Title: First Contact
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: G
Length: 630 words
Note: Post-series. Thanks to mergatrude for read-through.
Summary: Schmoopiest of gen schmoop.


From the moment Neal sent up the Bat Signal to let Moz and Peter know he was still alive, he checked his phone obsessively. He wasn’t sure what they’d do, or how angry they’d be, but he’d sent Moz enough information to find him electronically, if not physically. Surely it was only a matter of time before he reached out.

It took a nerve-wracking eighteen hours and twelve minutes before a Skype message popped up from “Haversham,” asking to be added as a contact. Neal was walking along the Seine at the time, trying not to fret. It was mid-afternoon. He sat on an empty park bench and accepted the request, and the next second, a call was coming through.

Palms sweating, heart thundering, he answered, but there was no video—just the default icon. “Moz?”

“Hi, Neal.” The voice greeting him was deep and warm and smiling, and definitely not Mozzie.

Neal blinked hard, wondering if his ears were playing tricks on him. “Peter?”

“Yeah.” The video feed came on, Peter sitting at his dining table, in the familiar surroundings of his and Elizabeth’s house, beaming at him.

Neal shook his head in wonder. “Moz gave you my email address? Do I want to know how you swung that?”

“Let’s just say he and I have more in common than we did a year ago,” said Peter, with a wry tilt to his mouth. He looked tired, but happy. “He’s here, waiting to talk to you. The whole gang is here.”

“Like old times.” Neal couldn’t help laughing, partly out of relief, partly because this was so reminiscent of the time Peter acquired the emergency pager number from Ellen and tricked Neal into calling him from Cape Verde.

Peter must have been thinking the same thing. “Yeah, like old times,” he said. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“You too,” said Neal. “You know I didn’t have a choice—”

Peter cut him off. “Let’s not get into that now. There’s someone I want you to meet.” The video footage swung wildly, past Jones, Diana and a little kid who must be Theo on the couch, past June in an armchair, and down to a play mat on the floor where El and Mozzie were sitting with a baby, all of them waving.

“Mon ami,” said Mozzie. “Je suis super énervé avec toi.” But his smile belied the words.

“Hi, Neal.” Elizabeth hoisted the baby into her lap. “This is Neal.”

“Wow,” said Neal, feeling like all the air had been punched out of him. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” said Elizabeth, smiling.

“I don’t know what to say.” If he’d ever wondered if they’d forgotten him and moved on, here was his answer.

“Now we both have namesakes,” said Moz.

Elizabeth let the baby grip her finger and looked at the screen. “Neal wants to ask you something.”

“What is it?” He wanted to reach through the phone and touch them, hug Moz, and Peter and El, and meet their son for real. See Peter be a father. He’d already missed so much.

“Well, he’s nine months old now,” Elizabeth was saying. “He wants to know if you’ll come to his first birthday party. Maybe do some magic tricks?”

Three months. Three months to decide whether to dismantle his life here and go home or simply return for a brief vacation. Three months—it was the blink of an eye, it was an eternity.

“I’d be honored,” he said around the lump in his throat.

“Good answer.” El looked pleased.

The video blurred, and it was Peter again. “I’m going to hold you to that,” he said seriously.

“You won’t have to,” said Neal. The decision was already made. He was going home.


END