A/N - My first White Collar fic, so I hope I got the characters right. Tell me if you see any errors, and let me know what you think!
(Update 21/7/2021 - fixed some minor formatting errors)
-JKelly
When the phone rang, Peter was almost expecting it. After all, it had been almost six hours since Peter had heard about Neal Caffery's daring escape in Copenhagen, and he hadn't called to gloat yet. Truth be told, Peter had been getting a little concerned.
The caller ID simply said: "Unknown Number".
He picked up the phone.
"Hello Caffery."
"Peter, hey! It's been a while." Caffery sounded altogether too chipper for someone who had just evaded law enforcement by sliding down a fire escape and disappearing (apparently) into the back of a van, but he supposed that that was just how he was. Altogether too chipper.
"It has been a while. I tell you what, why don't you come down here and we'll catch up in person?"
"Ah, it's a kind offer Peter but I'm all booked up I'm afraid. Maybe another time...or then again, maybe not. I've heard bad things about the quality of Bureau coffee."
Peter cast an accusatory eye over to his own mug of bureau sludge, as though it really was the reason his quarry refused to hand himself in.
"It's not all about coffee, Caffery, we get decent doughnuts here."
A low chuckle came from the other end of the phone. "Feeding stereotypes as well as yourselves, Peter? You watch, you'll be buying shades just so that you can take them off at dramatic moments next."
A huff of air escaped him, and Peter suddenly realised that he was probably enjoying this conversation far too much. Neal Caffery was the criminal he was supposed to be catching, he reminded himself, not an old friend. He should be using this time to get information out of him, not bantering about coffee and doughnuts.
"Yeah well, I am glad you called Caffery. I've got a question for you."
"Fire away - although that's probably not quite the thing to say to an armed FBI agent."
"It probably isn't. Neal Caffery."
"...yeah, Peter?"
"That's my question. Neal Caffery - is it your real name?"
"Hm...well, it's the realest one I've got." Peter raised an eyebrow at the vagueness of his response.
"Yes, but is it the name you were born with?"
"No one's born with a name, Peter, that's why they have to write the name on the birth certificate when you come out."
"Well, okay then, is Neal Caffery the name on your birth certificate?"
"Yes, Neal Caffery is the name on my birth certificate."
For a moment, Peter was tempted to accept that response, but then he remembered that if Neal had done half the things he was suspected of, he was one of the greatest forgers of his generation. A birth certificate would be child's play to him.
"Your real birth certificate?" He clarified.
"It's as real as you or I."
Peter sighed, somehow knowing that he wouldn't be getting any more out of Neal on the topic.
"...why the sudden interest in my name, Peter?" Neal's tone was suddenly less lighthearted than it had been earlier, and if he hadn't known any better, Peter might have said that he was feeling uncomfortable.
"Well, I've been looking into you, Caffery." It was an understatement really - Peter had been spending almost every spare waking hour for the last year looking over the Caffery files, trying desperately to find a new lead.
"I'm flattered Peter, really." And he really sounded it. Peter wondered just how starved for attention you had to be for it to be flattering that an FBI agent was looking into your crimes.
"The thing is, I can't seem to find anything from before you turned eighteen. Any particular reason for that?"
There was a moment of silence over the line, and Peter was half tempted to check if Neal had hung up on him when he finally replied.
"...well my life was pretty dull before then Peter. All the interesting stuff happened afterwards. Allegedly, of course."
"What, after your sudden career change from goody-two-shoes to master criminal?"
"...yeah, something like that."
All this obfuscation only seemed to confirm Peter's suspicions that 'Neal Caffery' was but another invention of the conman, and he couldn't help but feel disappointed somehow. Of course Neal would lie to him, that was what he did, wasn't it? But it couldn't be denied that somewhere along the line, Caffery had become Neal, and Peter felt a twinge of grief for the charming young man who could have done so much and yet had turned to crime.
From Neal's end of the phone came the sound of a door opening.
"Neal, I'm back, and I've got--"
"The pizza! Great, well Peter it looks like I've got to go I'm afraid."
"Who's that who's just come with...pizza?" Peter asked, trying to think though all Caffery's known associates and coming up blank.
"Oh, just a friend--"
"Who are you talking to Neal? Please don't tell me you're calling the Suit again--" a sudden shushing sound cut off the mysterious friend, who seemed to sputter indignantly for a moment at the interruption.
"This friend have a name, Neal?" Peter wondered if 'the Suit' was a nickname for him or if it was for some particularly dapper criminal, and then wondered which he'd prefer.
"A real name, Peter?" He could almost hear Neal's smirk from wherever in the world he was now.
"I'm afraid that there are some things even I don't know. Goodbye, Peter. Say hi to Elizabeth for me!"
"Neal, what--" Neal apparently hung up the phone on his friend's bewildered questioning, leaving Peter open mouthed and considering the information he'd just learnt. Or rather, the lack thereof.
"You're good, Caffery," he said to the empty room, "I'll give you that."