Thursday

Peter picked Neal up outside of June's; the con man looked his usual self, but working with him, Peter had started to see the real Neal, the one that lived behind his carefully constructed masks, and he was beginning to get worried. He could see that Neal wasn't sleeping well; there was a dark shade under his eyes, and there pain in his eyes. Peter made a mental note to check up on the investigation into the explosion; he had spoken at length with Elizabeth and they had both come to the conclusion that Neal would only get his life back when Kate was finally buried—then he would have closure. The problem was the closest cemetery they could use was just outside of his radius; that would—they believed—be an even worse torture for him. But Hughes had immediately stepped up to the plate for Neal, and arranged a radius bubble for the cemetery. Now they just had to wait until what remained of her body was released for burial but the red tape was taking forever. In the meantime Peter was watching Neal closely, and Elizabeth had gone into maternal mode with him, and with Mozzie keeping an eye on him as well, he hopefully had all the bases covered. So when Neal had said that he had a lunchtime meeting with Mozzie, Peter had let him go.

0-0-0-0-0-0

The Park

Mozzie fell in next to Neal; they walked in a companionable silence, until finally Neal began to talk about a new sting that Peter was allowing him to put together. It was then that Mozzie saw the first glimpse of the real Neal coming back, and for that he was grateful. As he launched into the plan, Mozzie could see how hyper Neal was—nothing unusual there—and that was a good sign, because when he was working on a con, Neal was in perpetual motion, and he was doing that now, hands flying as he spoke.

"Peter's talking about a straightforward snatch and swap, but it's not going to cut it; I want to go old school and add an Philly shuffle or maybe ..." He grinned. "... an LA twist to it." Neal ground to a halt, making Mozzie turn to look at him.

"Neal." He put a hand out towards his friend, concerned about the way color had bled from his face, when.…

"It's Kate; Mozzie, look, it's Kate." Neal's face lit up with such joy it was heartbreaking to the older man.

"Neal, Kate is dead," Mozzie said levelly as he looked around him, trying to see what Neal was seeing, but he couldn't see anything.

"She's over there: look." Neal was pointing over at the other side of the square.

"I can't see her."

"You have to; she's just…." Neal's voice faded as he tried to find her again, but she was gone. His shoulders slumped as he turned back to Mozzie, his voice a whisper. "It was Kate."

When Mozzie opened his mouth, Neal just shook his head and said, "I know what I saw," and started back towards the Federal Building.

Mozzie tried to get him to talk but Neal was lost in his own thoughts all the way back, and all he got was a curt "goodbye," before the young con man disappeared back inside the belly of the establishment beast.

0-0-0-0-0

Peter watched Neal take his seat from the upper floor above the White Collar bullpen; he could almost feel the pain that was seeping from the younger man. There was nothing he could do now, but when they finished work, he had plans for Neal.

But all Peter's plans came to nothing; they had to split up to cover two of the most promising leads on their case, and Jones ended up taking Neal home.

Neal returned to an empty house. He picked at his dinner, and turned in early with most of it uneaten. He felt exhausted, and sleep finally claimed him, but he woke up at 3:00 in the morning; there was scent in the air that hadn't been there before. It took a moment to recognize it: Eau d'Hadrien, Kate's favorite perfume—there was no mistaking the blend of lemon, grapefruit and cypress. The next minute Neal was out of bed; a wave of dizziness caught him. He staggered, trying to catch hold of the wall to stop himself from falling, but he missed. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor; he heard a click of high heels, and the scent of the perfume was almost overpowering. Rolling onto his back, he saw through blurred eyes the figure of a woman standing over him; he reached a hand up to her as he called her name, but she didn't answer.

Blackness dragged him down into a void of nothing and he knew no more. The sound of a cell phone ringing woke him, just as the sun was spilling through the French windows; he threw up a hand to try and block it from his eyes. The movement sent a jiggered splinter of pain through his head, and he nearly vomited. Somehow he managed to drag himself up and onto the bed; he rubbed a hand over his head, and tried to breathe through the nausea that swept over him. All the time the cell phone kept ringing; finally he snatched it up—it was Peter, demanding to know why he wasn't at work.

"Not now, Peter," Neal said, and switched the cell off; he knew that Peter would be angry over that, but somehow he couldn't stir himself enough to care. He reached out, took the picture frame off the bedside table, and clutched it to him. It was the only picture he had of them; he had found it among the files one time when Peter had decided that a stint in filing would be punishment for him. It could never be regarded as punishment when it allowed him to find this treasure. He ghosted a fingertip over her features, remembering the softness of her skin, the silkiness of her hair; he never realized he had dropped asleep until he was woken by Peter storming into the room.

Peter had taken the stairs at a near run; Neal had overstepped the line this time, blowing him off like that. Who the hell did he think he was? That tracker wasn't a fashion accessory; it came with obligations and he was damned if he was going to let Neal forget that.

The door to Neal's room was unlocked and he threw it open; it hit the wall and he strode in the room.

Whatever Peter was going to say was forgotten when he saw the way that Neal came off the bed, clutching a picture frame to his chest; he looked totally lost and frightened.

Slowly, Peter raised his hand. "Neal, it's Peter, it's okay." He watched as Neal rubbed a hand across his face, and swallowed hard.

"Peter." His voice sounded rough, rasping. "Am I late?"

"About two hours, buddy," Peter said as he approached him; when Neal swayed, he pushed him gently but firmly down onto the bed. Turning, Peter looked around the apartment; usually Neal's room was tidy but he could see clothes and dirty dishes all around the room, along with several empty bottles of wine, and one of whiskey.

When Neal started to get up again, Peter pushed him down again, and sat down next to him. "You have to start talking to me, Neal. To put it bluntly, you look like hell."

Neal shrugged and shook his head as he looked down at the picture in his hand, his fingers brushing the outline of her face. "Just not sleeping, that's all."

"Have you see Dr. Wilson?" Peter asked, knowing that Hughes had made sure when Neal was taken on that his medical coverage was changed to that of a field agent, rather than the one that the Justice Department had allocated to him. Wilson was the department shrink, and perhaps one of the few that the agents didn't see as a liability to their job; the man was good, and understood the pressures of their job.

"No."

"Neal, if you're not sleeping, you need to speak to him; he can—"

"Can what?" Neal cut across Peter, the sarcasm rolling off his tongue. "Bring Kate back, tell me I wasn't to blame. Grow up, Peter if I go to him, how long before Hughes has me back inside?" Peter had never heard Neal speak to him like that before, but he pushed his anger down, it showed him more than anything what Neal's state of mind was. He put his hand out and rested it on the younger man's shoulder, to try and calm him down.

But Neal got up, roughly brushing his hand off, and turned on him, looking down, sneering at him. "I am as only good as my last case; remember, you told me that, so weakness can't be tolerated. You left that bit out, Agent Burke."

Walking back into the main part of the room, Neal put the picture down reverently, took a swig from one of the opened wine bottles, and then scooped up some clothes and disappeared into the bathroom.

Peter watch him go and then got up from the bed; he felt his head swim—there was a musty smell to the apartment. He went over, opened the French windows, and stepped out onto to get some fresh air. He was going to have to watch Neal carefully from now on; things were a lot worse than he had imagined.

0-0-0-0-0-0

FBI Headquarters

During the rest of the day he kept more of an eye on Neal than usual; on the surface he was the old Neal, but there was something off about him to people that knew him—it was as if he was straining every fiber of his being to keep the Caffrey mask in place. And Peter knew that anything stretched that tightly was going to snap soon, and he knew he had to be there when it happened.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Saturday

Peter had been surprised to receive a call from Mozzie for a meet; the small man tended to view him with suspicion, not only because he was the person that put Neal away, but because he was part of the Machinery of Oppression. Only one thing would make Mozzie get in touch with him and that was Neal; this—Peter knew instinctually—wasn't going to be good.

In the park Peter sat down with the paper, and was surprised when Mozzie came out and sat near him. "What, no coded message?" Peter said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Mozzie gave a small smile. "Not this time, Suit; it's Neal." He looked away from Peter to monitor the area around him. "You didn't see him when Kate walked out on him that time. It complete floored him; that was when he walked into a bullet."

"Santa Fe 200—" Peter didn't get to finish because Mozzie just shot him a look that confirmed what he was saying.

"I nearly lost him, but at least then he had hope she would return to him; this time he's lost her for good, and he can't accept it."

"Something happened, Mozzie; what happened?"

"He saw Kate," Mozzie said levelly, "here in this park."

Peter exhaled slowly; there were a lot of things he was expecting and that wasn't one of them. He knew the answer but he had to ask the question. "Did you see her as well?"

"No," Mozzie said, "I looked for her because he wanted me to, but there was no one there, Suit; she's gone and he can't accept that."

Peter nodded his thanks; he knew how hard it was for Mozzie to share information on Neal with him.

Peter talked it through. "It's still early days; while he was in prison, he kept his feelings locked inside of him. I'll try and talk to him. But I need you to keep watching him, Mozzie; if I have to I'd rather commit him than risk losing him over this." Seeing the alarmed look on the smaller man's face, Peter added, "It would only be a last resort, I promise you that, but if it's in his own good I would do it and to hell with the consequences."

The Mozzie that looked at him now was someone that Peter had never seen before; there was a hardness that was alien to the smaller man that Peter knew. "You had better be damn sure, Burke, because if you do it because it's simple or easy for you, I will get Neal out, and then I will destroy you. Just like your betrayal will destroy him. For some reason you are the world to him, Burke; he draws strength from you, tries to do good because of you, despite what his impulses tell him. Kate's death might have damaged him, but if you betray him that will kill him."

Peter nodded in understanding, and then realized it wasn't enough. "You've got my word on that, Mozzie."

"As an agent."

"As a man." Only after Peter said that did Mozzie start to relax, but even so he had to issue a warning.

"I'll hold you to that, Suit; I don't have many friends, and I am not losing Neal."

"That makes two of us, Mozzie."

0-0-0-0-0-0

48 hours later, Neal was coming out of a corner coffee shop that was on the edge of his radius when he saw Kate walking away from him; he took off after her, ignoring the high-pitched screech of the tracker as he went out of his radius, but when he reached the corner she was gone. Neal swore and slammed his hand against the wall in frustration just as his cell phone began to ring. He knew without answering it would be Peter.

Reluctantly he turned and walked back over the invisible line; the tracker stopped screeching and the light went back to a steady green. He took the cell out and began to apologize to Peter. The older man was angry but told him firmly they would talk later, to head back home, and he would check up on him later. As the phone clicked off he knew that Peter would be on the phone with the Marshals waving them off.

He was all too aware by now that he had a ten-minute period of grace with them; in those ten minutes they would call Peter, and then start to mobilize. If it went on one second over ten, they would be after him. It was built in to allow for incidents like when he had taken a taxi that has been sent on a detour that took him out of his radius. He knew he was lucky—some cons only had a five-minute grace period and even if they got back in they would still be pulled in for a 20-question interrogation. He was under no illusions that Peter would want to know what happened. Too many of these accidental violations and he was in trouble, which would result in five days' house arrest with a radius that ended with the front door of the house. That's if they didn't throw his ass back in prison for a cooling-off period, just to remind him of his place.

Because of the workload the talk didn't happen and Neal could almost make himself believe that Peter had forgotten all about it. The black coffee was keeping him alert, even if he wasn't sleeping because of his nightmares that were filled with Kate death; when finally sleep claimed him it was only to doze and wake smelling her perfume.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Peter blamed it on the sudden time-sensitive workload, but he knew it was more than that. It was going to be hard to broach the subject with Neal, so he decided to wait until Sunday, when Neal would be coming out to his house.

Sunday

Peter met Neal at the door and let him in, taking his coat; rather than the usual Rat Pack vintage suit, Neal was dressed in black jeans and turtleneck, and an old battered leather jacket. They way he dressed encouraged Peter; Neal had come over without his con man's armor on—the immaculate suit and hat. This might—he prayed—actually work.

The meal was delicious, and El had managed to coax Neal to clean his plate by cooking all his favorite dishes. Peter knew that El had a soft spot for him; she could see the good in Neal, and would often champion him, even to the extent of helping him when he was wrongfully accused of stealing a priceless diamond. It had been at least two weeks since she had last seen Neal, and Peter had seen the look of shock she had masked quickly when she saw him. Neal had always been lean, but it was obvious that Neal had lost weight he couldn't afford to lose. Hence the fact she was now feeding him up.

After then had eaten their fill and sat over their coffee, Satchmo made his need felt, and the three of them had taken Satchmo out for a walk, El with her arm linked through Neal's, with Peter holding Satchmo's leash.

Yet Peter felt no jealousy as he watched the two of them together; he loved El and trusted Neal, and was pleased that the younger man had found a confidante in El. He somehow felt that Neal had never had a very strong female role model in his life, and his relationship with Kate was—his gut told him—far from healthy.

The silence between the three of them wasn't strained; Satchmo set the pace for them. The park was small but well used by the local families; Peter turned to speak to Neal when he realized that the younger man had stopped in his tracks, pulling El to a halt.

El was looking at him with a worried expression on her face as she saw the color bleed from his face. "Neal …" she said his name firmly.

"Kate." Neal said the name and started forward. El tried to pull on his arm, and without thinking he pushed her way. Her foot caught on the uneven pavement, and she tumbled onto the ground as he took off.

Peter swore under his breath. "El—" only to have her wave him off

"Go after him, Peter," she said, then added "I am all right. GO."

He took off after his wayward CI, with Satchmo matching his pace; the park was on the edge of Neal's radius, and he saw the younger man cut across and into the trees which was the edge of the radius balloon they had given him to allow him to visit them. Only this time Neal was crossing the paved area round the fountain; he was out of his area now, and showed no inclination to stop.

Damn it, Peter swore; he had forgotten how fast the kid was on his feet. Suddenly Peter saw Neal stop and begin turning around and around as if he was trying to find someone.

Peter grabbed him, tackling him to the ground as his cell phone in his coat began to ring; Neal tried to twist out of his grip. But Peter had him pinned with his face pressed into the grass and a knee to the shoulder. "It was Kate, Peter; I saw it was Kate. You have to let me go; I have to find her." Neal began to struggle and then gave a muffled cry of pain as Peter increased the weight on his shoulder. He was pleading but Peter ignored it as he pulled the cell from his pocket.

"This is Agent Peter Burke; I am Neal Caffrey's handler, authorization code 78934A Caffrey is with me." Peter glared down at his charge and then took a steadying breath. "He's not trying to run; it's my fault—I misjudged the radius, and you can stand down." With a sigh Peter hung up and slipped the cell back into his pocket.

Satchmo was jumping around them both, barking, enjoying this game, as he tried to root at Neal with his nose. Peter pushed the dog back, then moving off Neal, grabbed his wrist ,pulled Neal to his feet, and herded his charge back to the right side of the radius edge. "Neal, the tracker." It wasn't a request; it was an order.

For a moment he thought that Neal was going to refuse, and then, resigned, the younger man tugged his pants leg up just enough to show it was flashing green again.

Just then El came up. "Peter?" she asked.

Peter's hand moved to Neal's shoulder and he gave him a hard shake. "What the hell where you doing? You knocked El over and took off like a jackrabbit; you better have a good—" It was then he noticed that Neal wasn't listening to him. "Caffrey," he snapped the name at him.

But Neal's attention was solely on her. "Elizabeth, I didn't mean to; I am sorry." The younger man reached a hand out to her, a look of total dismay on his face, and she saw that she was bleeding from one knee. She caught his shaking hand easily and gave his hand a squeeze.

"I know you didn't, sweetie." She leaned into him slightly. "You have to breathe for me, Neal; that's it, nice and slow."

"Are we all right?" There was a hesitation in his voice that cut right through to her heart.

"Of course; accidents happen." He glanced at Peter "I can still visit?"

Whereas Peter might have said something cutting, he didn't because he suddenly realized that Neal meant he actually thought that he would stop him from coming over because of the accident. "Of course you can. But Neal ..." He saw the look of despair flick across Neal's face. "... you have to tell us what happened here."

"I saw Kate." He turned to look back the way they had come. "She was there by the trees."

Peter exchanged a look with El, and he gave her a small nod. "Neal, have you seen her before?" Elizabeth asked; her voice brought his attention back to her.

He nodded. "I saw her walking outside of June's, then when I was with Mozzie, but he didn't see her," Neal acknowledged. He looked at Peter, his head coming up a little higher. "Aren't you going to tell me that I am imagining it?"

Peter knew that Kate wasn't unique-looking, no matter what Neal thought, and there would be any number of women that would look like her at a distance; Neal's mind was doing the rest, he was sure of that. But now wasn't the time.

"Come on, let's get you home," Peter said, avoiding the question. El took Neal's arm and when he flinched she ignored it; with Peter and Satchmo flanking Neal on the other side, they walked him home.

Once inside, they got him sitting on the couch, then Peter followed El into the kitchen. "What do I do? how do I get him to open up to me as to what he's feeling?"

"Talk to him, Peter; he really needs a friend now."

"El, I am his handler."

"You're his partner, and his friend, who just happens to be his handler." She paused. "He needs you." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Peter pulled her into a hug. "You sure you're okay, hon?"

"I am fine; it was more surprise than anything else. Now go get him."

"I'm not good at this sort of thing."

"You're better than you think," El said, with a gentle push towards the living room.

Peter pulled his chair over so that he was sitting opposite Neal; what he was going to say had to be said and Neal had to hear it, the cold hard facts of it.

"Neal, you have to face it: we both saw the plane explode. I am sorry, buddy; there is no way she could have survived it."

"You don't know, Peter; they haven't identified the bodies," Neal ground out, "It's Kate, and she needs me." He was stubbornly refusing to give in on that point.

Seeing Neal like this worried Peter, but if he was honest he had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Now it looked like it was finally happening.

"Neal, when the jet exploded she never had time to get out. I am sorry I have to be so blunt but she is dead, Neal, and not wanting to believe it won't change the facts. I'm really sorry, kid, but that's the truth."

"Your truth," Neal snapped back at him. "But you're wrong. I've seen her, Peter; she needs me."

0-0-0-0-0

Neal knew he had to get away from Peter; he could feel the pressure building up in his head again, and it would only get worse until he could get home, feel the blade cut into his arm, and feel the release that the pain and blood would give him.

But Peter was like a dog with a bone, he laid the proof out in front of him as if it was some case they were working on, and not Kate's death.

No, not death: she was alive, waiting for him. So he did what he did best—he plastered his best con man smile on his face and said the words that Peter wanted to hear. In truth he would have sold his soul to the devil to get out of that room.

El joined them and suggested that he stay the night; he knew it was because she didn't like the idea of him returning to June's empty house. But he managed to sidestep the invitation, he hoped without upsetting El; he still felt devastated that he had knocked her over. She was the last person he would ever had hurt—she had from the moment they met accepted him, but he could feel the pressure building up inside of him; he had to get home.

Finally Peter dropped him off; once he was gone, Neal stripped down to his undershirt and poured himself a large glass of wine. He took comfort in the ritual of what he was going to do; through that he had control. First he took the knife from the drawer, opened out the blade and wiped it with an antiseptic wipe; he settled into a chair, took another drink from his wine glass and then laid a crisp white towel under his arm to catch any drops of blood. Only then did he cut into his arm. He gave a sigh as the pain and blood took away the pressure that was pressing down on him.

The blood washed it all away and his eyes closed as the knife fell out of his hand and onto the floor as sleep claimed him.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Later that night Neal woke up from his doze in the chair, his mind still clouded; it was the scent that called to him, and he said one name, "Kate." Then his eyes snapped open and he sat up straight in the chair; it was her scent, he could smell it. It was as if she was in the room with him again. But when got up to switch the light on he was alone. Leaning back against the wall, he allowed himself to slide down onto the floor, his head rolling forward. "Oh god, Kate, what's happening to me?" He reached out for the cell phone and was about to hit Peter's number when he threw the cell away from him. If Peter thought he was falling apart—more than he already did—at best he would send him back to prison, at worse he would have him committed; he would risking too much in trusting him. He had to handle this himself.

0-0-0-0-0

Two days later, Neal saw Kate again when he was on his lunch break; this time because of the crowd he was within an arm's length of her before he was sent staggering by a bicycle messenger, and he lost her in the crowd. Suddenly he saw her again in a gap in the crowd; he ran up, catching hold of her, he spun her around, only for it to be another woman. He let go of her arm and threw his hands up. "Sorry, sorry; I thought you were someone else."

The woman was scared but accepted his apologies. His cell phone began to ring; it was Peter reminding him that he had work to do and that his lunch break finished ten minutes ago, and Hughes wanted options for the Bridgewater case by the end of the day.

As Neal backtracked the way he had come, he was deep in thought; each time he couldn't find her the pain of her loss got worse. He looked up and stopped in his tracks: Kate was just ahead of him; he increased his pace and saw her step inside a shop. He went through the door after her but she was gone, and none of the shop assistants remembered seeing her.

He backed out of the shop when he realized that he was freaking them out, and the last thing he needed was the manager calling the police.

The phone in his pocket rang again; he opened it. "Caffrey."

"Neal, get your ass back here now before Hughes has the Marshals pick you up." There was a pause and Peter spoke again, but his voice was softer, more reassuring. "Get just back here now, okay?"

"Sure; sorry, Peter." Neal headed back to the Federal Building.