Three weeks into his all-expenses-paid vacation in sunny prison, Nate is told to gather his (meager) belongings for a move to a new cell. Finding things out for himself is much more efficient than asking questions, so he wordlessly pulls together what little there is and nods a civil farewell to his cell mate. "Crowbar."

Crowbar, so nicknamed for the object that was the cause of his current incarceration, waved a little with his giant hairy hand. "Nate. See you at lunch. Don't get shanked, I don't want Spencer to kill me."

"You got it."

His new cell had a new cell mate, moving his own belongings in with the kind of stiff movements that telegraphed someone more used to a suit than a jumpsuit. The reason why soon became clear, when the other inmate looked up and his brown eyes widened impressively. "Nathan Ford?"

"Agent. Are you undercover?"

"If only," Peter Burke said ruefully. "What about you? I haven't seen you since you were working on the same Caffrey case as us back in '04." His eyes narrowed, that shrewd look the same despite the change in attire. "I have heard some interesting rumors about you, recently…."

"I think I'm flattered," Nate said with amusement, dropping his bundle on the unoccupied bed. "To think that an agent of the FBI would listen to rumors of an insurance guy he didn't meet more than once."

Burke's mouth tilted puckishly at the corners. "You kidding? I think every guy in white collar was a card-carrying member of the Nate Ford fanclub."

"Even you?"

"Oh, yeah." His grin widened crookedly. "Attended the meetings and everything."

Nate smiled despite himself, sitting in the bed slowly, still cautious of his healed side. "What exactly goes on at a meeting of my fanclub?"

"Well, it depends on the chapter. My group, we mostly knitted sweaters as we sighed about how dreamy your investigative prowess was."

"Oh, well, yeah…" Nate gave up and laughed, feeling inexplicably cheered. Eliot's contacts had been a welcome source of safety in the con-eat-con world of prison, but he still occasionally thought of himself as an honest man and it had been a genuine pleasure to work with a fed as good and sharp as Burke. Which begged the question…. "Hey, how the hell did you get yourself put in maximum security?"

Burke slanted him a sideways look. "I could ask you the same."

"I asked first," Nate pointed out cheerfully.

"Fair enough." Burke scratched at the collar of his jumpsuit, looking nothing so much as embarrassed. "Well…it's kind of a long story. I've been working with Caffrey as my CI for several years now…" he looked up to see if his cellmate was following.

"Yeah, I heard about that. Pretty damn impressive, turning a guy like that into a Fed."

"Leaving aside the fact that he's not really a Fed…and how the hell you know that…" he peered at him again, but was met with an undimmed look. "It's pretty much all Neal's fault. But…I, uh…" He pursed his mouth, looking still more uncomfortable. "There have been a few times, recently, when I might possibly have obeyed the spirit of the law more than the letter."

"Really." Nate felt his smile change, into what Sophie called 'the cat that ate the canary', Hardison called 'Joker-esque', Eliot called 'shark', and Parker called 'that thing with your face that means we get to do something fun'. "Agent Burke, I look forward to our discussions."