Day Eight! Today's chapter is a little heavier, dealing a little bit with grief and mourning. So, if that's not something you're okay with reading, please feel free to avoid this chapter. With that being said, today's chapter summary: Neal folding 1000 paper cranes for a wish and also being just a little bit melodramatic.

Neal was sitting at his desk, bored. Nothing was happening. To be entirely fair, he was aware that he was not meant to be involved in interesting cases. Legally, he wasn't supposed to be doing anything other than providing advice. However...he was still bored. Neal thrived on adventure and trying new things, not sitting behind a desk reading cold case files.

He flipped through another file, pretending he was interested in anything included in that folder. It was the same as every other real estate cash-back scheme: cash-back to the borrower, buyer pocketing the extra and running with it. There really wasn't a way to make mortgage fraud interesting. It seemed grey.

Everything, really, seemed grey. Neal was better, but better was relative. Seeing a loved one die in front of you affects you. And Kate had been closer to Neal than just about anyone else in the young man's life. She'd served as a safety net, someone to fall back on during the nearly four years in prison. Kate must have been the sun in Neal's sky, because after she left, everything was dark and overcast. There were occasional bright spots, some breaks in the clouds, but mostly a grey blanket over Neal's world. Nothing seemed to go right in Neal's life. Everything he'd done was a mistake. There wasn't a single good choice he'd made. He'd gotten himself into a life of crime without a good way out of it, wasted his twenties in prison, and was the property of the FBI for the next four years. He didn't have anyone to fall back on anymore, no one who knew the entirety that was Neal Caffrey.

Reluctantly, he finished the cold case with a few neatly-penned notes in the margins. It was the appraiser; it was always a corrupt appraiser. If Neal had been in a joking mood, he'd wonder how the FBI got anything done without him. The file went on top of the pile of other finished cold cases. Neal reached back towards where the stack of 'to be closed' case files and found...nothing. He'd finished every file that was thrown on his desk in the morning. He guessed he should have been excited, and a small part of him was, but mostly he felt tired. I should probably ask if I should be doing anything, Neal thought. But, meanwhile, if he asked Peter what he should have been doing, then he'd probably be given more cold cases to work on. He swallowed thickly around the lump growing in his throat. There wasn't any reason to be thinking of The Event, but here he was, almost in tears in the middle of the FBI offices. He took a deep breath, in and out, and then another, and another, and another. A deep sigh escaped his lips before he turned to a drawer.

Against the better judgment he should have had, he pulled out a small stack of 3 by 3 inch papers in all colors and patterns. Most were bright colors and florals, with a few geometric patterns and pastels. The colors managed to bring a small smile to Neal's face, even through the grey haze of emptiness. Kate always liked bright colors. Chancing a glance to the bullpen, Neal made sure that no one was looking. No one was. Good. He pulled out a pair of earbuds from his jacket pocket and connected them to his phone. Putting one bud in his ear, he started Frank Sinatra, the Rat Pack, and Dean Martin. All good oldie music, classics. Kate always loved the classics. Tears pricked Neal's eyes as he started folding sheets of paper.

He had finished a few cranes before the pile of cold cases had been thrust upon him, so Neal just added to that stack. Two minutes later, crane number four was finished, bright purple and stacked on top of three others. A sheet of pastel pink was pulled off the stack. Another crane began. Neal had always been good at origami, a socially acceptable way to keep his hands in constant motion. So, picking up the rhythmic nature of crane-folding became routine in a heartbeat. He continued folding. Five, six, seven, eight, nine.

Peter looked up from his work, his 'Caffrey's doing something wrong' sense pinging. He glanced out the glass wall at where Neal should have been working on case files.

He wasn't. What he was doing instead was adroitly folding origami. In Neal's defense, there weren't any more files he was supposed to work on and no one else seemed to be paying attention to their work. In support of Peter, however, the con was still supposed to be doing something useful.

Peter took a deep breath. He'd been lenient with the younger man for the past few months. He knew Kate's death had affected him badly. He knew that Neal was probably coping with trauma, grief, and survivor's guilt he never got to process correctly. He knew that the best thing for Neal was probably giving him time to process things in his own way. But...Peter was starting to lose patience. He glanced down at his watch. Almost noon. He decided that he'd ask Neal to go to lunch and interrogate him then. Maybe he'd be more open if he was outside of the FBI building.

He went down into the bullpen and stood directly in front of Neal's desk. He didn't notice, intent on finishing a turquoise crane.

"Neal."

Peter's voice cut through Neal's music and mind, finishing his crease and looking up at Peter. He paused his music. He made a final fold before adding it to the stack. Fourteen.

"Yeah, Peter?" Neal asked.

"What are you doing?" Peter spread his hands across the desk, indicating the lack of work and new abundance of folded paper figurines.

Neal shrugged before pulling a light floral piece of paper off the stack. "Folding origami cranes, Peter. What does it look like?"

Peter crossed his arms, making a valiant attempt to be stern. "Not the reason you're here."

Neal tried to finish a crane one-handed while putting his other on top of the stack of closed files. "Finished that." He went back to folding like a normal person would, with both hands. It went straight onto the top of the stack of cranes.

"That was fast. That'd usually take you a few days." Peter quickly counted through the files, just in case. It was, in fact, all of the files finished. Huh. Neal had finished fifteen cold cases in three hours. Usually, the younger man would drag his feet about finishing mortgage fraud, complaining all the while. But this time...not a peep out of Neal and fifteen cold cases finished in record time.

Neal shrugged, finishing another crane. "I had motivation today."

He pushed his hair from where it had fallen into his face. He fixed the part quickly, before returning to his folding. Peter tried to be angry at Neal, he really did. But he couldn't quite manage it. Neal seemed so honest in this situation, so vulnerable. It was almost adorable.

"What's her name?"

Neal froze. Blinked. Looked up at Peter. No, he wasn't looking. He was glaring, challenging Peter with his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he put the last finished crane on top of the stack.

"Huh?" Neal asked. His tone was confused on the surface, with definite irritation-or maybe even anger-buried underneath.

"Your 'motivation,'" Peter helpfully clarified. "What's her name?"

Neal glared for a second more. "It's not a girl, Peter." There was a definite hint of bitterness in his tone.

Neal glanced at the stack of finished cranes. Seventeen. Not even half a string. He let out a sigh before leaning back in his chair. Neal hadn't noticed while folding, but his back hurt. His posture wasn't exactly good for his back and shoulders, and they ached. He stretched, a few almost sickening cracks coming from his spine. He relaxed, slumping slightly, before returning back to his typical perfect posture.

"I just wanted to get things done quickly," he continued. "You know, be productive? I thought you'd approve."

Peter was forced to acknowledge that Neal had a point. "Okay, well, I do approve." It would have been dangerous for Peter to say anything else. "But any specific reason?"

Neal gave a few confused blinks before his eyes slid down from Peter's face. His gaze paused and focused on the stack of cranes before sliding the rest of the way down to his hands. Peter didn't miss this. A stack of origami cranes. What's that about?

"Not really," Neal mumbled. Peter had to strain to hear the normally perfectly enunciated words.

Something in Peter's chest tugged at his rational mind. As much as he wanted to confront Neal in the middle of the White Collar offices, Neal wasn't going to open up where there were so many people. Neal wasn't a fan of acknowledging that he was human, that he had emotions, needed food and water and sleep, or generally existed outside of the persona he carefully cultivated. He needed to be out, to be around a group of people he didn't know to confess anything.

"Come with me to lunch," Peter said, suddenly.

Neal's head snapped up. "Huh?"

"Lunch. Come on, let's go. I'm paying." He took Neal's hat off its typical place before walking towards the doors.

Neal stared after Peter for a few seconds before standing. He stretched, the muscles in his back and shoulders protesting. The paper and stack of cranes went back into the same drawer they were taken out of. Better for Neal to keep the superhuman image intact for as long as possible. He swept his jacket on before chasing after Peter. Peter smiled as Neal snatched his hat back and flipped it onto his head. Success. Neal looked like consummate conman, Neal Caffrey.

The should-have-been short drive to a nearby restaurant dragged on as Peter fought his way through New York City traffic. Driving was a bad idea. Neal took a deep breath that quickly transitioned into a sigh before turning to avoid Peter's eyes. He stared absently out the window, not exactly focusing on anything in particular.

"Neal?" Peter carefully probed. "You wanna talk about anything?"

Neal shook his head. "Not really."

Peter shrugged. The two managed to get a table and get through most of lunch without incident. Neal was acting like himself again, and Peter had never been more sure that 'Neal Caffrey' was a front put on to disguise emotions the young man didn't want to have. He was obviously still mourning, but heaven forbid he act like a man who lost the love of his life. They carried on a conversation about nothing of substance, bouncing from one topic of small talk to another. Peter decided that Neal was in a good mindset now and tried to finish the conversation from the office.

"So, what's with the cranes?" he asked casually during a lull in their conversation.

Neal blinked rapidly. If Peter didn't know better (and evidence was rapidly suggesting he didn't), he'd say Neal was blinking away tears. He swallowed thickly and took a deep breath, steadying himself for an answer.

"A thousand paper cranes." Neal's voice trembled more than Peter had ever heard it tremble. Even when he was sentenced to spend four years in a supermax, Neal hadn't sounded this nervous. This scared. This...young.

"What?"

Neal took a sip of water before answering. "It's an old Japanese legend," he explained. He didn't sound as emotional, more like he was reciting from a textbook than anything else. "If you fold a thousand paper cranes, you get a wish. Usually luck or good fortune or something like that."

Peter could feel his face soften. He felt bad for Neal, truly he did. Peter had only been part of his life since his major crimes began, and only knew the bare minimum about his childhood. But what Peter did know made him feel sorry for the young con. No one should have had the life he did.

"Is that why you were folding cranes?" Neal silently nodded, teeth sinking into his lower lip. Peter, in his usual tendency, took the moment of tenderness they shared and forgot how to keep it. "You've had plenty of luck."

Neal glared, but his heart wasn't in it. It came off as pitiful rather than aggravated. "No. I haven't." His tone was as emotionless as his eyes. His eyes sunk back to the table. "Name one good thing that's happened in my life so far."

"You met me."

"And went to prison."

"You got out."

"After lying to you." Lying to me? "I only asked for the deal to find Kate."

"And you did."

"And then she died!" Neal's voice broke on the last word, coming out more as a sob than a coherent word. People from the surrounding tables looked at them before Peter awkwardly waved them off. In typical New York fashion, they steadfastly ignored the situation and went back to their own business. "Because of me," Neal continued in a whisper. "I was supposed to be there."

And then something unexpected happened. Neal burst into silent tears. Peter had never seen the younger man cry. No, that was wrong. He'd seen it immediately after the explosion. But nothing like this, so obviously heartbroken and charged with emotion. He gave Neal as much space as he felt comfortable giving, stopped talking until the younger man could collect himself. Several rapid, heaving breaths later, Neal wiped his face. Peter tried to make him think of something good that had happened.

"What about meeting Mozzie?" he asked, as tenderly as he could. "You seem to like having him around."

"He led me into a life of crime."

Peter was pretty sure that wasn't true, but didn't know enough about Neal's life to question it. However, he had learned one thing. Neal was determined to say that nothing positive happened in his life. There was one last-ditch effort Peter could make.

"El."

Neal shrugged. "I guess she's not that bad." A bit more of Neal's typical joking tone slipped in. He was recovering from this bout of emotion.

"Not that bad?" Peter asked, pretending to be offended. "I'm telling my wife you said that."

He looked over at Neal, who had a small smile showing through. His emotionless shell of self-loathing had a definitive crack through it. And there was no way to rebuild it.

"Okay. She's a pretty good thing," Neal was forced to admit. He sniffed before his soft smile transformed into a smirk. "I'm still finishing those cranes though." He met Peter's eyes again. "Wouldn't hurt to have a bit more luck."

Peter smiled back at him. "Definitely wouldn't hurt."

Neal's world was still grey, but some color and sunlight started to seep in again. He'd get through this. He could be okay again.

I won't necessarily ask if you enjoyed, because it feels a bit heavier. But if you thought it was exceptionally well-written or anything similar, please feel free to leave a review. To those participating in NaNoWriMo: keep writing!