A/N: This story will pick up after Relapse, and may reference both that and A Way Through The Darkness, I haven't entirely decided yet. I will try not to confuse anyone if you haven't read those yet.

I don't own White Collar or the characters... although I'm sure life would be a little more interesting if I did ;-) Please be kind...re[view]...

Chapter One

Special Agent Peter Burke stood gazing down at the photo of the missing painting, listening to the museum representative drone on and on about the priceless-ness of the item in front of him. He flicked his eyes over at his partner; art-thief turned FBI consultant, Neal Caffrey. Neal was standing with his back towards him; quietly looking out the windows down at the city, feebly leaning on a slender silver tipped black cane. Neal's silence and inattentiveness made Peter question whether he had let Neal come back to work too soon. It had only been six weeks since a sniper's round had nearly killed him. A shiver went down Peter's back, and he tried to push the memory to the back of his mind; dwelling on the past wouldn't help either of them move forward.

"Thank you, Miss Diaz." Peter brought his attention back to the attractive woman in front of him. "We'll be in touch."

Peter took a seat in one of the chairs at the long conference table, silently waiting for the room to clear before addressing his partner.

"I don't get it. People actually call this art?"

"It's a Matisse." Neal's voice was quiet, and he still didn't move.

"It just looks like a bunch of scribbles to me." He smirked a little as he saw Neal finally turn to face him.

"He was one of the leading artists of the 20th Century, Peter." Peter could hear the annoyance in Neal's tone, something that was usually well hidden.

"Neal, if your not ready…"

"Peter…I'm fine." Neal's manner was abrupt as he slowly limped the few steps to the table Peter was sitting at, using his left hand to lean on the back of one of the empty chairs, his right hand tightly gripping the silver handle of the cane.

"Fine, sit down before you pass out." Peter pointed at the chair, noticing the younger man's face was getting pale.

"I…" He started to protest, but quickly decided against it, and gently eased himself down in the chair he had previously been clinging to. He was determined to make it through the rest of the day; he had to prove that he was all right, so that Peter would let him go back to his apartment. Not that he didn't enjoy Elizabeth's cooking, but being stuck with Peter around the clock was wearing on his nerves.

"What are you thinking?" Peter tried to keep his tone casual.

"It was Mrs. White in the library." Neal eased himself back in the chair, keeping his clenched left hand under the table out of sight.

"With the candlestick?"

"No, with the lead pipe."

"So how did she get around security?" Peter hoped focusing on the case would take Neal's mind off of the pain he knew he was still in.

"Not sure." Neal let his gaze drop to the file on the table in front of him, casually flipping through the photos.

"Neal, if you don't figure it out…"

"I know, I know…figure it out or I go back in."

"Neal…that wasn't what I meant." Peter felt a little ashamed, knowing that they had used that threat against Neal all too often in the past.

"Going to have to go see it." Neal kept his eyes on the photos.

"Oh come on, I know you've been there before."

"Out of my radius." Neal looked up; his blue eyes showed a hint of resentment, before quickly cooling off. "It's been a few years."

"Alright. I will let Miss. Diaz know we're coming." Peter saw Neal nod slightly before leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He decided to make the phone call from his office, and quietly stood.

"Peter, make sure to bring a black light." He kept his eyes closed as he heard Peter softly exit the room.

.

Peter stayed a few steps behind Neal, watching him carefully navigate his way through the hallway and into the main gallery. It still pained him to see his partner this way, Neal was normally so confidant and full of life; the last six weeks had been eerily quiet and dull. Peter knew it was hard on Neal, being stuck living with himself and his wife, Elizabeth. He had seen a down turn in Neal's attitude in the last week or so, he had been becoming more irritable, and somnolent. He had hoped the case would give him something positive to focus on, but he was starting to doubt himself, as he noticed that Neal almost seemed to flinch as the cane clicked on the marble floor. He also knew that Neal was going to need a distraction once his physical therapy started in a few days. Neal finally stopped in front of an empty wall, and Peter quietly came up beside him, seeing that he was struggling to keep his normal smiling façade in place. His manner was more aloof than it should have been, standing in the middle of an art gallery.

"You have the light?" Peter quietly nodded in response. "Check the wall."

Peter looked at his partner, slightly confused, but turned the light on, walked closer and swept it over the wall, stopping suddenly when he found a small glowing streak under where the painting had previously hung.

"It was marked." Neal nodded.

"They had an inside man. Check the other paintings."

Peter walked slowly and carefully around the room, checking under each painting for similar marks. He had checked most of two more walls before finding another mark on the wall directly across from the stolen painting. Neal cautiously meandered over, taking the light and moving it up over the painting itself. Peter heard Miss Diaz muffle a scream, and looked at Neal questioningly, as the painting stayed dark under the black light.

"It's a forgery, Peter." Neal saw the confusion still plastered on his partner's face. "The old organic paints glow under black light. New paints are mostly synthetic, so they don't glow."

"So our thieves were stealing the paintings, and replacing them with forgeries? Why?"

"It buys them time to get the originals safely out of the country, before anyone notices anything amiss." Peter noticed that when Neal turned to face the Art Director, his eyes had brightened a bit. "You're going to have to check the whole museum."

"You've seen this before." It was more a statement than a question.

"I may have a certain knowledge of a similar occurrence."

"Neal…" Peter's tone was laced with warning.

"It wasn't me Peter." He caught Peter's glare. "But, what I don't understand, is, the person who supposedly pulled this off before, is thought to be dead."