Disclaimer: Just for fun, not for profit. I don't own White Collar I just think about it too much!

Note: Set after Honor Among Thieves, season 4. See it first, it makes more sense. Spoiler warning!

Neal stared at the ceiling feeling ill. Tomorrow was going to be a horrible day. He felt worse than when Peter first caught him and he was awaiting sentencing. He knew what he had to do. But he kept spinning in circles trying to find a way out of the trap. After all Peter had done for him, stealing something right under his nose, when he had nearly lost his job for him was not something he wanted to even consider. But Abigail, the wretched, clever, thief had backed him into a corner. He kicked himself for telling her what he was after in the marshals office. Now she'd already stolen it and planted evidence against him.

The plan had gone without a hitch. He head the Pascal sculpture. There was no proof that he or Mozzie was involved. All he had to do now was make the trade. At least then the suffering would not be for nothing. He would have his lead to Sam who could help him find Ellen's killer.

But if anything, he felt worse tonight than last night. Tonight he felt outright sick. He'd been too queasy to eat dinner. He tried drinking but it didn't help. The fine wine tasted like so many ashes. He'd spent many a sleepless night before, planning a con or performing a heist. Wondering about his father or worrying or grieving about Kate. But he didn't think he'd ever, ever felt this bad before. Ever. Peter had crossed a big line for him, following him to Cape Verde and it had nearly cost him his job. He'd killed Adler to save Neal's life. If losing Ellen hurt, it was mostly a clean pain. He felt doubt, and some guilt, for perhaps if he hadn't gone to her they wouldn't have found her. But at least that was not something he'd chosen. He'd not willingly and knowingly hurt her.

Today he'd stabbed his friend and defender in the back and it felt truly awful. He felt a headache starting. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

In the end, he didn't sleep. Ellen wouldn't want him to do this. He didn't want to do this. And doing it would not only betray Peter, but himself. Once he'd done it, he'd always remember. Even if Peter never found out the guilt was weighing him down like an anchor and he hadn't even gone through with it yet.

He wrestled with the guilt all the way to the rendezvous. He was too distracted to have his guard up. He certainly would've recognized one of the stake out vans under normal circumstances.

By the time he got there a certain resolve was born. His refusal to take the flash drive was a surprise to her. It surprised him too, he hadn't been sure he could refuse with it waving right in his face. But he was more surpised by the slight shift he felt inside, as if he was stronger. Taking back control felt good.

He rode that brief wave of courage and his hand was reaching for the phone. She was barely away. But he knew the risk. Once he did this, he would have to tell Peter everything. He would be admitting he was the thief. He had no guarantee the team would get here before she ditched the drive or vanished with the art. He had no guarantee he wouldn't be arrested and sent back to prison. He wouldn't blame them. But the sudden sense of power gave him a boost he needed.

He'd barely told Peter she had the art when the sirens screamed. The take down was fast. Too fast. His head pounded again and his insides twisted. They were too close. And then Peter was by his side. He knew immediately that Peter had figured it out. He was a little surprised to get a ride back to the office with Peter instead of being hauled off in handcuffs. He was surprisingly okay with either decision.

That night he found himself staring at the ceiling yet again. So thanks to Peter's extreme generosity he'd ended up with the flash drive and not in cuffs. He felt better, stronger and certainly relieved. But still, not good. Tired, exhausted even yet he couldn't sleep. He knew he'd let Peter down, and only pulling out at the last minute and admitting it all had saved him from a full scale crash. It was well after midnight that he rose and went for a walk. He didn't make a conscious decision to go anywhere and he went further than he planned. He blinked, surprised as he realized he was outside Peter's house. Why had he come here? He couldn't wake him at this hour! He slipped around the side of the house and went and sat at the back patio, eyes sliding shut.

"Neal?" El's voice stirred him out of the doze. A wet touch to his hand revealed Satchmo at his side. Neal patted him lightly. "What are you doing here this early?"

Neal blinked blearily at the dawn light. "I couldn't sleep, took a walk and just ended up here." His voice was tired.

El came out and sat next to him. She studied him. "Are you okay?"

Neal shrugged, sadness in his eyes. "I guess."

El touched his hand. "Peter told me what happened."

Neal sighed. "Things...people just keep trying to drag me back. Even when I don't want to run and don't want to go."

"Leading you into temptation."

"Except this time...I really wasn't even tempted."

"Not for the art. Just for the data."

Neal closed his eyes. "I told her no."

Elizabeth nodded.

"I meant it. I wanted to believe Peter. I wanted to believe there was another way."

"Neal..." El hesitated. "I know you have good reasons. But you're out of room here. Because Peter is out of room. He can't give you slack that he doesn't have."

"I know."

She squeezed his shoulder. "Come on in. Have some breakfast."

Neal followed without argument. His eyes were still heavy lidded.

"Why don't you sit down?" El nudged Neal over to the couch. She wasn't surprised when she made coffee and turned back to find Neal asleep.

Peter came down the stairs, headed for the kitchen. "El..." He stopped. Blinked. Turned around and looked back at the living room. He turned back to El in surprise.

"He was on the patio, looking uncharacteristically bedraggled." She took out some bowls. "Someone seems to be feeling guilty."

"He should." Peter said, but there was no anger in his voice. "I guess that's a good sign. There was a time he wouldn't have."

"Peter Pan is growing up."

"All of Neverland will be shaking." Peter went and sat down in the living room, leaning back and just watching Neal. He hadn't slept so good himself. Now, as he sat considering his partner, he recognized a sort of sadness there even has he slept. It reminded him of how much Neal had already gone through, more than most went through in a lifetime. How many of his poor life choices had he initially been pushed into by need, only to have them become habits? Even a form of addiction?

"You need to talk to him."

"I already have."

"Do as I say, not as I do, is not likely to work with him."

"Meaning?"

"You kept things from him to protect him. What should he do if he feels like what he knows will put you at risk?"

"That would be easier to answer if I could tell when it was a con and when it was real."

"I've heard him say that the best cons contain truth. If he said your trust meant everything to him and you believed it, I'd say he was telling the truth. At least the truth at that moment in time."

"Hmmm". Peter rose and went to the breakfast table. "I think I'll let him sleep."

Neal woke sometime later. Peter was tapping at his laptop, checking emails and doing anything he could think of to work from home for a bit longer. Elizabeth was sketching out plans for an event. Startled, he sat up and looked around.

Neal looked at the time. "Oh, we're late."

"Well, I've been working. Come and eat." Peter waved at the table without looking up from the monitor.

Neal ambled over, studied the selection of cereal and picked a box. Milk, and juice were already out. Peter waved a hand at the kitchen. "Coffee is still on."

Neal retrieved some and cautiously eyed Peter over the cereal. "Are we okay?"

"I thought we'd settled that."

Neal poked at the cereal uncertainly. "Well..."

"Neal. Would you have broken into the marshals office?" Peter looked at him squarely and suddenly.

Elizabeth glanced up.

Neal sighed. "I don't know."

Peter frowned in concern.

"I wanted to believe your way would work, Peter. But what if it doesn't? I have a right to know. This thing that killed Ellen has affected my entire life. And I don't even know what it is! I was only three! I need to know. And there are people that will cover it up, just to hide the egg on their face."

"These people killed two Marshals as well as Ellen. They have a lot of incentive to get them."

"Not as much as me. And they've had most of my life to stop these guys. That doesn't give me a lot of confidence in their abilities."

Peter could've argued but he didn't. Instead he acknowledged "if there are people in law enforcement or political office behind some kind of corruption, it could be pretty entrenched by now."

"Exactly. So I do have some reason to doubt your way will work. And what then?" Neal stared at him. "I don't want to let you down, Peter. But I can't let this go."

Peter nodded. "We need a door number three. But more than that, Neal, trust goes both ways. You have to trust me too."

"If I do, you lose any plausible deniability."

Peter rose slowly and gripped his arm. "Let me decide the risk for myself, Neal. How did you feel when you told her you didn't want the drive?"

Neal blinked at him.

"Feel better? Stronger?"

Startled, Neal's eyes widened. He opened his mouth then shut it, unable to find the words. How had he known?

"It can feel good to do the right thing, Neal. But the more it hurts, the stronger you get when you do it anyway."

"Legal and Right are not always synonyms."

"No. They aren't. But they usually are closely related."

"I'm trying."

"I know."

Neal's fingers found a piece of notepaper left on the table and nervously wove it into an origami animal. "You should be pleased. I used to get a thrill from pulling off a heist like that. This time, I just felt sick."

"Good."

Neal mock glared at him.

Elizabeth smiled in amusement at the look. "There is a reason poisonous substances have nasty tasting stuff added. It's so people aren't tempted to drink."

Neal huffed. "Meaning if I remember how awful it tastes I won't want it any more?"

"Better to eat bread and butter with friends than poisoned cake with enemies."

"Can it be fresh french or italian bread?" Neal asked eyes bright. Then they dimmed slightly. "What makes you so sure? Why did you start believing in me? I know you don't entirely trust me. I wish I could blame you..."

Elizabeth cocked her head. "Have you ever heard of those cases of a police officer going undercover for too long and finally going rogue?"

Neal cringed. That hit way too close to home. "Yes."

"So, if you really want to be here, and we know you do, that being here long enough is going to rub off. It already has."

"Oh." Neal considered. "I hadn't quite thought of it that way." No, he'd thought he was born to it. Mozzie said he was. But he'd been using the same skills he'd used for the criminals now working for the FBI. And he even got his thrills in while he was at it.

Peter tapped his arm. "Ready to go to work?"

"Yes." Neal looked at himself. He was a bit more rumpled than usual, but not drastically so.

"Let's go catch some bad guys. And better yet, lets go catch some bad guys masquerading as good guys."

"Which one am I?"

"You have to decide that. I'm sure you were masquerading to start with, but now your one of the good guys."

"Be as you wish to seem?"

"The way to gain a good reputation is to endeavor to be what you desire to appear." Elizabeth fired back with a half smile.

Peter shook his head, smiling. "We better get to work or we'll find ourselves in a quote off."

"Nah, I don't know nearly as many as Moz." Neal replied halfway out the door. He felt better. He had a vague memory of other quotes, ones he and Mozzie tended to ignore. One was about being content with little and yet having the greatest riches. Knowing the friends he had now, he knew by far that he was rich even if he had nothing else.