A/N: Hola people! I know I've been absent from the White Collar World for a while, Real Life's been sort of kicking me around. But I'm here, and I've written nearly all of this. It'll be finished before you ever get to the end. Updates will be a little less frequent, but chapters are generally a good deal longer. I would like to dedicate this wholeheartedly to my amazing buddy Angela, who gave me the inspiration for this very unique bit of fanfiction. I hope you all enjoy, and are keeping a religious countdown to the premiere! (There are 77 days, if you're not.) Please drop me a line and let me know how I'm doing! Hopefully they'll keep me sane during my NaNoWriMo adventures. Love you all, sorry for this epistle. Without further ado, enter Neal and Peter! :)

The smell of fall rain was in the air, and the darkening sky was obscured by thick clouds. The roads of New York were busy, as always, and one black Taurus was stuck in traffic. Inside this vehicle, an FBI Agent and an FBI Consultant were currently not-arguing.

"Stop smirking like that, Caffrey, it's giving me a headache."

"How does a smirk give you a headache?"

"It's you. Think about it."

"You're just upset because I was right," Neal said, still smirking slightly.

"You know what-" Peter cut himself off, hands clenching the steering wheel, his voice going forcibly calm. "Neal. Who was right or wrong doesn't matter here. What matters is that we caught the bad guys and they won't be bothering anyone else."

"Right," Neal said, deciding not to argue further. He'd been right and he knew it, and that was enough. Peter shot him a suspicious glance and Neal looked back innocently. Just as they pulled up to the FBI headquarters, Peter let out a sneeze and the car swerved. Neal's hand shot out and grabbed the steering wheel, preventing it from hitting the car next to it by inches.

"Thanks," Peter said, sounding even more tired and wincing. Does he really have a headache?

Neal frowned in concern.

"Do you need to go home?" The conman asked casually. "You shouldn't go spreading germs around, and you seem sick."

"No."

"Are you su-"

"Yes." Peter shot Neal a look.

"Okay." Neal put up his hands in surrender and got out of the car, enjoying the cool rainy air on his skin. He looked over at Peter as the agent coughed violently. The coughs didn't stop and Neal frowned again. He removed the car keys from Peter's hand and reopened the drivers' side door.

"Let me drive you to the doctor," Neal said, pushing Peter toward the car as the coughs finally subsided.

"Not happening, Caffrey," Peter said, snatching his keys away.

"You're sick, Peter," Neal insisted. He paused. "I'll call Elizabeth."

"Do that, and you'll be back in an orange jumpsuit before morning."

Neal felt frustration clench in his mind. That was the third time in one short day that Peter had employed some version of that threat. He told himself that it was simply because Peter was ill and was thus short of temper, but it was still discouraging. He didn't enjoy having the man who he considered his partner and friend constantly remind him that he had the power to put Neal back in prison.

Just let it go, he ordered himself. He trailed behind Peter.

"Have it your way, let's go work," Neal said, withholding a sigh. They entered the building and made it all the way into the elevator before Peter started to cough again. Neal watched him with silent concern. Peter was able to stop coughing and regained his composure, but his face looked slightly green. Neal held back another comment and followed Peter into the bullpen.

"Welcome back, Peter," Jones said with a grin. "How did the case go?"

"We got it all wrapped up," Peter said evenly, nodding. He made his way to his office and Jones gave Neal a curious look; Peter had seemed fine that morning, aside from some tiredness. Neal shrugged.

"He's sick, but being stubborn."

Peter beckoned for Neal with a slight glare and Neal followed him up. Jones nodded slowly.

Diana tagged along behind Neal, having heard the conversation. "Hey, boss," she greeted Peter. "Y'know, you don't look so good. Are you sure you don't need to rest? You've already wrapped up one case today."

"Are you all going to gang up on me?" Peter asked resignedly, slumping down in his desk chair.

"Yep," Diana said. "It's dinner time anyway, you should head home."

"Fine," Peter said reluctantly. And Neal felt a little hurt- not that he'd ever admit it- that Peter would take Diana's advice, but not Neal's, even when it had been the same. Peter stood back up from his desk and picked up his coat. "C'mon, Caffrey, I'll drop you off."

"Alright," Neal said, flashing a grin. He nodded gratefully to Diana, because it was good that Peter was going home, regardless of who'd accomplished it. Jones waved good night to the pair as they passed, and they made their way down to the Taurus. Peter's phone went off and he winced at the shrill noise. Reading the text quickly, Peter looked back up at Neal.

"Early morning meeting about that theft ring is cancelled tomorrow, so we don't have to go in."

"That's good," Neal said with an even nod. Especially for you.

"Listen, Neal..." Peter started awkwardly as they got into the car. "I'm sorry I was so short with you earlier."

"It's okay," Neal said with an easy grin. And it was. Mostly. "Don't worry about it." Peter nodded, looking tired still, and started the car. They drove in relative silence until they pulled up in front of the fence at June's house.

"Thanks for the ride," Neal said with a smile. Peter nodded.

"No problem. See you Monday."

"Okay. Feel better." Neal let out a breath as Peter drove away and started into June's house.

xxxxx

"Hi, Peter," Elizabeth said, looking surprised as Peter walked into their home. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in his pale face and slightly pained movements. "What's wrong?" She asked concernedly, standing from the couch and taking his arm.

"Nothing," he said, weariness in his voice betraying the lie. Elizabeth shook her head.

"Come sit down and I'll finish the soup." She helped him remove his jacket and he sat down at the table slowly. Elizabeth went into the kitchen and moved the soup pot to the table with potholders. She grabbed some orange juice and the fresh bread and then sat down with him.

"So what's wrong?" Elizabeth repeated, more firmly.

"I don't know," Peter admitted. "I feel sort of nauseated and really tired, and my head hurts." He looked reluctant to disclose this, for fear of sounding like he was complaining to her. He tried never to do that. "And I've been coughing a lot."

"It sounds like what Lisa has," Elizabeth said. She brushed her fingertips over his forehead and sighed. "I bet you caught it from her when she was over last weekend. You have a fever."

"Is she over it now?" Peter asked.

"No. She's still sort of sick. It's just a virus, she says rest helps." Elizabeth poured him a glass of orange juice with a meaningful expression. "You're not going anywhere this weekend."

"But you have that party tomorrow," Peter protested. "I wanted to be able to go with-" his words were cut off as he started to cough again, turning away from the table. Elizabeth laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay," she said soothingly, trying not to be disappointed. It wasn't Peter's fault, after all. "There will be other parties."

"No, El, you should still go," Peter said, getting control of his breathing again. "You could take one of your friends. What about Liliana or Yvonne?"

"One of their mutual friends is getting married tomorrow," she said. "It's really okay, Peter. I can't think of anyone else who would want to go to such a fancy party with me, anyway."

There was a moment of silence, then slow smiles spread across both of their faces.

"I'll get the phone."