Fanfic Short Stories

White Collar: The White Collar Journal

Summary: Reporter AU. Peter is a reporter for the esteemed White Collar Journal. Neal is a podcaster for a rival publication with dubious ethics. Can he convince Peter to collaborate on an investigation?

Yes, of course he can. It's just a question of how he does it, and how much I can mirror the White Collar pilot in the process.

A/N: Written for the Tumblr AU Roulette challenge. References to characters in later seasons, but no spoilers beyond the pilot.

Peter Burke strode out of the Adler Financials office tower feeling on top of the world. The myth of Vincent Adler's rise to fame and fortune was well-known, but Peter had seen the actual financial statements. He'd asked the hard questions. After a month of investigations, he was going to expose the underlying...

He lost his train of thought when he caught sight of Neal Caffrey. Neal waved and walked over to Peter. "Have a sucker," Neal said, pulling a green lollipop from a pocket of his retro suit jacket.

"How many?" Peter asked. Neal worked for the Consumer Cheat Codes Chronicle, known as C4, which rated companies on a scale of 0 of 5 suckers. The more suckers, the more they considered you a sucker for using the company's services.

"Adler Financials rates a five," Neal said. "Check out my podcast. It goes live in," he paused to check the time on his phone, "fifteen minutes."

Peter didn't groan, at least not out loud. He'd need at least a day to complete his article — an in-depth analysis of what Adler Financials was doing right, and what they were doing wrong. Scooped again by the self-designated "cheaters" at C4.

"You could be a real journalist, you know," Peter said, not for the first time. As much as he disliked C4, he admired Neal's ability to gather information. His podcasts were the best feature of the publication, which otherwise veered dangerously toward conspiracy theories.

Instead of replying with one of his usual witty rejoinders, Neal said, "We should talk. Let me buy you a drink."

It was such a shock that Peter didn't argue. He should have said he had an article to write. Or that he didn't drink while he was on the clock. But he was too curious to object.

###

Neal was greeted with a chorus of "Fedora Man!" when he entered the bar. He was well-known as the fedora-wearing investigator from C4. He smiled at the waitress who insisted his glass of wine was on the house because he'd saved several members of the staff a "shit ton of money" thanks to a podcast episode with tips on how to avoid being overcharged at a local pharmacy chain.

Across the table from him, Peter ordered a beer. Peter Burke was an old-school reporter at the White Collar Journal — required reading for CEOs and MBA students across the U.S. If you wanted the story behind a successful product launch, or a detailed analysis of a colossal business failure, you read Peter's column.

The WCJ was too stuffy for Neal's tastes, but he could appreciate Peter's work. The man brought a tenacity and a sense of fairness to his articles that reminded Neal of his own boss. Peter would probably hate to be compared to Mozzie — who ran C4 — but they both adhered to a personal code of honor.

"I don't get it," Peter said after the waitress delivered their drinks. "It's not like you try to hide who you are. The Fedora Man podcast makes your voice recognizable, and you wear that ridiculous hat everywhere you go. How do you get companies to spill their dirty secrets when they know you're a reporter?"

Neal smiled. "I want to be recognized. Companies that take advantage of their customers tend to take advantage of their staff, too. You talk to CEOs. I talk to secretaries and IT help desk teams and the people who work the night shift at the corner store. They see Fedora Man as a modern-day Robin Hood."

Peter nodded. "They're happy to sell out the boss. But don't they worry that they'll lose their jobs? How many companies have gone out of business after you profiled them?"

"Less than you'd think," Neal said. "Usually a podcast leads to an improvement in policies instead of a closure, and that brings customers back. Sometimes we even let a company hear the podcast before we air it and give them a few days to make changes, and we'll give them credit for that."

"It's a little too close to blackmail," Peter groused.

Neal repeated the justification that Mozzie had given when they first started working together. "If that's what it takes to get companies to do the bare minimum, then that says more about corporate greed than it does about my journalistic ethics."

Peter paused to think about that instead of answering immediately, which Neal took as a good sign. "If you don't want to argue journalist ethics, what do you want to talk about?" Peter asked.

"There's someone I want to investigate, but he's not a corporate type. He's a politician."

"Not C4's area," Peter said.

"Exactly. But guilty of the same kinds of things we cover, like taking advantage of the public to line his own pockets. My boss won't touch it. In his opinion all politicians are crooks, so he won't waste his resources on any of them."

"But WCJ does cover politics."

"You have the purview, and I have the insider knowledge. We'd make a great team on this," Neal said. As soon as he saw Peter's expression, he knew he'd pushed too hard, too fast.

"My team members are my colleagues at WCJ. I don't partner with other publications," Peter insisted. "Especially not podcasters from C4." He stood up.

Neal grabbed a pen and scribbled a name on a cocktail napkin. "At least think it over. Just promise to meet me back here in a week." He gave his most winning smile. "A meeting. That's all I'm asking for." Then he stuffed the napkin into Peter's hand, and he slid out of the booth, leaving the bar before Peter could answer.

###

Peter noticed at least half a dozen garbage receptacles on his walk back to his office. He was tempted to toss the napkin into one of them, rather than read it. But instead he carried it to his desk and finally unfolded it. It contained a name that Peter knew all too well.

Terrence Pratt.

A U.S. Senator. That was big. Massive. It was a story that could take Peter's career to the next level.

But he'd seen Neal's expression. It wasn't the cunning look of a reporter on the trail of a major story. No, he'd seen this look before. Whatever Pratt had done, it had affected Neal or someone close to him personally. The kid wanted more than a story. He wanted revenge. That raised all kinds of red flags.

But Terrence Pratt. He'd been on Peter's radar for a while. Hell, the man was on the WCJ's top-ten list of people they wanted to profile if they could get a reliable source to confirm their suspicions.

Peter sat down and started making a list of conditions — everything Neal would have to agree to before Peter would work with him.

###

A week later, Neal waited in the same booth, a glass of wine in front of him, and a bottle of beer on the other side. He felt a sense of relief when Peter slid into the booth, and he didn't let it show. "I knew you couldn't resist," Neal claimed, his smile full of bravado.

Peter unfolded a sheet of paper and slid it across the table. "Here's how this is going to work. You'll join my team temporarily as a consultant. If — and I'll repeat that for emphasis — if we publish a story, you'll get credit for your contribution."

Neal glanced at the list of stipulations. Some were annoying, but they weren't unexpected. "You won't regret it," he promised.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll regret it," Peter replied. "But you're right. It's worth it to bring down a corrupt giant. And it's just this one time. After we finish this investigation, we'll go our separate ways and never collaborate again."

And every year, on the anniversary of that agreement, they met at the same bar and laughed at how very wrong Peter had been.