Title: Neal's Five

Summary: After a long day, Neal discovers just who his friends are. Neal Whump

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I own nothing of White Collar or its characters.

Author's Note: The summary sucks but I am absolute crap at coming up with them so, forgive me. :)

The elevator doors to the twenty-first floor dinged open, allowing its occupant to limp out into the hall. Neal Caffrey took a moment to smile at the agents wanting to enter the elevator before he started through the glass doors and over to get some coffee. He winced with every other step he made but that and the limp he couldn't hide were the only indicators he gave of how much pain he was in.

He'd left White Collar to go meet one of Mozzie's many contacts, hoping he'd be able to gather some intel on the thief they were currently trying to catch. Luckily for him, he'd not only gathered the required information, but he'd also gotten a bat to the thigh for his efforts.

Diana briefly looked up from her computer screen and though concern flitted over her features, it didn't stay. As usual, she met the sight of Neal's pain like she meets him every day – with annoyance and suspicion. No doubt, she believed him to be pulling a con, perhaps hoping to get out of whatever duty Peter wanted him to do. Neal just smiled at her. He'd been working with her too long to let her reluctance towards him to get to him.

"Hey Caffrey, what happened to you?" Jones greeted, pouring himself another cup of coffee. In his expression, concern stayed longer and it was truer. Still, the agent also had a smile on his face as though he figured the story would be funny rather than what it was.

Neal smiled in return, stopping briefly to answer his friend's question. "Had a bit of a run-in with an old acquaintance," he dismissed, not wanting to go into the details until he'd talked to Peter.

"Must have been one hell of a pissed off acquaintance," Jones returned, quirking an eyebrow as he took in the way Neal kept a good portion of his weight on his right leg.

"You have no idea," Neal answered, chuckling a little as he poured himself a cup as well. He took his time grabbing the cup as well as pouring so as to give his hurting leg a small break but all too soon it was time to move again. He was sure that Peter wanted to know what he'd found out sooner rather than later, but at the moment, Neal just needed to sit for a while and so he went back to his desk.

He'd been sitting down for maybe a minute when none other than Peter walked through the double glass doors. His brown eyes traveled around the room, taking everything in as well as making sure that Neal was where he was supposed to be. Instead of stopping to chat, however, he went straight up to his office, stopping only to summon Neal to it before entering and sitting down.

Neal thought about saying no. He thought about calling Peter and telling him that he was not going to go to the office. But then Peter would want an explanation as to why not and that was something that was probably best told in an office rather than an open room.

A low but short groan managed to escape this time as he got out of his chair and limped his way up the stairs towards Peter's office. His hand showed white knuckles as he held onto the railing for support, making sure to keep one hand in his pocket as to keep the appearance that everything was perfectly fine.

Most of the time Neal loved the attention on him; he encouraged it in fact. But there were exceptions to every rule and Neal's exception was whenever he was sick or injured. No one liked being seen when they were weak and conmen hated it tenfold because it shattered the image of their con. Granted, he wasn't running a con now, never on Peter and not on the FBI, but he often pulled one while on a case and right now the injury to his leg would affect his ability to help when it counted.

Neal gingerly lowered himself into the chair nearest the door, watching as Peter tracked his every move with concerned eyes.

"How'd the meet go?" the SAIC asked as Neal got himself relatively settled in the chair. Brown eyes traveled over his person, moving swiftly from Neal's face and over his torso before landing on the outstretched right leg. His forehead creased in worry as he asked, "You alright?"

"Yeah, about the meet," Neal began, knowing that his explanation of the meeting would answer Peter's question about his health as well. He winced as throbbing shot through his thigh and then leveled with Peter again, "We should probably come up with a new plan to trap the thief."

oOo

The late November morning dawned cloudy with promise of sun. The wind off the Hudson was biting and Neal's coat barely softened it but he remained in his neutral position, casually leaning against the wall, watching the sun rise higher into the sky. Mozzie's contacts had let it slip that a thief who knew a fence who knew a buyer knew another conman would be in the area and may be willing to part with information – for the right price.

"Well, well, Neal Caffrey," a smooth voice said as a silhouette separated itself from a nearby shadowed pillar. The woman dramatically sighed, making it sound as though it were a terrible imposition that he was there instead of someone else. "I'd hoped that it wasn't going to be you that showed."

Neal pushed off the wall and stepped closer to the woman, a familiar ache in his heart as the cover of a bridge slowly crawled over him.

"Marguerite Cole," Neal greeted, answering her sigh with one of his own. "Long time no see."

And it had been a long time. The last time Neal had seen Marguerite, he had been in Copenhagen with Alex, plotting a way to get the music box. Years though it had been, Marguerite hadn't changed in the least.

Standing at a mere five feet three inches and weighing in at a lean one-hundred-twenty-five pounds, she looked like a strong wind could blow her over. Her long auburn hair trailed over her shoulders in multiple curls that could only come from a curling iron, framing her face and highlighting her honey brown eyes which lightened or darkened with her mood. She looked like easy prey for any wayward hunter.

This, however, couldn't be further from the truth.

Marguerite was lean for a reason – she was a very talented thief. She easily bypassed the lasers that she couldn't deactivate – which were few and far between – by using her limber body to contort into positions that one shouldn't even think of trying, even in bed. She knew how to keep her touch feather light but if anyone crossed her, she also knew how to knock a man twice her size out in less than four moves.

She could be gentle – oh how Neal remembered her ability to bring pleasure when she wanted it – but she also had no problem causing pain to anyone. She was sweet but ruthless, small but able, and only worked alone. If she was the one meeting Neal, that was a bad sign.

Marguerite laughed deep in her throat, her eyes lighting up in humor. "Oh, Neal," she said, slinking towards him like a cat stalking its prey, "if only you knew how long it hasn't been."

She trailed a long-nailed finger down the left side of his face, letting it linger along his neck just long enough to make him shiver in cold before withdrawing so that she could slowly circle around him.

"You've been keeping watch on me? I'm flattered. After our last meeting I didn't think that I'd made that much of an impression."

She nipped at his right ear, giggling a little as she whispered, "But I did, didn't I?"

Her leg traveled up his right leg, her knee stopping just at his hip where a thin scar could be seen if one looked hard enough. When they'd last met, Neal had just managed to swipe telegraphs signed by Lincoln which she'd stolen and she hadn't taken it well. Not only had she taken them back, but she'd left a knife in Neal's hip for extra measure to make sure he wouldn't follow her. It hadn't gone in too deeply but it had hurt like a bitch to get out nonetheless.

"Thanks for that, by the way," Neal said with a bit of reproach in his voice. Marguerite merely shrugged and stepped away from him.

"Next time, don't take what's mine," she chided. "Which brings me to our next order of business, the Qi Baishi."

"It's a beautiful piece," Neal said with a smile filled with longing. However, her patience had just ended and she glared at him as though he'd stolen it before she'd had the chance.

"Don't try to con me, Neal Caffrey," she snapped, her eyes now as black as coal and just as cold. "Like I said, I've been keeping an eye on you and I know who you work for."

"Mozzie?" he charmed, offering a smile to cover for his nervousness. Please tell me she doesn't know about the FBI, he prayed. Because if she did, things would not end well…for him.

"Nice try, Caffrey," she returned with an eye roll. "I know that you consult for the FBI and I know that you're here looking for information so that you can lay a trap for your current case but guess what – not all criminals that come to New York are morons." She paused as though to consider this and then added, "Just most."

Neal straightened up even more, slipping his hands into his pockets and preparing to call Mozzie or Peter in case things went down a cliff rather than just a tumble down a hill.

"So where does that leave us?" he asked, watching her as she slowly moved towards the shadows she'd come from.

"Well, that leaves me with a warning to leave the country and it leaves you to give a message to your master," she answered, now hugging the pillar she'd hidden behind before.

"Oh? And what would that be? Stop buying cheap suits?"

She laughed but she was merely humoring him. "Tell your keeper to be careful who he sends to do his leg work. I'd hate it for those legs to get broken from too much use."

Neal had just enough time to figure out what she meant before searing pain scorched through his right leg. It pulsed and throbbed in his thigh, the pain fading slightly the further down it moved. His leg collapsed underneath him and Neal hit the cold concrete with a cry of pain.

Through eyes bleary with tears, Neal looked up, trying to figure out who stood above him but all he managed to see was a boat passing by, the cold sun peering through the clouds above him and a bat laying off to his right..

oOo

Peter leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk and his chin in his hands. He'd remained quiet, calm and patient while Neal had related his tale. It had been hard not to question the ex-con on his past and, okay, he may have loudly sucked in his breath when Neal had told the part where he'd been hit by a bat as an obvious warning, but other than that, he'd managed it.

"Is there any chance that Marguerite will still attempt to finish the job?" he asked, choosing to ask the obvious question first.

Neal shook his head. "She's too smart for that. The message she told me to give you," Neal looked slightly away in embarrassment, "was her way of giving a future warning. Now that she knows that the FBI's watching her score, she's not going to go within one-hundred feet of it."

Peter nodded to show that he'd heard, hating what he'd just been told. Hughes won't be happy when Peter tells him this but that's just the way of the job – you don't always get the bad guy. With his resignation at not solving his case settling in, his mind moved on to the next matter at hand.

"Well, obviously you're not hurt too badly otherwise you wouldn't be here," he joked with a half smile that he knew would still convey his concern.

Neal was more than his CI, he was his friend and just like it hurt Neal when he hurt, it hurt him when Neal hurt. It was his main reason for seeing Kate without telling Neal when they'd first begun this partnership and it was his main motive for everything he'd done for Neal – whether the CI had known about it or not – since then. He cared about Neal, probably more than the man cared about himself and it pissed him off to know that someone had taken a bat – a bat of all things! – to any part of Neal Caffrey.

Neal chuckled a little, shifting in his seat to apparently find a better position in the hard chair. "Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. A bit bruised but I'll live."

The easiness and nonchalance that the answer came with made Peter suspicious. It was often the tone of voice that Neal used when he was trying to con a mark. Normally Peter would have been pissed that Neal was trying to con him, but this time it more worried than annoyed him.

There was no reason for Neal to try and con Peter right now and Neal – and Peter – knew that. Unless it was to divert Peter's attention from his injury because it was potentially worse than Neal was letting on – then there was a reason to try and con him; if only to get Peter off Neal's back.

"How bruised?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at his friend.

Sharp blue eyes focused on him then they brightened in humor. Neal smiled, though his normal billion-watt smile was dimmed by pain, and then looked down. Despite his best attempts to hide it, Peter saw Neal grimace and watched as his hand went, subconsciously, to his thigh.

Memories of a time when Neal had been shot in that same thigh flashed through Peter's brain. He remembered quite vividly the disappointment he'd felt when he'd discovered that Neal had been shot and wouldn't be as mobile as Peter and Mozzie had planned. Dwelling just beneath the disappointment, however, anger and worry had been dueling for dominance. At Neal's mention of Collins thinking ahead, Peter had had the urge to pummel the man until he was unconscious and possibly unable to move for a week. But, his priority had been Neal, and getting him out of the bounty hunter's clutches had been best for him at the time and so that was what Peter had done. He'd been relieved to know that no lasting damage had been done to Neal's leg from the bullet – which was probably one of the reasons why the FBI had let Collins get away with his treatment of Neal – and he'd been even more relieved when Neal had given up on the cane earlier than he'd been told to.

Now, however, after having watched Neal slowly and painfully climb up the stairs, Peter wondered if maybe having Neal use the cane again – as well as keeping him on the first floor and not in Peter's office – would be a good idea for the next couple of weeks.

"I'll be fine," Neal replied without actually answering. When Peter continued to stare at him, waiting for a real answer, the CI sighed. "The muscle is just one big bruise," he filled in. "Obviously I can bear weight on it so it's nothing too serious but I'd prefer to not have to do too much walking in the near future."

Peter gave a silent, slow nod as he absorbed the information. He didn't know what to do next. On one hand, he should have Neal go back to his desk and work on some leftover case files that Neal had yet to report on. But on the other hand, Peter wanted Neal to go home and rest for the rest of the day.

Although El was the mother-hen of the group, Peter did have a streak of it as well and right now it was yelling at him to keep his friend off his feet as much as possible within the next few days. But Peter doubted Neal would do that as it would show weakness and so he sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face.

"Alright, why don't you go finish the report on the Rodriguez case – you know, the one you haven't actually started a report for because you've been trying to get Andrews to do it for you–"

"-allegedly," Neal interrupted, pointing a finger at Peter as though he'd forgotten to say that himself.

"-and then after that you can go home."

It was a compromise between his two different sides but it would work. Neal really needed to finish those reports anyways and at least this way he wouldn't feel like Peter was trying to favor him because he was hurt.

Neal remained silent, sitting opposite Peter with lighting shining in his eyes. A grin wide enough to challenge the Cheshire Cat's spread across his face and he reached to his back and underneath his jacket, pulling out a file.

"You mean this report?" he slyly asked, handing said report over.

Peter's mouth hung open as he grabbed the file and read it over. Indeed, it was the Rodriguez case report that he'd been bugging Neal to get to him for the past week.

"How on earth could you have possibly known that I was going to ask for this?" he asked, stunned and unable to figure out the solution.

"Peter, please," Neal returned, gingerly getting to his feet and then leaning over Peter's desk. Apparently the ex-con thought that it should be obvious and after a second of thought, so did Peter. Although Neal liked to pretend he didn't pay attention whenever Peter nagged him, Peter knew that he did and therefore he knew that Peter wanted that file. He'd just taken his sweet time in getting it finished – probably just to annoy Peter.

"Fine, get out of here," Peter dismissed, waving a hand in Neal's general direction.

His head snapped up when Neal hissed. The ex-con was leaning heavily on Peter's desk, heavily favoring his right leg as he tried to put weight on it again. He managed it, but Peter could see how much it had cost him to do it and the SAIC felt his worry increase.

"Stiffen up?" he asked, pretending to peruse the file to make Neal feel a bit more comfortable.

"Yeah," Neal answered, adding a light laugh that screamed uncomfortable.

"Uh-huh," Peter said, closing the file and turning his full attention onto his friend.

Neal may be smiling but he looked anything but happy. Fine lines on his face spoke of nothing but pain as they wrinkled, showing the only grimace Neal would allow.

"First step's always the hardest, huh?"

Neal's face wrinkled into a grimace but Peter knew that it wasn't because of pain this time. "Oh, don't go there," he begged, limping towards the door. Of course, as he was leaving, Peter heard him humming "First Cut is the Deepest" and it made him chuckle.

That had been Peter's main objective – to make the situation a bit lighter. Redirection. It was a classic Neal Caffrey move but he didn't care. After all, working side by side with Neal for four years he was bound to pick up something.

He watched as Neal limped out of the office, offering head nods to those that nodded at him in greeting before getting on the elevator. Only when he knew that Neal was no longer within hearing or recording distance did Peter pick up the phone and dial the one person who Neal would allow to take care of him when he was hurt.

oOo

Elizabeth Burke was standing in her kitchen, staring into the refrigerator trying to figure out whether she should bother trying to make something for dinner or whether she should just order out. She doubted that Peter would be home anytime soon and therefore she was leaning towards ordering Chinese take-out but she also didn't want the food in the fridge to go to waste.

With a sigh laden with frustration she closed the refrigerator door and stared at Satch who proceeded to look pleadingly at her, switching his gaze from his food bowl to her and back again.

"Alright," Elizabeth gave in. She leaned down and picked up his bowl, keeping up the conversation the entire time. "I suppose take-out it is. I mean, if Peter's not going to be here, what's the point of cooking, right? And it's not like I have any clients to test out a new recipe on anyways."

At first she hadn't been worried about the lack of clients; more usually came within the following week or so. But now, it's been bordering on two and a half weeks and she still hasn't heard a whisper about a potential job. And it was making her itch for something to do.

The phone rang just as she picked it up to call for Chinese and it made her jump. After looking down at Satch to make sure that he hadn't rolled his eyes at her, she picked it up. Smiling down at the number that flashed on the caller ID, she pressed the 'talk' button.

"Hey hon, what's up?"

"Hey hon, what are you up to?"

Elizabeth just looked around the room, as though to check and make sure that she was up to absolutely nothing. Satch stared up at her, his head half cocked, wondering what she was doing. She reached down to pet him and answered, "Not much. I was just about to call for some takeout. Why?"

"Well, Neal just came in," Peter led with and in her head El was saying, 'of course it has to do with Neal!' "Apparently something happened while he was out gathering intel and he hurt his leg."

"And he's refusing to admit that he's hurt," El filled in, knowing how the ex-con operates when he's sick or injured. At least, when he's with Peter. When he's around El, he's a big baby.

"Actually, he admitted that he was hurt – because he couldn't hide it – but he wouldn't go into details of how hurt. Anyways, I sent him home and I was wondering if you or Anna could go check on him."

Anna Rodriguez was a close friend of the Burkes. She'd met Neal on several occasions at family dinners. They'd gotten along nicely from the get-go. Neal had been his usual, charming self and Anna hadn't let herself be swept away by his flirting. In fact, she'd made him work for every little smile he'd drawn from her – flirtatious or otherwise.

Eventually they'd started dating. At first it had been light, casual almost. But sooner rather than later they broke up. It was very mutual on both sides. They'd both decided that they weren't suited for romance. Still, they enjoyed each other's company and so they'd remained close friends.

The fact that Anna was also a doctor was just a bonus.

Although El knew that she could definitely go over and check on Neal, she had a feeling that he'd prefer it if it was Anna that came and so she sighed.

"I'll give Anna a call and get her over there. I'm sure she wouldn't mind making the trip."

"Thanks hon. Tell her I owe her some dinner."

"I will. I'll see you when you get home?"

"Yeah, I'll see you."

The line went dead before she had a chance to say anything more. Peter must have been really busy otherwise he wouldn't have hung up so quickly. Sitting down at the kitchen island, El sighed and dialed her friend's number.

"Hey Anna, it's El. Hey, are you busy tonight?" A pause. "Well, Peter just called and he's worried about Neal. Would you be able to drop by and check on him?" El's brows rose in surprise. "Oh, he did? Well, good, Peter will be glad to know that Neal's going to be seen to." She reached down to pet Satch as the dog settled his head in her lap. She laughed as Anna made a joke. "Okay, well, we'll see you next week for dinner then. Yeah, I will. Bye."

Apparently, Anna was already on her way to Neal's. He'd called her on his own and she already had a bag full of Italian from Delizia 92 in her passenger seat and her medical bag in her trunk next to the overnight bag she keeps in there just in case.

El chuckled. It really was a shame that Anna and Neal hadn't worked out, he could really use a new girl in his life. Then again, maybe Neal didn't need a new woman in his life. Maybe what Neal needed most was another somebody that he could depend on, another friend. Someone who didn't expect anything from him but friendship.

However Anna and Neal's friendship worked, El couldn't help but be glad that Neal had someone else that he trusted as much as he did Peter. He couldn't have done better than to pick Anna Rodriguez.

oOo

Anna walked up to Neal's door, her medical bag in one hand and the food in the other. She awkwardly knocked on the door with her elbow and impatiently waited for Neal to open the door. Thankfully she didn't have to wait long. Within seconds she heard a limping shuffle and then the door was opening with a very casual looking Neal on the other side.

The sight of the man in front of her always got her heart going. Although they were friends, Anna wasn't blind. She knew how beautiful a man Neal was and she could appreciate that without wanting to get him in bed. Tonight he wore a pair of khaki pants and a white 'wife beater' speckled with paint. Looking over his shoulder she could see his easel and stool set up, complete with a side table of paint and paintbrushes.

"Anna," he greeted with a smile, "come on in."

"Thanks," she said, walking in. The minute she was inside, the door closed and he bent down to grab the bag of food. She watched with concern as he tried to hide a wince. "So, why'd you need me to come over? Was it just to be in my glorious presence?"

It was a tease and they both knew it, but it worked. It got him to smile as he began to unload the Italian onto the table. When he didn't answer, however, she ventured further.

"You know, El called me." He continued to act nonchalant as he grabbed plates and silverware but she knew that she had his attention. "Apparently Peter called her, wanting her or me to check on you. Any idea why he'd want that?"

"No, sorry," Neal dismissed, now grabbing a couple glasses of water.

The fact that he hadn't gone straight for the wine both comforted and worried her. Either he was saving the vino for after dinner when they normally sat on the couch and talked – or watched TV – or he was anticipating ingesting something that didn't mix with alcohol. Since she doubted that Neal had even thought of the possibility of taking anything stronger than an Advil, she figured it was the former idea.

"Wanna know what I think?" she asked, sitting down in the chair diagonal from him.

Blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Not really," he answered, giving her a slight smile so as to not offend her. "But I have a feeling you're going to tell me anyways."

"There's that Neal Caffrey intelligence I've heard so much about," she teased, taking a bite of her linguine alfredo. She swallowed and then washed it down with the water, making sure to take her time.

Outwardly showing concern for Neal Caffrey never worked well for the other person. Neal had a way of brushing it off as nothing and leaving the other person frustrated by his unwillingness to let someone care about him. Over the course of the last year, Anna had been slowly breaking through Neal's walls but it had taken a lot of patience on her end.

"I think it's because you can't put all of your weight on your right leg and you try to hide a wince whenever you do." Silence reigned as they ate some more and then she asked, "What happened?"

"An old acquaintance wasn't as happy to see me as I'd hoped she'd be," he replied evasively.

Something in his voice made her wonder who the acquaintance was. It almost sounded like longing but there was also a hint of annoyance as well. So it wasn't Alex then. He liked Alex and took each other's betrayals in stride, chalking it up to them just being themselves.

A memory wafted through her mind like a scent moving through her nose. It brought back the exact night that he'd told her about some of his past, knowing that she wouldn't judge him or tell Peter about it.

They'd sat out on the balcony, listening to the city at night, while sipping a Merlot. She'd had a horrible day and had asked him to tell her a story from his past as a distraction. It had been a story that had involved Alex but she hadn't been the main character. A woman named Marguerite had. The distraction had worked. By the end of the story, Anna had wanted Marguerite in front of her so she could have given the vile woman a taste of her own medicine – only instead of making the stab wound minor, she would have made sure it had left permanent damage.

"What did she do?" Anna asked, taking a bite of a breadstick and chewing slowly.

Neal cocked his head to the side, trying to figure out whether or not she'd merely guessed at who 'she' was or whether she actually knew.

"Oh come on, Neal, I can hear that it's Marguerite by your voice," she retorted, rolling her eyes.

Neal set his fork down and leaned back in his chair. Anna absently noticed that he'd been sitting with his right leg stretched out rather than out to the side of the chair or tucked under it with his ankles crossed. He folded his hands in his lap and smiled at her. "You know, I don't think we can be friends any more, you're getting to know me too well."

"Oi!" she objected, letting her obsession with Doctor Who seep through and disrupt her usual accent. She gently smacked him on the knee and reached for her glass of water. "The only reason I knew who it was by your voice was because you let me hear it and you know it," she chided, pointing her fork at him.

He grinned at her, letting her know that she was right without admitting anything. He reached for the glass of water and proceeded to slowly drink it as though it were a glass of wine instead of water. She knew he was mulling things over and so she let him have a minute or so to do just that.

While Neal remained locked away in his memories, Anna began to clean up. She tucked the uneaten food into plastic containers and then put them in the fridge, fully intent on at least taking hers back home with her. Once that was finished, she began working on the dishes. She did them by hand so that she could give him more time, figuring keeping her hands – and herself – busy until there wasn't anything else to do would be long enough.

So when a hand settled itself on her lower back as Neal reached around her left to grab a couple of wine glasses, she smiled, happy that she had – apparently – given him sufficient time to think. Patience was not one of her strong suits and they both knew that.

"So," she prompted when he handed her a glass of Merlot and then headed towards the living room. "What did she do?"

"She made sure that I delivered a message," he replied vaguely. Although, given her last warning to him, Anna could only imagine what Marguerite had set up this time.

After he'd relayed exactly what had happened, she felt anger boiling up inside her. Covering her concern with a laugh, she teased, "How could you not have heard the guy come up behind you? I thought you could spot a tail from a mile away."

"I was a bit preoccupied with the very bipolar woman in front of me," Neal defended, a half smile on his lips. "I didn't know if she was going to kiss me or kill me."

"Apparently she went for in between," Anna commented, taking a sip of her wine. Her eyes blue eyes drifted down to his right leg which was stretched out by her left leg. "How badly did it bruise?"

Neal sighed, apparently tired of answering that question. "You know, you don't always have to play doctor when you come over."

"Hey, it's not my fault that every time I come over here, you've got a new bruise or ten," she defended, setting down her glass and holding her hands up in surrender. "Now, come on, take off your pants."

"I see how it is, you just wanted to get me naked," he teased, gently moving so that he could do as instructed.

"Crap!" she exclaimed. "You discovered my ulterior motive! Now we really can't be friends," she returned, faking horror when all she wanted to do was laugh.

She'd had him naked a few times and while the sex had been great, that's all it had been – sex. There hadn't been any love or emotion in the mix and she knew that there never would be. Not the way most people want there to be, anyways.

A rainbow of reds, oranges, blues, and purples splashed together like a careless painting attracted her attention and her doctor side kicked in. Sliding off the couch and kneeling next to Neal's leg, she could see that the bruise, while quite painful to be sure, was not too serious. The deeper, more reddish-blue portion of the bruise was one and a half times the size of her fist, but the outward reaching tendrils spread farther to encompass over a quarter of his thigh.

"Please tell me you've been icing it," she asked, gently palpitating the area around the bruise and moving forward to determine how much of the muscle was injured. She stopped when she could feel the inflammation increase, knowing that continuing would only cause him pain.

"Actually, yes," he answered. His breath hitched as she placed a fresh ice bag over the bruise. She arched an eyebrow at him, challenging him. "What? I have," he declared with a smile, his eyes laughing at her distrust of him.

"Just not as much as you should be," she stated aloud when she could tell that he wasn't going to. Pulling his leg onto her thigh so that it would be elevated, she continued her lecture, "You could have at least had it elevated while you were painting."

"I didn't need to have it elevated," he argued back after taking a long sip of his wine. "And I don't need to now."

Anna grabbed his ankle and held tight to stop him from lowering his leg. As was her habit when he was injured, her hand began to gently massage his calf, moving up towards his knee before sliding back down and starting back by his ankle.

Like any person, Neal loved massages. However, Anna had soon learned that the only times that he'd willingly allow someone to give him one was when they were going to have sex or when he was hurting – physically or emotionally. Anna hadn't minded. As observed earlier, Neal is a beautiful man, and running her hands over him never bothered her.

Neal's eyes closed and his head leaned back in pleasure as she kept up the small, circular motions on his leg. For a while things were quiet and Anna let them be. They'd both had a stressful day and could use the silence as they got lost in their own thoughts.

She didn't know if the movement was consciously done or if Neal's subconscious just wanted more but soon enough, he scooted down on the couch, letting the arm take the weight of his head and putting more of his leg on her lap. Giving a small smile, Anna scooted back so that her back was against the other arm of the couch and draped his other leg over hers.

"So," she said as she began to knead the soles of his feet. "What do you think Marguerite will do now?"

One blue eye opened to quickly look at her before it closed again and Neal sighed.

"Like I told Peter, now that she knows we're watching her, she won't be back for her score until she thinks the FBI's lost interest." The eye opened again, showing humor as he added, "So you won't be able to beat her unconscious for a while yet."

"Damn," Anna answered, smiling a little as she did so even though she truly meant it. "And I wouldn't beat her unconscious. I would simply return her kindness towards you and see how she likes it."

Neal smiled. "As much as I appreciate you coming to my rescue, you should probably never meet Marguerite. She would devour you."

"Oh, I don't know. I'm much tougher than I look."

Having finished her massage for the moment, Anna picked her wine glass back up and sipped at it some more. Sooner or later she'd have to go and refill it, but for the moment she was content to remain where she was to let him rest.

"Oh, I know. I've had the bruises to prove it," he joked.

"Hey, I've never hit you," Anna objected, know that she couldn't say that she hadn't hurt him because there had been times when she'd unknowingly done just that.

His mouth formed a crooked smile and she instantly knew that he'd been teasing. She gave his left foot a light smack, nowhere near hard enough to hurt but enough so that he felt it. "Jerk."

"Now you can't say that you've never hit me," he teased, wriggling down a little more as though preparing to curl up and sleep on the couch.

"That's true," she gave, knowing that the only time he'd ever bring it up again is to tease her about it. She stayed quiet for a minute, watching as he slowly drifted off and then chuckled. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

Neal frowned but opened his eyes and did as she asked. He was careful as he lowered his legs to the floor and made sure to keep the right one straight, as though knowing that bending the leg would cause nothing but pain and a lot of it. Then again, he had done something like this before.

The night Anna had been told of Neal getting shot had been a cold, wintry one. She and Neal had been invited over to the Burke's for dinner and had ended up staying overnight due to weather. Dinner been full of delicious food and light talk, with plenty of teasing all 'round the table. When they'd moved into the living room with wine and beer, the real fun stories had come out.

Eventually Elizabeth, Neal and Peter had gotten around to talking about Matthew Keller – yet another person in Neal's life that she wanted to cause permanent damage – and that evolved to talking about Kramer and the whole business with Neal running.

The connection Peter and Neal had had always astounded her. But she never questioned it – these two were good for each other. Peter helped keep Neal straight and Neal helped loosen Peter up a bit, which Anna had always wished would happen because at times Peter was just too FBI and not enough human.

The way they'd both relayed Neal's shooting was with mixed emotions. Peter obviously felt rage and guilt, feeling that it was his fault that Neal had had to run in the first place. She hadn't known Neal long enough at the time to hear the fear that had barely crept into his voice as he spoke about Agent Collins having him in a cell, but she could now and it made her angry even though she hadn't known him at all then.

Anna had made sure to keep her doctor side in check as she asked to make sure that he was okay now. Clinically, she'd known that he was, or if he was still suffering pain she hadn't seen it, but she hadn't just been asking about his physical health. Whether or not he'd understood her double-sided question, she'd never been able to figure out as the moment she'd asked, Neal had plastered on his con-man billion-watt smile and had said nothing more than, "I'm perfect."

Slipping under his right arm to give him something to lean on while he walked the short distance to his bed, Anna felt his body tense as pain shot through his leg and her heart wept at the knowledge. She hated seeing anyone in pain and when it was one of her friends – one of her closest friends nonetheless – it made her wish she could take the pain for them.

"Are you staying, then?" Neal asked as she helped him get comfortable on the bed.

Unsure whether or not he wanted her to, she went with her usual default – honesty.

"Well, I wasn't planning on it, but as per my usual I brought a packed bag with me just in case."

She'd gotten into the habit of carrying one in her trunk when she'd started dating Neal Caffrey and the habit had lasted even after they'd broken up. At first it was so she'd have a clean change of clothes whenever she'd spent the night at his place, but after their split it was more of a 'just in case he needed her to stay' kind of thing. There had been a few times after a case where he'd been physically unable to move much and since Mozzie – whom Anna liked but had a hard time connecting with in general – wasn't really the nurturing type, Anna had usually ended up being called – either by Mozzie, Neal, Peter or Elizabeth – to come over and Neal-sit.

When he didn't say anything in return, Anna brushed some hair away from his forehead. She loved how his hair felt as it floated over her fingers. She'd lost count how many times she'd just lain next to him, running her fingers through his hair while they talked or while he slept.

"Get some rest Neal," she quietly bid, giving his right forearm a small squeeze.

After making sure that he was asleep, Anna proceeded to turn all the lights out and grab her leftovers from the fridge. As she picked up her medical bag, a dark cane caught her eye and she smiled at it. She wrote Neal a note on a Post-It and taped it to the cane, placing the stick against his bedside table. She didn't know if he'd pay any attention to it but she hoped he would. After giving the place one last look to make sure things were in order, Anna left, quietly closing the locked door behind her.

oOo

When Neal woke the next morning, it was to the sun peeping through the French doors and his alarm going off. Reaching over, he went to turn the alarm off, stopping with a gasp as his injured thigh pushed against the mattress. Neal waited until the pain calmed and then he sat partly upright onto his elbows, working his way towards the full thing.

In his peripheral, something long, thin and black caught his eye and Neal turned his head to see what it was.

The cane that he'd used when he'd come back to New York after being shot stood against his bedside table, a blue Post-It attached to it. Figuring that Anna had left it for him, Neal grabbed the cane and read the note.

Use me, or a bat won't be the only thing you'll be hit with

It wasn't exactly a sweet note, but it had the effect of making him smile. Neal knew that Anna would never hit him – with her hand or anything else – hard enough to hurt him but the sentiment was appreciated.

Throughout his life, Neal hadn't had many people that he could count on. He knew that, for the most part, it was his fault because he rarely let people get close enough to him to be able to be counted as a friend and so he didn't blame anyone but himself.

Peter had surprised him with how much he cared about Neal, but still, there were things that Neal couldn't tell Peter because of his work. El was great but her connection to Peter also made her a non-viable option for a best friend. Mozzie was his first best friend and to this day remained in that position, but sometime during the past year, Anna had joined Neal's small circle of people and had slipped comfortably in the 'best friend'-titled chair.

At first, Neal admitted, it bothered him how easily Anna had wormed her way in. Even Sara hadn't been able to do that and she'd been the closest thing to a wife that Neal had ever had. But the more Neal had thought about it, the more he'd been able to recognize that it was because Anna hadn't wanted anything more than friendship with him that she'd been able to become one.

Sure, at first they had dated but when she'd said that, while the sex had been fantastic, she thought that they were best suited for friends, Neal had been only too happy to agree. Some part of him had always only seen her as a friend, sometimes a 'friend with benefits' granted, but a friend nonetheless.

Neal's Five.

Okay, so that wasn't as catchy as Burke's Seven, but while Peter had two more people in his circle, Neal knew that he could, without a doubt, trust those within his circle and that wasn't something that Peter could say of his. So Neal ignored the number difference and began to – with the help from the cane- get ready for work.

All that mattered to Neal was that, for once in his life, he had a group of people that he could count on to be there for him no matter what. The world could throw whatever they wanted at Neal Caffrey. As long as he had his five by his side, he could take it all, and even give some back. And that was worth more to Neal than any treasure he could ever steal.

Fin