Disclaimer: I own nothing. (But if I did, I'd own Neal's apartment, Sara's wardrobe, and June's fortune, plus a one-third cut of the half of the stolen Nazi treasure that wasn't caught by the FBI.)

"It's awful," Jones said, nudging Diana as they all gathered around the television screen, watching a memorial for the eleventh anniversary of Nine-Eleven. "I remember thinking that day was going to be a pretty good day, then my dad called and said that someone was attacking New York."

Diana looked down, sadly. "I was on my way to go talk to a suspect when I saw the smoke."

"I remember hoping El was okay," Peter interjected, "I called her up and told her to get inside and stay inside."

"I've never been more afraid in my life. Where I was stuck in the traffic that morning, I had the perfect view to watch the Towers get hit by the second plane," Diana added in.

Jones drew the attention back to him. "I didn't believe my dad at first, but then he said minutes later, 'America's going to go to war.'" They glanced back to where Neal had been unusually quiet, all dressed in black like he was going to a funeral, like most of them were. "What about you, Neal? Where were you on nine-eleven-two thousand one?"

The younger man took a deep breath, his face unusually pale, his eyes tortured. "It was a normal morning. I got up and made my, er, friend, Cassidy, her lunch, just like every other morning. We used to live together in Jersey. We had gotten into a really big fight the night before, and I wasn't too happy to see her that morning. I was still angry with her and if she had anything that could be used as a weapon, she probably would have killed me. Still, I walked her downstairs and hailed her a taxi, just like every other morning. She only really ever had one dream in life… and that was to work in the Twin Towers. She had followed me from St. Louis and then to Europe. We were kind of like family. A year prior, she had gotten a job with Keefe, Bruyette & Woods, Inc. They had transferred her to the offices on the eighty-fifth floor of the North Tower, three weeks before. They didn't find her body or any remains and all I can really hope is that she died quickly instead of having to suffer." Neal took a shaky breath, "September 13th I was evicted from our apartment because I couldn't make rent."

The office was in silence. They had never expected such a story, despite the fact that they had all witnessed the tragic day of September 11, 2001. Many of them had known people who had died in the Towers that day. The attacks terrified them. But they had never guessed that Neal would have had someone there that day too. It made the conman just a little more like them.

Hours later, Peter saw Neal's tracking ankle signal coming from the spot on the Twin Towers. He left the office, going to his car and driving there. Sure enough, with other mourners, stood Neal by the memorial of the Towers. The agent went to stand beside the younger man who had a bouquet of origami flowers in his hand.

"But in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate… we cannot consecrate… we cannot hallow this ground," Peter said in a soft voice to the young man, who seemed especially lost today.

"Abraham Lincoln," Neal replied, looking down at where the North Tower once stood, then looking up at the sky where the lights would outline the Towers in the night's sky. "Cassie, she used to bring me here when I was younger, before she got her job here. She was so excited. It was her favorite place in the world."

"It's okay to miss her." The younger man sighed, breathing in again.

"I just wish I had gotten a chance to say goodbye and to tell her I'm sorry for fighting with her that day and that I love her. That's how I should have said goodbye to her that morning. Or maybe if I hadn't had been so angry with her, she wouldn't have gone to work at all. She's have stayed home and we would have talked and then probably indulged in some restaurant that we could only afford to split an appetizer at, pretending we had all the money in the world. You would have liked her… or hated her. I can't decide. El would have liked her though. I can practically see the two of them being friends." Neal knew he was probably rambling and would give himself away, but he didn't care. "This is the only place I can go were I can almost still feel her presence. I do miss her."

He set the flowers down at the base of the memorial, underneath the names there. "She gave up everything to come with me. She was my best friend, the little sister I never had, my responsibility. I was supposed to protect her. I told her parents I'd keep her safe, and I failed them. I failed her."

Peter laid his hand on Neal's shoulder. He kept opening his mouth to say something, but couldn't, for the life of him, come up with something comforting to say. The conman hesitated as he said something beneath his breath that Peter couldn't quite make out, before he looked one last time, turned and walked away.

An old man walked up next to Peter, "It amazes me sometimes, the strength of the human spirit, the strength of the American spirit. I remember seeing that kid come to work every morning with his friend, really pretty lady, and bless the poor boy's heart, he fought the crowds coming to the buildings that day only a few minutes after I saw the girl go in. I saw him just stand here for a really long time, like he was deciding to go in or not, and when the plane hit, he ran into the Tower." The old man shook his head, chuckling solemnly, "The kid has guts, I'll tell ya that. I'll tell you that," he repeated softly.

"You're here a lot then?"

"Every day for the past twelve years. I would meet my daughter every morning with a bagel or roll and coffee before she'd go to work everyday then wait for her to finish work to walk her back. I doubt the kid remembers me. He'd sit on the bench beside me sometimes and I'd watch him draw all sorts of things. Sometimes he'd sell them for a few bucks. He'd always have that stupid sketch book with him, and every time it was something different."

Peter looked back to where Neal had left, then back to the old man. The old man was gone, but there was a card there, lying besides all the other well wishers and mourners cards and flowers. With a sad sigh, he turned around and walked away.

So, my first White Collar fic. I've had this sitting in my writing folder for almost a year, waiting for 9/11 to come back around, because, of course, I had to write this after 9/11 last year. This was mostly influence from a 9/11 ceremony I went to last year, but didn't actually wind up writing it until afterwards. Please be gentle.
And I know Neal wasn't in New York in 2001 according to him, but Neal lies about nearly everything and he has so many mysteries in his past. Also, I know he's not suicidal, but he tried to run towards a burning plane. Who's to say he wouldn't also run into a burning building.

Okay, so please, tell me how I did. Just a little review even like 'good' or 'bad'. You don't even have to log in.

Now, to take my roomie's term:

I hope you have a mournful September 11th!