Bittersweet

Author's Note: The plot for this story arrived in the form of another sudden, unexplained inspiration. Some of the subject matter of this one-shot will likely be the… most angst-riddled I have yet to attempt, leading this story to fall in line with the heavyhearted sentiment of Musings on a Broken Heart. The events of this story are set early on in Season 2 and pre-Need to Know. I hope you all enjoy this one-shot. Please read and review!

A second note: As far as I am aware and because the "current" date is never mentioned in the series, the events of Out of the Box most likely occurred sometime in the winter, considering the snowstorm blowing in at the hangar during the last few minutes of the episode. That being said, if we assume those events to have taken place in November, Neal's second release into Peter's custody would have been negotiated by January. Therefore – and I may be relying upon copious amounts of artistic license – I think it plausible to say that Neal could be spending his first Valentine's Day post-plane explosion as a somewhat free man and reinstated consultant for the FBI. If I am grievously erring here, please let me know in a review or PM!

Disclaimer: I claim no rights to anything White Collar, but I would like to thank Jeff Eastin and his writers for the inspiration I derived from Neal's line in Unfinished Business: "Not a fan of the bittersweet."

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On Sunday morning, Neal Caffrey awoke with a start to the darkness of the early hour. Sitting upright, attempting to calm his breathing, he shifted in his bed and peered at his BlackBerry for the time. 6:13, it read. He groaned quietly and resumed his previous position, curled up on his side with the warmth of the comforter his only consolation. The date was February fourteenth, Valentine's Day, and it was the first time in a long time that Neal would be spending the holiday without Kate.

He had been abruptly pulled from his dream by the obnoxious honking of a car passing by June's mansion, but despite his inability to return to the land of dreams, he was somewhat grateful, because he hadn't been dreaming so much as he had been reliving a nightmare. He had, once again, been transported to the hangar by the Hudson in his sleep. He watched himself walk toward the awaiting plane, watched himself smile in true happiness as he spotted Kate waving from the doorway, watched himself turn back to converse with Peter – and then he had awoken. In a sense, he had been fortunate enough to be spared the vision of the explosion, but though he wanted nothing more than to be able to erase that memory from his mind, that image was also the last he had of his beloved Kate. He would rather endure the nightmares and have her be within his reach than lie awake in the dark, wishing he could return to the past to save her from himself.

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"Good morning, Peter! Happy Valentine's Day!"

Peter Burke opened his eyes and smiled warmly at his wife. Elizabeth was seated in bed to his right, balancing a breakfast tray on her lap and gazing at him lovingly. Sitting up and scooting closer, he planted a heartfelt kiss on her lips. "Happy Valentine's Day, Elle. I have something for you." Reaching into his nightstand drawer, Peter brought forth a tastefully wrapped package, handing it to his wife, who pushed a present into his hands in return.

Elizabeth quickly ripped off the reflective wrapping, gasping as she opened the jewelry box. "Oh, Peter, this is beautiful! I love it! Thank you." She turned to face him, drawing closer for another kiss before admiring her exquisite sapphire-and-diamond bracelet.

Highly pleased with himself and gratified by Elizabeth's happiness, Peter removed the wrapping off of his own gift. His smile widened. In his hands, he held a black leather-bound scrapbook, the front cover of which was covered in gold curlicue and embossed with the words, in cursive script, "Our Memories." Flipping through the pages, Peter glimpsed many familiar photographs, including some from his and Elle's wedding, vacations, holidays, and other special occasions. He looked up to see his wife watching for his approval. He leaned over to kiss her again. "Thank you, Elle. It's perfect."

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Neal sighed as he watched passersby from his position on a park bench. June had invited him to brunch with her friends, but he had politely declined, knowing he would feel out of place amongst elegant and beautiful women for once. They would fawn over him, but they wouldn't understand why he was alone on Valentine's Day. He didn't want his sour mood to ruin the merriment, so he had opted to spend his morning in the park, marveling at the scenery and gazing longingly at the couples walking past, hand-in-hand and happy and in love.

He thought he'd wanted to be left alone, but he realized he desired companionship over enviously studying those who were celebrating with their significant other, all of them mindless of the man in the fedora who clutched a single red rose in his left hand and a paper heart in his right.

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"Isn't this a nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon, honey?" Elizabeth asked contentedly. She was leaning against Peter's chest, the two of them lounging on the sofa and watching a movie. It wasn't often that Peter could be pulled from his work long enough to watch an entire movie with her, so Elizabeth was doubly satisfied at having her husband to herself for the whole day.

"Very nice," Peter agreed, kissing the top of her head. He absentmindedly stuck a hand into the popcorn bowl, moving a fistful of the snack to his mouth. Satchmo was sleeping on his feet, which were slowing going numb, but Peter didn't mind in the least. He was relaxing with his wife and his dog, happily ensconced in his home. They had closed their latest case on Friday, allowing everyone to enjoy a weekend free of work. Jones had mentioned a date with the girl from Evidence, Diana was showing Christie the city, and Neal –

"Oh," Peter breathed, closing his eyes and picturing what his friend must be suffering today. Valentines' Day, the most romantic holiday of the year, and Neal's girlfriend had blown up in a plane explosion just three months prior. Peter winced at the thought.

Sensing his distress, Elizabeth titled her head to face her husband. "What's wrong, Peter?"

He sighed into her hair. "It's Valentine's Day today and Neal's all alone."

Elizabeth bolted into a sitting position and stared at him in horror. "Neal's alone? He doesn't have plans with anyone?"

"I don't think so. He didn't mention anything. It's only been three months since Kate died," Peter replied, rubbing his hand over his face.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Elizabeth stood and made her way to the kitchen.

"What do you mean?" Confused, Peter stood, as well, and followed her to the counter, where she had begun collecting ingredients for some sort of baked good.

Elizabeth moved about the room, gathering a mixing bowl and measuring instruments. "Go get him! Peter, he can't be alone today."

"But it's Valentine's Day and we were –" He stopped short at her glare. "Okay, okay, you're right. I'll go find him. But what if he wants to be alone?"

"He won't," she affirmed, measuring flour into the bowl. "Now, go, I'm making brownies for him."

"Alright, Elle. See you in a bit. I love you." Peter shrugged into his coat and grabbed the keys to the Taurus.

Elizabeth smiled. "Love you, too, and yes, you may lick the bowl when you get back."

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Peter first asked for Neal at June's, but the housekeeper informed him that Mr. Caffrey had left early that morning and hadn't returned since. Thanking the woman, Peter climbed back into his car, looking up Neal's tracking data on his phone. He frowned at the location, hoping that Neal hadn't gone and done something stupid and wondering how his partner was holding up.

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Neal wiped at the headstone with his handkerchief. It gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight, the name Kate Moreau inscribed in the middle, surrounded by a circle of lilies. Father and daughter were buried side-by-side.

He kneeled in front of her grave, placing a bouquet of forget-me-nots on the grassy patch before him and slipping the folded heart in between the petals. Tears had begun to pool in his eyes. Glancing around him, confident that he was alone in the cemetery, he allowed them to fall. Touching a finger to her name, Neal whispered through his tears, "I'm sorry, Kate."

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Within half an hour, Peter arrived at his destination. He glimpsed a figure on the hill, recognizing that black hat anywhere. Stepping beyond the cemetery gates, Peter shivered despite himself. He shouldn't be here of all places today. He should be at home with his wife, basking in her love and warmth, not walking in the midst of those who were long gone. But he remembered that Neal was in mourning and in pain, and Peter's heart ached at the thought of his partner wallowing in his grief by himself.

He quietly made his way to stand several rows behind Neal, who had yet to acknowledge his presence.

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Neal heard the footsteps approaching, but he paid them no heed. He knew it was Peter waiting for him, but he needed to say something to the grave before he could leave.

"I'm so sorry, Kate. Sorry that I landed myself in prison for four years. Sorry that I never told you where everything was hidden." He hiccupped, the tears starting to slow. "I know you loved me. I wouldn't have survived if you hadn't come to see me every week. And it should've been me on that plane."

He took a shuddering breath and forced himself to his feet. "I love you, Kate."

He set the single red rose on the top of her gravestone and turned to leave.

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Peter tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, surreptitiously observing his friend out of the corner of his eye. Neal hadn't said a word in the graveyard or in the twenty minutes they'd been driving back to the Burkes' residence. He sat with his eyes closed and fists clenched on his lap. Suddenly, his eyes shot open and he drew in a long breath. Releasing it, he seemed to lose a patch of the dark cloud hanging above him. He looked at Peter with something resembling a smile upon his face.

"Thanks for coming to get me, Peter. I didn't really want to be alone today," he admitted, slightly embarrassed, but more upset with the reason for his despair than with letting Peter into his thoughts.

"It's alright, Neal." He hesitated. "How're you holding up?"

"I'm fine, Peter," Neal said. "I will be."

Peter nodded, accepting his statement for the time being. "Chocolate?" he offered, motioning to a small container of Hershey's Kisses that Elle had placed in one of the cup holders.

Neal chose a piece encased in shiny pink foil, meticulously peeled off the wrapping, and popped the Kiss into his mouth. He made a face.

"What, drugstore confections not refined enough for your delicate palette?" Peter smirked.

"No, it's good, but I prefer milk chocolate," Neal replied, selecting a second piece from the container, making sure to avoid the bittersweet variety – for that was his life and he wanted to savor the sweetness of the moment without having to consider the alternative, the aftertaste. He was a free man of sorts, but he remained tethered to the FBI by a two-mile radius and a plastic ankle contraption. His looks and his charms could win him the affection of any person within that radius, but the one woman he wanted to hold in his arms was forever out of his reach.

"Stop eating all of my chocolate, Caffrey, or it's coming out of your seven hundred a month."

Neal laughed at Peter's grumbling. He had a new best friend, a partner who always had his back, and funnily enough, in the end, there was no bitter verdict awaiting him on the other side.

Thank you for reading! Constructive criticism is always welcomed.