Brooklyn, Burke residence. Tuesday evening. June 15, 2004.

For once everyone in the White Collar team – even Peter – left work early. The reason for their early departure was to attend a party at the Burkes' townhouse. The weather had cooperated, and they left the front and back doors wide open to a sunny, mild evening. There was just enough breeze to keep the bugs away as Peter Burke grilled food on the back porch. Elizabeth Burke was in the kitchen, handing out beers, pouring sangria, and laughing with Peter's second-in-command, Agent Tricia Wiese. More agents and some of their significant others had settled on chairs or on the front stoop to eat and chat.

When he first joined the team as a consultant, Neal Caffrey felt like the odd man out. Peter had warned him it wouldn't be easy, and there had certainly been ups and downs, but six months into working for the FBI, Neal had to admit that Peter's instincts had been right: Neal did have a talent for this work, and he enjoyed it.

Satchmo, the Burkes' yellow Labrador, wandered from guest to guest, making friends. But he always gravitated back to Neal, as if the dog sensed Neal was part of the family. Back in December, when Neal decided to help Peter capture a violent criminal and Peter in turn decided to recruit Neal, a feverish Neal had jokingly called the agent Dad. He truly did think of Peter as a father figure now, and Peter acknowledged the sentiment by calling Neal Son on occasion.

On a day like today it was easy to focus on the positive aspects of Neal's life. For the next few hours, he didn't have to worry about how his landlady was adjusting to life as a widow. He didn't have to think about how the man who wanted him dead was still evading capture. He didn't have to think about his cousin Henry, a loose cannon who was likely getting into trouble that would involve Neal eventually. He didn't have to figure out how on earth he was going to –

Peter's voice broke into his thoughts. "Neal, I'm running out of supplies here." Peter gestured toward the empty platter beside him. All of the burgers, brats and portobello mushrooms were either on the grill or on guests' plates.

"I got it." Neal walked to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator for the next platter. With the speed and dexterity of a former cat burglar, he had the new platter at Peter's side in moments without bumping into anyone. Then he handed two hot-off-the grill burgers to guests and directed them to the condiments.

Their host transferred the food to the grill. "How's it going inside? We didn't run out of beer, did we? I wasn't sure if the team would go for that other stuff."

Elizabeth had been wise to put Peter in charge of the grill, where he'd be busy and forced to interact with guests. Otherwise he'd obsess about his team invading his home. "Everything's fine," Neal said, "but I think you have a remodeling project in your future. Elizabeth and Tricia were suggesting the wall between the kitchen and dining room should come down."

"I could see that. Fortunately we have construction experts and architects in the Burke family."

Reese Hughes stepped to the doorway between the house and patio and said, "Everyone, if I could have your attention for a moment." People shushed one another and conversations died down so they could hear Peter's boss. "It was exactly six months ago today that Peter stepped into the lead role of the White Collar Division. We've had big wins, and faced a few challenges along the way. Our case closure rate has risen to ninety percent, which is one of the highest in the country. I want to take this moment to acknowledge the work this team has done, and the leadership Agent Peter Burke has provided." He raised his glass of sangria. "To Peter!"

The other guests raised their glasses and bottles. "To Peter!" they echoed.

###

"Double fisting it?"

Neal looked up from gathering empty beer bottles. "Mrs. Hughes. I didn't have a chance to introduce myself earlier. I'm Neal Caffrey."

"Yes, Reese has mentioned you. I'm Ilsa." She was slim, like her husband, with blond hair. "Let me help you with those." She grabbed more bottles. "I assume you know where you're going?"

"Yes, ma'am." Neal led the way outside. "Is it true you're part of the team that prosecuted Martha Stewart?"

"That's right. And if I hear one more 'It's a good thing' joke I can't be held responsible for what I do." She dropped her bottles in the recycle bin. "Ms. Stewart should be sentenced next month, and then I'm hoping for a nice, low-profile case."

Neal dropped more bottles in the bin and then straightened to ask, "Do your cases ever overlap with your husband's?"

"Frequently enough that we try not to talk shop at home. I've considered doing some consulting with the Bureau, actually. I thought it might be a way to step down from the hours I have now in the Federal Prosecutor's Office, without retiring altogether. How do you like it?"

"Consulting?" Neal leaned against the fence, hands in his pockets. "It's been great. It's changed my life in more ways than I can count."

"So it really is..." she trailed off and smirked.

Neal chuckled. "Yeah, it's a good thing."

###

Heading back inside, Neal caught Reese Hughes' eyes. Neal had the feeling Hughes had something to tell him. There was a chance that it was good news, that maybe there was a way –

"Neal? Mrs. Burke said you could point me in the right direction."

Neal turned to see Travis Miller. He was an electronics expert, someone who specialized in the tools used in surveillance. Since Neal did his best to avoid assignments in the van, they hadn't spent much time together. The guy seemed nice enough, in a geeky kind of way. "Sure. What are you looking for?"

"Well, I asked why there wasn't any music," Travis said with a slight Texas drawl. "This party's too quiet, you know?"

Neal agreed. Like all of the Caffreys he'd met since reconnecting with his mother's family, he loved music and missed its presence tonight. He almost wished he'd brought his guitar. "How can I help?"

"A co-conspirator. Excellent. She said the speakers won't accept input from the stereo while the TV is on." Travis gestured toward the TV that was silently showing a baseball game.

Neal raised a brow. "That's what Elizabeth said?"

"That was the gist of it. I'm sure I can get us some tunes while leaving the TV on for the baseball fanatics, if you can point me to the audio equipment." He rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Let me at it."

Soon Travis was on his hands and knees, inspecting the Burkes' electronics and impersonating the Wicked Witch of the West. "Come here, my pretty."

Neal shook his head. "Now you're scaring me."

Travis looked up, bumping noses with a curious Satchmo. "Watch out, or I'll get you and your little dog, too."

"C'mon, Satch." Neal reached down to distract the dog by scratching his ears. "We aren't appreciated here. Let the man work his magic in peace." He turned around, once more intending to get a moment with Hughes, when he saw the front door open. To his surprise, in walked Clinton Jones. That settled it. Hughes could wait.

###

Peter smiled when he saw Jones arrive. Then he saw Neal make a beeline for the agent and frowned. Since no one had asked for anything in the last several minutes, Peter made an executive decision to abandon the grill. He reached Jones seconds after Neal. "Thanks for dropping by. We weren't sure if you'd be able to make it. How was the flight?" Peter asked, interrupting whatever Neal was about to say.

Jones looked grateful for the interruption. "We landed at LaGuardia," he said.

"Sorry about that," said Peter, aware that JFK was considered vastly superior as an airport. "The Bureau always pushes us to the cheapest flights. Everyone's going to be glad to see you again. I'm sure you're eager to get home, after living out of a suitcase all this time."

Other than Neal, Jones was the youngest member of Peter's team, but he showed great promise. That's why he'd been assigned to partner with Winston-Winslow on an investigation into one of the company's former employees in Baltimore. Robert Winslow had aided and abetted blackmailers, bribed a member of Peter's team, and attempted to arrange a murder. He'd tried to have Neal killed. Twice.

Thus Neal was excluded from this case. As an intended victim and as the best friend of Robert's son, Neal was too close to be objective. But that wouldn't stop him from pelting Jones with questions about the case, even though Jones was supposed to report his findings only to Peter and Hughes. They would decide what could be shared with others. "You need a drink?" Peter asked Jones. "There's beer in the kitchen."

"I could go for a beer." Jones took a step toward the kitchen, but Peter stopped him.

"Neal, grab a beer for Jones," Peter said, pushing Jones toward the sofa. "Let him get a chance to relax." As he expected, by the time Neal returned, Jones was surrounded by agents welcoming him back. Neal managed to maneuver through the crowd to deliver Jones' drink, but there would be no chance to have a private chat, especially when music started blaring.

"Sorry," said Travis when Peter sent a startled glance in his direction. He turned the music down slightly, then joined the throng around Jones.

Neal looked up at Peter and rolled his eyes. Peter gestured to follow him, and led the way to the back porch, which was currently deserted and quieter than the house. "Listen," Peter said, "I get it. In your shoes, I'd want to find out what Jones knows, too. But you're putting him in a tough position. He can't talk to you about the case. I promise, if we get any indication that Robert is in town or planning another attempt on your life, you'll be the first to know."

"You think it's Robert I want to ask him about?" Neal sounded surprised.

Peter caught on immediately. Robert's son – Neal's cousin and best friend – had been distraught back in March when they'd learned that Robert was the person behind the attempts on Neal's life. Also an employee of the investigation and security firm Winston-Winslow, Henry Winslow was prohibited from joining the hunt for his father but had taken a leave of absence, and Peter suspected Henry was searching on his own. "When's the last time you heard from Henry?"

Neal started pacing. "It's been over a month since we've spoken. About once a week I get a postcard. He won't even text, in case anyone's trying to track him. I thought he'd be the first person I'd tell about Columbia, after you and Elizabeth. And then there was Memorial Day." He stopped and ran his hands through his hair. "I went to Byron's grave with June and her daughters, and after being stoic all this time, June really lost it. She was sobbing all the way home. Normally I'd ask Henry how to handle it, if I could just talk to him."

Peter patted the kid's back. "You can always talk to me about that stuff, you know."

"It isn't really your area. Henry..." Neal shrugged.

Peter nodded. Henry had a master's degree in psychology which certainly helped when discussing the emotional pitfalls of life, and he had so much in common with Neal the kid sometimes referred to Henry as an "alternate me" – someone Neal might have been if his father hadn't gone to prison. Henry thought of himself as Neal's big brother and had a protective streak. But Henry was struggling to cope right now and wasn't able to provide the support he had in the past. "Well, if not me, then El," Peter said. "We're here for you, you know."

###

When Neal returned to the living room, Hughes and his wife had already left. So much for finding out if the man had news for him. Neal would have to track him down at the office. Once the joy of being accepted into the graduate program at Columbia no longer consumed Neal, the challenges started to present themselves. One of those challenges was how to pay his tuition. Peter had mentioned that the FBI sometimes paid for a degree that was relevant to an agent's role. A dual masters in visual arts and art history was certainly relevant to Neal's job in White Collar, but he wasn't an agent. Last week Hughes had promised to check on whether Neal could qualify for that particular benefit.

Neal had also looked into student loans, but they came with challenges of their own. He only had a few months of legal work history on his credit record. Most students without work history had parents who acted as guarantors for the loan. It was one thing to think of Peter as a father. It was another to ask for that kind of commitment. And the Burkes were talking about taking out a loan for Elizabeth's new business. They couldn't take on responsibility for another loan at the same time, even if Neal had every intention of making the payments himself.

Then there were the Caffreys. Either his aunt Noelle or his grandparents could afford to co-sign a loan, but he couldn't ask that of people he'd just met. The last thing he wanted was for them to think his main interest in them was their money.

To think only a few years ago he'd taken out nearly a dozen student loans for schools he'd never attended, as part of a fraud he'd dreamt up. But that money was long gone now, mostly used to fund even bigger frauds and schemes. The problem was, getting those loans had required lying. As an employee of the FBI, he couldn't get away with lying on financial documents anymore, and he had learned enough to realize that telling the truth wouldn't get him what he needed.

"You're awfully quiet." Elizabeth held a glass of sangria out to him.

Neal took it and drank as he considered his response. Finally he said, "I'm enjoying the music. I didn't realize your tastes were so eclectic."

She grinned. "Believe it or not, in high school all I listened to was Top 40. Then at UMass, my first roommate worked at the college radio station. She got me listening to a broader range artists and music styles I'd never heard of. Seeking out the new and different became a hobby. And speaking of college, we could have used this party to celebrate your acceptance into Columbia, along with Peter's anniversary as the team lead. But he said you didn't want to tell anyone yet?"

Neal shrugged. "Tonight should be about Peter. And I'm not ready to tell the team." Wanting to change the subject, he added, "I know tonight was the exact six-month anniversary, but I'm surprised you didn't wait until the weekend to hold the party. Wouldn't that have been easier?"

"Saturday wouldn't work for Reese, and I really wanted him to be here."

"What about Sunday?"

"No, we couldn't hold it on Father's Day." El watched him like a hawk.

Neal cleared his throat. He hadn't realized that was this weekend. He couldn't remember ever celebrating Father's Day, and he rarely paid attention to it. But now, with Peter... He drank the rest of his sangria. "Do you think Peter would like to do something?"

"I think he would love to spend time with you on Father's Day." She placed a hand on his arm. "It doesn't have to be a big deal. I took the liberty of getting three tickets for the Yankees game that afternoon, and maybe we could go out for dinner after. Something casual. I haven't said anything to him about it, so there's no pressure if you have other plans or don't want to join us."

It took Neal a moment to wrap his head around the idea. He'd never expected to have this. It was thrilling and frightening. "Yeah, sure. Tell me what time to be here."

###

Jones was the next to leave the party, tired from his travels and eager to unpack. The rest of team followed shortly, aware they needed to be at work the next day in time for the morning briefing. Neal stayed the longest, offering to help to clean up, but El shooed him out, saying he was a guest. Soon Peter settled on the sofa beside his wife. She gave him a few minutes to unwind, and then said, "Well?"

"Hmm?" Peter stopped staring at the floor and looked up. "Oh. Yeah, it went all right, didn't it? Everyone showed up, we didn't run out of food, and they had a good time."

El laid her head on his shoulder. "Told you so."

"Mm-hmm."

"We should do this again."

"Mm-hmm."

"How about next month?"

"Mm-hmm." Peter's mind caught up and he paused. "What?"

El sat up straight to face him. "Just checking to see if you were paying attention. Is something wrong? You seem preoccupied."

"I'm concerned about Neal. When it comes to him, it's like I have this radar, you know? It starts pinging when he's getting in trouble."

"Is it pinging now?"

"No, not yet. But something feels off, and I keep expecting to hear the pings any minute. I think there's something he isn't telling me, something I should know about or it's gonna bite me."

El gave him a mysterious smile. "If that feeling started this evening, I may know why. And you have nothing to worry about."

"Is it related to getting into Columbia? Because I've been wondering why he doesn't want to tell the team about it."

Her smile faded. "No. Sorry, hon. That puzzles me, too."

Peter considered the events of the evening, trying to put his finger on what had caused this sense of unease. "But it isn't work-related," he said. "Not if you know about it and I don't. Is it —"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Peter," she interrupted. "You're going to hound him about this tomorrow, aren't you? Can't you let him have a secret?"

"The thing is, Neal's secrets tend to be explosive."

"Can you turn off the FBI agent, just for a few days, if I tell you there's nothing to worry about?"

"A few days? What's happening in a few days?" That sent Peter's mind down new paths, but he caught El's expression and stopped. "Turning off the FBI agent takes time. Anyway, what would I be instead?"

"A dad, Peter." She studied him and then shook her head. "I think FBI agents aren't able to appreciate surprises. Fine. Sunday is Father's Day, and Neal and I are conspiring to celebrate. Can we at least leave the details a secret?"

Peter nodded, finding he didn't trust his voice. He hadn't expected this, and was moved that Neal wanted to spend Father's Day with him. A wave of warmth carried him through the rest of the evening, distracting him from his earlier concerns.

In fact, his radar shut down entirely for the next week. And that might not have been a good thing.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Thanks to my beta and co-writer in this AU: Silbrith. She describes Neal's acceptance into Columbia in a fun story called Complications which introduced the concept of Peter's radar.

In prior stories I've lifted character names from Jane Austen novels. This time, I'll also be pulling from Casablanca.

This story was originally posted on AO3 and FanFiction. I've edited it for Wattpad to break the chapters into smaller pieces. In total it will be 66 chapters here, and my plan is to post multiple chapters at a time, once a week.