It was just over a week later Peter got a call from a waitress at the Watering Hole. Angela.
True to her word, Samantha had passed his card and request along to her friend.
The woman who'd met with Neal was back. She'd even taken the same booth and had informed the waitress she was waiting on someone. Peter quickly pulled up Neal's data and let out a breath of relief when it indicated he was still safely tucked away on Riverside Drive. With a quick explanation to Elizabeth for his late-night departure and assurances he wouldn't do anything rash if the mystery woman was indeed Kate, he got back into his work attire and headed to Vinegar Hill.
The Watering Hole was busy for a Thursday night. Several patrons were gathered around the bar and over half the tables and booths in the place were occupied. He'd just gotten through the door when a woman approached him.
"Are you Peter Burke?" she asked, her voice low. At his nod, she nodded her head toward the back right corner. "That's her. Sam said you wanted a word with her."
It wasn't Kate. Again, Peter let out a breath of relief. "Thanks for calling."
"Just don't tell anyone, okay?" she said. "If anyone finds out I-"
"No one will," he assured her. "Don't worry."
She nodded a bit hesitantly and went on her way. As Peter made his way through the table, he could feel the eyes on him. He wasn't just a stranger, he was law enforcement and his presence was tolerated but not welcome. He made it to the booth in question and stopped.
The moment she looked up, Peter flashed his badge. "Agent Burke," he said. "I'd like a . word with you."
There was a momentarily look of shock on both their faces. Then the man paled but a look of unadulterated fury erupted in the woman's green eyes.
"That little shit!" she spat. "I tried to be understanding to his whole going legit thing but this? Damn Neal Caffrey!"
Peter gave the man a look, his head gesturing in the general direction of the door. "Do you mind?" he said. "I need a private word."
With a quick almost apologetic look at the furious woman across from him, the man made haste to vacate his seat.
"I take it you are a friend of Neal's," Peter said, sliding into the now empty side of the booth. Its former occupant didn't waste a moment fleeing the premises. In mere seconds, the door was swinging closed behind him.
He returned his gaze to the woman. Who now glared at him. "Apparently not."
"Did the two of you have a falling out?" He asked as waves of anger rolled off her small frame.
"I didn't think I so but," she waved a hand at him as if to say here you are.
She thought Neal had sent him. Her first words returned to him; She'd tried to be understanding of his going legit. Neal had told her he was going legit. He felt the tension drain from his shoulders. He didn't know what he was going to find when he'd come here. He'd been afraid of what he'd learn.
He let out a breath and leaned back in the booth. "Look, Miss...?" She crossed her arms in front of her, ignoring his attempts to get a name. "I know the two of you met here last week." She continued to glare, unwilling to confirm or deny. "When Neal left here that night," he continued, "He saw a woman being assaulted in the alley next door." A quick look of surprise flitted through her eyes but she said nothing. "He intervened."
She let out a huff of breath. "Of course he did." It was half irritation, half sarcasm. Peter could tell if she approved or disapproved. She, it seemed, was almost as hard to read and Neal.
"There were four of them."
That got a response. Her eyes widened and her lips parted. She dropped her folded arms and leaned forward. "Is he okay?"
"He will be," Peter replied, noting the concern in her green eyes. She might be furious with Neal but she cared about him nonetheless. "But it was touch and go for a couple of days."
She let out what Peter was sure was a sigh of relief but her expression again became hostile.
"Impulsive idiot," she said almost under her breath. She leaned back, crossing her arms again. "He just ran in, didn't he?" she asked, brow raised. "No plan. Nothing."
She clearly knew Neal. Who was she? He was dying to know. And he would. Before the day was over.
"Pretty much," Peter admitted. "But I think his plan was to stop the assault."
"That was the intended outcome," she snapped irritably. "Not a plan. A plan would be to cause a scene, draw a crowd. Announce the police were on the way." She gave a small snort. "Neal's a lover. Not a fighter. He's lucky he didn't get himself killed."
Peter couldn't agree more. At least on one point. In the other, he'd defer to her experience.
"So," Peter pounced on the opening, trying to hide a smile. "Are the two of you...involved?"
Again, she let out a snort. "No," she shot back. "Not anymore." So they had been. "But I thought we were friends. But I guess he's moved on there, too."
There was a lot to unpack in that; there was hurt in her eyes. Not her voice, not even in her posture. But Peter saw it. She cared about Neal and he had moved on. With Kate? With the FBI? She thought he had betrayed her; had sent the FBI to her door. Or booth as the case may be. He didn't know who she was, or what she and Neal had shared in the past but she had asked him to meet her and he had done so. And she obviously cared about him.
"Neal was hurt pretty bad," he said, choosing to pass over the last exchange. "He had to have surgery, has a broken arm." He paused. "And a concussion. He has no memory of what happened that night." Again, he saw the signs of surprise in her demeanor. "Or actually, the entire day."
"He doesn't remember the beating?" Peter shook his head. "Or...?" she frowned, dropping her eyes momentarily to the table. "Us meeting here?" Again, keeping his eyes on hers, he shook his head. He could almost see her mind racing, running down their entire conversation, trying to see what she'd said. "He didn't send you."
That wasn't a question; it was a matter of fact. Peter shook his head. "He did not."
She started at him a full half minute. "Then how do you even know we met here?"
Peter grinned. Catching her off-guard was almost as fun as doing it to Neal. "You know, the I in FBI means-"
"Investigation," she finished. "So if Neal didn't send you, why are you here?"
It was his turn to turn reflective. Why was he here? The investigation was closed. Neal had been cleared, in fact, even heralded as a hero.
"Because it's my job," he said. "It's my job to keep him safe."
She raised a brow. "From what?"
"His past," he stated flatly. "People from his past," he added. "His own misguided ideas and, to be honest, that impulsive nature you talked about."
"Because it's your job," she repeated in a low voice. When she raised her eyes to his, the fury flashed once more. "So that's all he is to you?" she snapped. "A job?" She let out a snort. "So you are conning the great Neal Caffrey."
"I am not," Peter protested. "We have an agreement-"
"He thinks he's found a home!" she shot to her feet, all efforts to control her features discarded in an instant. "For the first time in his life, he thinks he has somewhere he belongs!" she stormed, drawing the eyes of the other patrons. "People who actually care about him! Damn you for lying to him!"
She started to turn but Peter grabbed her arm.
"Please!" It was torn from him. He heard the desperation in his voice as did anyone in any relative proximity. "Please wait. Let me explain!"
After a moment, she sat down heavily. But she didn't speak. She just looked at him, the challenge clear in her face. Peter swallowed but didn't release his grip in fear she'd bolt.
"It isn't just because it's my job," he admitted in a low voice. "I like Neal," he said. "I care about what happens to him. He's a good person he just..." he hesitated.
"Does stupid stuff?"
"Make bad decisions," he countered although her phrasing wasn't that far off. She gave no further comment but continued to stare a hole in him.
"He does good work for us," he continued. "He makes a difference in people's lives and he likes doing it. Likes helping people. And he does have a home," he insisted. June Ellington had practically adopted him. "He does-" he had to stop there.
This was the first time Neal felt he belonged? That he had people who cared about him?
No mom, or dad. No girlfriend or friend. Just Agent Burke. Next of kin: Peter Burke. Emergency Contact: Peter Burke.
"What?" Her tone was demanding but her eyes held something else.
"Belong." Peter felt his throat constrict. His eyes began to sting. "He does belong." He affirmed in a rather choked manner. "He does have people who care about him."
She studied him a moment. Then let out a breath. "I hope you are genuine, Peter." The way she said the name made him think Neal had spoken of him. "Caffrey is a great judge of character but sometimes when his emotions are involved..." She shrugged. "His judgment becomes impaired." She gave him an almost bitter smile. "He just...runs in."
He smiled in understanding. "Without a thought or a plan."
"Exactly." She met his smile but her eyes clouded with concern. "All he's ever wanted since I've known him is to have a home, place to belong. To have people who care about him and not just what he could do for them."
Peter had to swallow to control his emotions. Everything Elizabeth had said about Neal needing them, needing him, came back to him.
"He has that," Peter told her. "He belongs at White Collar. He has a home with us. He has people who care about him." He took a breath. Why what this woman thought mattered to him, he didn't know. But it did. "I'm not conning him, Miss...?"
He tried again and this time, had success.
She gave him a tight smile. "Hunter. Since the I stands for Investigation, I guess you'll know soon enough."
He would. He'd snapped a photo the moment he'd walked in.
"Miss Hunter," he repeated. "I'm not conning him," he said again. "He does have people who care about him; he has me."
A look of almost pain flashed in her eyes. "Take care of him," she said. "He's the sweetest, most loyal person I've ever met." She paused, looking at something only she could see. A memory perhaps. Or an image from a time long past. Whatever it was, when her attention again turned to him, Peter could sense a change in the undercurrent. "But that's not always served him well."
What did she mean? What did she know about Neal? They had a past, that was certain. He'd find it all out by an by.
"I will, Miss Hunter," he replied "I promise."
