Title: Pieces of Eight

Author: Tearsofamiko

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: I own nothing about the White Collar series, its characters or plotlines, including any recognizable dialogue. Why rub it in?

Spoilers: Nah

Summary: "Friendship makes prosperity more shining and lessens adversity by dividing and sharing it." -- Cicero

A/N: I've not stopped writing, but I really do mean that I'm gonna slow down. I do have homework to do and I need to try to focus a little more on it and a little less on WC. :) But I'm not upset anymore and I'm not gonna go hide. Just, be considerate, even if you're tryin' to help me. Thanks.

I'm kind of borrowing the format from Isabeau1's fic The Beta Set, where she also is trying a drabble challenge; I have permission. :) BTW, #3 is set sometime in the future, after the parole period, I think. And, #4 is just speculation based on the previews for the finale, because Mozzie's right: people like Neal just don't end their days with the picket-fence dream (house, dog, 2.5 kids, etc).

BTW, Pieces of Eight = Kate, Neal, Mozzie, Peter, Elizabeth, June, Jones, and Lauren. These drabbles include and are about the whole gang.

.:::.

1. Comfort

It surprises him, the little things he misses.

The smell of her hair as it feathers across his chest.

The softness of her skin as he traces her features with his artist's touch.

The way her nose wrinkles when she laughs.

How her fingers lace perfectly with his.

He shifts on the couch and glances up in frustration, a frown furrowing his brow as the silence in his apartment distracts him from the book in his lap. Giving the plot up for lost, he tosses the novel onto the coffee table and pulls himself to his feet to pour a glass of wine. On his way back to the couch, he stops by the CD player and presses a button, letting the soft, jazzy tones fill the room. He reclines on the couch, cradling his wineglass, and tries to relax.

Sometimes it surprises him how uncomfortable the fine furnishings of a spacious apartment could be.

.:::.

2. Kiss

He wakes disoriented, in an unfamiliar bed. Without moving a muscle, he gathers as much intel on his situation as he can; fuzzy thoughts, sterile smells, crisp, cool sheets, a steady beep and the soft sound of voices in the distance all add up to one thing -- a hospital. Gingerly cracking one eye open, he tries to remember what happened.

"Neal! Peter, he's awake!" He turns his head until he can see Elizabeth sitting next to his bed and Peter hovering over her shoulder. They look worried and a little frayed and a frown touches his face as he tries and fails to remember.

"How long was I out?" he asks and the roughness of his voice startles him.

"Two days," Peter answers, relief settling into the contours of his face. "VanAllen tried to take you out with his car." And Neal's unspoken questions are answered. He stares at the ceiling and finally remembers a blue sedan and the heart-stopping moment he realized the car wasn't going to stop.

"Oh," he mumbles, unable to connect much else though the fog in his head. Peter places a gentle hand on his shoulder as Elizabeth strokes his fingers, her touch soft and soothing. He feels himself sinking back into sleep, lulled by the security of their presence.

On the cusp of slumber, inches away from dreaming, he feels Elizabeth press a kiss to his hand and he finally drifts off with a small smile on his face.

.:::.

3. Soft

He's in awe. There are no words to describe his feelings in this moment, nothing that could ever come close to capturing his thoughts. Fine tremors shake his hands as he tries to figure out how to do this, how to be careful and stable, gentle and steady, all without harming. His face aches with his smile, but he doesn't think it will ever go away. He finally manages to raise watery, wondering eyes from the treasure in his hands and leans over to kiss his wife.

"He's perfect," he whispers to her and doesn't see the smile that lights her luminous eyes as he turns back to the infant in his arms, stroking the baby's soft dark hair with a shaking finger. His voice is muted, barely a whisper as he names the child. "Matthew Aaron Burke."

A firm grip settles on his shoulder and he pries his eyes away from his son to meet the sincere gaze of the bright-eyed ex-conman next to him. They exchange a warm, affectionate look, Neal's eyes full of admiration and respect for his colleague and friend. Peter's fairly sure he's never seen exactly that soft, poignant look in Neal's blue eyes before, but the thought sifts away as he returns his gaze to his child and loses himself in the awe again.

.:::.

4. Pain

As a Federal agent, Lauren Cruz knows full well the scope of the word pain.

A gunshot wound from a bust gone south before her transfer to White Collar Crimes.

A broken bone after falling off a fire escape as a child of the city.

Chasing a suspect through Central Park on a sprained ankle.

A bruised heart after one too many late nights in the office and one too few uninterrupted weekends.

But she's sure she's never heard such anguish as the raw agony in Neal Caffrey's voice as the woman he loves falls, the victim of a well-aimed bullet. She closes her eyes and tries to will away the echo of that sound, tries to block out his miserable sobs and gut-wrenching screams as he fights against the arms holding him back, keeping him from flying across the tarmac to the broken body crumpled in the distance.

.:::.

5. Potatoes

"Whatcha doin'?" Haversham asks hesitantly, peeking cautiously into the pot bubbling on the stove.

"Nothing, Moz."

The response is unusually curt, prompting Mozzie to level a speculative look at his friend. His eyebrows furrow briefly as he calculates the date and counts back the years, realization dawning in his eyes as he pinpoints the reason for Neal's foray into the domestic arts. Glancing once more at the pot, he heads over to the refrigerator, pulls out a tub of sour cream, and places it on the table in front of his friend. Weary blue eyes rise from the sketch book Neal's doodling on and Mozzie shrugs at the unspoken question.

"My mom always put sour cream in her mashed potatoes. Might actually make yours edible this time."

Neal's quiet chuckle follows him out of the kitchen as Mozzie heads for the stairs and Neal's apartment, leaving the other man to his memories and comfort food.