Disclaimer: Not mine. All the characters below belong to Jeff Eastin, the amazing creator of White Collar.

Shadows

Neal sighed as he stared out the window. Then he turned away and took off his coat. After hanging it up neatly in the closet, he walked to the table and sat down, running his long fingers through his wavy hair. Suddenly, overcome by frustration, he swept everything off the table. He stood up abruptly, knocking his chair over violently and paced back and forth.

"Why, Kate? Why?" Neal asked, remembering the day when the plane that he was supposed to board exploded right in front of his eyes, when the first girl that he had truly loved died. Sure, he had had many other girls in his life before Kate. Even after Kate, for that matter. All that he ever had to do was smile, and voila! He could get anything he wanted. However, Kate was different.

He remembered her big blue eyes that had filled up with tears when he was put in prison. Her weekly visits had been the only thing that he had looked forward to during those four long years behind bars. She had made him laugh and smile and forget his worries. He had never been happier than when he was with her. Then his life was turned upside-down, thanks to Vincent Adler.

Neal's phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out and stared blankly at the screen for a few moments, not really seeing what was right in front of him. His thoughts were still with Kate. The phone stopped vibrating for a while and then started again. Neal shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the bittersweet memories and read the name on the screen. It was Peter.

"Hey Peter," said Neal, in as cheerful a tone as he could manage.

"Hi, Neal. Are you busy right now?"

"No, not really. Why?"

"Mind if I drop by?"

"Sure…" said Neal hesitantly.

"I'm coming up as we speak."

"You mean you're here already?" asked Neal in disbelief.

"Yeah. Open the door, I'm almost there." Peter hung up.

Neal glanced at the mess that he had made. Books, chess pieces, wineglass shards, pens and papers were strewn about on the floor. How would he be able to explain that to Peter? What if Peter guessed why he had done that? He quickly grabbed the books and arranged them neatly on the bookshelf. Then he bent down to pick up the chess pieces. Just as he did so, the door opened.

A visibly startled Neal jumped up as though someone had prodded him with a red hot poker. "Didn't your parents teach you to knock?" he asked, with a tinge of irritability in his voice.

"I did knock. Once. It's not my fault if you didn't hear it, is it?" replied Peter. "What happened here?" Peter asked, looking at the mess that Neal was cleaning up.

"I accidentally swept everything off the table. Why did you come here?" asked Neal shortly while picking up the pens.

Peter was taken aback by the tone of annoyance in Neal's voice. "Is this a bad time? I can come back later if you want."

Neal sat down on the couch and heaved a long sigh. "No, don't go. I'm sorry about that," Neal apologized. "I'm just tired, that's all. So, you want to talk to me about something?"

"It can wait," said Peter slowly. "Are you alright, Neal?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. What makes you think I'm not?" Neal smiled at Peter, trying to hide his true feelings.

"You're not fine. What happened after you left the office this afternoon?"

"Nothing."

Peter raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Really, nothing happened. I met Moz and we grabbed something to eat near Grand Central Station."

"What were the both of you doing near Grand Central Station of all places?"

"Like I said, we were grabbing something to eat. You can ask Moz if you want."

"No thanks. El gets along better with him than I do."

There was a moment of silence before Neal spoke again. "So, what do you want to talk to me about, Peter?"

"Were you thinking of Kate?" Peter asked suddenly.

Neal's eyes widened. How on earth did Peter guess what was on his mind? Then he nonchalantly walked over to the cabinet and took out a bottle of wine. "What makes you think that?" Neal queried in a carefree tone.

If the person sitting on the couch had been anyone other than Peter, they probably would not have noticed how Neal's eyes widened when he was asked that question; how Neal's voice sounded less confident than usual; and how Neal's hand trembled the slightest bit as it held the bottle.

"You were, weren't you?"

Neal did not answer.

"I know you still love her, even after so many months."

"I don't want to talk about it, Peter."

"No, Neal, you have to. I know that you hate people seeing you as vulnerable, imperfect and human, but you have to talk about it."

"Well, I don't want to. Are you going to make me?" asked Neal defiantly.

"I'll stay here all night if I have to."

"Doesn't Elizabeth need you? And Satchmo? I'm fine, Peter," insisted Neal. "I just need some rest and I can't sleep with you sitting here watching me the entire time."

"I told you I'm not leaving until you start talking about what's bothering you. I'm your friend, Neal, and I care about you. That's why I'm staying. Elizabeth understands. And Satchmo probably would too."

Neal sat down on the couch opposite Peter and buried his head in his hands. Then he looked up. "What do you want me to say?"

"Just tell me everything. What made you start thinking of Kate?"

"Grand Central Station."

"What does Grand Central Station have to do with Kate?"

"She left me a message asking me to be there. That was one of the last few times I saw her. Before…" Neal could not bring himself to say the dreadful words. He blinked rapidly a couple of times to stop the tears that threatened to roll down his cheeks.

"Is there anything else you want to talk about?" asked Peter, with pity in his voice.

"I know you never really believed that Kate loved me, but I know she did, Peter. Both you and Moz never believed it. You never knew Kate the way I did. She didn't visit you in prison every week for nearly four years. She never planned heists and cons with you. She never told you that she loved you." Neal shook his head. "Sometimes, I just can't believe she's gone. It seems as though she's still out there somewhere, waiting for me. I was going to propose to her, you know. But…" Neal's voice trailed off.

Peter walked over to Neal and put a hand on Neal's shoulder. What could he say to Neal to make him feel better? Nothing. All Peter could do was listen as Neal talked, pouring out his feelings. So Peter listened.

An hour later, Neal was exhausted. He had never spoken about his feelings for Kate to anyone before, but he felt so relieved to get everything off his chest.

"Thanks for listening, Peter."

"No problem. Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, sure, I'll be fine. You go home and get some rest. Say hi to Elizabeth for me, by the way."

"I will. I'll see you in the morning. And remember, Neal, anytime you need to talk, you can call me."

Neal smiled gratefully as he opened the door for Peter. "Bye."

As he shut the door, Neal realized that Peter never did tell him why he had come and what he wanted to talk to Neal about. Neal shrugged philosophically as he picked up the broken pieces of glass on the floor. After tidying everything up, he prepared to go to bed.

Just before he switched off the lights, he looked at an old picture of him and Kate together, laughing as they shared a secret joke that no one else knew about. He put the picture back into the drawer from whence it came as he recalled the lyrics of a song that he had heard earlier that day.

I see shadows

Everywhere that I go

It's you, reminding me

Of how we were

Of how it was

I see shadows

Everywhere they follow

It's you and memories

Of how we loved

I've had enough of your shadows

Neal walked over to the window again and stared out at the beautiful New York skyline. The shadows gradually deepened as the lights in buildings and apartments nearby were switched off. In the darkness that followed, Neal saw no shadow of another parting from Kate. Even though she was physically gone, but the memory of her still lingered in the forefront of his mind. He knew that her shadow would always be there, no matter what, and he would not have had it any other way. He would never have enough of her shadows.

He closed his eyes in an attempt to let his drowsiness wash over him and drift him to sleep. But sleep was hard to come by when the vivid imagery of her very entity pounded on his mind's eye.

Because her shadow even haunted him in his dreams.

Because there was not even one moment in his life, whether waking or not, in which he wanted to forget her.

He didn't want to forget.

He wouldn't.

He couldn't.

He will not.

He cannot.

This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction. I wrote this with the song 'Shadows' by Westlife in mind. It probably isn't very good, I'm afraid, so if you spot any errors, please do tell me. I apologize in advance for any mistakes this story might contain. :) Thanks.

P.S. Thanks for pointing out my mistakes, purplephantasms! I bow to your awesome-ness.

P.P.S. The new ending is not mine, but is the amazing brainchild of purplephantasms. It is perfect. Thank you again. :)

P.P.P.S. I wrote yet another ending for this story, which explains the peculiar way in which the story seems to have ended twice! You see, I really wanted to use the last line from Charles Dickens' Great Expectations. The ending right below the song lyrics is one I came up with almost two months after completing the story. Thank you, Mr. Dickens.