Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except Gemma.

A/N: Decided to keep the note and just upload a new chapter so you'd get the alerts.

It's so wonderful to be writing this fic again, I must say. I missed it and I'm glad my White Collar muse is back. I hope you all feel the same! Thank you again for your patience, kind words, favorites, and alerts.

Also, if you haven't already, check out the future!fic one shot that goes along with this fic, called "Pawn."

Enjoy the new chapter! Drop me a line on your way out!

"You're sure?"

"Hon, I know what I heard," Elizabeth said, descending the steps up to Neal's loft, "I'm a hundred-percent sure. You really don't believe me?"

Peter allowed himself a faint smirk, the first one in the time it had taken them to drive from their home to June's. Truth be told, he hadn't expected his day off to go quite like this. Taking Satchmo for a walk, eating a nice meal prepared by his wife, relaxing with a beer to catch the game, sure. A phone call telling him his consultant had asked his wife for help (thankfully of the non-perilous variety) in the department of childcare? Never. Of all possible situations where Neal was concerned, this hadn't ever been a thought to cross Peter's mind. Rationalization hadn't given Peter any opportunities to be angry. Above everything else, he felt he was somewhere between puzzled and amused.

"Of course I do," Peter said. "But a baby?" He shook his head. "Oh, this is good. I think I'm going to enjoy watching him talk his way out of this one."

Peter and Elizabeth reached the landing. They could hear the hysterical cries of what was in fact an infant, slightly muffled by the walls and door providing a barrier between them. Elizabeth made a very maternal cooing sound and let her bottom lip jut outward in a truly endearing display of what Peter could only think of as sympathy.

"Maybe he's babysitting for someone," El offered.

Peter couldn't hold back a derisive chuckle. "Never thought I'd see a day with those two words in the same sentence. The man with an anklet, the FBI documenting his every move, babysitting."

"I don't know, I actually think he would be good with kids."

Peter considered this with a half-shrug. "Kids—not babies. Maybe. Neal's got this whole debonair bachelor act going for him. I can't see babysitting skills fitting into his repertoire."

"Well, that's Neal for you," El answered. "Always full of surprises."

He knocked on the door. It took a moment, but Neal finally yelled to them, "It's open!" over the weeping of the baby in his care. Peter turned the knob and ushered Elizabeth inside before closing the door behind them.

Neal Caffrey was a frazzled mess in a way the Burkes had never seen before. They had never experienced his panic at the hands of a baby, much less one, upon further inspection, who looked newborn, so this was unprecedented. By his very nature (and his chosen profession), Neal always upheld a composed demeanor and kept whatever alarm he felt carefully concealed. This was not the case. His hair was ruffled like he had run his fingers through it one too many times and thus had caused it to stick up in odd places. His dress shirt was halfway untucked and wrinkled in spots, and his tie had been thrown with haphazard abandon onto the floor on the opposite side of the loft. The epitome of panic was written with clarity on his face, in his eyes, as if the dictionary had invented the word for him.

The baby in question was cradled in his arms, swaddled in a blanket with swirls of blues and yellows. Peter found himself recognizing the print as Van Gogh's The Starry Night, which only propelled his confusion to near-epic proportions. He could only stand wordlessly beside Elizabeth with one hand on his hip, wondering who the hell Neal would know that would have a baby and ask him to take over in what Peter hoped was a temporary agreement. The fact was, Neal did know a lot of people Peter wasn't aware of, which therefore made the potential of this situation credible. That didn't mean, however, that Peter couldn't continue to find it comical.

On Neal's part, of course. Not the baby's.

Neal Caffrey, the man who worked in a world of dangerous, shady people, disheveled and flustered by an infant.

"Look at you," Peter said.

"Please don't start, Peter," Neal sighed.

"What do you mean? I'm just trying to take in the sight of my CI unhinged by a baby."

Elizabeth elbowed her husband and crossed over to Neal. The sight of the baby in Neal's arms elicited another maternal squeak. Her face was reddened with the effort of crying, eyes scrunched closed. She had, to Elizabeth's surprise, a lot of feather-light, dark brown hair for such a small thing.

"Awww," El crooned, "she's so cute!"

"She's cuter when she isn't crying, believe me. I can't get her to stop," Neal explained. "And the directions on the container of formula aren't exactly helpful."

"All right. I'll see what I can do," El said. She moved over to the kitchenette and began to work her magic on some baby formula and a pan of water to warm up on the stovetop.

"You'd think she would run out of steam by now," Neal said.

Elizabeth pivoted on a heel. "Never underestimate the lung capacity of an infant. Especially one with an appetite."

Peter took a few, somewhat tentative, steps forward. He was still attempting to process the situation—and the picture of his wife taking over bottle preparations. He didn't doubt El's parenting abilities. She'd babysat for nieces and nephews on her side of the family before, though Peter had never been present to watch her in action, moving with the confidence and know-how of a woman who did those things on a daily basis. It twisted at something deep in his gut and he wasn't sure how to acknowledge it, so instead he cleared his throat and fixed a stare at Neal.

"So," he drawled, "who roped you into this? I have a feeling Mozzie is far out of the question."

He watched Neal's brow furrow as he rocked side-to-side in an almost absentminded manner; a futile effort in the battle against the infant's cries.

"Into what?"

Peter knew Neal couldn't be that dense. "Spending your day off babysitting. It's decidedly un-Neal Caffrey-like."

"I'm not babysitting."

He decided he also didn't like Neal's tone. There was something off about it, something that he was accustomed to. It carried underlying hints of, I have a problem I can't handle on my own and I need your help but I don't know how to ask for it. Peter had been in Neal's company long enough to understand the caught expression on his face.

Peter crossed his arms. He couldn't figure out if he'd traded amusement for concern or another, sharper emotion. There was a good chance that whatever Neal told him was going to complicate his life further.

"You want to try and explain that?" he asked. He wore that expectant look, the one Neal himself had grown used to whenever Peter managed to be a half-step ahead of him.

Neal sighed. "Her name is Gemma," he said, slowly, like a rebellious teenager 'fessing up to his parents. "She was left here. Her mother decided it was for the best—she couldn't raise her, not with her lifestyle."

"And you just…took it upon yourself to—"

"Gemma's my daughter, Peter," Neal said. "She's my responsibility now."

Peter went slack-jawed, and he was pretty sure El had nearly dropped the pan into the sink in the process of pouring the lukewarm water into the bottle.

"Your daughter?" He wiped a hand over his mouth, keeping his composure. Or at least making the effort.

"There's a note from her mother if you want proof." Neal gestured his head at the sheet of paper on the tabletop.

Elizabeth had finished giving the bottle a good shake. "May I?" she asked Neal. He nodded and placed Gemma into Elizabeth's careful hold. Her crying ceased once El prodded the bottle into her mouth. She sucked on it, content, her bright blue eyes locked on her newest caregiver.

El let out a gasp and broke into a grin. "Hon, I don't think you need any proof." Now that Gemma's eyes were open and her face had relaxed, the resemblance was clear. "She looks exactly like Neal."

Neal moved to stand by Elizabeth's shoulder. The corner of his mouth quirked in a smile when he saw Gemma's eyes begin to droop with sleep. El watched him drag the back of his fingers across Gemma's cheek. Peter, meanwhile, had been stunned into near silence. He wasn't sure what to say or how to respond to this latest development. Their work release agreement hadn't covered unplanned parenthood.

"Neal," Peter said, in his disapproving tone, "this is…I don't know what to do here."

"Things like this happen all the time," El cut in. "It wouldn't be fair to blame anyone for it. What matters is, her mother came to Neal and let him know about Gemma. And it's obvious he cares about her."

"We need to think of the situation seriously," Peter said.

Panic flittered across Neal's eyes again. "I can't give her up. I can't imagine not seeing her grow up, being raised by other people. I want to take responsibility for raising her. She deserves that."

"I understand—hell, I admire you stepping up," Peter replied. "But you're a convicted felon with a tracking anklet and a risky job. One wrong move and you'd be sent back to prison—where would that leave your daughter? I'm not sure they'd let you keep her. And you know a lot of dangerous people, Neal."

"Peter and I decided to put off having kids because of our jobs," El clarified. "His job, especially. He was afraid something would happen. It's scary—those types of people don't hesitate to use your loved ones as bargaining tools. Or worse. Gemma's safety wouldn't always be certain."

"I would never let anything like that happen to her."

"You wouldn't," Peter agreed. "Sometimes it's out of our control."

Neal sunk down into a chair, face in his hands, elbows resting on his thighs. After scrubbing his face with his palms, he exhaled. Peter hated seeing him so broken up. This was a complication like no other, and while Peter was well aware of the repercussions, part of him was sympathetic to Neal's obvious frustration. He was a good man at heart who had made more than a few missteps. Peter saw it in his eyes; he wanted to raise his daughter right, make a good path in the world for her. Any parent would want that. The idea of letting go was unfair.

"Look," Neal said, voice wavering a bit, "I realize I'm not A-plus parenting material. I get it, okay? But I can learn. Everything aside, I'm willing to do whatever it takes. I want to be there for her. Please. Please, Peter. If you can do anything to convince them to let me keep Gemma…"

"That might be impossible."

"I'm asking you to try," Neal said. "Please. If they see I'm a fit parent, that I can take care of her and balance work…I don't know. I just can't lose her. Gem's all I've got."

"Not all," El smirked. "Not even close." She set the bottle on the counter, now emptied. Gemma had fallen asleep. "I work from home most days and I wouldn't be opposed to the idea of babysitting."

Neal lifted his head. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." She turned to Peter. "If they see Gemma and Neal have a support system, it might help."

"It's a stretch," Peter said. He pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the inevitable headache. "Worth a shot, but I can't promise anything."

"Thank you, Peter."

"I can't say I completely agree with this," he admitted. He pointed an accusatory finger at Neal. "You owe me."

"Don't I always?"

Peter heaved a long-suffering sigh and moved to lean over his wife's shoulder. She had adopted Neal's subconscious side-to-side rocking. Gemma was asleep, quiet, except for a few intermittent, soft sounds. He found himself cracking a smile at the sight of her, all rosy cheeks and tufts of deep brunette hair. El had been right—she was Caffrey's kid, through and through. Peter could only imagine twice as much trouble for him in the future. Unless, of course, he had any say in Gemma's upbringing.

"She is cute."

"Told you," El said. "How can you say no to that face?"

"That's the problem," Peter said. "You can't."

Peter realized then that he would, without a doubt, make the person who had the guts to use Gemma against Neal wish they hadn't.