I had to make this plot bunny stop hopping around in my head before going on with "Forged Smile". The idea for that story came from a discussion with my beta canadianscanget, who didn't only help me on this one but really inspired me to write it. Thank you so, so much! Also thanks to liebedero, my second beta who distracted me from writing with Jazz. Good thing for me, I guess ^^

Disclaimer: White Collar doesn't belong to me and I don't make any profit out of this. The "Girl with the Pearl Earring" is a beauty of its own, but also that one – not mine.

I hope you like this one, enjoy and review please!

Peter Burke knew that it was unfair to feel the way he did, but he couldn't really help it. Every time his CI was late or didn't pick up his phone, Peter expected him to be on the run. June's dog Bugsy had been living proof that the tracking anklet was not necessarily the ultimate wisdom. It wasn't a question of trust or doubt, Peter knew that Neal was a good guy. But being a conman was not just a bad habit for Neal, it was an essential part of his personality - it was his means to escape the dullness the world offered him, his entertainment, his luxury. Neal reveled in the con, until it became as natural as the act of breathing. Unfortunately, so natural Neal never stopped to consider the final outcome. By rights Peter's couldn't avoid his own nature. Neal was Peter's partner, true, and most of the time even more than that, a friend. However, that didn't mean the agent had any illusions about the con artist. He felt guilty about doubting Neal, but damn it, he knew he had every reason to be suspicious.

It was strange for Peter to be welcomed in by June herself. But after all, he usually didn't tend to visit Neal after business hours. Neal's landlady offered him a warm smile.

"Peter, how nice to see you. But I didn't expect you… Neal told me he wasn't going to celebrate."

"Celebrate?"

There was a slight reproach in June's look when she frowned.

"Well, yes… It's his birthday."

Peter put his hands to his hips.

"Jesus, I completely forgot… May I come in?"

June stepped back and let him in. He took the stairs to Neal's apartment quickly, but stopped at the door. Peter already knew that this was going to be unpleasant. But he deserved that. What was it with him and anniversaries? Peter knocked, hoping that an apology would do it for now.

"Neal. Neal, you there?"

Peter had already checked Neal's anklet data before driving over to his apartment. The little light on his screen had flashed a constant signal to show Neal at home but he hadn't picked up his phone after several calls. Peter couldn't get an answer on June's home phone either. Now he was standing outside Neal's door and still no answer. It was far too early for Neal to have gone to bed. Something was wrong. Peter knocked again and finally opened the door when he received no answer.

The light in the apartment was non-existent, save for a few candles and a small fire in the old fireplace. Peter's attention was immediately drawn to the large painting in the far corner. It was maybe eighty-by-sixty inches in size. Straight lines in vibrant red with blurred strokes in a blue, so deep it was almost black, ran vertically on the canvas. There were no clear boundaries, but somehow the lighter parts of the painting created the image of figures standing shoulder to shoulder. None of them had faces. Peter was far from understanding art the way Neal did, but there was something about this painting that touched him warmly at first, then tore into him and left him aching. It was sublime - gentle yet strong, warm yet cold, all with an excruciating undertone of pain beneath the layers of paint.

"You like it?"

Neal's voice came from behind him, raspy and tired. Peter hadn't realized how the painting had drawn him into the room, until he stood all but a foot from it. Peter spun around and found his partner sitting on the ground, leaning against the bookshelf. There were two empty bottles of wine next to him, a third one in Neal's hands. The young man was crying silently. Peter had the impression Neal didn't even notice the tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Neal, what the… Are you drunk?"

The other man laughed bitterly.

"You're anaSTUPID observer of the obvious."

Peter gave Neal the once over, before retrieving a wine glass from the kitchen. He then eased himself down next to Neal and held the wine glass out to be filled. Neal briefly returned Peter's initial look of disbelief mixed with concern and attempted to fill Peter's glass. Neal failed miserably, the red wine turned to dark stains on Peter's suit. Neal tried to get up, murmuring incomprehensible apologies. Peter held him back.

"It's okay, buddy. Nothing that can't be fixed."

The thought that one of his mistakes was fixable seemed to calm Neal down. He glanced back to his painting, blinking away the tears welling in his eyes once more.

"You like it? The painting?"

Peter took a slow sip from his glass. He wondered if there was a right answer to the question.

"Yeah. It's… it's strong. Who's the original artist?"

Neal gulped and dropped his eyes.

Peter got the uncomfortable feeling that this whole situation was somehow beyond him. He noticed the paint on Neal's hands. Peter couldn't remember ever seeing Neal's hands dirty. His forgeries had always been as neat and clean as his clothes. Everything had its own place for Neal Caffrey, nothing was ever amiss.

"They should have faces." Peter could hardly understand Neal's words. "I couldn't… Dunno why. It's… I couldn't see their faces."

Peter looked at the dark shadows again. They didn't need eyes to stare back at him. He pushed away the strange feeling rising in his chest and turned back to Neal.

"You can add the faces tomorrow if you want. You just had too much wine, tomorrow it'll be easier, you'll see."

Neal just grunted and grinned.

"You know Vermeer's 'Girl with a Pearl Earring'?"

It was hard to follow Neal's thoughts, but Peter had to give it a shot. He owed Neal that much. The conman wasn't in care-and-share mood every day. If he needed a friend tonight, Peter would listen.

"Uhm… Yes. Of course."

"People say the painting's so beautiful because it captures the girl's soul. I don't think that's true."

Peter waited for Neal to continue, but the younger man was lost in the painting again.

"Then what's the truth, Neal?"

"Vermeer didn't capture the girl's soul. He captured parts of his own. His feelings, his desires. His heart. Everything he felt for that girl is in that painting. He sealed himself into her eyes."

Neal gasped for air and Peter was afraid he would really start to cry. He wished El was here. El would have known what to do.

"Look, Neal… Maybe you should go to bed. We'll talk about everything tomorrow. Okay?"

Neal buried his head in his hands as if he wanted to shut out Peter's voice.

"Can't. I need to find… I have to paint the faces first."

Peter had never felt so useless toward Neal. Not even after Kate's death. Whatever Neal had been forced to go through, the conman had kept his game face on most of the time. He had always been in charge of his own feelings. To see Neal like this, unable to fight his own demons, was something completely new for Peter. And it scared him.

"Okay. Okay, Neal. Maybe you should just take a shower, huh? Clear your head. I'll wait and… when you're finished you can paint the faces. Okay?"

"Can't. Can't find them."

"Then just leave it at that. Whoever painted that picture won't be mad at you, because you didn't copy the faces."

Neal gave Peter and odd sideways look but didn't meet his eyes.

"Art is not just about techniques and colors, Peter. It's about getting close. Not just to who we are, but to… to who we were. Finding out, who we wanna be. And also who… you know, who we…fear to become. Art carries us, Peter, it carries every part of us."

Peter started to get annoyed by Neal's rambling. He knew this was important somehow, but he wasn't grasping Neal's full intent.

"Maybe, okay, but what does it have to do with you?"

"What if there's something in a painting the artist doesn't want to find? What if there's a truth? Something dark and threatening and… and somehow… inevitable? What if the painting tells more about the man than the man can tolerate? Or worse…"

For the first time Neal locked his eyes with Peter's. There was so much pain, so much despair in those blue eyes, Peter's hand started to shake a little bit.

"What if the artist can't find something to put into his paintings because there's nothing there?"

Peter looked back to the painting and his eyes widened when he finally realized.

"It's an original. You painted it, didn't you?"

The tension in Neal's shoulders vanished and he smiled again. It was the saddest thing Peter had seen this evening.

"T'should've been my own birthday present. But… I can't do it. Can't put… myself… into it. I can't find the faces."

Peter put his hand onto Neal's shoulder. He sighed and tried to choose his words carefully.

"You'll find'em one day."

Neal looked up to him like a little boy waiting to be assured that fairytales were real.

"And in the meantime?"

There wasn't an easy answer to that and Peter knew it.

"I don't know, Neal. But even if you don't have the faces… You already have the people. They are right there. Maybe they'll show their faces once you've put some trust into them. Let them prove themselves, show you who they are."

Neal frowned.

"You know, out of your mouth… that sounds ridiculous." Neal shook his head. "Seriously, Peter… 'Prove themselves'…"

"Sounds like good advice to me."

Peter downed his glass and filled it up again. He looked over to Neal, who had his eyes closed and a satisfied smile on his face.

"Thank you, Peter."

"You're welcome." Peter looked at the painting once more. He could still see the pain in it, but for the first time it was tamed by something so deep that Peter couldn't find a word for it. Trust? Hope? Faith, maybe? The agent didn't have any illusions about the con artist. But that didn't mean Neal wasn't Peter's partner and most of the time even more than that, a friend. "Happy birthday, Neal. Happy birthday."