WHITE COLLAR FIC (2/2)

[rillalicious]

Fandom: White Collar
Title: Letting Go (2/2)
Pairings: Neal/Sara (a bit of Neal/Alex)
Rating: PG, I guess. Pretty much in line with what you see on the show.
Word Count: ~4900
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Eastin and USA. I own nothing. Making no money.
Spoilers: Through episode 2.16.
Summary (highlight to read): After the warehouse explosion, Neal gives Sara something she's been looking for, and it doesn't go as planned. Meanwhile, Neal and Peter try to figure out who is behind it all.
A/N: Special thanks to ellensmithee for the beta! As always, thanks so much for reading and reviewing. ♥ Link to Part One









Neal is leaning over the table, over four side-by-side pages of Sara's clients' inventory, an absolutely stunning collection. His brain can't parse a word of it. He's trying too hard not to focus on Sara herself. She's been kind, friendly, distant, everything he expected. She's been too professional, and so has he.

He searches the spaces between her words for the pattern, trying to decipher what she's really trying to tell him. Even though he knows she's not Kate. Even though he knows that if something were there, Sara would just say it.

Maybe it's up to him. Maybe there's a hint, a clue, anything he can leave behind in her files. She can find it tonight, when she spreads everything out on her living room floor, looking for those missing pieces. If he leaves her a message she can understand, maybe she'll call...

"Neal?" says Peter. "What do you think?"

"What? Oh." He glances up. He'll focus on Peter's face and avoid Sara's--but he's looking at her now just the same. "I--I think we should start--"

Peter's phone goes off.

"Just a minute," says Peter, "I have to take this." He leaves the room.

"You're off your game today, Caffrey," says Sara, giving him that smile she used to give him in the beginning, when she was on to his bullshit.

"Maybe just a little," he says, cautiously. "You're not."

"It's been a busy week." She licks her lips. "I think... I really think I need your help with this, Neal."

"My help how?" It's Neal's turn to be cool. He's earned it, he thinks.

"With this case. With..." She pauses for a beat. "Peter told me Alex is missing. I'm sorry. You must be worried."

Neal nods. "I am," he says. "Alex is a good friend."

And here she drops her guard, just long enough for him to see the flicker of surprise.

"You thought I went back to Alex?"

"I didn't think it was out of the realm of possibility," she says.

"Sara, I--"

"Neal, you have to come with me," Peter's voice sounds out of place, even though they're at the office. "Now. That was El. There's an emergency at the house."

"Peter, we're a little--"

"It's Alex. She's been shot."


~*~*~


Sara rides with them back to the house. Neal had grabbed her arm as he made to follow Peter and she came. He wonders if she knows why he wants her here. Does she think he needs the support? Does she know he wasn't ready to let the conversation end? The three of them don't say a word on the drive.

Elizabeth meets them at the door.

"She wouldn't let me call the ambulance until you pulled up," she says. Neal pushes past her into the house.

"Alex. Are you out of your mind?"

Her eyes are unfocused, but she's smiling vaguely. Neal scratches Satchmo behind the ear as he kneels beside Alex. Elizabeth's tourniquet is impressive.

"His name is Karls," she says, her voice husky.

"Bertram Karls, yeah," says Neal. "We know. How did this happen?"

Her smile is more defined now. "I ran."

Neal pushes the hair from her forehead. "Good girl."

Alex closes her eyes and snorts. "Don't patronize me, jackass."

"Getting shot brings out your mean side, Alex."

"Get this guy, Neal."

"We will," Neal says, and he's sure about that. "Peter'll get him."

The ambulance arrives and Neal rises, walks into the dining room to give them room to work. Sara is there. Her eyes have been on him the entire time.

"Do you think she'll be all right?" she asks.

He nods. "Yeah. I do."

Neal is aware now that Peter is by his side, or maybe he was always standing here. He grips Neal's shoulder.

"I'm going to the hospital to get Alex's statement and keep an eye on her. We don't know that Karls didn't have her followed. I'm going to leave a couple of agents outside the house for a while. I'll call as soon as I'm done."

A wash of gratitude passes over Neal. Peter's made the decision for him. He can stay here with Sara and they can finish the conversation they began at the office.

"All right," he says, and he smiles. "Make sure they take care of her."

"I will," Peter says. "Jones is coming too." He inclines his head. "Sara."

"Goodbye, Peter," Sara says.

Elizabeth is standing by the stairs when everyone leaves.

"Satchmo has made a mess out of himself," she says affectionately. "I'm going to clean him up. You two... Make yourselves at home. I'll take care of the mess down here when I'm done."

Neal wonders if the Burkes are making this all too easy on him. Sometimes he feels like a pet project here. 'The mess', as Elizabeth referred to it, is Alex's blood plastered across the kitchen floor. Neal steps to the side so he doesn't have to see it when he looks at Sara.

"So," she says, resting her hip against the table. "I'm not sure how to follow that up."

Neal steps closer. "A real apology would be nice," he offers.

"I'll admit my timing could have been better."

"Nah," says Neal. "What could have been better than a handful of days after I was kidnapped, almost murdered, and framed for a massive heist? I was completely primed to get dumped."

"I didn't want it to drag on. It was hard enough this way."

"Then it's a good thing your painting showed up when it did."

Sara smiles, shakes her head. "Why did you choose then to return the Raphael?"

"I didn't return it," says Neal, and her smile starts to fade. He wants to catch it, to hold it there on her lips, to keep her from looking at him any other way. He can do that with words, but only the truth.

"When Peter accused me of taking the treasure," he says, "he was so angry, and betrayed. And I was defensive at first but... He was just calling me out on who I am. I thought about that. I wanted to make sure you never had a reason to feel that way about me."

The smile evaporates anyway, her head tips to the side. She's searching his eyes.

"You didn't want me to think it was a con." There is penance in her voice here, and it knots inside Neal's stomach.

"Sara, for what it's worth, I didn't steal the Raphael. There was a time when I didn't mind--when I liked taking credit for it. But I didn't take it."

"You just knew where to find it?"

"I just knew where to find it."

She straightens from the table, moves closer, the tip of her shoe butting up against his instep. And then she's pressed against him. Neal touches the small of her back, lightly, afraid that too much will remind her that she's letting him touch her again, and it will all be over.

But it's not over. She's kissing him, drawing in breath through her nose as he slides his arms around her and pulls her in.

And Neal's phone rings.

He groans, holds his lips against hers even though the moment has passed, then finally pulls away.

"It could be Peter." And it is.

"We found Karls," says Peter.

"They found Karls," Neal tells her, and he listens to Peter giving the address, but his eyes don't stray from the tip of Sara's tongue darting out to catch the memory of their kiss on her lips.

A few moments later, Elizabeth is handing her keys to Neal.

"Isn't this outside your radius?" Sara asks, following him to the car, address in hand.

"As long as I'm with Peter, it's fine," says Neal.

"Probation with perks."

He holds the door open for her, but she hesitates.

"You've been de facto FBI for weeks," says Neal. "I think you should come."

For a moment, he thinks she'll say no, but then she's getting in.

"I'm a little afraid of enjoying this too much," she says.

Neal closes the door and heads around the car, nodding at the agents watching the house. The sly grin he's been suppressing for days finally finds its way to his lips. "So am I."


~*~*~


They reach Karls' hotel and find themselves on the outskirts of a standoff.

"Wait in the car," says Neal, the thought that he's driven her straight into danger gnawing at him. Sara nods. He leans back in, impulsively, presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then hurries off to find Peter.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"Karls isn't coming out," says Peter. "He says he has reason enough to interest us in a deal, whatever that means."

"Do you think he has hostages?"

"We're trying to figure that out." Peter glances back over his shoulder. "You brought Sara?"

Neal shrugs. "We weren't finished talking."

"Neal, he could have a bomb in there. He blew up that warehouse. Take her home. You don't need to be here for this."

"Then why did you call me?"

"We didn't know someone was going to tip him off."

"Well," says Neal, "I'm here now."

"Neal."

Both men turn at the sudden screech of tires. A minivan peels away from the curb some distance behind them. Neal's eyes immediately light on Elizabeth's car, and it's empty, passenger door open.

"Sara."

"Neal!" Peter calls out, but Neal is already running toward the car. He's the one who told her to wait there. "Neal! Dammit!"

He's only peripherally aware of Peter racing after him.


~*~*~


Neal, he could have a bomb in there, Peter says in Neal's head, over and over and over again as Neal speeds after them. He's trying hard not to see the plane exploding in the back of his mind. Or Alex lying in a pool of blood on the floor. He gives chase for a couple of miles, and it feels like he's been driving for days.

Finally, the minivan weaves between lanes in an intersection, and Neal loses sight of it.

"No!" He pounds on the steering wheel, takes the first right on gut feeling alone.

At first, he speeds past a darkened, empty school, but something about the abandoned parking lot strikes him, and he makes a u-turn on the unlit road, heads back. He turns off the headlights as he pulls in, squinting in the darkness when he sees the minivan at the end of the parking lot, tilted at an odd angle with two wheels up on the curb.

Neal slips out of Elizabeth's car and approaches the school. One basement window is lit, and he creeps up to it, listening carefully.

"I'm goin' to make a phone call. Be good." It's a man's voice, maybe mid-forties, gruff and hearty, and Neal imagines he must be a big guy.

The window is frosted, so Neal can't see through, but when he hears the door click shut inside, he takes a chance, easily jostling the latch out of place and pushing it open. He slides through and drops to the floor.

"Neal," Sara whispers. She is standing across the room--the boiler room--arms stretched above her, handcuffed around a pipe that's anchored to the wall.

Neal presses a finger to his lips, and he's at her side in a second. He wants to just look at her, make sure she's all right, but they have to get out of here first. Out in the hallway, Sara's captor is talking loudly, trying to secure Karls' safe escape to the airport in return for the hostage.

"Did he hurt you?" says Neal, pressed up against her as he reaches for her wrists with one hand.

"No," says Sara, and she's watching the window. "Peter's with you, right?"

"Uh, no." Neal realizes that wouldn't have been a bad idea.

"So, you're the entire cavalry?" She sounds almost amused.

"Should I be offended?" Neal says, pulling a safety pin from his pocket.

"No," says Sara. "But it might have been nice if you brought a little back up with you. Preferably someone who carries a weapon?"

"I've got this thing where I tend to act on impulse."

"So I've noticed."

The pin makes quick work of the handcuffs, but before she's lowered her arms, Neal freezes with the muzzle of a handgun pressed up against the back of his head.


~*~*~


It takes Peter some time--too much time--to find Elizabeth's car behind the school, but once he does, the lit basement window is like a beacon. He's already on the phone with Diana as he gets out of the car.

"We've got a problem," she says. "Listen to this." And she holds his phone up so he can hear. A man, the one who's taken Sara, the one who works for Karls, is on speaker.

"We've got two of yours now," he's telling the FBI. He thinks Sara's an agent. Neal, too, for that matter. "That means I've got the leeway to start shooting hostages if shit doesn't start happening."

Peter hears the barrel of the gun crack across Neal's cheek, and Neal's hoarse cry of shock, from the phone and the window. He gives Diana his location, tells her to send back up immediately.

"Dammit, Neal."

The long, low window tilts up to open, and Peter can't get their captor in his sights. He can, however, see Neal and Sara, each with one wrist in cuffs around a thick pipe. Neal is whispering something to her and she's listening, but her eyes never leave the gunman.

Neal turns his head away as the gun is jammed against his cheek. In the course of movement, his eyes catch Peter's. Peter watches relief and anticipation cross his face at once.

On his feet again, Peter goes for a different entrance.


~*~*~


Neal reaches out with his free hand, tucking Sara's hair behind her ear. She looks so calm, though he can feel the vibration of her slowly simmering anger. He'd have them out of the cuffs by now if the asshole with the gun would turn away for just a second. The safety pin is tucked away in Neal's sleeve.

His left eye is swollen nearly shut from when he was hit, and when she finally tears her eyes away from the gunman, she reaches out to touch it.

"You're bleeding," she says.

"It's not so bad," says Neal, but he's lying. His head is pounding.

"You're both gonna be bleeding if you don't shut the hell up," says the gunman.

"You don't need to threaten her," says Neal. "I'm the expendable one, remember?"

"I haven't decided which one of you's expendable yet." The gunman raises his hand and brings it down across the side of Neal's head again. This time Neal's temple smacks against the wall.

"Really, Neal, the nobility isn't necessary," Sara says.

"I said shut up." The big man jams the gun against the back of Neal's skull. "So help me God, lady, one more word and you'll be wearing his brains."

Neal tries not to flinch, but he's getting the feeling that the last bullet to come out of this gun went straight into Alex. Sara's just glaring at the gunman, and for a moment Neal wonders if she's daring him to do it, but then her eyes are on Neal again, and they're softer now, steady. Neal, when he looks closely, really reads her, can see in her eyes that she's terrified, but the gunman can't.

She's amazing.

There's a soft shuffle out in the hall, Neal hears it first, and he starts coughing, loudly, to cover the sound of Peter's approach. The man with the gun kicks the back of Neal's knee, hard, and Neal buckles. The gun digs into the base of his neck.

"Drop it."

Peter is standing in the doorway behind Sara, both Neal and Sara shielding the gunman from him.

"You just lost your first hostage," the gunman says, and Neal can feel the man's fingers tighten on the trigger.

In a slowly passing second, he wonders how he can keep Sara out of the way.

And then, the sound of breaking glass is everywhere, basement windows shattering to the boiler room floor amidst shouts of "FBI!" and the thunder of footsteps. The gun is gone somewhere in this chaos, and as Neal looks up, Peter is slamming their captor up against the wall, cuffing his hands behind his back.

Neal flicks the safety pin from his cuff and sets them free, rubbing his own wrist for a moment, then reaching for Sara's.

"Thank you," she says, falling back against the wall. Now she's shaking.

He turns her hand over in his, pressing his thumb against her wrist and rubbing gently.

"Are you all right?"

"I think I should be asking you," she says. "You need to get to the hospital, Neal."

Neal makes to shake his head, and the room swims all around him. He wavers on his feet, his knee giving out at the same moment his sense of balance betrays him, and Peter is there to catch him beneath the arms.

"I'm with Sara on this one," he says. "I wouldn't doubt you've got a concussion. Come on."

One arm slung over Sara's shoulders, and one over Peter's, Neal lets them take him outside.

Jones approaches them by the ambulance.

"We got Karls," he says. "SWAT went in as soon as we confirmed the hostages were safe." He dips his knees a little to look Neal in the eyes. "All right, Caffrey?"

Neal smiles listlessly. "Right as rain. Anybody else hear bells?"

Sara snorts and nudges him toward the ambulance.


~*~*~


Neal blinks himself awake in the hospital room, Peter's face in fuzzy focus for the first few moments.

"I guess waking up to a pretty girl and some get well soon flowers is too much to ask," he says, his throat a little dry.

Peter grins. "They want to hang on to you for observation overnight."

Neal rests his head against the pillow. "All right."

"Sara gave me a statement. I figured I'll take yours when you're not seeing double."

"Feels like that could take a while."

"I've got the time." Peter leans forward in his chair, elbows settling on his knees. "You did a stupid thing, Neal."

"There's a first."

"If it's any consolation, I think you impressed the girl."

"And all it took was a minor head injury."

Peter smiles. "Mozzie's been here, briefly. He wanted me to keep him posted."

"Tell him he can get me a bottle of Advil as a homecoming present."

"Will do."

"So what happened with Karls? Jones said we got him?"

"We got him," says Peter. "My phone hunch paid off. One of the thugs on Adler's crew was working for Karls all along. When Adler took me, you and Alex, Karls saw his chance and stepped in. You would have been framed for the whole thing."

"Including Alex's murder," says Neal.

Peter nods. "He's been leaving just a few pieces behind to send us on a wild goose chase while he worked on getting the big payoff out of the country."

"Not a bad plan," says Neal.

"Sorry you didn't think of it?"

Neal smiles, sleepily. "Nah. Mine would have been better. Did they recover the rest of it?"

"We'll never know. We've found at least one big stash in a storage unit rented to Adler's guy, but we never had a chance to inventory the contents of the U-boat in the first place."

"There you are!" Elizabeth is standing in the doorway, holding a pint-sized teddy bear with a potted plant embedded in the top of its head. Neal holds on to Peter's last statement, folding it away in the back of his mind for later.

"Oh, Neal," Elizabeth says. She's looking at his face with sympathetic horror, and he can picture the cuts and bruises on the surface of his throbbing head.

"I look that good?" he asks.

"You look like you've been knocked around a little bit," she says. She sets the teddy bear down beside the bed.

"It could be worse," says Neal, nodding at the bear, flowers sprouting from its head. "I could have ended up like him."

"Awful, isn't it?" says Elizabeth. "It's from Mozzie."

"Mozzie?" says Peter, and he reaches for the bear before Neal does, pulling out the little potted daisy and tipping the bear upside down, shaking it.

"Peter," says Neal, "what do you think Mozz is trying to smuggle into the hospital for me?"

"Sorry," says Peter, looking contrite under Elizabeth's glare. "Old habits."

"Come on," she says, patting his shoulder. "We're going to let Neal get some rest."

Peter is reluctant to leave, but with Neal's assurance, he rises. Elizabeth goes to wait in the hall.

"Thanks, for saving my life again," says Neal.

Quiet for a moment, Peter just looks at him; sometimes they don't need to say anything.

"I'll be back," says Peter, and then he's gone.

Neal waits, lets a few moments of distance pass, then reaches for the bear. He takes the flowerpot, sets the bear aside. With a twist, the dish is removed from the base of the pot, and Neal pulls out a scroll of paper wrapped around the inside of the pot. He smooths it on the blankets over his lap, brushing away a dusting of potting soil, and smiles.

It's the complete catalogue of all items initially found on the U-boat, and beneath, in Mozzie's scrawl, Do with this as you will.


~*~*~


"You look better," says Neal, leaning in the doorway of Alex's hospital room.

She tries to sit up and winces, then reaches for the bed's control and rolls her eyes. Neal has a feeling that everything about this visit has been an indignity to Alex, much like that time after the music box. Neal walks inside.

"You look like hell," she says, smiling.

"Surface wounds," says Neal. "I'm fine."

"Peter said you'd be all right."

He sits down beside the bed. "You saw Mozz?"

"He dropped by."

"You gave him that list, didn't you?"

"I thought it might give you some closure. On the case," she adds. An afterthought.

"Alex..."

"Are we going to have a talk, Neal?" she asks, as if he's amusing her by being here at all.

"Do we need to?"

"That'll only cheapen things."

"True," says Neal. He takes her hand, presses a kiss to her knuckles.

"I see Sara's back," she says. "Couldn't stay away? I'm not surprised."

"She needs my help on a case," says Neal.

"Uh huh."

Neal shifts in his chair. "She conned me, Alex. I'm... kind of unclear on how to feel about that."

"Impressed?" Alex's smile broadens. "You want me to give you advice on your love life?"

"That would be inappropriate," said Neal.

"Just a little." Alex pushes the hair from her face. "Just don't let her become another Kate to you, all right?"

"What does that mean?"

"See her for who she is, Neal. Not for who you want her to be."

Neal thinks about that for a moment, thinks about how easy it would be to blow off Alex's advice because she's Alex. Thinks about how right she is.

"So," he says, leaning forward in his chair, "did Peter tell you all the details of Karls' game?"

"No," says Alex, humoring the change of subject. "Tell me. Please. I need something interesting to pass the time in here."


~*~*~


She's not the one who picks him up at the hospital. The idea tempts her, and she even lets her mind wander to what he'll look like walking out of those doors: he'll call Mozzie to bring him a suit, she imagines, and his hat. It will almost compensate for the bruises all over his face, for the bandage she can picture over his eye, where the butt of the gun broke the skin. He'll be smiling, because the sunshine and breeze will be a little more like freedom than the confines of the hospital room. His anklet will remind him that's not totally true.

She is not the one who picks him up at the hospital because she doesn't want to be that woman. Not to Neal Caffrey. As it is, she's letting herself think about him too much, trying too hard to spend time inside his head. This was all simpler when she kept her inner monologue on Neal short and sweet. Beautiful guy. Great con man. Guilty party.

It was easy to fall for Neal, even then, but even easier to walk away. Now the vernacular-of-Neal that lives inside her head has changed; he has his own lexicon up there, and the words circulate through her thoughts, her blood, her heart. Considerate and loyal and even selfless, all exist in her head now, all exist in Neal, while at the same time she knows he can be just the opposite if he chooses.

Red or black, she still doesn't know. She's never been a gambler.

Peter tells her Neal is home and she waits three hours, catches Mozzie on his way out as June leads her up the stairs.

"Hi," she says from the doorway, and Neal turns around.

He's unbuttoning his shirt. She was right; he walked out of the hospital dressed to the nines.

"Sara."

"You look even worse in the daylight."

Neal ghosts a smile. "You look beautiful."

Sara, not often self-conscious, suddenly is. "Thank you."

She moves closer, wanting to touch the edge of that bandage, trace its outline over the bruises beneath.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," he says.

"I thought a little breathing room was a good idea." She reaches up, touches his cheek and watches him flinch, then relax.

"Glass of wine?" he offers.

She nods. "Later." As she lowers her hand, her fingers graze his cheek, then his chest beneath his open shirt.

Neal swallows, and he's silent, and somehow his charm is even stronger like this. She wonders if it's intentional. Is she ever going to know?

"What are we to each other now, Neal?"

"I wish I knew."

"If wishes were horses, this place would smell like horse shit," she says. "My grandmother used to say that to me." She laughs. "Isn't that a horrible thing to say to a little girl?"

Neal smiles, genuine and sweet. "I think old women are allowed to get away with that sort of thing."

His hand is on the small of her back now, the movement as smooth and subtle as if he were picking her pocket. She lets him keep it there, leans in closer.

"Mmm," she says. "You're probably right."

"You just deflected your own question, you know," he says, and his voice is growing softer.

"I did. And you avoided an answer."

"I did."

"How long are we going to go on like this?" she says, wondering when his mouth moved so close to hers.

"Like what?"

"Like this is a game."

"Ah," says Neal, "but it's not. Games have rules."

"You need rules," she says.

"So do you, apparently." He smiles, and his lips are just barely brushing hers. She's watching his eyes. "Don't lie to me, Sara."

"I won't," she says. Sincerely. "I still expect the same."

"I know."

"Good." And the word is hardly a word at all, because now he is kissing her, and she's kissing back, touching his face and trying not to hurt him, and his hands are everywhere at once as they stumble toward the bed.

She wraps her arms around Neal, and all his wonderful flaws, and for the first time since she can remember, lets go.


[END]