A/N: Obviously don't own White Collar, but after watching the summer finale, I desperately wanted to write a next scene. Probably a one-shot, since I don't have anything off the top of my head to follow this, and I'm not usually a W/C writer, but I wanted to put this out there anyways.

A/A/N: also, this works under the impression that when Mozzie left, he left for good (well, meant to, anyways).

"He took my wife."

Peter's words echoed in the air long after they were spoken: after the FBI finally left for the night; past the time when Diana and Jones patted his shoulder as they made for the door, promising they would catch the dirtbag and get El back. They hung there as an absolute, an accusation pointed at the lone man still remaining in his home, the one the agent knew was the reason behind it all.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, floating around in his rational thought, Peter knew this wasn't really Neal's fault—that Keller was a psychotic bastard who would stop at nothing to get the upper hand in some twisted game he thought they were playing—and that the con man was already blaming himself for everything. His eyes were cracked in guilt: the same guilt he had when Fowler went after El, when Peter's badge was taken, and when he came to the conclusion that he was responsible for Kate's death and Mozzie's shooting.

But Peter's sense of fury-driven righteousness pushed itself into the forefront. Because Neal was responsible for most of those events; his actions and lack of consideration for consequences drove them into being, and as horrible as he felt about it afterwards, it didn't change the fact that it was his fault.

His fault. Peter stood where he'd been for the last...he wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, staring at Neal who's ice blue eyes could barely maintain contact, barely cover the fact that he was about to fall apart.

"Don't." It was sharp, and Peter barely recognized himself speaking as he raised his hand to stop whatever crap was about to come out of Caffrey's mouth. "You did this—you brought this here."

"Peter, I had no idea—" Neal looked like a beaten puppy, but Peter held fast.

"That Keller wanted the treasure? That he knew you had it? That he was willing to go to any lengths to beat you? Which part didn't you know Neal?" Peter's voice was rising in intensity as the fallout of his friend's betrayal came at him in waves. His feet began to pace the floor and he purposely looked away from the fragile expression pleading at him.

"No, " he continued. "I knew it from that day at the warehouse, and you lied to me. You said you wouldn't, and I wanted to believe you, so I tried to do it right—tried to prove it. But you… you looked right at me. I should have thrown you back in prison when I first realized it."

"Peter—"

"He took Elizabeth, Neal! Doesn't that mean anything to you? She's believed in you longer than anyone- longer than me! And now she's…" He stopped and braced himself against the table to keep his balance, his composure. Peter wasn't sure how he was going to survive this. El was the best thing that had ever happened to him: she was his rock, his North Star, his best friend. His entire reason for being lay wrapped up in that smart, beautiful woman, and the thought of losing her was tearing him apart.

Neal's hand grazed Peter's shoulder, and he ripped himself out of his reach. The con's—the traitor's—hand just froze there, both of them ignoring it as Neal's desperate blue eyes locked onto Peter's furious brown.

"You did this," he repeated, gesturing to the chair opposite from him as he took as seat. "And now you're going to tell me everything. The truth, Neal."

Neal took a deep breath, and sat down. His eyes were trained on the table for an immeasurable minute and it took everything in Peter not to shake him hard. Every minute was wasting El's time; he needed answers and he needed them now. But that damn soft spot in the back of his head that had always been there for Neal Caffrey; the one that had by now managed to carve a nice niche for itself so the agent couldn't help but feel a brotherly, if not paternal bond for the other—that spot reminded him that Neal wasn't as strong as he looked, and that if Peter couldn't provide him the support for the guilt he felt, he had to at least provide him the space.

Neal finally looked up, eyes and voice clear as he began. "I wasn't lying to you when I told you I didn't take the treasure. That I honestly believed it was lost in the explosion."

"Caffrey—" Peter didn't have time for this BS, but Neal pressed on.

"But—" the word was piercing, and he faltered as Peter went silent, eyes balking under the intensity of the other man's gaze. "I did find out otherwise, later on."

"And you didn't tell anyone?" Neal didn't say anything, and Peter knew it was a stupid question. Of course Neal wouldn't have said anything—especially if someone he knew took the treasure. "Mozzie?"

"Mozzie's gone," Neal replied softly, and Peter's thoughts of Keller and his wife were momentarily suspended as his mind put together the meaning behind the younger man's words.

Mozzie had stolen the treasure. He and Neal may have been hiding it all this time, but only one of them had taken off.

Mozzie was gone. Suddenly the entirety of the situation flew back to him. "And the treasure?" Neal remained silent, shrugging softly, and Peter repeated more urgently. "Neal, where's the treasure?"

"It's out of my radius, but I'd guess if it's not gone, it will be soon."

Peter, forgetting his fury in the weight of the moment, reached across the table and grabbed Neal's shoulder in a familiar grip. "Neal, Keller's ransom is the treasure. We need to find it."

Peter knew it wasn't FBI policy to give in to demands. He knew that the treasure resurfacing would likely lead to Neal's express ticket to a permanent cell in a maximum security facility. And he knew that it was completely possible that Keller would still kill El even if he got every piece of treasure he could offer.

Peter knew, and he didn't care.

Neal met the eyes of his partner (though for how much longer, neither could say), likely knowing the exact same facts, and nodded grimly.

"Let's do this."