Fearful Con Cerns: The Earning of Trust

Authors Notes:

Once I finished writing this story (kind of an opus for me) I realized I had a lot of explaining to do and instead of all of you having to wait till the end, I'd put all of the explanations up front so you can get them over with and have a better understanding of what this is about.

First and foremost is that you should really read Fearful Con Cerns (which can be found at ) before you read this, otherwise while this will make sense; it won't make as much sense and I do reference the events in the first story from time to time.

There is at least one very graphically written murder scene in this story of a very minor character. There are a few other scenes of graphic brutality. I've tagged the chapters with warnings. As always, if you don't want to read it, then don't.

While there are explicate sexual references there are no sex scenes but there is some foul language.

Also, this story is completely written so while I'll take my time posting it, it will all be posted. The more reviews I get, the faster it will be posted.

Now some explanations: Neal seemed to know so little about pistols in "Book of Hours" but was an expert skeet shooter and so I'm making the not unfounded assumption that he had lessons of some sort with one and never learned about the other.

Next: I'd never thought of them that way but now I can say that the plot bunnies really gave me a run for the money on this one. I still don't know if it was a theme in search of a plot or a plot in search of a theme, or maybe both in search of a concept. This story bears no resemblance to how it started as I got half way done with several scenarios and just had to toss them because they weren't working.

I did enough research on this story to assure myself that the little I thought I knew about anything was totally wrong. Everything is purely author's license to make anything up to fit the plot. This story as well as Fearful Con Cerns were based on the spoiler that there is a question about who Neal is working for.

While I don't know any of the White Collar fanfiction writers and fans personally, so many of them have been kind enough to complement my previous stories and this has given me a great deal of encouragement. Thank you all, very much. A simple "I loved you story," really means so much. I'll even take "I liked your story," or "Story, good." Okay, even "good." Okay, okay, I'll even accept, "It didn't suck." Even if you didn't like my story, and have some constructive criticism to offer I'd be more than happy for it to be offered.

Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar and am not getting any money from the publication of this fan fiction. However, Dear Mr. Easton, if there is a rip in the universe and you read this, I have to confess that I've noticed something really strange during my 200th time of re-watching the series (apart from rotten continuity. Those flipping coat collars, up and down and up and down depending on the camera angle and mysteriously moving bodies, please.). My apartment is actually bigger than Neal's loft. I didn't think it was possible to have a smaller place than mine. Of course Neal has a terrace and view of New York City and my one window looks out over a parking lot so please don't sue me.

Summary: Neal is sure he would endure anything to bring Kate's murderer to justice until more is demanded of him than he could ever imagine.

Spoilers: Threads, Book of Hours, All In, Free Fall, Hard Sell, Bad Judgment, Bottlenecked, Front Man, Out of the Box, oh, the whole first season.

Thoughts are in Italics

Parings: Neal Caffery, Peter Burke (non-slash)

And now without further ado the story.

Fearful "Con" Cerns: The Earning of Trust

By Ultracape

Chapter I

He once told a judge not too long ago, that he was proud of most everything he'd done in his life. Up until this point, it was true.

Now Neal Caffery, art forger, alleged con artist, thief, money launderer and racketeer, regretted every lie, every con, ever theft, in fact every criminal act he'd ever committed or even thought of committing. At this point, his very nature was his own worst enemy.

He needed to tell the truth, wanted to tell the truth and planned to tell the truth but was terrified no one in this courtroom would believe him, and the fact was he couldn't blame them. What sane person would trust a word he said?

Lies were so much easier; they were what people wanted to hear and people liked you when you told them things that pleased them and the more you pleased them the more they'd like you. The truth hurt. It hurt to hear and as he had admitted to Peter, it hurt him to tell. The truth scared him. It invariably brought him pain and trouble. It made him vulnerable and made him feel like he was baring his soul and so his hands sweat and shook as he rubbed them against his Devore trousers while trying to project some of his vaunted confidence.

But how could he be expected to be confident, sitting on the leather cushion of an oak chair in the witness stand in a walnut paneled vaulted ceiling court room, replete with full size paintings of viewscapes of old New York City and portraits of the city's prominent judiciary staring down at him, probably with disgust? Though the ever present sounds of city traffic drifted up from the street, the room radiated an overwhelming quiet, even though there were people whispering back and forth. The atmosphere made him look around half expecting to see ADA Jack McCoy walk towards him from the prosecutor's table to verbally beat him into confessing to every crime ever committed.

But this time, though he felt like it, he was not on trial. He was Neal Caffery, convicted felon on a work-release contract to the F.B.I. as a consulting expert on white collar crimes. He was the prosecutor's chief witness, a prosecutor, who looked more like a stereotypical grandmother than what her nickname implied, Hang Him High Hannah Magill. At their first meeting she nearly scared him to death when she told him to kill the charm and the emotional control or she'd cut it out of him with a dull knife, and then won his heart forever by serving him milk and home made chocolate chip cookies.

She had promised Neal that he would see justice done and that Kate's murderer would be punished to the full extent of the law. Neal wanted to believe her and Peter told him that her conviction record showed that she hit many more times than she missed.

At the defense table sat the defendant, suspected in more than three dozen assassinations and complicit in a few dozen coups all over the world, Troy Miller. He was as tall as Neal's handler, F.B.I. Special Agent Peter Burke, with the same coloring and physique. Yet the resemblance ended there. This man needed no coaching to look menacing, something Peter only seemed to achieve when he had his gun drawn on a homicidal perp. Miller's eyes kept running up and down Neal, sizing him up with something like anticipation and gave Neal the creeps, as if he needed any more reason to be nervous.

Aside from the defense attorney, the judge, court stenographer and bailiff the courtroom was empty, this being only a preliminary hearing to hear motions and determine if there was enough evidence against Miller to support the charges and go to trial.

The preliminaries of who Neal was and where he worked went quickly and were relatively painless. Magill had told him to be up front about his conviction, the terms of his release and his work and that this would take the teeth out of the defense attorney's attack on Neal's credibility.

"Mr. Caffery, what did you see when you approached the plane," asked Magill from her seat behind the prosecution table. She nodded in gentle encouragement to him.

"I saw my girlfriend Kate Moreau waving to me from the hatch of the plane and a man in the pilot seat."

"The control tower reports showed that the plane was at least fifty yards away from the runway doors of Hanger Four, where you entered the field. Are you sure you saw her?"

"Yes. I know Kate's face better than my own. She waved and then, and then she must have seen Peter, I mean my handler, F.B.I. Special Agent Peter Burke. She must have seen me stop and turn, when he called my name, so she went back into the plane but then when I turned back towards the plane again I saw her face through the window as well as the man sitting in the pilot's seat."

"Would you tell us what happened next?"

"Special Agent Burke called my name. I turned back and I asked him why he was there and he said he'd come as my friend to talk me out of leaving with Kate."

"And this is what delayed you?"

"Objection, leading the witness," called the defense attorney, Francis Platz who looked like a tall Denny Crane.

"Sustained," said Judge Kleiner.

"Let me rephrase. Mr. Caffery, what was the effect of this conversation?"

This was it. Neal had to tell the truth, something he actually felt painful doing from time to time. Yet this time he could not con, he could not obfuscate, he had to strip his soul bare, show the court the truth of how the events effected him. He had to do this to get justice for Kate. "I was delayed in boarding the plane," Neal's voice hitched a bit as he sought desperately for the memory to come back, a memory he'd been trying to bury for months. "I, I was speaking to Peter. He asked me why I didn't say goodbye to him."

Suddenly Neal could feel the wet flakes of snow landing on his cheeks and smell the stink of hot jet fuel fumes mixed with the odor of an approaching storm as the memory assembled in the background of the present like a sheer curtain in a theater separating him from the play.

"I told him 'you know why.' He said 'tell me.' I answered 'Because you're the only one who could change my mind.' He asked me if he had changed it. I couldn't answer. I didn't know if I could. I turned to leave. I could see Kate waiting for me, watching me from the window. But Peter was right; I had a life, a good one. I was torn. I'd escaped prison for her, I made the deal with Peter for her, I searched for her. She was my reason. But Peter had given me a second chance, one that could include Kate. I thought, maybe we wouldn't leave. Maybe Kate would stay with me and we'd be together here. But if she wanted to leave more than she wanted to be with me, it would break my heart but I'd settle for knowing that she would be safe and happy. I turned to speak to Peter and suddenly I was thrown to the ground by a blast of heat. I heard the explosion. When I got to my feet and looked around," Neal held his hand to his eyes but he could not stop the sob from tearing free or the tears that ran down his cheeks.

"Your honor," said Platz quietly from his seat. "We sympathize with Mr. Caffery but we would ask you to instruct him to contain his emotions in order to give a clear description of the events for the court's understanding."

"Mr. Caffery, do you need a minute?" asked the judge.

Neal called upon every trick he knew in his vast book which he usually used to convince his marks that a lie was the truth. Now he had to convince these people that a liar was telling the truth. His bag of tricks was empty.

He looked up, shook his head at the judge and continued tears in his voice, "When I looked around I saw that the plane was engulfed in flames."

"What happened then?" asked the prosecutor.

"I ran to her, I ran to try to save Kate, but Peter grabbed me and tried to hold me back. I broke free but Peter, Peter tackled me just before there was another explosion. If he hadn't, I'd probably have been caught by the flames. He saved my life. I must have blacked out then because I don't remember anything after that until I regained consciousness in the ambulance."

"And you're sure that Kate Moreau and another person, a man was on that plane."

"Yes, I'm positive. I saw both of them."

"And neither one or both of them got off before the explosion."

"No, if they had, I would have seen them on the runway. They were on the plane."

"Thank you Mr. Caffery," the prosecutor said as she sat back down.

"Bravo, bravo," suddenly Platz startled all, by standing up and clapping his hands. "Bravo, bravissomo," he said clapping harder, coming around the table approaching the witness stand. "That was a magnificent performance."

"Objection," said Magill.

He continued to clap, walking up to the stand in front of Neal, staring at him, clapping louder and louder, nearly in his face. "How can you object to that? It was spellbinding.

Platz stopped clapping but continued his diatribe. "They told me, Caffery is the best, he can con the white off rice but I didn't believe it until now. That was truly magnificent."

"I'm telling the truth," Neal said plaintively and was ignored.

"Your honor, objection."

"Oh yes, I definitely have an objection your honor. Here we have a criminal, a thief, a racketeer and a convicted forger, a man who has made a living out of lying. His mere presence in this hallowed hall of justice is an insult and he's attempting to break our hearts with his highly prejudicial fairytale of lost love. This confidence schemer is so convincing a liar he manipulated the Federal Bureau of Investigation's finest into setting him free. Now he is the only witness claiming that anyone was on that plane. He's a liar for whom truth is an inconvenient, meaningless abstract. How can anyone believe anything he says? I demand that his entire testimony be stricken from the record, that he be charged with perjury and since there is no evidence that anyone was even on that plane I further demand that the charge of murder against my client be dismissed."

"No, no you can't do that," Neal couldn't believe what was happening. "I'm telling the truth. Kate was on that plane. She was on that plane."

"Chambers, both of you!" said the judge. "Ms. Magill, take a moment to see to your witness."

Neal was astounded. He'd been prepared for a prolonged and brutal line of questioning about his past. Magill had gone over every possible attack. But Platz hadn't used that tactic at all and gone straight after his testimony. He couldn't believe that his eye witness account could be summarily dismissed just like that.

"Neal, I'll take care of it," said Magill as she handed him a glass of water she'd gotten from her table. "Just wait here and calm down." She left him there, and joined Platz who grinned smugly at Neal while holding the door open for Magill at the side of the Judge's bench, leaving Neal alone in the courtroom as Miller, led by the bailiff followed them into chambers.

Neal felt like a fool sitting in the witness stand in an empty courtroom, the only one not invited to the party. What was he doing here? Why was he trying to do this according to the law? Neal looked around at these, 'hallowed halls,' as Platz had called them. He remembered how just a few years ago he was convicted and sentenced in this very courtroom, of what to him seemed only an error in judgment. It wasn't that he hadn't beaten Stuart Gless's unbeatable bond, it was that Gless had suspected something was amiss and notified none other than Special Agent Peter Burke who was stalking Neal just as he went to redeem said bond without checking if he'd been followed.

Neal rarely bore a grudge but if he had, he'd have taken care of it without benefit of the law. Why bother to prove to others that someone was guilty when you knew who it was, when and why they did what they did?

But now, now when he was bound by so many rules and regulations he couldn't sneeze without his personal watchdog knowing about it, he had to testify against Kate's murderer, and of course, why should anyone believe him?

It only took five minutes before the bailiff led Miller out, followed by Platz and Magill. She did not look happy. Once the judge was seated Neal understood why.

"After hearing from both parties concerning Mr. Caffery's credibility, and taking into consideration that the last time he was before a judge, he jumped from that judge's chamber's window in a successful escape, I find that while I don't disbelieve Mr. Caffery's testimony here today, that testimony on its own, is not enough to hold another man over on capital charges. Since there is no other proof that a murder had been committed that charge is dismissed. Yes, Ms. Magill you are free to re-file once you establish proof."

Platz shot up to his feet, "You're honor in that case I'd like an immediate ruling on bail."

"Your client is still charged with a serious crime, Mr. Platz.. Mr. Miller is remanded until he can be arraigned tomorrow morning. Mr. Platz, see the clerk about the docket. I'm sure you know the procedure in your sleep. This hearing is adjourned."

Neal sat there stunned, watching the proceedings as the man who was accused of planting the bomb that killed Kate shook his attorney's hand, winked at Neal and was led out by the bailiff.

He was still sitting there when Magill walked over to him. "I'm sorry Neal, but Judge Kleiner agreed with putz, I mean Platz that your credibility was in question and since Peter already testified that his attention was focused on you, he can't verify that Kate was still in the plane. Platz is also putting doubt in Peter's credibility because he trusted you. With the evidence pouch of the explosive device, and passenger manifest and flight plan missing, there's no proof anyone was on that plane when it exploded. No remains were ever found. The good news is there won't be any charge of perjury because though he doesn't trust your credibility he also feels that while you might have seen Kate on that plane, she could have left when your back was turned and so there's no evidence that you knowingly lied."

"So they don't believe I'm capable of telling the truth, even to myself and Peter is a fool for having anything to do with me and Kate's murder walks out of here a free man. Have I got that about right, Ms. Magill?"

She nodded. "There's still the charge of destruction of an aircraft but without any other proof, even that may be dropped. I'm sorry Neal. If we had any physical evidence at all, Miller would have taken his well deserved place on death row." She walked back to the desk and gathered her things, "I told you when we started this; it's always a gamble when we use a convicted felon as a witness."

Neal's head was bent and his shoulders slumped as he remained sitting in the witness stand as Magill passed Peter coming in from the double doors in the back. "Neal? Neal, why are you just sitting there? What happened? No one will tell me a damn thing.

Neal slowly raised his head towards his friend and Peter took a sudden step back. He'd never seen Neal so angry. He'd hardly seen Neal ever angry at all. But now, the depth of pain on Neal's face was frighteningly unbearable to look at.

Neal stood up and walked past Peter, out of the oak courtroom doors, down the marble vaulted hallway to the men's room.

Once inside he gripped his hands to try and stop their shaking, then washed off the sweat from his palms, cupped some water into his hand to drink, splashed some water on his face and took a deep breath. Neal looked at himself in the mirror, usually an enjoyable activity for the self admitted vain man. But this time what he saw was a reflection he could not bear. It was that of a man whose lies were believed without question but whose truth was destroyed by his character. He had failed at taking care of the one woman he'd vowed to keep safe. He was still shackled, more by his own sense of duty and loyalty than by plastic and electrons to a man who had put him in prison, while the monster who murdered his girlfriend walked out soon to be a free man. The anger, frustration and pain roiled in his stomach and rose up through him until it grabbed his lungs and squeezed, forcing howls of anguish out of his throat and he howled and howled, screaming out his pain, his anger and his guilt. Before he realized what he was doing, he hauled back and with all his strength, punched his reflection in the mirror where his face would be. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you" he screamed, and screamed.

Peter had been barely able to catch up with Neal, unusual since Neal's shorter stride forced him to nearly dance along to keep up with the agent when they walked. He had just reached the hall when he saw Neal enter the men's room. But when he got there, the sounds he heard brought his caution to bear and he peeked into the room. He was shocked as he watched the violence of his friend's pent up emotions overtake him. Though Peter was taller, heavier, and stronger and trained, he knew there was no way he could subdue his friend in the state he was in, without causing him some injury and himself as well.

Peter quietly closed the door and took station, smiling sternly but politely at any one wanting to enter the men's room and pointed them down the hall to another facility.

Neal screamed as he went from mirror to mirror, driving his hand into the glass reflection of himself, and then every other reflection he could find. "You're not good enough. You're a liar. No one can trust you. You're worthless." he cried finally as he ran out of steam, Kate was right to never really trust me, but a fool to love me."

Out in the hallway, Peter could hear nothing more but silence from the men's room. A moment later Neal came sauntering out, some paper towels, already streaked with his blood, wrapped around his hand.

"You okay?" Peter asked astonished at the nearly instantaneous change in demeanor.

Neal nodded the congenial, handsome, charming and smiling conman façade fully cemented in place. "I had a little accident, nothing serious but we should contact the building manger so I can pay for the damages."

"Yeah, okay, but we better have that hand looked at first."

Neal looked down, startled at the blood soaked toweling.

"It's nothing, it doesn't even hurt."

Peter stared at him, incredulous. His hand should be killing him.

"Peter," Neal said with a laughing lilt to his voice, "tell me again why we are working so hard to uphold the law."