A/N: So, I've been having my own White Collar marathon in preparation for Season 2.5, and a few story ideas have sparked. For example, at the end of In the Red, Sara walked in on a shirtless Neal, wondering why he had gotten her involved in the FAA recording saga. But the show left us hanging – just how did Neal explain that to Sara?

The knocking woke him up.

A quick glance at the clock confirmed that it was not quite the time he needed to be awake. But the knocking came again, so someone was very insistent.

Neal rolled out of bed and walked to the door, opening it. Sara? "Good morning. Here to arrest me again?"

She brushed past him, a shoulder bag clutched tightly to her side. "Tell me about Kate."

With a shake of his head he closed the door. "Come on in," he muttered.

Sara walked to the table and turned back. "She was your girlfriend, before you went to prison. What happened to her on that plane?"

The question caught him off guard. "It's complicated."

"Who killed her?"

"I don't know."

"Neal, I don't know what possessed you to drag me into this, but I'm in." She pulled the FAA envelope out of her bag and held it out.

Still a bit uncertain, Neal stepped toward her. "You listened to it?" he asked as he took the package.

She nodded. "Yeah. You need to hear it."

Neal stared down at the package, surprised to find that his hands were shaking.

"Want to tell me about it – and why I'm involved?"

"It's kind of a long story."

"Why don't you try me?"

He laid the envelope on the table and bought himself a moment by going to the refrigerator, selecting a bottle of orange juice, and holding it out. Sara nodded, so he opened it, poured two glasses, and set one in front of her. This might actually go better with wine, but it was a little early in the day for that. And he was out of champagne for mimosas…

While she sipped, he went to the bed, grabbed the robe draped at the foot, and pulled it on. He tied the belt as he walked back to the table and picked up his own juice.

"You can stall all you want," Sara said. "I can wait."

"Some conversations shouldn't be conducted half naked," Neal returned.

"Oh, I didn't mind."

Neal gave her a look that was half scowl and half piqued interest. "How much do you know?"

"I know Kate was your girlfriend," Sara replied. "I know she was on a plane that exploded, and that what's in that envelope has something to do with it."

Neal sipped his juice, wondering where to start…

"Start at the beginning," Sara said.

Okay, that was a little scary that she seemed to know what he was thinking… "The beginning," he said softly. He got to his feet and went back to the kitchen area, busying himself starting a pot of coffee. "Kate visited me regularly while I was in prison. We talked about the future, made plans for when I got out. And then all of a sudden, when I had about four months to go, she showed up and told me it was over, and she was leaving."

"She didn't say why?"

He shook his head. "No, she didn't. But, being the incurable romantic that I am, I started planning a way out."

"Okay, I knew you had escaped. Peter mentioned something about that being how you ended up working for him."

"He caught me again," Neal admitted. "Not that I gave him much of a run that time. But I helped him identify something from the case he was working on, and in return I asked for a meeting. I suggested that I could help solve cases if he got me out of prison."

"And, of course, that would let you search for Kate."

"That too. But I did help the FBI close quite a few cases along the way."

"Break into many houses with a gun along that way?"

That earned a wry smile. "Actually, you were the one and only for that."

"I feel so privileged."

"You know I had no intention of hurting you, right?"

"Sure, that's why you led with the gun."

"Sara, I didn't even know that was your house! To be honest, I didn't know what I was walking into."

"Peter wasn't whispering in your ear?"

He shook his head. "We didn't have two-way communication on that one. And it turns out that the driver turned on some sort of jammer in the limo, so they lost me. But Peter already explained all of that to you."

"I just wanted to hear it from you."

"Well, I think I was in a lot more danger from you than you were from me!"

"Oh, you were."

He lifted his glass in a toast. "Thanks for confirming."

"Okay, so, back to the plane. You were running?"

"No. I had made a deal with someone from OPR – Office of…"

"Professional Responsibility," she supplied. "I know who they are."

"Well, they wanted something they thought I had."

"Like what?"

"An amber music box from Catherine…"

"The Great," Sara said, finishing his sentence again. "I thought that had disappeared for good."

"Don't tell me," Neal said drily. "Sterling Bosch insured it?"

"No. I do have some interests outside of work. And you had it…"

"No," Neal said, cutting her off. "The theft a few years back was a classy job, and it was similar to some work I may, hypothetically, have been involved in."

"Like a stolen Raphael?"

Neal leaned back in his chair, smiling. "I'm not talking about the Raphael, Sara." He leaned forward again, pointing at her bag. "Do you have that recorder going in there?"

She sighed and shook her head. "No, I didn't bring the recorder." She opened the bag and held it out. "Want to look?"

He leaned back again, shaking his head. "No, that's all right." He wasn't talking about the Raphael anyway…

"So, the music box?"

"Everyone assumed I had it, but I'd never even touched it. Not until two days before… before the plane…"

"You stole it then?"

"Liberated it from someone who had no right to it in the first place."

"Liberated, right…"

"No one filed a police complaint."

"You're lucky it wasn't insured by Sterling Bosch."

Neal just smiled and nodded. "I am."

"So what did OPR want with the music box?"

"I don't know. And I don't think it was really OPR – just one agent. All I know is that we had a deal. If I turned over the music box, they would provide Kate and me with new identities. We could disappear, legally."

"Neal, are you sure that Kate wasn't…"

"Part of the whole plan?" He vaguely wondered if he should be worried that he and Sara were finishing each other's sentences. Neal sighed and got to his feet, heading for the coffee pot. "A number of people have suggested that and, honestly, I don't know anymore. I mean, she was in a room with Peter, she had other chances to get to me, get away…" He paused, pouring out two cups. "I'm not sure it really matters now," he continued, setting the cups on the table and sitting down again. "She died because of all of this, and the thing is, I really loved her…"

Sara put a hand over his. "Okay."

He sipped the hot coffee, aware of her eyes locked on him. "I was supposed to be on that plane too," he said softly.

"What kept you off?"

"Peter." One word, one name, but that summed everything up… "He showed up at the hangar, trying to talk me out of going."

"I guess he succeeded."

Neal shrugged. "He had a pretty good argument," he conceded. "But then the plane exploded…"

There was silence for a moment, and then Sara pointed at the envelope. "You think that might help you solve the mystery."

"It's a start," he said softly.

"But why me, Neal? Why did you drag me into this?"

Neal sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I needed a copy of the voice recording, and I couldn't exactly have them send it to me. You had given me your business card…"

"In case you wanted to talk about the Raphael."

"Yeah, in case. Anyway, I figured it wouldn't raise any alarms to have the recording sent to an insurance investigator. And I'd be able to get the package easily from your office. But…"

"But then you killed me."

"Yeah, then I killed you. And they locked up all your mail."

"Pity my death interrupted your plans."

"Yeah, it did create complications," Neal said, a slight smile playing at his lips.

"So the whole rooftop dinner thing was just another con to get my guard down?"

"No, that was, honestly, me just trying to be nice." He paused, taking a chance and letting his hand cover hers. "I've been locked up, Sara. I know what it feels like, and I could see that desperation in your eyes." He looked away, pulling his hand back. "I didn't have anyone to order Chinese takeout, and take me up onto the roof."

"Or 'liberate' wine from evidence?"

"That either."

"It was nice," she admitted. "But then there was the ride home…"

"All right, that was maybe intended to try and get the package," he admitted. "I really wasn't counting on the real Mr. Black showing up."

"Added a little excitement," Sara said, grinning.

"Oh, yeah. First word I'd come up with for it."

"Kept you from getting the envelope."

"Yeah."

"So then you broke in…"

"No. Sara, I did not steal the envelope."

"But you know who did."

"Maybe…"

"Neal, he violated my home…"

"Sara, honestly, nothing else was touched, and he would never have hurt you. He thought he was doing me a favor."

"Why didn't you just ask for the envelope?"

Neal thought about that one for a moment – her question actually seemed genuine. "We didn't have the best history," he started.

"Well, if you hadn't stolen the Raphael…"

"Allegedly."

"Are we really going to do this again?"

He shook his head, a soft smile on his face. "No."

She pointed at the envelope. "So, are you going to listen to it?"

Neal stared at the envelope for a long moment and then got to his feet. "I promised someone else he'd be there if I ever had a chance to hear it." He walked over and set the envelope on the bookcase, letting his fingers linger on the paper an extra moment.

"What are you going to do now?" Sara asked, her voice coming from right behind him.

He started, not having noticed her move closer. Not good to lose concentration like that… "Get ready for work, I guess," he answered, avoiding what he knew the real question was. "Peter should…" He paused, as the knock sounded on the door. "Be here any minute," he finished, smiling and heading for the door.

"Peter!" he greeted as the door opened.

"Running a little late this morning, are we?" the agent asked, eyeing Neal's general state of undress.

"I'm afraid I distracted him," Sara said, stepping into view.

Peter's eyes went wide, his eyebrows lifting in a looked of surprise. "Well, well. Playing nice this morning, children?" He looked back and forth between the two. "No guns this time?"

"No guns," Sara replied. She walked over to the table and picked up her bag. "Neal and I just had a few things to discuss."

"And have you come to an understanding?" Peter asked.

"I think we have," Neal said softly. Sara was walking toward the door and he went to open it.

"I meant what I said," she whispered. "If you want, I'm in. Let me help."

"Thanks," he whispered in return.

"I'm still waiting for that soup," she said, much louder, as she stepped out onto the landing.

"Yeah, I'll call you." He lifted a hand in farewell as she headed down the stairs. Then he closed the door and turned back…

To find Peter staring at him, a bemused look on his face.

"So, you and Sara…"

"We were talking, Peter."

"Uh huh."

"Yes, uh huh." Neal pushed past him, going to the wardrobe and pulling out some clothing for the day. "Look, have a cup of coffee while I grab a quick shower," he suggested. "I'll be ready in ten minutes, tops."

Peter rarely turned down a cup of coffee – and especially not when he knew that Neal brewed June's Italian roast. "So what's this about soup?" he asked, pouring himself a cup.

Neal shrugged, heading toward the bathroom. "I told Sara I make good soup."

"And she wants you to prove it?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"And can you?"

Neal stopped in the bathroom doorway and turned back, smiling. "What, prove that I can make soup? I really can."

"Uh huh."

Neal laughed and closed the door. "Ten minutes," he called out as the shower started up.

Peter smiled and sipped his coffee, looking around the apartment. He wondered what else besides soup Neal and Sara had been discussing…