A/N: A short fan fic about life, truth, and, of course, Neal. Done in short, fast drabble-like installments for quick updating and easy reading. The entire thing sums up to be a oneshot, just in multiple short chapters :) A just-for-fun piece, to see Neal wobble on his pedestal a bit ;) Hope you guys enjoy!
Disclaimer: If I owned White Collar, would I be here? I think not :) I only own the original character Isabelle Bravo, not, unfortunately, Neal or Peter or any of the other characters :)
Painted Eyes
1.
"That's her?"
Peter sighed. "That's her," he confirmed, his usually gruff voice worn down with exhaustion. "Our secretive Painted Eyes-forger. Had us running after her around New York before we finally caught her in Chinatown. And we wouldn't have, either, if Lauren hadn't noticed that old Chinese shopkeepers aren't supposed to have green eyes."
Neal chuckled as he slipped his hands into his pockets and casually observed the extremely young, girlish figure sitting in the interrogation room, her face a perfect mask of cold, removed indifference, her green eyes flashing sullenly, a small smirk playing across his lips. Peter shot him a suspicious look. "Don't be getting any ideas," he said shortly. "That girl is a convicted felon."
Neal raised his eyebrows just as Peter realized how stupid that must have sounded. "Well—I—still," he snapped. "You know what I mean."
Neal grinned before turning back to the glass. It had taken them nearly three months to track down and capture the elusive forger of the Painted Eyes portrait that had been stolen from the Met, and now that they had, well, Neal wasn't sure what to think. The ID that Peter, Lauren and Jones had lifted off of her when she'd first been arrested identified her as Isabelle Bravo, 26 years old, but the severe-looking, green-eyed girl sitting on the other side of the glass couldn't be older than 20. In fact, Neal mused, she could have passed for an 18-year-old, fresh out of high school. He couldn't help smiling to himself. This should be a breeze.
Peter had a wary look of warning on his face as he held out the inch-thick file. "I'm letting you handle this one, Neal, because she's young and female, but you give me one reason—"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you'll pull me off the case and never let me interrogate anybody else ever again." Neal grabbed the file and flipped quickly through it before glancing back up at Peter. "Did you say young and female?" Instantly, there it was, the old, infamous self-assured Caffrey charm. "That sounds right up my alley."
