Neal Caffrey one shots | White Collar

Paris never feels the same when the streets all call your name

SPOILERS  FOR THE SERIES FINALE | Set after season 6. 

I've had this one sitting in my drafts for ages and never got to finishing it until now. So enjoy:) 

Four years after that terrible day, and Peter still mourned the loss of his best friend. He still heard his laughter in the subway, echoing as trains roared by, still caught his reflection in store windows as he passed them on his way to work, still couldn't look at hats without thinking whether Neal would wear it or not. His wife tried to get him to talk about it, if not to a therapist then to her. She wants to help him, Peter knew this, but he couldn't help but get annoyed. He didn't want to talk about it because that would make it real, and he didn't want to believe that. Neal Caffrey wasn't taken down that easily, right? He couldn't be. It took him years to catch him, and Neal always had a way out, always had an angle he could play, a single bullet couldn't change that, right? Except that it did. But that was a fact Peter couldn't accept. Not just yet.

When his wife suggested the trip to Neal's favourite city, he was weary. The thought of going to the city his friend had once roamed with Kate, the city that he had loved with his heart and longed to get back to but never could, made his heartache. But eventually, he agreed.

'You'll get some closure,' she'd said, 'it'll make you feel closer to him. And you know he'll be with us.' She touched the place where his heart was when she said that, her voice soft. She was always so understanding, so gentle when they were talking about the dead conman. He agreed with her because he knew she was worried about him and he wanted her to stop worrying.

Two weeks after she'd first suggested it, they were packed and onboard of the plane to the city of love. Elizabeth seemed excited about the trip but Peter felt his heart ache more and more with every mile they got closer. It felt as if he was back in the hospital, back in the morgue, staring at the lifeless body of his best friend. Going to Paris seemed to only open the slowly healing wounds in his heart.

A soft hand gripped his and he looked up, straight into the bright blue eyes he fell in love with two decades ago. They were still as beautiful as then, maybe even more. She smiled reassuringly at him, and her eyes spoke all the words he needed to hear.

During the flight he distracted himself by reading a book or sleeping, it helped him clear his mind of their destination. His wife had fallen asleep in the early hours of the flight and her head rested softly on his shoulder. She looked so peaceful, her long lashes brushing her cheeks as she dreamed, her brown locks contrasting on her face perfectly. In times like this, where he was alone in his thoughts, he wondered how he ended up being so lucky. His wife was amazing, she was sweet, kind, elegant and beautiful, and most of all she understood him, she completed him. She was everything he needed to make his life complete.

But looking at her now, reminded him of what he'd lost. Because she looked so damn much like his best friend. They both had those piercing blue eyes, hers being a shade darker as his but still as striking. Their hair was almost the same chocolate brown, they were both so elegant, so light yet powerful. He hated the fact that he couldn't look at his wife the same way since the accident, hated the look she had on her face when he had to look away, the sadness of the truth all too harsh.

The way to the hotel was a blur to Peter. He couldn't help but imagine Neal roaming these streets with Kate on his arm, deciding where to steal next. El would squeeze his hand from time to time as they rode in the cab through Paris but Peter never noticed. Too lost in his grief, the ache of the missing hole his friend left behind feeling even deeper than ever.

'Hon, we're here' the soft voice of his wife pulled him out of his misery and he looked at her. She smiled sadly at the tears in his eyes and rubbed his hand. She hated to see him so in pain, constantly blaming himself for what happened but she truly believed and hoped that this trip would give him closure.

They got out of the car and Peter gathered their luggage and followed Elizabeth to the reception. She asked for their room in her best French, and again Peter imagined Neal doing this. He'd taught El the language and Peter knew he had a beautiful accent.

In the hotel room, Peter's mood didn't change. They had a view of the Eiffel tower and if there was one landmark that made him think of Neal, then it was this one. But nowadays it seemed as if everything reminded him of his lost best friend.

They went through the motions of unpacking silently. Peter was too deep in thought to even think about talking and Elizabeth knew her husband good enough to know when not to disturb him.

The first few days were spent roaming the city. El had mapped out places for them to visit, from museums to markets and parks. They purchased gifts for the people back home, El had insisted Peter entered a bidding war for a Russian spy camera she knew Mozzie would love. They'd bought a small art piece for June and even modelled for a street artist to do a portrait of the two.

And after the first two days, Peter seemed to let go of the last bit of pain. Granted, he still saw Neal's ghost sometimes but his death didn't hurt as much anymore after he walked the streets his friend used to roam. It was going well, Peter was enjoying himself and El was starting to recognize her husband again.

On the seventh day of their trip, they paid a visit to the Louvre. Peter had objected, knowing that setting foot in the famous museum would hurt. As far as he knew, Neal didn't have a direct connection with the museum but he was aware of his and Mozzie's hypothetical plans to rob it. And knowing those plans, and knowing himself, he would most likely scope the place to see if Neal's plan would've worked. (Of course it would, Neal's plans always worked.)

They paid for their ticket quickly. It was still early and since they'd chosen a Tuesday morning, most of the people inside were either students or school classes. They admired the first three rooms, spending time at each painting to look. El chatted happily about the masters and Peter had to fight the urge to think about Neal. It hurt because he knew Neal would have loved it. He would have talked to anyone who would listen about the great masters and everything he knew about them (which was a lot).

As they rounded the corner for the next room, Peter heard it. A loud, booming laugh that he would recognize anywhere. He thought he'd imagined it but Elizabeth had looked up from her pamphlet as well, waiting to see if what she'd heard was real.

And there it was again. The all too familiar sound of his laughter. Only this time it came closer with every step he set in the direction of the hall. He thought it was his imagination playing tricks with him once again, but El seemed to hear it as well.

It couldn't be, could it?

But of course, it could. Because there he was. Standing with his back towards them, laughing at something a pretty woman said to him. He wore an expensive suit, probably a Devore, and he wore one of his damned hats. Peter recognized him instantly, even with his back towards them. He stared at the body of his best friend, full of life until said man turned around.

Their eyes locked and Neal's mouth opened in shock, but no sound came out. The sound of the people chatting around them faded as they stared at each other. Then, after what felt like ages, Neal was the first one to move closer. He walked with grace, a slight jump in his steps as he walked over with his signature smile on his face.

"Peter." He said, smiling. Though Peter could detect the traces of fear and worry behind his eyes. his eyes, the eyes he thought he'd never see again.

There was a storm raging within the agent. Relief, anger, rejection, hurt all fought within him and he stood there, staring at his dead best friend for what felt like minutes. He wanted to punch him. He wanted to hit him. He wanted to arrest him and lock him away so he could never leave them again, but most of all he wanted to hug him. Because he had missed his friend. His dead friend. Who was very much alive.

So that's what he did. He stepped forward, ignoring the pang of hurt that he felt when Neal flinched and wrapped his arms around the younger man.

"Neal." He choked out, barely containing a gasp. Said man stood frozen for a moment before Peter felt his arms wrap around him as well. He felt El's arms wrap around them both and just hugged Neal tighter. A few tears left his eyes.

"Welcome home, Neal." El whispered. And at that moment everything felt complete again. They would talk and be angry at a later moment. Right now was the time to reconnect and enjoy the company of long lost friends.

Title name inspired by Little Mix's song "Only you".