I am a hurt/comfort fan. Its what I like to read and what I like to write. My Neal is more open; my Peter is kinder. So if that's not your thing, then my stories (generally) may not be for you. This story is a sequel to a previous story, Après Moi, and set post season 6. I own nothing but the mistakes, for which I accept all responsibility.

Bonjour Encore Chapter One

"Bonjour, Peter."

It took Peter a moment to register the reality of who was standing on his doorstep. Dressed casually, in dark shades and without his signature fedora, Neal registered Peter's shocked expression with a look of obvious pleasure.

"Neal Caffrey," Peter barely got the words out of his mouth; the shock of seeing Neal at his door almost causing him to lose his footing. He had dreamed of this moment but had been afraid it would never happen. Neal Caffrey was dead, after all, and had been for over two years now.

"Actually, it's Nathan Clay," Neal reminded him, extending his hand with a smile. Neal Caffrey had been killed in New York by Matthew Keller and Nathan Clay had started a new life in Paris. Peter took the offered hand but instead of shaking it, used it to pull Neal in for a tight hug. He expected nothing other than the usual stiff reception, but after a moment he felt Neal relax and pat him awkwardly on the back.

"I am trying for incognito, Peter," his tone was amused, "and two grown men hugging on the doorstep in this neighborhood doesn't fit that order. Can I come in?"

Peter unclenched his friend but kept his hand clamped on his shoulder, almost afraid if he let go, Neal would sprint away or simply evaporate before his eyes. He directed him into the room and closed the door behind him.

"What brings Nathan Clay to New York?" Peter asked, finally releasing his grip on his friend and motioning him to the sofa. "You clearly told me that he, you, couldn't come here." This conversation had taken place as they parted company in Bogota Columbia four months earlier, after Neal, or rather Nathan, had flown to South America to rescue him from Venezuelan crime lord and international drug dealer, Alberto Cordero.

Neal didn't answer his question immediately, removing his sunglasses and taking a moment to glance around the room in which he had once spent so much time. "New sofa," He commented, taking his seat. It dawned on Peter that Neal was trying to get his bearings; it was as strange to him to be here as it was for Peter to have him. Something that had once felt so natural to both of them now felt almost alien.

"Where's Satchmo?" Neal asked, a pained look crossing his face, "Please don't tell me…."

"Elizabeth and Neal have taken him for a walk," he suddenly remembered his manners, "You want something, soda, beer?"

"No, I'm good," he paused, looking at Peter expectantly. "Remember when you told me that Cordero's people might track me down?" He blurted out.

Peter felt a wave of panic as he took a seat on the edge of the chair across from Neal. He had feared that ramifications from Neal's exploits in South America might cause some problems. Cordero might be in prison, but his organization was still alive and well. With his financial resources, he was probably still calling the shots. "They came after you?"

"In a matter of speaking." There was an amused tone in Neal's voice that didn't fit given he had been tracked down by a criminal organization bent on revenge. "They offered me a job."

Peter took a moment to absorb the words that had exited Neal's mouth. The Cordero organization had drug operations all along the East Coast. Five months ago in an unexpected turn of events Peter and the White Collar team had nabbed their logistics man in New York, Alejandro Diaz, on counterfeiting charges. They had been completely unaware of his other activities until Peter had been snatched from a parking garage. Alberto Cordero had taken him in an attempt to blackmail the FBI into dropping charges, or otherwise botching the case against Diaz, in exchange for Peter's safe return. There had been a five-week deadline.

The FBI could not negotiate, and the problem was further complicated by the fact that Peter had been spirited out of the country and stuffed in a 10 x 10 cell in Cordero's Venezuelan estate. Politics became involved and progressed on the case ground to a halt.

Elizabeth knew the truth about Neal Caffrey; Peter had shared with her the details of how he had faked his death and had started a new life as Nathan Clay. He had made her promise never to try to contact him and for two years she had kept that promise. But when it seemed nothing was being done to save Peter, she broke it. She did what she always did when he was in trouble; she went to Neal for help. And Neal did what he always did; whatever was necessary to save a friend.

What was necessary had involved great risk; Nathan Clay had run a con on Alberto Cordero, been invited to his home as a guest, and then arranged the rescue of Peter at the hands of the Venezuelan authorities. The plan had been executed perfectly, and Neal insisted that he had gotten away clean, with no one but Peter the wiser to his involvement in the incident. Peter, however, had worried that Neal's reckless disregard for the consequences of his actions might come back to bite him.

He had, at best, expected some legal entanglements from the Venezuelan authorities. At worst, that the Cordero organization might put together Neal's part in their leader's take down and come after him for revenge. Peter had to admit that a job offer had never been on his list of possible outcomes. Leave it to Neal Caffrey, or as he insisted now, Nathan Clay, to bring down a drug lord and get offered a job in return.

"Please tell me you turned them down." The fact that Neal was sitting in his living room with a very pleased with himself grin on his face told him that Neal hadn't. He leaned back in his seat, his eyes intent on the bright blue ones across from him. "Why did they come to you and why, after everything, why would you take them up on this?" Peter knew that Neal had never been involved in the drug trade; his reasons for accepting the offer would be something entirely different, and Peter had his suspicions.

Neal's smile lost some of its brightness at the question. "You told me yourself, Peter," he began, "That you have a special interest in shutting down Cordero's organization here in New York."

It was true; Peter had offered his office's support to the Organized Crime Division, in a joint operation with the DEA, in taking down the Cordero organization. The men who had taken him from the parking garage were still at large, unknown members of the organization, and Peter couldn't rest until they were caught and put away. The topic had come up in one of his recent international calls with Neal.

For two years, there had been no contact between the two of them at Neal's insistence. But after their adventure in Venezuela, Neal had broken his own rule. Peter had not only received two calls from Nathan Clay in the past four months but Neal Burke, on the occasion of his second birthday only days before, had received an expensive art set from his Uncle Nathan.

There had been a definite shift in his friend's attitude towards his previous life. Before, he had insisted that he had to leave it all behind. Now, on occasion, he seemed to reach out to connect with it again. It didn't surprise Peter; the look in Neal's eyes as they parted company in South America confirmed what Peter had suspected all along. Neal missed the life he had left behind. More importantly, he missed the people. Given enough time, Peter had hoped he would find his way back. And here he was.

"Of course I do," Peter admitted, "But that's my job. It's not yours." He looked at his friend. "I can never thank you enough for what you did for me, but this isn't your problem. I don't want you involved with this."

"At the airport in Bogota, you asked me to come back to New York with you, remember?" The smile was now gone, and the blue eyes searched his. "And Elizabeth said that if I ever wanted to come, I would be welcome here."

Peter had wanted Neal to come home and still did; but not like this. Any involvement with the Cordero organization would be a dangerous undertaking. With the recent shake-ups in the inner circles of the organization and competition intent on keeping territory they had gained during the past few months, there had already been causalities. Nathan Clay could easily become collateral damage. It felt too much like something they had been through before: an insanely dangerous operation that had lead to the demise of Neal Caffrey. He couldn't lose his friend again; this time it might be for real.

"And you are welcome," Peter assured him, "We want you to come home, but you can just come home, you don't have to do this." Peter saw a flicker of doubt in Neal's eyes at his words. "You don't have to earn your way back…just come."

He only paused a moment before responding. "I know that Peter," His tone was sincere, "and I'm not doing this to earn my way home. I didn't go looking for this; it just dropped in my lap," There was now excitement in the blue eyes that Peter recognized immediately; the thrill of a challenge. "I can do this; I want to do this."

He had seen it when Neal had filled him in on the details of his rescue during their flight out of Venezuela four months before. As Nathan Clay, Neal had left the confidence game, but when Elizabeth came to him for help, he had gone back to the thing he did best. His sheer pleasure as he recounted the details of the plan, although entertaining to behold, had troubled Peter even then. And for good reason.

"You're already doing this, aren't you?"

Neal nodded, watching Peter expectantly for his response. Peter knew that if Neal had already started this course of action, he had to make sure he lived to see it through. He sighed.

"Okay. I assume you have some sort of plan in mind?"

"Of course," Neal leaned back on the sofa, clearly pleased at Peter's inquiry. His smug look was one Peter knew well, and surprisingly enough, had actually missed. "Mozzie and I already have it all worked out."

Of course they did, Peter thought.