White Collar Hush Little Baby

A/N: This is completely un-related to my other story, The Return (which I am still working on, I promise!).

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Sara was still technically on maternity leave. But once the initial phase of complete exhaustion had passed, her thoughts kept turning to that missing Pollack, the stolen tiara, the almost-certainly-forged Van Gogh. And even though she'd handed all her ongoing cases over to various co-workers, she said it would drive her crazy to **not** pass her ideas along. And so she had been running in to work every time the baby fell asleep, lately, whispering "I just don't want anyone to think I'm losing my touch," to Neal as she slipped out the door.

Which had been fine, really. Because, up until last week, Neal had been on paternity leave. One of the perks of having a benefits plan, which came along with being an actual employee of the FBI, instead of just a criminal consultant.

But this week he was back at work, and what a week it had been.

Peter had been hoping to ease Neal back into things with a simple case of art theft. By Tuesday, they'd identified their suspect as one Evan Daniels, but they quickly found he had also been a suspect in numerous other cases of home invasion art theft, none of which had led to any charges being filed.

"He's never been caught in possession of stolen property," explained Peter, "so he must be moving it fast."

"He's slippery", said Jones, just as Neal said, "He's good."

"We're better," Diana countered.

So, "We need to catch him in the act, actually fencing the stolen art," concluded Peter.

Except on Wednesday, Diana came down with a bad case of the flu, and starting Thursday, Jones was needed at the courthouse to testify for an inter-agency case they'd helped out with a few months back.

So when word came in from Mozzie that their suspect was holed up in a Midtown apartment, holding over-the-phone auditions for the highest bidder, the FBI promptly got a warrant and bugged the apartment.

And so Thursday night found Peter and Neal hunkered down in the surveillance van, waiting for Daniels to pick a fence and tell the winning bidder where they'd meet to make the sale. If possible, the FBI would get there first and have the place surrounded. But if not, Peter and Neal were in place to follow Daniels to the meet. Either way, they were poised to catch their suspect red-handed.

But first they had to wait. And Peter, Neal, the FBI, and the aspiring fences all just hoped that Daniels would make up his mind quickly.

He didn't.

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The first time Neal nodded off in the van, he woke to the clatter of the pen dropping from his fingers, and to Peter's gentle teasing.

After the second time, Peter tried to send Neal home to sleep.

"Then what if you fall asleep, and he gets away?" Neal shook his head. "No. I just need to stay awake."

So Peter thought for a moment, then asked if Neal had taken any new pictures of Ella, and proceeded to keep the proud father awake and talking with the occasional well-placed question.

Eventually, the sky grew light, but Daniels still hadn't made a move. When Jones appeared at 8am, his testimony having been postponed again, they gratefully fled.

- w – c – w – c – w – c – w – c – w – c -

Neal caught a cab and, running on autopilot by then, he only barely remembered to direct the cabbie to the new apartment he and Sara had recently moved into.

The ride was blessedly short, and Neal arrived home, wanting only to kiss his girlfriend and their daughter before falling into bed for some much-needed sleep.

When Neal walked in the door of their apartment, he wasn't expecting to find Sara, in yesterday's now-wrinkled clothes, shuffling through the living room, baby in her arms. Sara was bobbing slightly as she walked, along their well-worn baby-soothing circuit (around the couch, past the bedrooms, through the kitchen, and back to the living room).

But she stopped dead when she saw him.

"Neal…" It was half sigh, half plea. A moment later, Ella let out a wail, and Neal thought Sara looked about ready to follow suit.

Neal was across the room in a moment, and, after exchanging a brief kiss, he took the crying baby from Sara's arms and continued past her on his own walking, bobbing circuit (the same route as Sara, but counterclockwise).

"She wouldn't stop," explained Sara miserably. "I fed her, changed her, burped her, called the doctor and tried everything he suggested. But as soon as I stopped walking, she started crying again. I've been up all night." Sara was so tired, she didn't even think to sit down on the couch; just stood there in the middle of the carpet.

Sara hung her head and confessed, "I even called Elizabeth. This morning. I just needed…"

Neal looked sharply over his shoulder at her, but continued walking and bobbing, his desire to keep Ella from crying outweighing even his need for sleep. For the moment.

Sara continued, "But you know how she answers the phone when she's in the middle of ten different things that all need her attention?"

"Yeah," agreed Neal as he trudged through the kitchen.

"So I didn't even ask…" Sara's voice trailed off.

"Peter mentioned she had a big event today," Neal added, his feet dragging as he circled around back towards Sara. "And Peter just got home to sleep himself," said Neal, thinking out loud, "Can't ask him to come."

"And June's out-of-town visiting her daughter," said Sara.

"And Jones is in the van, and Diana's out with the flu," Neal concluded. Then stumbled over the edge of the carpet.

He clutched Ella tight as he pitched forward, struggling to regain his balance…and found Sara's hands grasping his shoulders, steadying him. Neal had come full-circle, and they stood facing each other in the middle of the room, slumped with exhaustion, minds spinning in circles tighter than the ones they'd just been walking around their small apartment. And Ella let out another wail.

"Mozzie?" Sara suggested, out of desperation.

"I don't know," said Neal, bouncing Ella weakly in a futile attempt to calm her. "He said No Babysitting. Well, he said only-"

Neal was interrupted by a rhythmic knocking at the door, and he held his breath as the door opened and Mozzie marched in.

"Mozzie's Emergency Babysitting Service, at your, um, service," he announced to Neal and Sara, who had been struck dumb by Mozzie's sudden appearance in answer to their wishes, or possibly by Ella's increasing decibels.

Neal blinked once, twice. "I thought you said no babysitting."

"Of **course** I said no babysitting. I didn't expect you to **listen** to me, though." Mozzie dropped his bulging messenger bag beside the couch, plucked the wailing Ella from Neal's arms, settled her expertly against his shoulder, and started bouncing slightly, muttering, "Ella loves her Uncle Mozzie, doesn't she?"

Neal and Sara just stood there, and as the wails quieted down, Sara asked, "How did you even know?"

"Suits," replied Mozzie darkly. "In stereo." Then suggested, "Shouldn't you be sleeping now?" Mozzie waved one hand towards their bedroom.

"Careful," gasped Neal, "both hands on the baby."

"I know what I'm doing," said Mozzie airily, while he jiggled Ella in one arm, and shooed Neal and Sara out of the room with his other.

"She'll need a bottle," said Sara.

"Mm-hmm," said Mozzie, herding them through their bedroom door.

"The diapers are in the cabinet." Neal pointed over his shoulder.

"Bed," said Mozzie. "Sleep." And he tugged their door mostly closed, then stage-whispered, "Ella and I will be just fine for a few hours. If not, well, you'll hear us…"

Neal brought his arms up around Sara and they sagged against each other for a moment.

"Bed," repeated Neal.

"Sleep," replied Sara. "God, that sounds good."

And they shucked off their wrinkled clothes, threw on pajamas, collapsed into bed…and slept.

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Sara and Neal woke feeling, if not fully rested, then at least vastly better than they had earlier. The sunlight was beginning to creep across the floor from their west-facing windows, and from the living room they could hear the sound of Ella burbling and Mozzie…singing?

_ Hush little baby, don't say a word, Papa's gonna steal you a mockingbird._

Neal hid a grin as they climbed out of bed and into their robes. But before Sara could pull open the door, Neal grabbed her hand, pulled her back to him, and finally managed to properly kiss his girlfriend.

_ And if that mockingbird don't sing, Papa's gonna steal you a diamond ring._

"Mmmf," said Sara, leaning back while still hanging on to the lapels of Neal's robe, "We're going to have to follow up on that one of these days."

"Someday when Mozzie's not right outside the door," promised Neal in a whisper.

"And Ella's not sounding hungry," said Sara.

_ And if that diamond ring turns to brass, Papa's gonna steal you a looking glass._

"What is it with Mozzie and mockingbirds, anyways?" Sara added.

Neal just flashed her a grin, and they walked together out into the living room as Mozzie continued singing to the baby in his lap.

_And if that looking glass gets broke, Papa's gonna steal you a billy goat._

Sara sat down on the couch and pulled a pillow into her lap, and Neal lifted Ella out of Mozzie's arms and blew a raspberry on her belly before handing her off to Sara. Who told the baby in a not quite sing-song voice, "Your Daddy doesn't do that anymore, does he? No, he doesn't."

"Steal billy goats?" replied Mozzie, deliberately obtuse. "Hmph. Well, there never was much of a market for them anyways. Oh!"

Sara had opened her robe to start nursing, and Mozzie scrambled up, suddenly interested in the far wall. "Angora goats, though, that I could work with." Mozzie grabbed his messenger bag and edged towards the exit as he rambled. "Or cashmere. I think I could manipulate the market…" Neal followed him, and at the door said, "Moz. **Thank** you."

Mozzie smiled a little and half-shrugged as he glanced back towards the baby. "Any time, mon frère." And Mozzie was gone.

Neal walked back to his girlfriend and their daughter, leaned over the arm of the couch, and dropped a kiss on the top of Sara's head, then Ella's. "I **don't** do that anymore," he said. Then took a deep breath. "But I would."

Sara looked up sharply. "Neal-"

Neal kept his eyes on Ella. "If there was something our little girl needed, and there wasn't any other way to get it? I'd steal, lie, cheat, con…"

"Neal," Sara stifled a rush of fear and anger, and tried to make her case dispassionately, "There isn't anything Ella needs more than her father, here with her, not in prison, not on the run."

"I know, I know," Neal agreed. Then insisted, "But if there **was**…"

"If there was?" started Sara.

Then she looked down at her baby, and suddenly, all her suppressed fears rose up. Old enemies, kidnappings, car accidents, black-market kidney transplants… All the ways this world might hurt her baby, or take her away.

Sara struggled to push back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, but this time all her old habits failed. She couldn't come up with any new leads on the missing tiara, or the stolen painting. And she was too tired to keep running away to Sterling Bosch, anyways.

She'd always lost the ones she loved, so she had decided years ago that it was easier, safer, not to get attached.

Another old habit, shattered beyond recognition.

Because when she finally let herself acknowledge it, in the wake of the fear came such a wave of love, and a resolve Sara hadn't realized she possessed. That she, too, would do anything to protect their daughter. Steal a Pollack, or a Van Gogh. Or billy goats, or a mockingbird, if that's what was needed.

Not for any other reason. She still was who she was. But for her daughter…?

Sara didn't realized that she had hunched over protectively and hugged Ella closer until Neal touched her shoulder and said, uncertainty in his voice, "Sara, I-"

But Sara cut him off. "If there was," And she reached a hand blindly towards Neal, found his hand (already reaching for hers), and grabbed on. "Then so would I", she said, finally looking up to meet his eyes. "So would I."

_And if that billy goat don't pull, Mama's gonna steal you a cart and bull._

_ And if that cart and bull turns over, Mama's gonna steal you a doggy named Rover._

_ And if that doggy named Rover won't bark. Mama's gonna steal you a horse and cart._

_ And if that horse and cart falls down, you'll still be the sweetest little baby in town._

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A/N2: For those of you unfamiliar with the song, there really is a lullaby called Hush Little Baby. I've seen several variations of the lyrics, but I'm pretty sure Mozzie is the only one who uses the version I've come up with here.


End file.

White Collar, Family