right on the edge of his radius. He spent a bit of time there, nearly crossing it." He looked up from the file. Peter held his gaze, unsure where the man was going with it. "There are more instances than this that raise eyebrows, Agent Burke. It seems like Caffrey dances on the edge quite a bit under your supervision."

Peter took a breath. The three agents stared at him, waiting for an explanation. He knew himself how... gray...the area was when it came to Neal, and the lies of omission in the files couldn't sharpen the color that much. Peter allowed himself a moment to collect his thoughts.

One chance.

You get one chance at this.

He was given ten chances to convince Hughes.

He was only allowed one here.

He had to make it count.

"I understand as well as you do," said Peter slowly, each eye upon him, "that the methods you see in those files aren't as cut and dry as the FBI usually does things." Thomas put the file down, closed it. Clasped his hands together.

Listened.

Taking another breath, Peter continued, "Ask anyone on my team, and they'll tell you I don't like cut corners and I don't like blurred lines. I admit that Caffrey… that Neal has a tendency to approach justice in a sort of roundabout way." Peter's gaze sharpened, determination shining through. "But he has the same heart that every great FBI agent does. The same heart in the three of you. He does the right thing. He's got an interesting way of doing it, but he's done the right thing every moment he's been under my supervision."

And he has.

Peter went through every moment he spent with Neal in his head, and in every moment, Neal had done the right thing. Or at least what he thought was right. Where a normal FBI agent would see stole the music box Peter saw protected an innocent in need. Every line Neal blurred under Peter's watch was led by the drive to help Kate, who was in the hands of Fowler against her will.

To help an innocent victim, in the only way Neal knew how.

"He's made mistakes in the past," Peter went on quickly, before they could point out their own definitions of 'right'. "But Neal isn't like other felons. He's one of the most selfless people I've ever met. Neal has put his life on the line to protect the victims of our cases, he's put his life on the line to protect me." Peter smiled a little, feeling pride warm his chest, seeing the looks on the agents' faces soften, just a touch, in their shift of perspective, however slight it was. "If working with Neal Caffrey has shown me anything, it's that justice isn't always black and white. He's a bit unorthodox in his execution, but he hasn't broken any laws and he's brilliant enough to find a way not to."

That sparked Thomas' attention. "So you're saying," said Thomas, "that he's clever enough to find loopholes?"

"No," said Peter firmly. "He's smart enough not to need them. Not to mention every unorthodox choice he's made as my CI was to protect a civilian or my own team." Thomas remained silent at that, face shifting into something Peter couldn't decipher. Peter composed himself, trying again. "Neal has helped me maintain a ninety-three percent conviction rate," repeated Peter, that statement never failing to please his ear. "No one has numbers like we do. No one has had as much success as we do. It's because I'm working with someone who understands the people we chase. His knowledge of the criminal mind is what makes us such a great team. That, and the fact that he knows how to use it for good. That he does use it for good." Peter felt another smile tilt his lips. "I've seen him at the closing of a case. I've seen the look on his face. It isn't the look of a criminal on work-release trying to simply get through the day and cross off another date on the calendar toward commutation. It's the look of one of our own, the relief and the pride that comes with making our city a safer place. Sending him back to prison isn't going to help anyone. He's helping people out here."

Thomas let out a breath, clasping his hands in front of him. "I understand Caffrey has shown valiance as your CI, and while your conviction rate is impressive, Neal Caffrey is still one of the most elusive criminals the FBI has managed to catch. And I'm not sure, after seeing the unorthodox methods you allow him to use, after all the ends that still don't meet here, that we can actually trust him."

"You. You're the only person."

He was distracted, mind racing. But Peter found himself saying, "The only person what?"

And Neal looked him in the eye, and for one of the first times in his life, Peter didn't have an ounce of doubt that the words he spoke next were the absolute, honest truth.

"You're the only person I can trust."

Peter blinked.

He breathed out.

"You can trust him. Because I do." said Peter. "I trust him." The words weren't rehearsed, like the rest of his answers. But they were pulled from his chest easily, truthfully. And like a door blown open by the wind, more truth tumbled out. "After Neal made his deal with OPR, I went after him. I managed to get to the hangar in time, and I stopped him before he got on that plane." Peter felt a slight hitch, the truth getting a little more heavy. "I stopped Neal last week. But the Neal Caffrey I knew before he became my CI wouldn't have. Nothing would have made that Neal Caffrey hesitate. But after living a life with me and the FBI, this Neal Caffrey did." He shut his eyes briefly, desperation leaking the smallest bit over his words. He opened his eyes. "He's making a difference in us and we're making a difference in him. He's not the same man I chased and arrested." Peter eyed the three silent men. "If you agents believe in the same values of the Bureau that I do, that we're here to help people…" My only chance. "Let me help him. Give me the chance to finish what I started. I have the opportunity to take one of the world's best conmen and help him become an honest man. To change him for the better, and in turn, help show him how he can make the world better. And if that's not what we do… then maybe I don't want my badge back after all."

Peter fell silent, the room quiet. The men stared at him, each with an expression that Peter couldn't pinpoint, but underlied by surprise.

Seeming to snap out of something, Thomas blinked, then covered his microphone yet again, and leaned over to whisper with the agent to his right. The three men exchanged a set of whispers that made Peter's heart only beat faster.

Thomas composed himself, taking a few moments to collect a response, and he uncovered the microphone.

Peter felt his gut twist.

"Either Caffrey is a talented enough conman," said Thomas, " to trick you into putting your career in jeopardy for him…" Something shifted in the man's face that was impossible to read but looked almost like a touch of interest. "Or you're ninety-three percent conviction rate isn't the only impressive thing about you."

Peter felt feeling start to return to his body.

Does that mean…?

"Your suspension is lifted as of now," said Thomas. "Though don't take it as a free pass. I understand you and Fowler have issue with each other, but assault won't be tolerated again. You're on probation."

The relief Peter felt halted just a little at that.

But, that was to be expected.

"And Neal…?" asked Peter tentatively. "I'd like to reinstate our original deal."

"Mr. Caffrey isn't out of the woods with regard to the murder of Ms. Moreau," said Thomas. "We'll take your request under advisement and you'll have an answer once it's decided." Thomas paused for a moment, giving Peter a look that was almost human. "I can appreciate what you're doing for Mr. Caffrey, and that his, as you put it, unorthodox methods end up bringing you and the Bureau incredible results." Peter tensed, feeling the 'but' before it came. "But," said Thomas, "he's your responsibility. If one day he makes a decision that isn't as gray as he hoped, it's your career on the line. It may do well to ask yourself if he's worth the risk."

Peter didn't have to ask; he knew.

He is.

He thanked the agents for their time at their dismissal, and he left the room, hoping against hope that something he said would get through to the agents the same way Peter somehow managed to get through to Neal himself.

"What happened?"

"I got my badge back."

"Oh, Peter!" Peter smiled, hearing Elizabeth's excitement as clearly through the phone as if she were right beside him. He walked down the hallway toward the elevator, rubbing his thumb over his badge, which he'd gotten not too long after he'd been dismissed from the room. "That's great news! Peter, I'm so happy to hear that."

Peter let out a breath, feeling a tight part of his chest finally relax. As silly as it may have sounded, being without his badge had truly felt like something was physically missing from him. And without Elizabeth to keep him sane, he wasn't sure how he would have gotten through the past week. "I know," he said with a smile.

"And Neal? What about Neal?"

Peter sighed. He'd been so ready to tell her he's coming home. He'd imagined leaving this meeting with more than just his badge. Something told him he should have known this kind of thing would need more time than that; his suspension didn't have as many "ends that don't meet," as Thomas put it. He would just have to wait and hope.

More waiting.

Great.

"Peter?"

Peter blinked, realizing he hadn't answered. "They haven't made a decision about Neal yet."

A slight pause from her end. He could imagine her face. "They haven't?"

"No," said Peter. "They're still investigating Kate's death. Without someone to blame, they're…"

"They're blaming Neal?" said Elizabeth, her voice raising.

"They don't know what to think." said Peter. At Elizabeth's silence, he said, "But it's not a 'no'. We can at least look at it that way."

Elizabeth sighed. "I know."

"I did my best." said Peter quietly, stopping on his journey to the elevator to sit on a bench in the vast hallway. "I…" He rubbed his temple with his free hand. "I feel like I blacked out a little in there, but… I think… I think I actually said I didn't even want my badge if they couldn't give Neal another chance." He blinked. "Did I actually say that?"

But Elizabeth didn't share the same fear Peter suddenly had. "There's the man I married."

Peter felt a rare slip of control on his emotions. "But-"

"Any FBI agent can catch criminals and put them in jail," said Elizabeth. "Only you could take one and save him."

Peter let out a breath.

"Whatever you said, I know you'll get through to them." said Elizabeth softly.

"You think?" asked Peter, feeling almost silly hearing how much hope his words carried.

"I know." she said, and it really sounded like she did. "You convinced Neal to stay. You convinced me to marry you."

Peter felt himself laugh. "I'm not sure which one of those surprised me more."

He felt her smile.

"Neither of them surprised me."

Peter grinned, a warmth in his chest. "You know you're the best wife ever, right?"

"I know," she said.

Peter smiled.

That made two of them.

Peter made his way out of the elevator, back into the foyer of the building. He walked with a purpose.

His badge didn't just give him back jurisdiction, authority and confidence.

With his suspension lifted and the meeting over…

...he could finally see Neal.

And that's exactly where he was going.

What he didn't expect to halt his journey as he made his way through the building toward the door, was Diana.

She was waiting for him. When he caught her eye, he gave her a surprised cock of his head.

"Well?" asked Diana.

Peter pulled the badge back out of his jacket and a smile broke out on his face. "I'm off suspension, but hanging on by a thread." He could see the relief in her own eyes, but underneath, an excited urgency. Something brought her here that a phone call wouldn't have sufficed. Peter prompted, "What have we got?"

They picked up their walk, heading toward the doors. Lowering her voice a little, Diana said, "Fowler was headed over to OPR two days ago. Then, not a trace."

Peter stopped. Bastard. "They're hiding him somewhere. Did you get anything off his hard drive?"

"Good news and bad news," said Diana, making Peter think quite the theme of the week. "I hacked it but the data self-corrupted."

Peter shut his eyes, muttering a curse. They needed every ounce of evidence to prove Neal's innocence. "A self-eating virus." He shook his head. "What's the good news?"

Diana smiled a little smile that was almost scary, in her understated way. "Well, I was able to recover one entry. A date, a time and a place."

Peter felt relief slip back into his system. He smiled. "So we think Fowler set up a meeting?"

"He's expecting something to happen at 12th and Watershed two months from now."

Peter nodded. "Two months." He gave her a look. "I should be there."

Diana shared it. "I'll put it on your calendar."

Peter smiled again. "Glad to have you back."

He started on his way toward the doors, hearing Diana ask, "Where are you going?"

Feeling another emotion fill his chest as he said it, Peter turned and said, "To see an old friend."

At her confused look, he turned back around and headed through the doors.

He was finally going to see Neal.

Damn, seven days have never felt so long.

He descended the steps and headed for his car.

Hang on, Neal.

I'm on my way.