Title: Odds and ends

Summary: Sometimes it doesn't matter what you do, sometimes it does.

Warning: Character death.

Disclaimer: Of course I forgot that it's not mine, except the Season One DVD...

And many thanks to my great beta - mam711!

WCWCWCWC

It was a simple operation. Neal had done it thousands of times before, and on at least fifty occasions during his time with the FBI. Never before had it gone so wrong. Well, it had never ended so wrong. He'd been in several tight situations before and hadn't had backup to fall back on when things went wrong, so he'd learned to be quick thinking and slick when needed. He'd always talked his way out of things; sometimes it had cost him the profits but it was more important to not lose a limb or two, or his life. This time he'd felt too sure, too secure in the knowledge that the FBI was only five seconds away. Five seconds too far, he saw the moment their suspect caught on that something wasn't right. He did his best to buy Peter time to move to a safe position, but Peter, ever the agent, decided Neal was the one that needed to be safe. When the shot rang out, Peter's body slammed into his arms, a crimson stain growing on his jacket. They were there in the agreed five seconds, but for Neal it was way too long, hands pressing to the wound, a litany of pleading words out of his mouth. They had to drag him away, allowing the paramedics to do their job.

It was the last time he saw Peter.

The next two days disappeared in his shocked mind. Diana and Jones talked to him but he never knew what was it about. Just after the shooting they put him in the car and brought him to the hospital for the standard after-shooting check. He didn't know what happened in the meantime, but instead of driving him back to June's for the night, he ended up being processed in prison. Back in the awful orange jumpsuit. He didn't care; he was grateful to finally get rid of his blood-stained clothes.

Peter's blood.

They don't tell him anything, but the sheer fact that he is in prison again speaks for itself. Peter is dead. There is no Peter, so there is no more deal to let him roam New York on his two-mile leash. He curls on the hard mattress and blinks in darkness. It doesn't matter if he closes his eyes or not; he still only sees Peter lying on the concrete floor, his chest red with blood, his eyes not seeing. Mozzie comes to see him a day later, tries to talk to him about what happened, but Neal isn't really there: his mind is still in that abandoned warehouse when he last saw his partner alive.

He refuses to see anyone after that. They all try, and if he were more aware he would probably be surprised that even Hughes tried to meet with him. He doesn't care; he agrees to meet Mozzie again under one condition - they only discuss how to get the bastard that killed Peter, nothing more.

Six months after the shooting, he leaves the prison to give testimony to nail the culprit. He is allowed to sit in the courtroom while the judge reads the verdict. He looks straight ahead, refusing to look at the gathering of FBI suits behind him, Diana, Jones, Hughes. He spies June and El from the corner of his eye but still keeps his head looking straight ahead. He feels guilty and it keeps his head down at all times; there are no smiles, no friendly banter. There is only guilt.

After the verdict they try to reach out to him again. First June, then Jones, then Diana; he still refuses to see them all, looking in hope for that one person that never tries to visit. Mozzie tells him that she is doing okay, all things considered. But he isn't convinced; guilt eats away at him but he doesn't know what to do. He spends two more months in his cell before he decides to make his move.

Neal Caffrey disappears from his prison cell in the middle of the night, this time not leaving any clues behind, nothing but an empty clean cell to puzzle over.

There is no Peter Burke to call to catch him again. But there are Agents Jones and Barrigan, the best students of Burke's school of catching the notorious con. When the news about Caffrey's disappearing act reach the New York White Collar Division, they are surprised by only one thing - what took him so long? But then they know he needed to see the bastard brought down before he moved forward.

There are wanted posters and road blocks. But it's not the way you catch Neal Caffrey. Hughes gives them a raised eyebrow but doesn't really interfere with their handling of the case. They secretly hope Neal will come to them, but they aren't Peter, and the only person to which Neal would also go doesn't want to see him.

Elizabeth Burke took her husband's death hard. She blamed them all: Hughes, Jones, Diana; she raged at them for a day or two, or even every time they came by to keep her company. She burst into tears after that, allowing them to comfort her in the only way they could. Two weeks after the funeral, after another burst of anger, she asked for details on how it happened. Jones and Diana decided that the truth was best and gave her the full report. With eyes still glistering with tears she forgave them and never ever mentioned the topic again.

When Neal ran, they were hoping he would show up at the Burke house, that he too would want to talk to El, to ask for forgiveness. He didn't. Instead their desks started to sag under the number of cases that had Caffrey written all over them. Not that he left any clues, or leads, or anything at all that would point to him. But they knew; it was like Peter's ghost lingered in the office and whispered in their ears, "it's all Caffrey."

Over the months after Neal's escape she reads the paper, every week finding a new article about another crime. An ancient vase, a famous painting, forged bonds, robbed banks. After the third one she starts to cut them out and gather them in a folder. She isn't sure why, but then one rainy evening after a particularly-tiring day she stumbles upon one of her husband's files. Caffrey. The list of his crimes make her cry once again; he is doing it again, the same list. But there is no Peter Burke to stop him this time.

It's almost a year, only a week left to the painful anniversary, when Diana pays her a visit. They speak a little about Peter; Moz, who disappeared the same day Neal did; June, who invites them for dinner every week. Finally they speak about Neal and his crime spree. Oh, they both know it's him, just no one can prove it or find him. She lets Diana out the door with an idea forming slowly in her mind. She has had enough of Neal's childish behavior.

Exactly a year after the shooting, a full-page notice shows up in the New York Post...

"Cowboy up." It's bold, it's huge, it's daring, and it works.

She finds Neal Caffrey in her living room, the smell of fresh coffee waking her from deep sleep.

He doesn't say anything when she regards him slowly. He still looks the same, sparkling blue eyes, careful smile, best suit and a fedora. She pours herself coffee before sitting across from him at the table.

"Took you long enough," she tells him, not without warmth in her voice.

He gives her one of his brilliant smiles. "Took you long enough too."

She laughs, the first time since the awful night, carefree, open and long.

They spend the day and the night at the table reminiscing; they talk about everything and everyone. Even Peter.

She leaves him on the couch with a kiss on the cheek and stern advice. "Give it back." And in that moment she sounds so much like Peter that he just nods.

When she wakes up in the late morning he's gone, but the fresh paper and freshly-brewed coffee tells her it's not so long ago. The paper is opened to the second page - an article about last month's crime spree and its sudden and surprise end. All artifacts were returned, even money for the forged bonds, all with files detailing every security flaw and instructions on how to fix them.

Neal Caffrey disappears for good. No new crimes, no new leads, nothing. Except a postcard. Every now and then, when a particularly-puzzling case shows up on an FBI desk, a postcard with a tip arrives.

For every anniversary, holiday, or just when she is in a bad mood Elizabeth Burke has a postcard or flowers or box of Belgian chocolates waiting for her at home. She isn't afraid of her invisible stalker; she just hope he will drop in for a coffee once in a while. But he doesn't.

The End