A/N: This is a little AU story for White Collar episode, 4x16 (yes, I'm exceedingly late to the party). This is my first real foray into another fandom in five years. I've been exclusively writing for the LA fandom in that time, so please be gentle with me should you decide to read this.


Sara had intended to fly directly to London after helping Neal with his con at the Empire State Building. She'd intended to make a clean break, or as clean a break as one can when they're hopelessly in love. She was halfway to the airport when she got a text from Neal saying Peter had been arrested for the murder of Senator Pratt.

Without too much thought, she'd asked her driver turn around and went to Neal. She couldn't leave him alone, especially not after she found out about his father's involvement in Pratt's murder, and subsequent escape. Neal needed her support more than ever.

Which is why four days later, she's sitting in his apartment, listening as he tries to find some way to vindicate Peter. He's relentless; constantly brainstorming with her and Mozzie, Diana and Jones, fielding dozens of calls a day.

He's as focused as when she's watched him recreate a work of art, or some document. It's amazing to watch, and also a little disconcerting. Because she can see the toll it's taking on him already. He blames himself, and the guilt is driving him to obsession.

It's dark outside, and hours since they last ate, when Sara decides to take matters into her own hands.

"Hey, maybe we should take a break," she suggests, moving just behind Neal as he contemplates the large collection of papers spread over the table. She can tell he's about to protest, so she lays her hand over his, nudging his hip until he turns to face her. He sighs, leaning against the table as she shifts to rub his back.

"I'm not any closer to getting Peter out of prison," he laments, voice hoarse with disuse and far too much coffee. He dips his head, defeated.

"You will," she says, brushing a few errant pieces of hair off his forehead. "But you know you can't help Peter if you drive yourself into the ground. He needs you to stay strong and healthy. So I'm going to get us some food, and for an hour, we're not going to talk about any of this. Ok?"

"Ok," Neal agrees, settling a hand low on her back. It seems more a gesture of comfort than flirtatious. "I'm going to go make myself look a little less like death."

Sara snorts, pulling his chin down to kiss him quickly.

"You know you never look anything less than gorgeous. But you could maybe splash a little water on your face."

When Neal returns 15 minutes later, he looks marginally less exhausted. The tips of his hair are damp, and he's ditched his suit jacket and tie, though he still wears a light blue dress shirt and trousers.

Sara has taken advantage of his absence to clear enough room on the table for two settings and prepare two plates of lasagna.

"Wow, I didn't realize you were whipping up a gourmet meal," he comments, grabbing a bottle of wine from his collection. It seems more out of habit than that he's actually looking for the perfect pairing. He pours them each a glass, again moving on autopilot.

"You know my cooking skills end with toasting and boiling, Neal," she reminds him with a slight smile as he takes a seat, automatically lilting to the side. "And I'd hardly consider takeout Italian 'gourmet' fare."

"It smells amazing. Thank you." He glances from under his lashes, his voice dropping on the last two words. Sara's cheeks heat a little at his sincerity. She's never quite sure how to react when he's completely genuine. It's overwhelming to be perfectly honest.

"All I did was make a phone call and pull out a couple of plates."

Neal shakes his once, licks his bottom lip, eyes wide with that disconcerting honesty.

"No, I mean for all of it. For coming back, staying with me the last few days, and making sure I remember to eat and sleep," Neal clarifies. He cups her face with such a tender expression that her breath catches. It reminds her of the way he looked at her when he fake proposed. "You didn't have to, and I am beyond grateful. Especially since this is delaying you getting set up in London."

Sara clears her throat, taking a sip of wine to settle her unruly emotions.

"London can wait," she tells him. "Right now, you need me more than they do, so I'll stay as long as it takes."

"Sara, I can't ask you to do that." She senses another wave of guilt coming and hushes him with a gentle finger against his lips.

"You're didn't ask, I'm offering. Unless you don't want me here." She shrugs as though she doesn't care either way, but the smallest part of her is afraid he'll decline her offer. Either out of mislaid guilt or truly not wanting her in his business.

"Of course I want you here," he says without hesitation. "I just don't want you to regret sticking by my side." He looks beyond her with a wealth of regret and misery. "People usually do."

Sara scoots to the edge of her seat, so she's between his knees, and cups his hand loosely between hers.

"Neal, I am well aware of the risks that come with being…close to you. Or have you already forgotten about the last con I helped you with?" she asks, glad when he laughs in acknowledgment.

"No, no, I didn't forget. You were extremely helpful."

"Then trust me when I say I understand the risks that come with being Neal Caffrey and I'm not going anywhere."

Neals mouth opens slightly, eyes shining, and he cups her cheeks again, kissing her fiercely. She moves closer, erasing any space between them.

"Thank you," he whispers, clinging to her.

Sara knows with utter certainty that this is where she is meant to be.


A/N: As you might have noticed, I very firmly ship Sara and Neal, so if that's not your thing, then this story won't be either. I also am very used to writing a different ship, so I'm still working out how to accurately portray these characters.