Title: Black Coffee
Fandom: White Collar
Author: tigerlily0
Rating: K+ (a.k.a. PG)
Genre and/or Pairing: gen (Neal)
Spoilers: 1.7 Free Fall
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1000
Disclaimer: White Collar and its characters are property of its copyright owners. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is taken from this story.

Summary: A little fallout from having Neal's picture and name plastered all over the newspapers and TV after his escape in Free Fall.

Neal sat up in bed. Despite how tired he was, he just couldn't fall asleep. Even after the very long and stressful week he'd had (he'd forgotten how exhausting it was first to be in jail, and then to be on the run). He sighed and threw off the covers. If he wasn't going to get any sleep any time soon, he might as well get up and satisfy the craving he'd had for his favorite coffee all evening and all night. A very specific type of dark roast that he loved to drink black, straight up (very different from the Italian roast that June usually served). He knew he didn't have any, and doing something about his hankering for it meant going out to buy some. Up until now, he hadn't felt like leaving his apartment. But since he couldn't sleep anyway...

Neal got up and threw on whatever clothes were at hand and headed out to the 24-hour convenience store on the corner. He'd been there before, and knew they had what he wanted. When he got there, the place was empty – something that was to be expected at three o'clock in the morning, he supposed. A bell jingled when he opened the door, alerting the clerk behind the counter that a customer had entered. The clerk was a little old man that Neal had never seen here before (of course he'd never been here this late before, either). When the old man looked up from his newspaper, Neal nodded at him and headed for the aisle that he knew his favorite coffee was in. But before he could even get there, the clerk yelled out to him.

"Hey!" Neal stopped and looked back. The clerk was standing and pointing at him, clearly agitated. "Hey! You're that guy! The one from the newspaper! Nick Coffee or something –"

Neal mentally rolled his eyes. "Neal Caffrey. Yes, I –"

But he was unable to say any more (like the fact that he was no longer wanted by the police) because the old man had reached down under the counter and pulled out a gun and was now pointing it at him.

"Don't move," the clerk yelled. Neal put up his hands immediately. No sense tempting fate. And he really, really didn't like guns.

"Don't you dare move! I've pressed the button for the cops, and they're already on their way!"

Great. Just what he needed. Neal looked the man in the eyes and took a small step forward, his hands out in a placating manner, trying to look and sound as harmless as possible. "Look, you don't have to do this. I've been cleared –" Neal froze in place when he heard the old man cock the gun.

"I said don't move, mister! I know how to use this! You know how many times this place has been robbed? I've sent plenty of guys to the hospital. Don't move another step and you'll still be in one piece when the cops get here. I'm warning you."

Neal knew when to give it up, and this was it. He could tell this guy wasn't kidding. So he took a deep breath and resigned himself to standing there with his hands up until the police arrived. At that time, he figured, they'd straighten out the poor misinformed man, and let Neal go on his way (straight back home, forget the damned coffee, he didn't want it now anyway).

But it didn't work out that way.

Finally after ten minutes, a couple of beat cops arrived, rushing in, guns drawn. Neal almost laughed. Neither of them looked like they were older than 21. They barely looked old enough to be out of the academy. What, was the NYPD sending out rookies to patrol together at night, now? They must be, because these two were dumb as rocks.

As soon as they got inside, the clerk lowed his gun to the counter, while gesturing at Neal, and telling them, "He's that guy from the paper! Nick Coffee or whatever, the guy who escaped! I caught him, right here in my store! Is there any reward?"

The cops looked at each other and at Neal. One of them said to the other, "Hey, he's right. That's the guy. You go cuff him, while I cover him."

Neal shook his head and tried to reason with them. "Look, Officers. My name is Neal Caffrey. And, yes, I was the guy in the papers, but I've been cleared by the FBI. I'm not wanted any more –"

"Shut up, Caffrey." The one with the gun said, while the other one worked on cuffing Neal. "I've read about you. Smooth talker. Could talk the shoes off your feet. Well, I'm not gonna fall for that. We're taking you in. Now. So just keep your mouth shut."

By this time his partner had finished cuffing Neal, and they shoved him out the door and into their cruiser. Once inside, Neal laid his head back and tried to relax. There was nothing he could do now but hope that it didn't take too long for Peter to find him and spring him. Just what he needed, another day in jail.

Neal was finally able to crawl back into bed to get some much needed sleep nearly twelve hours later. He stretched out under the covers, reveling in the softness of the mattress, and knowing that this time, he'd definitely be able to get to sleep, after being up all night and dealing with law enforcement bureaucracy all day. Peter was finally able to convince the NYPD that he had been cleared and was no longer wanted about an hour ago.

Neal pulled up the covers under his chin and settled in. He shook his head at himself. If he'd known what was to come as soon as he stepped through the convenience store doors, he would have told himself twelve hours ago to just forget his goddamned black coffee and stay in bed where he belonged.

The End