Neal whistled lowly as he crouched over the painting. Whoever did this was good, really good. The brush strokes were perfect, shading was spot on. He could almost be convinced that it really was The Railway by Edouard Manet that was sitting in front of him. That is, if he hadn't been Neal Cafferey. He stood up from his spot leaning over the table.

"It's good, but definitely a forgery."

The art's owner scoffed angrily. "Our appraiser already told us that, we want to know who did it and when they swapped this one for the real one."

The CI shared a glance with Peter, letting the agent speak both of their doubts. "Maybe you should consider the possibility that it was never switched. It's not impossible that you bought-"

"We had it appraised after we bought it." The man interrupted snidely. "It was the original then."

"And when was that?" Peter asked.

The man scowled slightly before reluctantly answering. "About seven years ago."

Neal smirked. "So we have to find out when in the past seven years this painting had been forged and swapped, who did it, and how they did it. Sounds like fun."

"Neal." Peter said warningly, shooting the art thief a warning look. The conman simply raised his eyebrows and shrugged. The agent sighed before turning to the irate man who had brought the forgery in. "We'll get right on the case and contact you if we discover anything."

The man scowled. "I had a buyer lined up for this, what do you expect me to tell him?"

"I hear the truth is a wonderful thing." Neal answered, making Peter scoff. Jones smirked at the CI as well.

"Really Caffery?"

"Do as I say, not as I do." The man shrugged. Jones smiled and Peter simply rolled his eyes as he continued to escort the piece's owner out the door. As the men left Neal resumed his study of the painting.

"See anything?" Jones asked with a slight sigh.

"I don't know. It just seems weird. This is almost perfect, the shading, brushstokes, texture, but everything is just a shade or two off. The dress is too bright a blue, the woman's skin is too tan. You don't make a forgery this good and mess up in the coloring. Something's up. Whoever made this wanted it to be discovered."

"Why not make it more obvious? Especially if he wanted it to be discovered."

"To prove you could make a perfect copy if you wanted to. Come on, you gotta have a little flair."

Jones smirked. "Only you Cafferey. So, you really don't have any ideas?"

Neal leaned even closer to the canvas, eyes scouring the art as though looking for a hidden message within the strokes. Suddenly, his nose burned with a familiar scent and his eyes narrowed as he attempted to place it. Closing his eyes he inhaled the scent. It kind of reminded him of… "Easter eggs…" He mumbled to himself. "Vinegar!"

His eyes shot open as he straightened, a wild grin crossing his face. "No way." He breathed.

"What?" Jones asked, coming to lean over the canvas as well. "Did you find something?"

Neal whirled on the man. "Jones. I need you to see if any local children's organizations have gotten any sudden large donations." Without another word he left the room and stalked into the White Collar main office. "Does anyone smoke? I need a lighter."

An agent quickly handed him one and he disappeared back into the room, bumping into a fairly confused Jones as the man left for his computer to do the research. Neal wasted no time in laying out the painting, trailing the lighter's flame inches up from the upper left hand corner. Peter came in and watched the CI in silence until Neal gasped in victory.

There, in the corner the heat had revealed a picture of an oval, decorated with swirls and squiggly lines and dots. Peter scowled at the picture. "An Easter egg?"

Neal nodded, an amazed expression on his face. "It's a calling card. I don't believe it. This guy, he's- he's a-"

"A forging legend?"

"More like a myth. Any good forger's heard about him, but most people don't really think he exists. Part of this mystical team that sounds more like fiction than fact. They all have rap sheets a mile long, some of the most incredible cons in the last few decades. Almost anything that you haven't solved, they did."

"Really? Sounds a little too good to be true to me. You sure they're not just some kind of big scapegoat."

"If they were, you would have heard about them a long time ago."

Peter couldn't argue with that. "So do you know who the forger is or don't you?"

"Nobody knows his name. He's just known as his alias, closer to a codename really."

"Which is?"

Neal opened his mouth to answer, but before he could utter a word Jones returned. "I found it. There was no huge donation to any one place, but there were several well sized ones to a bunch of different organizations. All under the same anonymous… alias."

Peter sighed deeply through his nose. "And this mysterious alias is…?"

Jones sent a withering look at the conman. "Do I have to say it?"

Neal just smirked back smugly. "Oh, I think you should."

"The donations were all given by… The Easter Bunny."

Jack Frost grinned from the alleyway, leaning up against his crooked staff as he tested his foot against the ground. His smile strengthened when his ankle held firm. It'd been broken a couple of months ago and he'd never been able to let it heal properly. He'd done the best he could, making a paper Mache cast, resting when he could afford to, even setting it himself. However, it was hard to do much relaxing when you were on the run, and living on the streets of New York certainly wasn't prime restorative conditions. The injury had still taken forever to heal and it occasionally gave out on him from time to time. Carrying the shepherds crook around town as a makeshift cane had seemed awkward at first, but he'd gotten used to it pretty quickly. He'd had the stick forever after all, now he just had an excuse to use it.

The teen's stomach rumbled slightly as he leaned his staff against the dumpster that lay in the alley, cautiously testing his foot without it. He'd been healing long enough, it was time to get back in the game. He had to, after all. All of his emergency money was gone and he needed cash badly. Taking a deep breath the boy checked his watch: 7:50. Perfect. He grinned and hoisted his backpack higher up on his shoulders before suddenly sprinting out of the alleyway.

"Crap!" He yelled loudly as his running caught attention. "Mom's gonna kill me if she hears I was late again." Almost immediately he was dismissed; half because of the excuse, and half because everyone in this part of town ignored homeless little Jack Frost. Oh well, it made things easier for him, he didn't care if people ignored him. Not much.

He ricochets down the street, blurting out apologies as he bumped into people, discretely pulling wallets out of pockets and purses as he ran.

"Sorry sir! Late, not again." He mumbled to himself, bumping into a businessman with a nice suit and thick wallet. As he spun away from the scowling man, he genuinely tripped into an woman carrying groceries, sending food flying. He speedily picked up the food with a barrage of hurried apologies, managing to slip a box of Milano's into the pouch of his hoddie as he scurried away. He continued down the street, squeezing himself between a pair of men and reaching out with both hands to simultaneously grab both wallets, only to be jerked back with a yelp as one of the men gripped his arm.

He fell back with the change in inertia, almost falling against the man before he was able to regain his balance. As the teen stood he studied the men more closely, taking notice of his marks for the first time in a while. Colleagues probably, or friends. They certainly knew each other at least. Both were fairly tall but that was where the similarities ended. The one gripping him was slender, with dark hair and eyes so blue that they almost matched Jack's. He wore what looked like a high end suit and a fedora and was watching Frost with a look that was simultaneously stern and proud. His friend on the other hand was older, with a much more muscular build and average suit. He was watching the fedora-man with confusion.

"Neal, what-"

The other, Neal, didn't let the man speak, interrupting almost immediately to whisper in the teen's ear. "You can either slip our wallets back into my hand now, or I tell my friend here what you just did. He's in the FBI, and I can promise you that he won't be nearly as impressed with your little thieving act as I am."

Jack only stared in shock for a moment. He had been caught. He had actually been caught! He never got caught, he was invisible and as swift as the wind. At least, he used to be. Stupid foot. Still, this guy seemed a little smarter than the average bear, maybe he would be fun to play with. Jack grinned softly before whispering back. "I'm pretty impressive, aren't I?" He chuckled softly. "What do you think would happen if I yelled 'you're not my dad' really loudly? That's what they're telling the kids to say these days when strangers approach them."

Hat-man's eyebrows rose and he straightened, his voice returning to normal volume when he realized Jack wasn't going to hand over the wallets. "Then my friend here will start flashing his badge. I don't think you want this whole area to know what you've been up to, now do you?" His voice dropped once more. "Hey, I'm all for letting you keep the rest, that was solid work you did back there, but he won't be if you get him involved. He's a real goody-two-shoes-stickler-for-the-law type. Now, are you going to do it or are we going to have problems?"

Jack scowled for a moment. Really he wouldn't mind losing a couple of wallets- he doubted Neal's friend had much on him anyway- but if he gave it then the game would be over, and it had been so long since he'd had someone to play with. His scowl turned into a smirk. "Fine." He conceded, a little too loudly. "I'll give you what you want if you'll just let me go."

All around people stopped, and Neal's friend sighed as he reached into his pocket- probably to grab a badge- but as soon as they recognized the teen in the stranger's hold, interest was immediately lost and they were ignored once more. Jack couldn't help but scowl. Predictable really, no one ever paid attention to the vagabond prankster who was on the bad side of practically every gang in the area. The teen shrugged at the man still holding his arm in a vice grip. "Meh. It was worth a shot."

He reached into his hoodie's pouch to pull out the folded leather when Neal's friend suddenly interrupted. "Neal, what is going on? You have some kind of grade school spy network now?"

Jack scowled at the man- he was kind of short for fifteen but he knew he looked older than a grade-schooler. Neal just smiled winningly. "I'd prefer the name: Cafferey's Baker Street Irregulars."

The agent just stared at the two for a while, his eyes lingering at the tight grip Neal had to enforce just to get the teen to stay put. "I'm not buying it." With a double finger point he led the two to an alleyway out of the crowded sidewalk. Neal sighed but followed, dragging a reluctant Jack behind into the closed off backstreet. Trapped. This game just got a lot less fun.

Neal let go of the teens arm and Jack immediately put distance between himself and the two strangers. The men stood side by side, effectively blocking the entrance. The three remaining walls of the alleyway were all solid brick, any windows tightly closed and locked. A fire escape lay against one wall, but the ladder was up too far for him to grab. Jack felt a trill of fear but forced a smile upon his face as he turned, keeping tight reign of the emotions that showed. Control was the name of the game, after all.

He moved his hands around in his hoodie's pocket, attempting to find the correct wallets while keeping an eye on the two men still blocking his path. Neal was standing with a relaxed confidence, watching Jack carefully. His friend was stiff, alternating his stern scowl between Jack and his companion. Finally the teen gave up attempting to maneuver around the bag of cookies and pulled them out, stuffing the bag into the cup holder on the side of his backpack before rummaging for the wallets once more. Neal chuckled softly and nodded to the cookies.

"Next time, try grabbing an apple. The disappearing cookies were a little conspicuous."

Jack frowned slightly, finally feeling the right textures of leather amid the several in the pouch. He deftly slid the cash out of the billfolds as he answered. "She didn't notice a thing."

"No, but I did."

The teen paused for a moment, thinking, before giving a reluctant nod. So that was how the man had found him out. He pulled out one of the wallets, throwing the folded leather to the ground in front of the man. "Fine. That one's yours, and this one," He began, pulling out the friend's and opening it, "Is yours Mr. Peter Burke." He threw it down beside the other after getting a peek of the license.

Suddenly Jack paused, his mind running a million miles a second as he recognized the name. Dimly he heard Peter groan- "Oh great, a mini-Neal," before his breath caught in excitement.

"Wait a minute, Peter Burke and Neal… You're Neal Cafferey!" Jack laughed, delighted at meeting the renowned forger and thief. His eyes lit to the FBI agent standing beside the criminal, the man rolling his eyes as though frustrated by Neal's fame among thieves. "And you're the Peter Burke, the one that caught him. Oh this is great, the mortal enemies turned FBI's best power couple." He laughed, leaning up against the dumpster in the back of the alley, much more relaxed now that he knew just who he was dealing with. Suddenly his eyes widened and he straightened, his voice going higher when he spoke, his tone reminiscent of a girl at the concert of the media's current boy toy. "Wait a minute, this means that I lifted Neal Caffery's wallet."

"You got caught lifting Neal Caffery's wallet." The conman quickly interjected. "Speaking of, I'd like my cash back too." Jack scowled and darted forward to shove a wad of his and Peter's cash into the man's hand before darting away again.

"Fine. I didn't really expect that to work anyway." He meandered back until he was near the dumpster again, deftly hopping to sit on it and desperately attempting to get off of his foot before it decided to do anything crazy. "What are you guys doing out here, anyway? Shouldn't you be checking Spanish bonds or looking for an old Bible or something?"

Both men stiffened and Peter growled at the boy. "How did you hear about those investigations?"

The teen shrugged. "In case you didn't notice out there, I'm invisible. I hear everything. Especially in this town, you want to know anything I'm your guy."

"You're an informant?" Peter asked, seeming incredulous, "A scrawny kid like you in a dangerous place like this?" He gestured to the surrounding dilapidated buildings, distinct but hidden gang signs surrounding them.

The teen shrugged. "Giving tips to the gangs pays good. They'd pay anything to get information on each other, and almost as much to keep some of their skeletons in their closets."
Neal stepped towards him now, making Jack stand atop the dumpster. "That doesn't sound safe."

"Occupational hazard." Jack answered, before a smirk split his face. "Besides," He drawled, moving to the back of the dumpster. "Like I said I'm invisible." He lunged forward, jumping off of the edge of the trash with just enough force to get a grip on the bottom of the fire escape. He wasted no time in pulling himself up, his arms conditioned to be much faster and stronger than his legs. Once safe he leaned back to smile at the surprised pair. Both had rushed forward when the teen leaped and were now staring in shock under the escape. "and invisible makes for a pretty good escape artist. See ya," He began to leave, only to stop as he remembered something. "Oh yeah." Deliberately he pulled out all of the wallets, emptying them of their cash and wiping them down of the front of his T-shirt before pointedly tossing their empty shells to the men's feet. "I found some wallets. Thought I should turn them in to the FBI. Thanks."

With that he turned and scurried up the connecting ladders before managing to disappear into the roof. When he finally managed to clamor onto the roof he let out a sigh, leaning against a turbine and gently probing his ankle. That was too close. He almost hadn't reached the fire escape. A low, relieved chuckle worked his way out of his mouth. That could have been embarrassing.