First off, I'm a huge White Collar fan. I have this theory that if I continue to re-watch all six seasons, the USA Network will be like, "LOL WE'RE BACK!" but so far, that hasn't happened. Thank God for fanfiction.

Anyway, this was sort of inspired by another fanfic I read (I can't remember what it was called, but I liked it.) This is my first entry for the White Collar themed fanfics.

I find it difficult to write for this show, especially since it's one of my favorites. But, anyway, I hope you enjoy! Please, let me know what you think!

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own White Collar or any of the plots, characters, etc. Jeff Eastin is a genius. We need another season.

Peter fell onto the couch cushions with a relieved sigh. He grabbed the TV remote and flipped to the Yankees game. As the first pitch was thrown, he popped the cap off his bottle and took a long, cool sip of beer. Satchmo looked longingly at the empty space beside him. With his empty hand, Peter patted the spot beside him.

"No telling El I let you up here, all right?"

Satchmo barked in agreement and turned his head to the television screen.

Aside from missing the presence of his wife, Peter felt relieved and refreshed. It had been a long week. That kid Caffrey had gone off radar, and, truth be told, Peter was worried about him. Until this moment, he had been able to track him. He had discovered his apartment months ago and even some of his frequent hangouts. But, a new renowned forger had been in the city for the past few weeks causing trouble, and with Mr. Cadenza's appearance, Caffrey had disappeared.

Peter considered the chance that Caffrey had become involved in their fencing of forgeries, but after Cadenza had been confirmed to have been involved with a few murders, Peter had quickly thrown the idea out the window. Caffrey was a lot of things, but he was not a killer. In fact, from what Peter had learned in the past few months, Caffrey refrained from all types of violence. The young con had never even hit someone, for all Peter knew. Peter thought back to that day outside the bank when Caffrey had handed him a sucker. There had been no hidden threat behind it, rather it was a sort of let the games begin and may the best man win gesture. Peter smiled at his analogy. He was going to win, and if he had things his way, he would share his accomplishment with the conman.

No. Peter knew that Caffrey was not involved with the Cadenza crew.

There was always the possibility that Caffrey was hiding from Cadenza himself, but that was unlikely. Neal was just one man, and though he was highly intelligent and clever, he wouldn't stand a chance against Cadenza and his mafia.

But, his disappearance was definitely noted and made Peter question his whereabouts.

Anyway, Cadenza was in jail now. He and his crew had been found this morning at an abandoned warehouse. They were arrested and now on their way to prison. To finish the case fully, Peter and his team of FBI agents had to find the remaining contacts. They had a few leads and would hopefully be able to wrap everything up Monday morning.

So, to ease his thoughts and his tired mind, he watched the game. Paper work could wait until tomorrow.

Peter woke suddenly in the middle of the night.

The room was dark; the only light coming from the Brooklyn streetlights outside his window. He looked back to the bed. Satchmo was no longer in El's usual place. He stepped out into the hallway and listened. When he heard shuffling downstairs, he stepped back into his bedroom and pulled his gun from the safe. Checking to make sure it was loaded, he stepped stealthily into the hall, making his way to the stairs. As he reached the top, he heard a whispered shushing. That most definitely was not coming from his dog.

With a deep breath and a silent prayer, he made his way down the stairs. The living room was dark, but as far as Peter could tell, it was clear. He contemplated flipping the light switch on, but decided against it. His intruder might be armed.

Peter turned the corner and could see a light filtering in through the bottom of the kitchen door. The bathroom door was half open, but it was dark inside. As Peter contemplated how to approach the situation in the kitchen, he heard a soft laugh that almost sounded pained, then a happy bark from Satchmo.

And, dang it, if he didn't know that laugh!

Without the usual dramatic entrance an FBI agent makes, Peter replaced the safety and lowered his gun. He knocked once on the kitchen door before entering.

"Caffrey, what the heck are you doing in my house!" Peter exploded. The way the young man seemed to shrink just the slightest under his wrath did not escape him.

"On the contrary, you weren't supposed to find me. Also, you might want to look into a new guard dog because this one isn't doing so great of a job," Caffrey said with a small smile. It was clearly a con because Peter could read the pained grimace the smile failed to mask. Now, as Peter's vision cleared, he could see that Caffrey did not look so great.

"Geez, kid. What happened to you?" Peter took a couple of steps closer; close enough to lean against the opposite side of the counter that Caffrey was seated at. Neal looked to the floor as Peter studied him. The left side of his face was entirely bruised; his eye half swollen shut. There was a trail of dried blood from his nose to his chin. It appeared the kid had been attempting to clean it up. Peter noticed he sat hunched, without his usual proper posture. His right arm was draped awkwardly across his lap. His shirt was torn in many places and stained with the occasional spot of blood. But, back to the shirt—Peter almost laughed.

"I don't see anything too amusing right now," Neal sounded embarrassed, with just a hint of anger. He continued to squirm under Peter's glare.

"It's just," Peter immediately stopped his amusing thoughts. "I have never seen you so… casual."

"Yeah," Caffrey gave a small laugh. "I look pretty ridiculous right now. Almost like a normal person."

Peter found himself smiling, as he leaned across the counter top. He pointed to Neal.

"Do you want some help?"

For a moment, he thought Neal would refuse. Peter had learned over the past few months that the kid was very independent. But, Neal surprised him with a small nod and a quiet "please." Peter didn't hesitate. He walked around the counter until he was standing beside the young con. He picked up the wet washcloth and began to wipe at Neal's face.

"You never answered my question," Peter said conversationally. He stepped back and waited for Neal to talk.

"Why are you helping me?" Neal asked. Peter could not decide if he was stalling or simply curious.

"My badge is upstairs. Right now, I'm just Peter Burke, regular guy." Peter noticed Neal staring at his gun where it laid on the counter. Peter picked it up and left the kitchen long enough to place the gun on the dining room table. "There. Now I'm just Peter Burke, regular guy."

Neal seemed to relax a little more.

"Oh, please. Peter, you could never be regular."

Peter rolled his eyes but refrained from arguing. He waited patiently for Caffrey to continue.

"You always say you can help me. I guess I decided to accept the offer," Neal said. His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. And, Peter noticed, it held the faintest hint of desperation. Could Caffrey finally be reaching his limits? Could he be getting bored of the life of crime?

"This isn't the kind of help I was referring to," Peter said as he tipped Neal's head back to get a better look at the kid's nose.

"I know," Neal said nasally. "But it's the kind of help I need most right now."

Peter said nothing as he continued to study the damage done to the young man.

His nose didn't appear to be broken, so that was good. It was going to be bruised and swollen for a while though. Caffrey's face was much cleaner than it had been. He searched through the first aid kit Caffrey had taken from the bathroom. When he found the Neosporin, he squeezed some onto a clean paper towel, then rubbed it over a few of the small cuts. Neal remained stoic and quiet throughout the process. He stifled a few winces, but showed no emotion willingly.

"So, what's the deal with your arm?" Peter asked after he finished working on Neal's face.

"My shoulder was dislocated." Neal didn't explain any further, but Peter could only guess that the kid had popped it back into place. No doubt it was still painfully sore and stiff.

"Do you think anything is broken?"

"Maybe some ribs," Neal winced as he resituated himself on the stool. Peter winced, too. He knew how painful that could be.

"Concussion or head trauma?"

"My name is Neal Caffrey. I'm twenty-two years old. I'm a conman currently evading the FBI and charges for alleged art forgery, bond forgery—"

"All right," Peter cut in. "I don't need to hear your entire repertoire. I have it memorized already."

Neal smirked smugly as Peter handed him a couple of Tylenol and a glass of water. When he swallowed them, Peter ordered him to take off his shirt so he could further assess the damage. Neal paused and began to protest. Peter stopped him with a fixed glare. Neal gingerly stood and began to slip his shirt off. Peter had to help him remove his right arm.

Peter swore, quietly and under his breath, but loud enough for Neal to hear. Neal's grin fell limp on his face. Peter couldn't find an inch of flesh on Neal's torso that wasn't bruised. In some places, the flesh was turning a yellowish-green, evidence that there had been damage, but it was fading. But, in others, the flesh was various shades of purple. The area covering his ribs, in particular, was nearly black. Peter shook his head and muttered an apology as he probed the sensitive area. Neal jerked beneath his soft touch and his breathing hitched. Peter removed his fingers and apologized more.

"Definitely a few broken; a few bruised. Cadenza really did a number on you. Look, you need more help than I can offer."

"No," Neal insisted. His voice was forceful. "I'll be fine. I just needed to get cleaned up a little."

"Caffrey," Peter ground out. "You need to be checked out by a real doctor."

"Peter, I can't go to the hospital."

Peter glared at him. He knew he was going to get nowhere in this argument. He let it go and proposed something new.

"Look, you need a good shower. I'll get you some clothes. You can finish telling me about everything after." His tone left no room for argument, but still he cocked an eyebrow, challenging Neal to protest.

"Whoa," Neal looked at Peter as if the agent had grown a second head. "You think I'm staying? No chance. I got all the help I need. I'll be leaving now. We can continue our game of cat and mouse." Neal pushed himself up, but his knees shook under his full weight. He hissed and wrapped his functioning arm around his middle as he stooped back down to the stool.

"Yeah, you're just fine," Peter said drily. "You can stay here for the night. If you tell me everything, and I do mean everything you know about Cadenza, I won't breathe a word of this to the FBI." Neal looked at him questioningly. "Neal, you have my word. Now, do I have yours?"

Something, Neal still couldn't quite figure it out, but something inside him trusted this man whole-heartedly. Right now, Neal knew Peter was telling the truth. Neal weighed his options; he could promise to follow Peter's request and still slowly back out if things got too complicated. He would tell him the truth, but he didn't have to tell him the whole truth. Then again, Peter was smart. Neal knew he would figure it out if he was lying or hiding something.

"Think you can give me a hand up the stairs?" he asked unwillingly.

Peter began to worry when Neal had not reappeared after thirty minutes. He waited outside the bathroom door, listening intently for any sign that the young man was in some sort of discomfort. At one point, he heard a loud thump and had to refrain from busting down the door.

"I'm all right, Peter. It was just the shampoo bottle," Neal called out. Peter shook his head. There was nothing getting past that kid.

Ten minutes later, Neal exited the bathroom. His black hair was plastered to his forehead and his eyes were bloodshot. Peter didn't say anything. Caffrey was young, but dressed in a pair of Peter's old sweatpants and a three times too large t-shirt, he looked like a child. Peter placed a gentle hand on Neal's shoulder and guided him toward the guest room.

"I told you I'm not staying," Neal protested as they entered the room.

"Sit," Peter ordered.

Neal stubbornly refused. Peter stubbornly waited. Two minutes later, Neal sat down on the mattress. Peter reached over to the first aid kit he had placed on the small bedside table and removed the supplies he would need to re-dress Neal's wounds.

"Talk," Peter demanded as he squeezed some cream onto a gloved finger.

Neal talked.

Cadenza had come to New York unannounced. Through a series of contacts and an especially close friend, who remained nameless, Neal was alerted of the rumors that Cadenza hoped to employ him. Neal refused. He knew of Cadenza's reputation and wanted nothing to do with it; however, Cadenza had other ideas and Neal was forced to meet with him.

He was blindfolded and thrown into a van. He was roughed up a little by the gorillas, as he called them, in order to get him to cooperate. When he came to, he was strapped to a chair with Cadenza standing before him.

"He was very… persuasive," Neal flinched as he said this. Peter knew it was not from his ministrations.

Neal continued to tell Peter his side of the story.

Caffrey had been taken away by two large gorillas to the basement of an abandoned building. There had been no windows, but he could hear the sound of waves at night as he tried to sleep. Cadenza had requested him to complete the forgery of a Rembrandt. Neal had worked his hardest and done some of his best work. When the day of the fencing came, Cadenza had approved the forgery and offered Neal a deal. He politely declined. Cadenza shot one of the guards as an example to what would happen to Neal if he refused. Three of Cadenza's men removed the dead guard and Cadenza left Neal saying he would return in a few hours for Neal's final answer.

Neal took his chance.

With easy effort, he knocked the remaining guard unconscious and picked the lock on the door. Cadenza and his mafia were stationed in a separate building. Neal made it to the entrance before he encountered another two guards. He used the sneak attack on one of them, rendering him unconscious with the use of a board. The other man, however, caught Neal and had the upper hand until Neal gathered his remaining reserves and broke free of the brute. He used the board as a weapon again and with two blows, the guard fell to the ground.

Neal ran. When he was a safe distance away, he tried to contact his unnamed friend. There had been no answer. He wandered about for a few hours, but got nowhere due to his injuries.

"And that's when you decided to break into my house?" Peter asked after Neal had trailed off.

"Your skills of deduction are astounding." Neal smirked, though there was none of his usual smugness in the expression.

"We caught Cadenza and his mafia this morning, but I guess you already knew that." Neal nodded in affirmation. "We have a few leads on where the rest of his remaining contacts are. Do you think you could confirm if I gave you the locations?"

Neal thought for a moment, then nodded his head. "I can try."

Peter left the room long enough to grab a piece of paper and a pen from his bedroom. When he returned, Neal dropped his hand to his side from where it had been wrapped tightly around his chest. Peter didn't say anything, but he gave Neal a knowing look. Neal huffed and straightened.

Peter scribbled some addresses down and Neal studied them. The location near the Hudson River, Neal decided, had been where they had kept him. He confirmed another two locations, telling Peter that he had overheard some of the men mention them in conversation. The other three hunches Peter had were left open. Peter thanked Neal for his cooperation.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Peter was scribbling notes onto his paper, thinking about the phone call he would make in the morning to Diana and then Jones. He also processed the entirety of Neal's story. Peter was sure that Caffrey had not lied to him, but he knew the conman had left some details out. It did not matter; he had the answers he wanted.

Beside him, Neal slowly began to slump forward. His left arm inched its way across his middle and rubbed absently at his sore arm. Out of his peripheral, Peter could see the frown deepening on his face, as well as his closing eyes.

"I'll be right back. Don't move." Peter ordered, not sure if Caffrey would comply.

He walked down to the kitchen and removed the bottle of Tylenol from the medicine cabinet. With the pain pills in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, Peter returned upstairs.

Neal had let his guard down and slumped onto the mattress. Not wanting to wake him, Peter quietly entered the room and placed the two bottles on the bedside table. Before he flipped the light switch, he took a final look at Caffrey. Peter's old clothes and Neal's own youth made him look like a poor, broken child. Something inside of Peter ached a little at the scene. Being as careful as possible, Peter draped a blanket over Neal's sleeping form and could not stop himself from lightly ruffling Neal's hair.

"You're something else, you know that?" Peter whispered fondly into the quiet room.

When he was sure there was nothing left to do, he turned off the light and closed the door behind him.

Despite his interrupted sleep during the night, Peter was up at sunrise. He passed the guest bedroom, and seeing the door still closed, continued downstairs. Satchmo greeted him in the living room. Peter patted his head and opened the back door for his faithful dog to exit. When his coffee was finished, he grabbed his mug and settled himself at the dining room table, content to read the paper.

Halfway through the sports section, his eyes landed on a sliver of paper laying at the opposite end of the table. He stretched and snatched it.

See you soon! He read and cursed.

Peter shook his head. He knew Caffrey would stick to his word and leave. Why did he ever consider otherwise?

Peter placed his empty mug in the kitchen sink before returning to his bedroom. He grabbed his phone but before he dialed Diana's number, he checked the guest bedroom, just to be sure. Of course, Neal was gone. Peter's clothes were folded neatly and laid in a stack on the made bedspread. Somehow, he found himself smiling as he left the room and waited for Diana to answer.

"Sorry, I know it's early, but I know where our missing persons are. Call it a strong hunch."

Thanks for reading this nonsense! You're the best. Please, feel free to let me know what you think!