A/N: I'm a huge White Collar fan, and I'm currently re-watching it for at least the third time. I know this has probably been done before, but I always wanted to write a story about Peter and Elizabeth's relationship because I think they were one of the cutest couples on TV ever. So if you love them as much as I do, I hope you'll enjoy this. Feedback is always much appreciated!

Peter Burke was having one of those mornings.

He had woken up to the sounds of his neighbors' very loud and very ugly domestic dispute. Before he could decide whether he should get involved, he had realized that his alarm clock had run out of battery in the middle of the night. Which meant that he had been super late for work. He had gotten up as soon as possible, bought a coffee at the nearest coffee cart, only to almost run into one of those insane bike messengers and spill that coffee all over his tie. Showing up late for work with a coffee-stained tie hadn't exactly endeared him to his boss.

"I was going to give you this new case that just came in, but I'm beginning to think that you've already bitten off more than you can chew." Hughes eyed the stack of case files on Peter's desk.

It was true. Peter was a bit of a case hoarder. Most of the other junior agents were happy to pass things along, but Peter took them all. He just couldn't help himself. He loved his job, and there was something to love about almost every case. Plus, he was eager for every chance to prove himself as a capable agent to his superiors. Peter was not a slacker. He was going places. Except maybe today.

"No, Sir, I can handle it. I had a bit of a slow start this morning, that's all," Peter promised his boss. It wasn't every day that Hughes – who was only one step away from leading the entire White Collar Crime Unit in New York – handed him a case personally. It meant that Peter was on the right track. He was getting noticed.

"All right, there was a theft at a small art gallery downtown early this morning. NYPD responded first, but apparently, the gallery owner has friends in high places. He has asked for the FBI to take over. NYPD has now handed it over to us, and I'm handing it over to you. So don't screw this up, Burke."

Peter shook his head. "No, Sir. I won't."

"Good, I'll expect a report from you later." Hughes was about to leave but turned around one more time. "And fix that goddamn tie of yours before you go down there!"

"Yes, Sir," Peter nodded. Problem was, he didn't actually have an extra tie lying around.

The fellow junior agent at the desk facing his took pity on him. "Here, you can have mine. I won't be leaving the office today," Carl said and handed him a yellow tie. Carl had a colorful personality. Unfortunately, his ties tended to reflect that.

It looked ridiculously bright against Peter's grey suit. He made a face, but he was out of options and out of time. He needed to get down to that art gallery, and he was beginning to think that he just needed to get this entire day over with.

"Thanks," he said and scanned the new case file while swapping ties.

"Maybe you should slow down a little, Peter. The Bureau isn't paying us enough to run ourselves ragged before we hit forty," Carl gave him some unsolicited advice.

Peter just grinned. "I don't have time to slow down because what I definitely want to be before I hit forty is the owner of my own office."

With that, Peter grabbed the case file that didn't contain a lot of information just yet and headed downtown. He had never heard of the DeArmitt Gallery before, so no matter who owned this gallery, this wasn't shaping up to be a high-profile case. Maybe that was a good thing, considering the day he was having. It would be just his luck if this turned out to be one of those unsolvable cases that no one really cared about but that would forever sit there on his record anyway. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so eager to take this on. But no, every case had something special, Peter reminded himself. He would find something to love about this one, too.

The gallery was closed, which wasn't much of a surprise after the police response this morning, but the receptionist let Peter in and promised to get the assistant manager. Peter was a little annoyed that they'd had the nerve to specifically request that the FBI handle this case and now they were sending an assistant to talk to him. But it wasn't his place to tell these people how to run this gallery. If the owner didn't think this theft was serious enough to show up in person or at least send the actual manager, that wasn't his problem.

Peter glanced at his watch. He was getting more than a little impatient when he heard the unmistakable clicking of heels on the polished wooden floor. He turned around, and suddenly he couldn't remember what he had just been angry about. Actually, he could barely even remember why he had come here at all, but he was very glad he had.

The woman approaching him was young for an assistant manager – suddenly the title sounded a lot more impressive than just a few seconds ago. But her remarkable beauty had probably helped her to get ahead. And to say that she was beautiful was putting it mildly. She wore a tight black skirt and a fitted blazer over a dark blue blouse with a neckline that was somehow both modest and suggestive at the same time. But as immaculate as her outfit was, it couldn't distract from her pretty face, the dark, glossy hair, and the most striking blue eyes Peter had ever seen.

For a moment, he had no idea where to look or what to do with himself. He wasn't even sure he still knew how to breathe. It was ridiculous for a grown man – a fully trained FBI agent for heaven's sake – to have such a reaction to a woman he hadn't even met yet. But he couldn't help himself. He had never felt like this before.

"I'm so sorry to keep you waiting." The assistant manager was suddenly right in front of him. More importantly, she was talking to him, apologizing for something Peter had still been mad about a minute ago. Now, he suddenly felt the need to assure her that it was nothing to worry about. "It's been one of those mornings, you know."

Peter had been this close to pulling himself together, but now the assistant manager smiled at him. It was a tentative, polite smile. He could only imagine that when she smiled fully, her eyes would sparkle like twin stars. He really wanted to see that smile. But that wasn't what he was here for.

"Oh, I know, believe me," Peter said, fiddling with his awful tie. Why, oh why, did he have to spill coffee on it today of all days? And why did he suddenly care so much about a silly tie rather than the case he was supposed to be working on? He was not on a date, dammit. Oh God, why was he even thinking about dates? He was a professional federal agent, and he was acting like a fool. What the hell had he just said to her? She probably thought he was a joke.

Or maybe not, because her smile was growing, just a little bit, but enough to make Peter's mouth go dry. "You must be the FBI agent?" she prompted.

Hearing the word 'FBI' from her lips finally allowed Peter to get back a modicum of control. She was right. He was an FBI agent, and he better act like one, too. "Yes, Special Agent Peter Burke," he said, and he should have reached for his badge to show it to her, but he offered her his hand instead. He didn't usually shake hands with people involved in his investigations. Actually, he never did that. But he could at least pretend that it was simply a polite gesture rather than the irrational desire to touch her in a way that was appropriate.

Thankfully, she didn't seem to find that strange at all, and she didn't hesitate to take his proffered hand. "Elizabeth Mitchell. I'm the assistant manager." Her hand was small but warm, and it fit perfectly in his.

Quickly, maybe a little too quickly, Peter let go again. The name jogged something in his memory. "According to the police report, you were also a witness to the theft."

"Sort of. I arrived just in time to see them get away. I couldn't stop them unfortunately," she replied, and she looked almost angry with herself about that.

"Oh no, it's good that you didn't get involved. If this was a professional hit, you could have gotten hurt," Peter said before his brain had caught up with his mouth. He didn't usually sound so concerned for someone he hadn't even cleared of any wrongdoing yet. But the mere thought of this petite, lovely, young woman getting in the crosshairs of a couple of common criminals made bile rise in his throat.

She gave him a look that he couldn't quite read, but her eyes were soft and deep, inviting him to get lost in them. Thankfully, her words jarred him awake again. "Well, Mr. Sanders, the owner of this gallery, might have preferred that to our insurance premium going through the roof if the painting isn't recovered."

It was a joke – at least for her sake Peter hoped that it was – but underneath the humor, there was a sort of steely resolve to her demeanor. It was definitely unusual for a witness to be this calm. It should have made Peter suspicious, but somehow his FBI instincts were still only riding shotgun in this conversation.

"If Mr. Sanders is so invested in this gallery's possessions, then where exactly is he?" Peter asked, trying not to sound as if he already disliked the man – simply because the assistant manager had suggested that he didn't care about her well-being.

"Somewhere on the Greek Isles," she replied with a wry smile. "I'm keeping him apprised of the situation, but he said the FBI should be able to handle it and to run any questions you might have through me. So I'm afraid, you'll have to make do with me, Agent Burke."

She could have just as well told him that Christmas had come early this year. "It'll be up to the Bureau to decide if Mr. Sanders needs to return to the States for the purpose of this investigation. But it seems to me like I should thank him for staying away and leaving this to you." Peter closed his eyes for a brief second, wondering what the hell was going on with him. Was he actually trying to flirt with this woman? He had never had a lot of game when it came to women, but this felt like a disaster on so many levels. "Would you please tell me again what happened, Ms. Mitchell?" he added quickly, trying to sound like an FBI agent again.

Surprisingly, she didn't laugh in his face, even though there was a certain glint in her eyes. And if he wanted to stand a chance at solving this case, he had to stop looking at them. But she made it incredibly hard. "Of course, and please call me Elizabeth. When I hear Ms. Mitchell, I feel like my sister is standing right behind me. She teaches elementary school."

Ms. Mitchell… Elizabeth started to lead him down a hallway, and Peter was glad for the chance to gather his thoughts while she wasn't looking at him. Except instead of looking for security cameras, he was wondering if it was now Elizabeth who was flirting with him. Because volunteering your first name and personal information about your family wasn't exactly normal in a situation like this. They were here to investigate a theft after all. But more importantly, what did it say about Peter that he couldn't tell if this beautiful woman was flirting with him or not?

Elizabeth stopped, and he almost ran right into her, even though he had been staring at her legs the entire time. "This is our postmodern exhibit," she explained. "As you can see, one of our most priceless paintings was cut right out of the frame. They started on the one next to it, too, but couldn't finish. We would like to take it down, so we can restore and reframe it. But nothing has been touched yet since the police secured the crime scene," she pointed at the yellow police tape but wrinkled her nose as if it offended her somehow. "They said you'd be taking over from here."

"Yes, I've already asked a couple more agents to come down here to gather any evidence the police might have missed. I know the tape isn't exactly a Jackson Pollock piece, but please keep it up and stop all employees from touching anything until we can clear the scene," Peter said, trying not to wonder whether he had scored any points with that Pollock comment. "We'll also need the tapes from your security cameras." He had finally managed to tear his eyes away from her legs to notice them.

"Of course, I already asked Carol to get them when she told me the FBI was here," Elizabeth nodded. Apparently, Carol was the receptionist. Right now, Peter couldn't even remember what she looked like. "I figured you would want those. I also have a list of all our employees with their contact information and which parts of the gallery they regularly have access to, just in case you need to talk to anyone besides me."

She handed him a few sheets of paper from a folder she'd been carrying, and Peter marveled at her thoroughness and her ability to anticipate his needs. Instead of questioning why the assistant manager had been sent to deal with him, he was beginning to wonder why Elizabeth wasn't already running this place altogether. He was so impressed, he could resist the urge to check if her address and phone number were on that list. And he instantly regretted thinking that her beauty had helped her get ahead. Clearly, there was a whole lot more to her than just her good looks.

"Thanks, that'll be a big help," Peter told her, and no, he wasn't fishing for a smile, but he also wasn't upset when he got one. Finally, he reached for his notepad. "When did you first come in this morning, Ms. … uh, Elizabeth?" he asked, tripping over her first name because the familiarity it suggested didn't go with his usual style of questioning.

"At about a quarter past six," she replied, graciously pretending like she hadn't noticed his slip-up.

Peter looked up from his notepad. "That's early," he observed. Apparently, he was pointing out the obvious now. Great.

Elizabeth merely shrugged. "I couldn't sleep."

Her face told him that there was more to that story and part of him wanted to ask why. What could possibly be troubling a woman like her, and was there anything he could do to fix it? Then Peter mentally kicked himself. "So it's not your usual time to get to work?" That was actually a case-related question, but somehow it, too, sounded way too personal.

"No, it's not. Usually, the earliest anyone ever comes in is about six thirty, and that's the cleaning crew," Elizabeth replied, sounding almost more professional than he did.

"Then you were the lone witness to the theft this morning?" Peter clarified.

"Yes, the night time security guard is supposed to stay until the cleaning staff arrives, but he always leaves around six."

Peter frowned. "Is that common knowledge?"

"It's not exactly a secret," Elizabeth replied evasively, but his gut told him that she wasn't trying to be misleading; she simply wasn't sure how many people had known about that. On the other hand, his gut also told him that she was more breathtaking than all the priceless art in this gallery. "Why?" she asked.

He shouldn't answer that question. Under no circumstances was he to tell a possible person of interest about a lead he might have just discovered. "It sounds like someone knew exactly when to break in here. If you hadn't shown up early, they would have gotten away clean with both paintings," he explained to her anyway.

"You're saying it could have been an inside job?" For the first time today, she looked worried.

In an interrogation Peter would have pressed the issue to figure out if she had anything to hide, anything to worry about other than having a coworker who was a thief or who had aided and abetted in the theft. Instead, he did a complete one eighty and tried to comfort her. "It happens more often than you might think. Did you notice anything unusual about anyone lately?"

Elizabeth looked at him, her eyes even bigger and more vulnerable than before. Peter flexed his fingers to stop himself from reaching out to her. "No, not that I know of. But I'll think about it." She was clearly uncomfortable with the idea of ratting out any of her coworkers. He hadn't expected anything else, and he wouldn't push. Not yet, anyway. Not without probable cause.

"Were there any signs of a break-in when you came in this morning?" he asked instead.

"No, but I used the main entrance, and when I heard them and they heard me, they busted out of the delivery entrance. The police thought they probably came in that way, too."

Peter made a note for the crime scene unit to check that out. "Do you have cameras there as well?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, I don't know what's taking Carol so long with those tapes." She gave him an apologetic smile.

He really did need to check those tapes. But he also really needed to keep talking to her. "That's all right. I still need you to describe what it is you saw exactly."

"There were two of them. One of them was already rolling up the first painting to place it in a tube they'd brought, while the other one was working on cutting out the second painting. Those two paintings are more valuable in a set. But when I approached, they just ran off with the one they already had. Also, they were wearing masks, so I can't say what they looked like. I think they were both men, one was about six feet maybe, and the other had a ponytail under the mask. Which probably sounds like any other generic witness statement you've ever been given."

"Actually, the ponytail put it over the top," Peter said because he couldn't help himself. He wanted to see her little smile again.

And he got it.

"The police officer I talked to earlier didn't seem very impressed," she told him.

"Well, the NYPD doesn't always take these cases very seriously," Peter said as if he had been the poster boy for seriousness and professionalism today.

"Shouldn't the FBI be the one with more important cases, like armed robbery or even murder?" Elizabeth wondered and seemed honestly curious.

"Those cases are important, but not in my jurisdiction. I'm from the White Collar division. A lot of people think that white-collar crimes are victimless crimes, but that couldn't be further from the truth. One cleverly executed con can cost hundreds of innocent people their savings or bring down entire companies. Not to mention the social and cultural damage that results from stealing or forging priceless pieces of art." Peter froze when he realized that he had gone off on a little tangent. "I'm sorry. That's probably not what you wanted to know."

"Oh no, don't apologize," Elizabeth said, and for a brief moment, she reached out to place a hand on his arm. The touch of her fingers sent a tingling from his arm through his entire body, even though she let go just as quickly. "You're passionate about your job. I think that's wonderful. And it also makes me feel better about our chances of getting that painting back."

Was she teasing him or complimenting him? It seemed like a fine line, but either way it was driving him crazy. And he was crossing lines left and right anyway. He still wanted to know more about her. Actually, he just wanted more of her. Period. "Don't you like working here?"

"You mean when it doesn't make me a witness to a crime?" she joked.

"Yeah, I guess today isn't exactly shaping up to be a good day," Peter acknowledged.

Elizabeth turned the full force of her sky-blue eyes on him. "I don't know. Right now, it's a lot better than I thought it would be."

And Peter's heart just stopped for a moment.

One moment too long because suddenly Carol was there. With those tapes. The tapes he needed so he could investigate the crime he was really only here to solve. He wasn't here for anything else. "Thanks. I guess I better get these back to the office then," Peter forced himself to say.

"Of course. Do you need anything else?" Elizabeth asked.

He really, really wanted to say yes. Wanted to come up with something, anything, that would give him a reason to stay here with her. But right now there was nothing more pressing than those security tapes. "Not right now. I'll call you if that changes," Peter told her. What he really wanted to say was that he would call her regardless. Or rather, he wanted to ask if she would like him to call her about something not related to the case. Like dinner.

But no. He couldn't, wouldn't do that. It was unprofessional, and he refused to make a fool of himself by asking out a woman who might not be wearing a ring but who had to be seeing someone. There was no way Peter was the first guy in New York City to notice her. What he thought might have been flirting had probably just been her way of being nice to him. She seemed like a very kind person.

So Peter said his goodbyes and made himself leave. He had only taken a few steps when her voice rang out behind him.

"I like your tie by the way."

He turned back around, his mouth hanging open a little in surprise. Was it possible that she was trying to delay his leaving as well? By commenting on his tie, of all the possible things to say? Not quite sure what to think, Peter looked at his borrowed tie in dismay. It still looked every bit as ridiculous as before. "That was an accident, actually."

"It's not that bad," Elizabeth insisted. "It seems to me like you could use a little color while investigating white-collar crimes. Only…" She stepped closer to him, almost breaching his personal space, and Peter's heart shot straight into his mouth. "May I?" she asked, pointing at his tie.

Peter could only nod in response.

Elizabeth reached out to straighten his tie, that apparently had been a little crooked all this time, and to tighten the knot. When she was done, her hands rested on his chest for a few fleeting seconds, almost as if she had to remind herself that this was rather inappropriate contact with an FBI agent. She stepped back quickly, but smiled when she said, "That's better."

Peter was at a loss for words. When he had told himself that he would find something to love about this case, he hadn't thought about something that monumental.

He was in trouble, and he needed to leave before he was in too deep to get out. "Thanks. Uh, goodbye, Elizabeth."

"Goodbye, Agent Burke."

It was a good thing he hadn't told her to call him Peter. It allowed him to hide behind his rank.

He was Special Agent Peter Burke and he had a goddamn job to do.

A/N: As far as I know, the name and occupation of El's sister were never revealed on the show, so I took the liberty of making them up.