This is a work of fanfiction, for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of White Collar do not belong to me, but to their creators.

Yes the Hard Way

by

Cheride

"I don't know why I can't be in on the operation," Neal said for at least the tenth time.

Peter Burke managed to stifle the sigh, but he couldn't stop the eye roll. "What is it? You think you can wear me down or something? If you just keep asking, eventually I'll say yes?"

"It got me this far, didn't it?" Caffrey's grin was unrepentant.

"I suppose," Peter admitted with a chuckle. He sobered immediately. "But it's not getting you any further; not this time." He chanced a quick glance to his passenger as he navigated the traffic, hoping the younger man would understand the seriousness of his comments. "Not everyone is totally on board with our arrangement, Neal; you know that. So when the boss says you need to sit one out, then you need to sit it out. You cannot afford to be making enemies."

Caffrey seemed to be giving that some thought. "I guess you're right," he finally replied slowly. But his acquiescence didn't last long. "It's just that I know how guys like this think; I could help."

Burke pinched at the bridge of his nose as he pulled into an available parking spot. He slammed the car into park, quickly freed himself from the seatbelt, then twisted toward Caffrey, scowling. "Look, you really helped us with Ghovat, okay? And I appreciate it. But we don't need you for everything. We are trained professionals, and we can handle this without you, so just cooperate and stay put, would ya?"

The shadow of hurt disappointment that flitted across Neal's features caused Peter to regret his words as quickly as he'd spit them out. "Look . . . what I meant—"

"No, I got it, Peter."

The agent dragged a hand across his head; he didn't have time to be mending the feelings of ex-cons—even if he was the one who'd hurt them. But he decided to make a quick stab at it, anyway.

"Glove box," he said shortly, stabbing a finger in that direction. "Give me the radio."

Neal raised an eyebrow quizzically, but silently did as he was instructed.

Peter flipped the switch, set the proper channel, and passed it back to the other man. "You know what's at stake, and you know the plan. Listen. Learn. And I'll talk to the boss about next time, okay?"

Caffrey smiled brightly, apparently appeased, and Peter was surprised to find that he felt better, too, as he exited the car and headed for the exchange.

00000

Peter cast a critical eye around the park. Ghovat had been taken away for processing; Tara was safely with an agent who would lend an understanding ear about recent events, and then break the news to her that she'd still need protection until after the trial; the explosives unit had come and disposed of the deadly fashion accessory Ghovat had fitted around Tara's waist; and Neal Caffrey . . . he twisted around quickly. Where was Caffrey? He had been here earlier, of course, but now Burke realized he hadn't seen him for almost half an hour.

Jones had already told him how Neal's idea had bought them the precious seconds they'd needed to avoid seeing Tara—and probably Burke himself—blown to bits, as well as allowing them to actually capture Ghovat. But somehow Burke's relief at having wrapped up the case without incident, and the inexplicable fact that Caffrey just seemed to belong wherever he went—including the mop-up stage of a federal investigation—had made him sloppy, and he'd lost track of the guy for just a few minutes. He'd be lucky if those few minutes didn't spell disaster.

He had plucked his cell phone from his pocket—uncertain if he intended to call dispatch for a location or Caffrey himself—when his eyes landed on a group of reporters being kept well back from the ongoing activity. At the front of the pack was an attractive blonde with a blinding smile and a microphone stuck in Caffrey's face. Heaving an exasperated sigh of relief, he trotted toward the press. He arrived in time to hear what seemed to be a pat answer.

"I'm sorry; I'm not at liberty to discuss that at this time. When the bureau has concluded its investigation, a statement will be issued." It was pretty good, Burke had to admit.

And then Caffrey spotted him. "Agent Burke," he called out, waving Peter closer, "would you like to make a statement to the press?"

Peter hoped it was a smile he flashed, though he was willing to concede it might have been closer to a grimace. "The FBI has no statement at this time." Then he took Caffrey's elbow and steered him away from the crowd, back toward the fountain where the clean-up was almost complete.

"I thought I told you to stay put," he blurted as soon as they'd reached a spot of relative privacy.

"You also told me you could handle things without me," Neal pointed out, "but . . ."

"But nothing!" Burke sputtered. "We had everything under control! And you could've jeopardized the entire operation, getting into the middle of things like that."

Caffrey just stood calmly, hands casually in his pockets, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Is that really all you want to say to me, Peter?"

Burke held onto his indignation another few seconds, but he couldn't erase the memory of Neal running recklessly after Ghovat, pausing only long enough to tell him to save the girl. And the kid had the nerve to taunt him about being a hero. He relented, but only slightly.

"I guess you did a pretty good job," he admitted grudgingly. Neal's smile widened. "But," he added quickly, "you seem to have forgotten the part about not making enemies. I'm going to have to explain all this, you know, and there are people looking for any excuse to put you back inside."

Neal's smile faltered at that, but, as usual, he had an answer. "They can't put me back in prison for helping."

"They can," Peter contradicted, "and they will, if you don't learn when to listen. You get on the wrong side of the wrong people, and I won't be able to help you. Do you understand?" For the second time in as many hours, the agent found himself hoping Caffrey would understand the sincerity of his words. Not that it had worked too well the first time.

"So when you talk to your boss, you're going to tell him that I should've stayed in the car, even if it meant you and Tara could be dead right now?"

It took a moment, but Peter finally made an admission. "No," he said, shaking his head. "I'll probably just have to tell him the truth—that we're going to have to learn to trust your instincts more if we're going to get the most good out of you, and that you do have something to offer, even if you can be a pain to keep around."

Caffrey laughed. "That's sweet."

"Yeah, just try to remember that next time I tell you to stay put, would ya?"

"Sure," Neal nodded his agreement. But then the impish grin spread across his young face, lighting his eyes. "But next time, it'd probably be easier on everyone if you could just say yes the first time I ask."