We are getting there, I promise. Just a little change of perspective before the action starts.

Chapter Nine

Neal let the hot water of the shower wash over him, eyes closed, and concentrated on the feel of it beating on his upturned face. This was to be expected, he reminded himself, nothing he had not anticipated. His life in Paris as Nathan Clay was easier because he kept it free of emotional entanglements. Here in New York, that was impossible.

Since his return to the city, his sleep had been less than stellar. At least once each night, sometimes more, he was awakened by what he chose to call fitful dreams. Not always nightmares, they came in varying degrees of intensity. Sometimes they were instantly forgotten upon waking, merely an interruption in his slumber. Other times, like the one from this morning, they seemed to linger and give him a sense of unease.

He had awakened with a start and tightness in his chest that he hadn't felt in nearly two years. He had vacated the bed, dressed and been in the fitness room before 5:15 a.m. The inexplicable need to run away was met by a strenuous dash on the treadmill. It helped him work through the tension, and an hour later, sweaty and feeling more in control, he returned to his suite to shower.

His conversation with Peter at the Gallery the previous evening had exemplified the concept of emotional entanglement. Peter was afraid that something would go wrong during the operation and Neal knew that the memory of their last operation together was heavy on his mind. The anxiety in his eyes reminded Neal of the depth of hurt his friend had experienced; hurt that he had caused.

When he planned the demise of Neal Caffrey he had known that it would be painful to those he left behind. However, it would be less painful than what he was afraid would happen if he didn't choose such an extreme solution. Of all, he had felt most sorry for Mozzie. Mozzie was like him; he had no family and no one to turn to for comfort. He had hoped his attachment to June, Diana and Theo would lesson the emptiness his leaving would create. He also knew that Mozzie was accustomed to heartache and was resilient; he would find a way to overcome. He had felt bad for Peter, but it was different. Peter had Elizabeth and a child on the way. He had his job, his friends, and a life that had been full long before Neal Caffrey entered it. He knew the loss would hurt but he had justified it by reminding himself how much he had complicated Peter's life; how much trouble he had brought into it. Even when he had tried to do right, to help, things had somehow always gone wrong. Peter had been angry at him, and disappointed in him, over and over. He had rather be a bittersweet memory to Peter than an active thorn in the side, or worse, someone he came to resent.

But at the gallery the day before, when Peter had told him to be careful and that nothing was worth him getting hurt, Neal had felt a lump rise in his throat. The sudden emotion had caught him off guard and it took him a moment to regroup. Peter cared about him apart from what he could do; what benefit he could be to his career or a case. He could see it in his eyes. It was the second time since his return that Neal had felt shaken.

The first time had been when Elizabeth had introduced him to her son, the son she and Peter had named after him. Doubts about having returned had rushed him; it had been, after all, learning that a little Burke was coming into the world that helped him make the decision to leave in the first place. Feeling Peter's eyes on him, he had recovered quickly; he knew his plan was solid. The Cordero organization would come down, and Peter would not be put in any danger. No one he cared about would be.

He had known returning would present a challenge outside the job he had been contracted to do as well as the one he had chosen to do. It wasn't dealing with drug dealers or working with Federal authorities that was the most difficult for him; it was dealing with the Burkes. Peter, Elizabeth and Neal. Seeing them had been both wonderful and terrifying, making him want to stay and run away at the very same time. It was a confusing sensation to say the least. Unsettling, even.

But he had felt unsettled ever since Elizabeth had come to Paris seeking his help, and even then if he hadn't seen Peter he could have gone back to his life. But he had seen Peter and Peter asked him to come home; asked Neal Caffrey to come home. Neal Caffrey had wanted to say yes right then, but Nathan Clay didn't let emotion override his judgment. Just because an offer was tempting didn't make it the right thing to do, either for himself or anyone else. He needed to go back to Paris, gather his thoughts, and return to his strict no contact rule. He needed to give his emotions time to settle.

But just that brief contact had reminded him of how empty his life was and his resolve to follow the no contact rule began to fail after only a month. By the middle of the following month, he had picked up the phone and called Peter. Peter's number never changed; just like the man himself. It was something you could count on.

"Burke." Neal's first instinct upon hearing his friend's voice was to hang up, but he knew Peter would instantly associate a Paris number with him. At his pause, his guess was confirmed. "Neal?"

"Hey, Peter." He felt a moment of panic; he didn't know why he had called or what he wanted to say. "I just," he stumbled, "wanted to make sure you had recovered from…your ordeal." His decision to call had been impulsive; he should have known better. He had known better, the told himself; he had just done it anyway. Neal Caffrey's impulsiveness had trumped Nathan Clay's think it through.

"I'm good," There was relief in Peter's voice; he had thought the call was because something was wrong. "Elizabeth has made sure I'm back as fit as a fiddle, as they say. How are you? Any problems?"

"Not a one," he responded. "Everything is good, really, just like I said it would be." Usually gifted at gab, he was struggling to make even meaningless conversation.

"That's good to hear." Peter waited for him to say something else, but he was at a loss. After a moment of awkward silence, Peter continued. "I've talked the Bureau into letting White Collar help out with the Cordero Case. Since I technically am a victim of one of their suspected crimes, they will only let my office help with tracking transactions and things like that, but at least I get to keep apprised of where the case is."

Neal felt himself immediately relax. The case; a safe topic. "So what have they come up with so far?" Two hours later, Neal hung up the phone feeling better than he had in a long time. That had been three months ago.

Now, he was in New York. He had sat on the Burke's new sofa, petted Satchmo and met Neal Burke. If things went well, he would be having dinner at their house tomorrow afternoon. He planned to bring a bottle of Coche-Dury Les Perrieres to commemorate the occasion.

He had talked to Peter a half dozen times in the past three days and yet he found his phone in his hand, seriously contemplating calling him. Why? What did he want to say that couldn't wait? Just like before, he didn't know but found himself dialing the number in spite of it.

"Burke." Even at 6:30 a.m. he sounded the same. His consistency was one thing Neal appreciated about Peter. Just the sound of his voice pushed away the remaining discomfort from the morning's nightmare.

"Good morning, Peter," His voice upbeat, cheerful. "Sleep well?"

"Not really," He could tell Peter was surprised by such an early call. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Neal answered, "I just wanted to…" he paused. Wanted to what? Say good morning? Ask how he slept? "…let you know that I'm looking forward to dinner tomorrow evening." Dinner, really? He felt his face flush in embarrassment.

"You called at 6:30 in the morning to tell me that?" The concern in Peter's voice just made the situation worse. He didn't want Peter to worry. That, he realized, was why he had called. He didn't want Peter to worry.

"Everything will be fine this afternoon, Peter," he blurted out, his purpose now clear. "I don't want you to worry about me."

"It's not that simple," Peter replied, his tone slightly humorous. "I worry. It's what I do. You know that."

But it was more than not wanting Peter to worry; Neal didn't want him to feel responsible if something went wrong. Not that he thought it would, but just in case. Peter's feelings of guilt were something Neal hadn't taken into account before; guilt was what had made his death so hard for Peter to deal with.

"This is a simple operation, but if," his voice urged Peter to hear him, "for some reason, anything does go wrong, its all on me. I chose to do this; no one forced me. I came up with the plan. I even made sure you couldn't be involved. You are not responsible for any of it." He paused, the anxiety in his voice as he continued matching Peter's from the day before "Tell me you know that."

There was a pause before Peter responded to his outburst. "I know that I'm not responsible if anything goes wrong and I know this was your choice. But Neal-Nathan," he emphasized the name, indicating to Neal acceptance of some sort, "You have got to let me be responsible for my own choices as well. You've got to extend the same courtesy you expect from me, to me. Understand?"

"I understand." Neal had always felt Peter kept double standards but he realized that he, too, had been guilty of the same in this instance. "I just wanted to make sure we were clear on things." There was a knock at his door; saved by room service. "My breakfast has arrived, Peter. I'll call tonight on my way back to the city."

"I might be stuck in Singleton's office, but I'll be listening in," Peter reminded him. "Be smart and be careful," He paused, "I am looking forward to that dinner tomorrow night myself."

"I will," Neal promised, "Tell Elizabeth I'm bringing a bottle of the wine she had in my office in Paris."

"The $1,500 wine?" Peter again sounded surprised. "You must have a seriously generous expense account."

"Oh Peter," Neal replied, opening the door to the young man with his breakfast cart. "You have no idea how generous."