A/N: Just something that my muse put together instead of working on my other story….Bad muse! I was inspired re-watching old episodes and noticing that Neal's desk was the only desk in the bullpen facing a different way..

Disclaimer: I don't own White collar or its characters – just the amusement ride I took them on here!

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Neal Caffrey is often misunderstood, but not because he's particularly complicated. Neal Caffrey is misunderstood because, since being released from prison into Peter's custody, most of the people he meets are FBI agents. Naturally those agents have presuppositions against him for his (alleged) past actions – that's just that nature of this business. Neal gets that.

He doesn't get, however, how even Peter falls into those traps at times.

Mozzie would give him a look, possibly roll his eyes towards the ceiling and then shake his head in knowing way; Once a fed, always a fed. That's what Mozzie would say.

Neal imagines Peter's version is once a con, always a con. Unfortunately this results in a lot of confusion and mistrust between two people who have such an interlaced past and currently work twelve hours a day together. In dangerous situations this can be, well, dangerous.

Luckily this isn't a day in which the two are in danger – at least not physically. Neal is, however, hurt emotionally. More than a little.

Neal doesn't understand why he's misunderstood because he – like many other people in this world and this life – enjoy the simple things and he believes that anyone, rather everyone, should be able to understand that.

He likes stability, for example. Of course most times, or at least once upon a time, Neal would be the first person to jump in to a new con, forge a painting or a bond. He's even been known to have arranged obscene deliveries to surveillance trucks and send inappropriate birthday cards. But Neal does all of this (fine – most of this) in a way where the risk to him is minimalized.

He has to admit sometimes he gets a little carried away. A little too…Well, supercilious, but mostly Neal is safe. He is safe because Neal also enjoys the comforts of everyday freedom.

He likes taking a walk in Central Park and grabbing an espresso on the way. He likes a comfortable bed and high thread count sheets. He loves the security that June offers him – and as much as he doesn't always like to show it he appreciated her mothering even more. He likes the sun shining down on him and blue skies. Neal even likes the rain, because it's not prison.

He's had his freedom restricted before – he doesn't particularly want it to happen again.

Both of these points are consistently undermined by Peter, whether the man himself knows it or not.

Neal is tired of Peter giving him that look, the one where he's sad and regretful but also righteous, and telling him that if something happens and this case goes wrong he's going back to prison. Neal doesn't even like it when Peter jokes about it.

He knows Peter isn't doing it to be mean, but that doesn't keep it from hurting. How many times had he risked his life for Peter (because let's face it, it's not really the FBI he's working for or interested in) since getting released. How many times had he proven himself worthy – that he wasn't about to go steal that incredible Matisse at the Met? He was giving Peter some sense of stability – why couldn't the man seem to return it?

Peter's remarks also somewhat scare Neal ; thinking about that small cell, single light bulb and just not being safe. Not being…Anything. Neal didn't like being a number. He didn't (doesn't!) like being in danger. He can't ever go back to that. He won't.

Though these do bother him, Neal knows that isn't why he's standing outside the federal building in the pouring rain with no umbrella. No. Neal is standing out here because he's miserable. He is standing out here because Peter called him a petty narcissist vying for attention.

Sure. Peter may have been frustrated and angry when he'd said it – but Neal could tell he meant it. All because he didn't want to turn his desk back.

When Neal had first joined Peter's white collar task force the man had made it quite clear that his office was his office, not Neal's. Neal, instead, had gotten a desk down in the bullpen with several other agents. Though Neal didn't have a problem with that – Neal needed his own space and time away from the agent so why wouldn't Peter need the same from him – he did have a slight problem with the office layout.

See, standing in front of Peter's office looking out over the bullpen were several rows of desks, all facing towards Peter's and Hughes' offices. When Neal was assigned the one at the far back on the left across from the case files – closest to the door, thankfully – Neal did as he was told as sat at his desk.

He sat, and he squirmed.

Neal had never ever had the desire to become a part of corporate America. He didn't want to be a part of the system. Sitting at this desk – which was the same as every single other desk in the bullpen – Neal felt like a number.

He hated feeling like a number. Sitting at this desk made him feel like he was still in prison. His monitoring anklet clinched the deal.

So, one day when the office cleared out for lunch Neal remedied the problem. He turned his desk. His desk now faced the filing shelves – the only one to do so. He got to watch people come in and leave; smiling and nodding as they did so.

It made him feel a little less like a number.

Peter teased him about it.

Neal didn't care, and didn't ante up any of his preceding thought process. Eventually Peter gave up.

Over time Neal's desk became Neal's desk. Not only was it the only one at a right angle to Peter's office, but he started adding things. A small art deco bust. Some doodles here and there – mostly on post-its stuck to his monitor – along with a paperclip sculpture and elastic ball to help deal with the endless mind numbing mortgage fraud cases. He soon has quite the collection – people even stop and check out his doodle of the week.

He also encourages others to do the same – somewhat successful by this time because all his smiling and nodding had led to conversations. Some of the people in the office were starting to see him as an asset, or at least not as an adversary.

Neal Caffrey is starting to feel something he's never really felt before; Neal feels as though he's part of something much bigger and much, much more important that himself. Neal Caffrey is starting to feel like he's part of a very small family. Much to his surprise – having always exuded, proclaimed and encouraged self-reliance – he also likes it.

He even starts listening to Peter.

Well, more than he used to at least.

That's why he was surprised when earlier today Peter put a stop to "it all". He told Neal to turn his desk back around the proper way and to clear off the garbage from his desk. He told him to stop wasting everyone's time and the incessant distractions.

When Neal pointed out they were only little drawings and asked why it was so important to him anyways, Peter called him petty.

When Neal asked about why the desk had to be turned back, Peter had called him a narcissist.

At first he thinks it's because he stole some of Peter's elastics to add to his ball, but when he offered them back Peter's face only went redder. He offers to do a drawing for Peter's office – a huge deal to Neal because aside from his random doodles he doesn't often let anyone see his original work.

This, however, doesn't help the situation either. Peter smashes down his paperclip sculpture with the palm of his hand. Neal sees Peter flinch as one of the points dig in to his palm and can't help feel a little bit satisfied.

Finally, with the sculpture in the garbage (as well as it's paper coffee cup pedestal) peter walks away informing him – and the whole office – that if things aren't back to the way they were before Neal started working here he'd be on a bus back to prison.

Peter had slammed his office door, leaving a sea of agents looking between Neal and Peter, all looking sombre and slightly embarrassed. Jones gave him an inscrutable look and follows Peter.

That's ridiculous. Neal thinks. Things can't go back to the way they were without me here when I am here. It's illogical. Unfathomable. Unless, of course, he decides not to be here anymore.

With one last look around the office Neal grabs his suit jacket and walks out the office door. He doesn't even mumble an excuse about going for coffee, he just leaves.

Peter doesn't want him there.

That hurts.

Peter has threatened prison again.

That worries and scares him.

The way Neal sees it, standing out here in the rain, is that he has two choices. Option one is to go back to the office, turn his desk back around and once again become a number. Option two is to run. Not now, of course – that would be stupid and if there's one thing Neal Caffrey isn't, it's stupid. (Sometimes he's a little thick, but not unintelligent!). So option two, really, is to call Mozzie, liquidate and then go back up to the office and pretend to be a number. Then, once everything was set, he would go.

Neal didn't know where he would go, exactly. It would probably be best for him to stay in the country – even with fake papers they'd have his face out to every agency so quick he probably wouldn't have a chance.

Neal thinks about where he could go – some place he didn't have an attachment to previously (or at least not an attachment the FBI or Peter is aware of). California he'd have to stay away from. Seattle and Miami were safe. Chicago not so much.

He began to shiver, the October rain having now soaked through his jacket and shirt. Around him people continued their day to day hustle.

Neal wants to know why Peter thinks he's a narcissist. After all – he isn't cold. Neal isn't cruel and he certainly cares for the people around him. He loves – he cares! He cares for June and Mozzie. He has loved and lost. He even, grudgingly, consciously admits he cares for Peter and even El.

He also knows that he is not vain. Neal understand that he is attractive – has been told it all his life. He understands he can charm a person – but that is not all there is to him. He likes to look nice when he's out in public, but at home he's just fine in a paint covered undershirt. Frankly, the times he exuded the most confidence was when he was feeling diffident and insecure – it was a way to balance his reality. He was good at pulling this off because – and Peter should know this – simply put Neal was a con artist.

Neal also wants to point out to Peter that he is not selfish. If he were selfish Neal imagined he would not have let Julianna keep her great grandmother's painting because he wouldn't have wanted to go through the trouble of forging (albeit badly) the painting and risking his freedom in passing it on to the curator. He also wouldn't have risked his freedom for Peter when that dirty judge had Peter for bribery on a fraud case.

See, Neal had tried – really, really tried – to fit in and help out here. Do his best. He knew he was far from perfect – particularly when it came to his past decisions regarding Kate – and he knew he never would be, but he hadn't stopped trying.

He was not what Peter thought he was, and if Peter didn't know that by now Neal didn't think he ever would know. And Neal couldn't – wouldn't – live like that.

He wasn't asking for a parade – just a little respect. Just a little acknowledgement that each and every day not only was he doing his best for Peter and thus the FBI but he was putting himself in danger. No one – no one – liked snitches and that's essentially what Neal had become. He had started working for the other side of the law, toeing the line. While he tried not to give up any specific information by having Moz do a lot of the legwork with people, he also knew there were those out there who'd rather have him completely silent just to be safe.

Apparently that meant nothing to Peter.

Neal's shivering increased tenfold quiet suddenly. Jarred so quickly back to reality and out of his head soon all he could focus on was the cold rain. So cold it nearly burned. It was time to go inside.

Even if he didn't know, quite yet, whether he was going to become a number once more, or merely pretend to become a number.

0o0

At first Neal thought he'd walked in to the wrong office so he stopped dead in his tracks, planting an easy going smile on his face and hoping no one would arrest him (despite technically having FBI credentials).

He took a step backward before he realised it was the right office. Jones, who had had the desk next to Neal, had turned his desk so that it no longer faced Peter and Hughes' office, but Neal's instead.

The second thing he noticed was a new – or was it just rebuilt – paperclip sculpture attached to a paper cup podium someone had coloured.

Neal let out a sudden and loud laugh – a guffaw, even - and felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment at the sound. He ducked his head and then approached his desk.

"Caffrey."

Neal looked up to see Peter standing up in front of his office, overlooking the bullpen. Peter gave him the two finger point and Neal, face still red, obliged.

"You know, car washes are for cars, right?" Peter asked, leaning against his desk as Neal closed the office door behind him.

"No need for car washes when it's raining like that." Neal nodded to the window, trying to keep it neutral.

"Jesus, Neal. You must be freezing."

Neal shrugged, and silence fell over the office for a moment.

Peter broke it. "So about before…"

Neal looked up at him. Part of him wanted to shrug and laugh off the whole thing; forget it happened. The other part of him wanted – needed – Peter to realise that this had to stop and didn't want to make it easy for the guy.

"You know with El out of town I don't sleep well…And this morning Satchmo got into the cereal – I didn't even get any breakfast, I was so busy cleaning up! And then I got here, and I just…just-"

"I'm not a narcissist." Neal interrupted.

Peter looked confused for a moment, "I know that. Why would you – oh. Right."

Neal nodded, arms folded across his chest. He was still shivering.

"Oh for God's sake." Peter said, picking up the phone and dialing an extension. "Jones, could you grab Neal some blankets – and the clothes out of my locker? Yeah. Thanks Jones." Peter hung up. "Neal, you aren't a narcissist – I was just upset."

Neal, somewhat petulant, stuck his chin out.

"I'm sorry Neal. Really."

"I don't like when you threaten to send me back to prison."

"Threaten?" Peter asked incredulously. "You have to know that most of the time I don't actually –" Peter tapered off. "Of course you don't know that, or you wouldn't be saying it right now. Once again, Neal, I'm sorry."

The office door opened and Jones stuck his head in, holding out two large cot blankets and a gym bag. Neal took them, nodding his thanks.

"So…Is there anything else?" Peter edged after a moment. Neal was still standing there holding the blankets and shivering. Jones had left.

"I'm sorry my sculpture stabbed you. Sort of."

Peter smiled, holding up his palm as though testifying. A neon green band aid was stuck to it. "One of the interns insisted we color it in the spirit of you.

Neal grinned, and even though there was plenty that had gone unsaid between both Peter and himself each of them knew that they were okay now. Peter knew he'd crossed the line and Neal knew he was sorry for it. Their relationship was, by majority, nonverbal anyways. There were mentally linked – this was what allowed them to reach the same end by different means without even having spoken with each other. This was what allowed them to function to the best of their abilities.

And Neal had missed it – even if the quiet camaraderie had only disappeared for a half hour.

"These are clean, right?" Neal aske,d holding up the gym bag.

Peter held his hand out. Taking the bag he unzipped it and gave it a whiff.

Neal took a step back. "Don't worry about it. I'll just –"

"Don't be ridiculous. They're clean."

"You had to sniff them to find that out." Neal pointed out.

Peter shrugged, "They've been down there for awhile. I haven't been to the gym for a bit."

"Uh huh. I'll take a pass."

"Smell them yourself, you'll see –"

"No thank you!" Neal took a step away from the bag.

"You're such a –"

Neal gave him a look.

"Baby." Peter finished smugly.

"At least my gym clothes don't smell like dead –"

"You have gym clothes?"

Neal tilted his head and made a face.

"So you're just going to stand around in wet clothes, getting everyone else wet?"

Neal smirked.

"You know that's not what I meant."

The smirk turned in to a smile and he wordlessly dropped in to Peter's visitor chair with a loud wet squelch sound.

Peter sighed. "I'm going for lunch. You coming?"

"I'm not going back out in that mess, thanks."

"I'll leave these here in case you change your mind." Peter dropped the duffle at the side of his desk. "There's a case file on my desk if you're interested. Money laundering via the purchase and sale of unusual artefacts." He paused. "Including a second Thefford Manuscript."

Neal learned back in the chair and turned toward his partner. "There is no second Thefford Manuscript."

Peter smiled, "Exactly."

0o0

By the time Peter got back to the office – with a hot lunch and a change of clothes for Neal, courtesy of June – Neal was huddled up and propped in the corner wrapped in blankets. Peter gave a small smile when he noticed Neal had found a heating vent and paused, considering how young Neal looked asleep.

Leaving Neal's clothes and lunch on the desk Peter grabbed the case file from his desk and left the office, closing the door behind him, and went to talk to Jones.

Diana, arriving late that day because of an appointment, found Peter sitting at Neal's desk, feet up. Him and Jones were both going to town with a pad of post-it notes while also discussing a case.

"Hey Diana." Peter greeted her as she approached.

"Did I miss something?"

Peter and Jones shared a look. "Nope" they finally answered simultaneously after a pause.

"Uh huh."

Peter grinned and shrugged, sliding the case file across the desk. "We're brain storming."

"And coloring – should I pick up some books on the way next time? Maybe some crayons so you stop getting highlighter on your fingers?"

"We could use a better medium." Jones mused.

Diana shook her head and walked away. She was surrounded with children – what was so surprising was that Caffrey wasn't leading the charge.

"Pencil crayons." Peter called out behind her.

Diana turned, "What?"

"Pencil crayons. Instead of crayons. Better blending."

Diana stared, mouth slightly agape for a moment.

It was time to go find Caffrey and get back to normal.

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Hope you all enjoyed – I know it's only a one-shot but please R&R – it makes me happy!