By Any Other Name

Neal looked up from his desk to see Peter giving him the double finger point, and that only meant one thing: a new case, and hopefully an interesting one. The office had been going through a dry spell lately, littered with bland mortgage fraud cases, and he was hoping that this was something that could finally shake things up. He hasn't even gotten the chance to go undercover in over a month. He had that familiar itch under his skin that he used to get when he wanted to paint.

"What's going on Peter?" Neal strode into the office and took a seat in one of the two chairs in front of the desk. Peter had a familiar glint in his eyes and a contagious smirk on his lips.

"We have a new case," he slammed a blue folder down in front of Neal. "Meet Peter Pantyhose."

"Peter…Pantyhose?" Neal raised an eyebrow, a small smile gracing his features. These FBI nicknames really were getting ridiculous.

"Surfacing six years ago, Peter Pantyhose was originally known as Peter Pan," Peter said as Neal opened the folder, revealing a picture of what appeared to be a young, brown haired boy in a standard mug shot. The name Tate Rose was printed at the top of the page.

"You arrested a thirteen year old? I can't imagine he could make it to the White Collar unit on his own at that age."

"Peter Pan here was nabbing wallets," Peter smiled and crossed his arms. "He managed to nab mine, and when I caught him, I had him booked, just to scare him. That's why we have his picture and fingerprints."

"So Peter Pan resurfaces," Neal looked up at Peter. "Stealing wallets?"

"Well it turns out that Peter Pan…," Peter's smirk widened and he turned a page in the file. "…is a woman." A gritty security photo showed the figure of a young woman, her face expertly facing away from the camera, her hair leaving an unnatural splash of red in the picture.

"Peter Pantyhose," Neal smiled.

"Exactly," Peter continued. "Her fingerprint recently turned up at the scene of the stolen Vivian Del Campeso painting, during the Magic Realism exhibit."

Neal had heard about that, of course. It was incredibly impressive. The painting 'El Universo que Crece Dentro de Mi' or 'The Universe Growing Inside Me' portrayed a young girl whose heart appeared to be exploding out of her chest. Her heart contained cities and villages, mountains and oceans, which spread out over the canvas, almost engulfing her. Del Campeso was considered one of the greatest artists of her lifetime. Neal remembered reading about the night the painting was stolen. It was there, and then it was gone, their only clue being the security photo. He had to admit, he was intrigued.

"So what do we do now?" Neal asked.

"We go to the gallery and see what we can get. A sketch would be ideal, but we know so little about Peter Pantyhose that I'll take anything at this point."

"You don't know anything about her past?" Neal rubbed at his forehead. "You didn't speak to her parents the first time you arrested her?"

"No known family," Peter sighed. "She was raised in the system. Back when we arrested her she was with a foster family. Apparently she had quite a few of those."

"Of course," Neal mumbled. "Can you get any information from the adoption agency?"

"They were shut down a year after we first arrested her."

"Right," Neal's eyes were glued to the picture. The woman was in a tight, black cocktail dress, her hand on her hip and her long hair over her shoulder, obscuring her face. "Now we go to the gallery and figure out what the hell is going on."

.O.

Neal tried to keep a serious expression as Peter spoke to the art gallery's curator, but the truth was he wanted to walk around and look at all the art. He always had a soft spot for Magic Realism, in both literature and fine arts, but he'd never mastered the skill.

"Can you provide a physical description?" Peter asked.

"Well," the curator was a meek, young man. His hair was thinning despite the fact that he couldn't be any older than thirty five. "She had red hair, but she wasn't a redhead."

"What do you mean?"

"She obviously dyed it," the man shrugged his shoulders. "It was the color of a crayon and very, very long."

"Right," Peter mumbled as he took his notes. "Do you remember anything else?"

"She was short, only about five foot two, and she had brown eyes. That's all I remember."

"Thanks," Peter sighed and rubbed the back of his head. "You've been a great help."

Neal patted Peter on the back as they turned away from the curator and made their way outside. Barrington and Jones were still questioning the rest of the staff.

"Well that was a bust," Peter said as he and Neal climbed into the car.

"What now?" Neal asked.

"Now we wait to see what Diana and Clinton find out. I'm going to send a sketch artist down to talk to the curator, and when that comes back I'll put out a BOLO on her," Peter was stressed. His brows were furrowed and he was chewing on his lip, a sure sign that the wheels were turning and he was already planning on how to catch this girl.

"Peter Pantyhose," Neal mumbled, turning his head as he began to smile. This is what he'd been waiting for.