Written: 24.07.09

Words: 528

My 1st White Collar fanfic!

“Neal?”

Peter hesitated as the door creaked open with the force of his knock. He frowned and brought his watch up to his face, he should be home by now.

He waited only another moment before gently pushing the door open wider and peering inside. Neal was one to keep things to himself, of course, but not even he would have enough energy to undertake extra curriculars after that 14-hour stakeout.

Peter walked a few steps into his CI’s loft, brows staying pulled down in puzzlement as he spotted the man sitting at the dining room table, arms stained with charcoal up to the elbows, gently cradling a giant sketchbook.

“Didn’t you hear me knock?” Peter closed the distance quickly, craning his neck around the back of the chair to catch a glimpse of the sketchbook. Peter couldn’t help himself from shaking his head as he spotted the work, it was a portrait of Caffrey’s face, done up in swirls of different blues and purples.

Flawless as far as Peter could tell.

“I thought you didn’t have any original works?” Peter raised an eyebrow as he came around the side of the table, tossing his jacket onto the back of the closest empty chair.

Only then did Neal jump, and attempt to close the sketchbook. His semi-wild eyes found Peter, and once his brain registered what was happening, his shoulders slumped in relief and his hands relaxed. He swallowed hard, eyes moving back to the masterpiece in his hands, “I-It isn’t mine.”

Peter eased himself down onto the corner of the table, being sure to keep his tone careful, “Okay… who’s is it?”

“Kate’s.”

The word hung in the air between them for a long minute.

Peter did his best to keep the surprise he felt off his face. It’d been… what? Two or three years since the plane explosion. He glanced down to his CI – who wasn’t doing as good of a job at blinking back his tears as he thought – and cleared his throat, “How?”

Neal let out an exasperated sigh and gave a half-shrug, slightly lifting the book off the table, thumb tapping the signature and date in the bottom corner, “I was just digging through some of my old sketchbooks, trying to find one I could use and…” He slightly shook his head, fingers subconsciously tightening around the edges of the work, “It’s dated two weeks after I went to prison.”

Peter nodded thoughtfully – despite being out of Caffrey’s eyeline. “Your visitation rights were still getting ironed out, then.” He leaned in, taking a closer look at the art, “She’d called the prison every day at 9am like clockwork. Must’ve finally assumed she wouldn’t get to see you in person.”

Neal’s thumb gently swiped over her signature, eyes roaming over the image, “The yellowing of the page indicates it was left open in the sun.”

“I bet she had it open facing the bed, so you’d be the first thing she saw every morning.” At the look, Peter shrugged, “It’s what I do when El goes out of town.”

Neal turned semi-hopeful eyes back to the masterpiece, “Kate loved the classics.”

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