A/N: I got this idea a while ago, whilst visiting the V+A in London. While writing it, it kind of linked itself to another White Collar fic idea I've had. I might go with it an make this multi-chaptered or leave it like this... depends what people think. Anyway, ENJOY!

Quinn wasn't entirely sure why Neal had taken her to the Museum of Modern Art.

She'd known him roughly a month now and, in all that time, Neal Caffrey – "reformed" criminal and FBI consultant in New York's White Collar division – had never given the impression he was one to take a witness out for a simple trip to an art gallery. Even if she was an art student.

"Having fun?" he asked, bumping his elbow with hers and setting her off balance for a moment, caught unaware.

"Hmmm," she replied, too busy looking at the Exquisite Corpses exhibition.

At her lack of reply, Quinn saw Neal sober up, the smile slipping from his face as he stood up straight. He dug his hands in his trouser pockets, bending his head back so he could look at the drawing Quinn was studying. For a moment, they both stood in silence. This was what she liked so much about Neal; unlike everyone else back in the office, Neal appreciated art and was able to have conversations about the subject with her at anytime, anywhere. To be honest, she supposed an art forgery had to appreciate art or there was no other way for them to really copy a painting. At least, that was what Quinn had found during her brief stint as a fine art student at the New York Academy of Art.

Honestly, Quinn wasn't entirely sure how she'd ended up there. All her life, she'd been interested in art, but not enough to follow it for a career. In fact, she'd been all set to head to Yale on their drama course. But after her accident… Something had happened. Something had changed and instead of accepting her place at Yale after graduation, Quinn had taken the place at a college she'd applied to on a whim.

Her parents hadn't liked this, and thus refused to fund the course. For a few months, Quinn had been okay. She'd managed to have saved enough during high school to pay for studio and material costs – not to mention her rent and food – for a few months. She also managed to get herself a job as a barmaid, which helped tide her over. But after a while, the long nights began affecting her school work; she was tired all the time and didn't have enough time to focus on her assignments. Bit by bit, she fell behind until she only had two choices: to quit school and focus on work, or to quit work and focus on school?

The night it happened, Quinn thought she'd made a choice. As she walked back to her dorm at 3am, her coat wrapped tightly around her to keep the December chill out, her mind was set on what she'd do the next day, to get her life back on track. Of course, she never managed to. As soon as the FBI found out she'd been a witness to a gang murder, they instantly moved her away from NYAA and put her in a safe house. Quinn was unable to go to work, or school or anywhere unless she was accompanied by someone.

That was how Neal had taken her under her wing, looking out for her both at the office (which had become a second home to her, as she helped them) and at his flat which he'd insisted be her safe house. While there wasn't really anyone she needed protecting from at the office (apart from FBI Agent Peter Burke and his taxing enquiries), Neal's friend Mozzie often liked to probe Quinn, asking about her life in Ohio before she moved to New York. He called it background searching, while Quinn called it nosey. Neal would laugh when she told him this, but she could tell that he secretly thought the same too. Maybe that was why he'd taken her for a day trip to a popular New York art museum? Somehow, Quinn highly doubted it.

"I don't get these," Neal admitted after a long moment, pulling a face as he turned to her. "I never really saw the appeal of surreal art."

"Me neither," she agreed, "but I like these. They're not really surreal. It's a drawing game. 'Exquisite Corpses'. It's chance-based, while surrealism uses the images for a reason."

"I forgot I was in the presence of an art student," he muttered, before grabbing Quinn's hand. "Come on."

Confused, she let him drag her away – although she did take on last look at Steve Gianakos' She Could Hardly Wait before paying attention to where he was taking her. With her hand in his, Neal led her through the exhibition before coming out into a less crowded room. In fact, it was empty. The first few moments of peace she'd had since they'd left the flat that morning. According to her watch, it was now closing in to 1pm. They'd been on their feet since 9am. Suddenly, Quinn realised how tired she was and was relieved when he let her sit on the bench in the middle of the room, Neal collapsing beside her a moment later.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Quinn was pretty sure they were both just soaking up the silence of the room, enjoying it while it lasted. After taking a few deep breathes, she raised her head and looked around, admiring the landscape paintings as she swung her feet, hoping to ease some of the pain she was feeling in them from walking.

"Now, Van Gogh I get."

Quinn turned at the sound of Neal's voice, frowning. He saw and nodded across the room, towards a painting hanging on the wall in front of them. When she saw it, she wasn't sure why she hadn't noticed it before. Not only because it was one of the artist's most famous pieces, but also because the blue palette of the painting stood out against the greens of the other landscapes.

"It was all about mark making for him," she agreed.

"Plus he always seized an opportunity," Neal added. "Just like you should."

She frowned, confused – although she presumed this was the reason for the trip. "Neal, I don't – "

"Just hear me out," he told her and, with a sigh, Quinn fell silent so he could continue with whatever he wanted to say. "You're an art student, Q – well, was. And from the work I've seen that you've done for your course, and the odd things you've been doing recently, you're damn good at it. After this whole mess is sorted out, I really think you should go back to school."

Despite herself, Quinn laughed. "Even if it was possible for me to catch-up, I've got no money, Neal."

"I'm aware of that, and I'm aware of a way to get you some."

Knowing full well she was sat beside a conman, she couldn't stop herself giving into curiosity and asking, "How?"

A look of excitement flashed in his eyes before Neal declared, "You have to swear that you're in, no matter what, okay? You have to do that before I tell you. Or else you might back out and we can't have a rogue person who knows the plan."

"Neal," Quinn warned, just wanting to know.

"Swear first."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine. I'm in. What do I have to do?"

With a little smirk, Neal nodded towards the Van Gogh painting.

Quinn frowned. "What?"

He was silent for a moment, before realising she hadn't worked it out and sighing as he leant forwards, his breath hot on her ear as he whispered, "We're going to steal The Starry Night."

"WHAT?"

Neal grabbed her as she leant back, fast, in shock, pulling her back close so he could continue murmuring to her and only her, "Relax. The museum will get it back."

"Neal, I'm not – "

"Don't think of it as stealing; more… borrowing."

At this, Quinn frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

Neal released a breath, as if thankful he'd managed to calm her down before admitting, "I know people who want to buy the painting. So we're going to take the painting so you can forge it for them. Then we'll return the painting, saying we found it god knows where – we'll think of that later – and claim the reward money."

She bit her lip, sitting back as she thought about it. Of course, the idea was stupid but Neal had not only done this trick before – he'd gotten away scott-free after doing it. He knew what he was doing, but there was always the risk… But right now, considering the state of her life, did the risk outweigh the benefits?

Finally, Quinn took a deep breath. "It doesn't matter whether I want to do this or not, does it? I agreed so now I have to, right?"

"It's either that, or face being in the awkward position of knowing but not knowing," he told her, pulling out an apple from her bag before smirking. "It's a cruel world, Q."

"Tell me about it," she muttered, not fully aware of what she'd let herself into.

One thing she did know, though: with Neal by her side, there was little that could get to her.