Title: When it's hard to say anything (say goodbye)
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: G
Length: ~1000 words
Note: Contains spoilers for 6.06. The title is adapted from Goodbye by The Melody.
Summary: An alternate ending for the finale.


Neal looked around the White Collar office. For a top secret party, the guest list was extensive: Elizabeth was talking to Diana and Blake by the coffee machine; over at the food table Lauren Cruz and Jones were egging each other on to help themselves to bigger portions of cake; all the junior agents Neal had worked with over the last years were there except for Carlyle who'd moved to Hawaii in 2012 and Johnson who was on maternity leave. Peter, Hughes and Bancroft stood on the mezzanine walkway, looking out across Hughes' former and Peter's current domain. Even June was there at Neal's side. She smiled politely at the agents and winked at Neal when no one was looking. The only one missing was Mozzie.

The mood was triumphant and a little nostalgic. The part where Hughes had removed Neal's anklet for the very last time had been carried out in the dignified privacy of Peter's office, and the speeches had been short. Peter had congratulated the team on taking down the Pink Panthers. Neal himself had only said a few words. None of it seemed real.

"You know, they're not a bad crowd," murmured June. "For Feds."

"Not bad at all." Neal put down his paper cup of cheap champagne as the Burkes approached.

"Come on," said Peter, dangling his car keys. "Your check-in's in forty minutes, and we have traffic to contend with."

Neal kissed June's cheek.

"Goodbye, darling." There was a warm twinkle in her eye. "Don't miss me too much."


*


Neal and Peter were both quiet in the car, leaving it to Elizabeth to fill the silence. She post-mortemed the party and made a few other observations, but as JFK drew near, she too fell silent.

Neal's fingernails were digging into his palm. "You can just drop me off. I'll be fine."

"Nope," said Peter, turning into the parking garage.

There was no point arguing. Peter and Elizabeth stayed at his side through checkout, and then they drifted toward the gate as a group. Neal wondered if he'd have to call airport security to make them let him go.

El was scanning the crowds of travelers. "No Mozzie?"

"He's meeting me in Paris," said Neal. "Had to run an errand in Munich."

"Cashing in a stash?" said Peter, but it was the fond kind of question that didn't demand a real answer.

"I couldn't possibly say," answered Neal, playing the game, sliding easily into the familiar pattern of non-explicit confirmation.

Peter just smiled. Then his lips tightened wistfully. "You know you don't have to go."

"Just till you've rounded up all the Pink Panthers," said Neal. "Until then, I'm officially dead. Better to lay low in Europe than get sighted on Madison Avenue." It was as much an excuse as a reason, and he knew Peter could see his yearning for foreign skies, his restless need to stretch his legs. "Anyway, you'll have your hands full with Burke Junior soon enough."

"Not the same," said Peter, gruff and quiet. "He's not a substitute – and it's going to be a long time before he can teach me anything new about chiaroscuro or bond forgery." He met Neal's eye. "There's always a place for you here."

As if to punctuate the moment, the PA system chimed and informed them that all passengers for Paris, France, should now pass through the security checkpoint.

Silence descended on the three of them again, creating an intimate space despite the hubbub of the airport.

Finally, Elizabeth stepped in and threw her arms around Neal's neck. "Don't forget us," she murmured, clinging to him.

"Never." Neal squeezed her tight, then let her go and turned to face Peter. He raised his chin, standing before his friend as a free man for the first time in years.

Peter's expression was a picture of warmth and approval, and Neal had to move this along or he was going to give in and insist they take him home with them. Forget Paris, forget the Panthers. They could figure out another way. But he had his ticket already. He needed space to find his feet, figure out what came next. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, saw Peter do the same.

"Take care out there," said Peter. "Don't do anything stupid."

"You either. You're a family man now."

A tiny smile curved the corner of Peter's mouth. "I'll be all right."

"I know you will." Neal was rooted to the ugly carpet, unable to move forward or backward. He was grateful when Peter took the initiative and hauled him into a fierce hug.

"So will you," Peter muttered. "You'll be great."

"Peter—" Neal pulled back, swallowing hard. His eyes were stinging.

"I know," said Peter. He gripped Neal's shoulder. "Me too."

Neal nodded jerkily and stepped away, freeing himself. "I'll be back."

"We'll be here." Peter was holding Elizabeth's hand now, his tight grip making Elizabeth winced, but she didn't try to free herself.

"We'll be waiting," she said.

Neal nodded again and walked away while he still could. He could feel their twin gazes warm on his back. After a dozen paces he stopped and turned on his heel. "Oh, one more thing."

Peter's eyebrows quirked as Neal came back to him.

"You dropped your wallet." Neal held it up, keeping his expression bland, and tossed it to him, then dodged safely out of reach of Peter's retaliatory swipe. Elizabeth started laughing helplessly.

Neal hitched his messenger bag over his shoulder and joined the short line for the security scanner.


*


He sat on the plane, picturing their drive home to Brooklyn. Satchmo waiting for them by the door. The two of them on the couch together, Peter's arm around Elizabeth, her head on his shoulder. They had each other.

And he had the world. Paris, Luxembourg, Prague, Barcelona – a whole continent of history and culture to lose himself in.

And later, maybe tomorrow, Peter would open his wallet and find the pager number Neal had slipped behind his credit card, just in case.



END