Peter Burke liked to consider himself a reasonable man, but he fully intended to unload both barrels on Neal Caffrey's ass – once he confirmed that the tracking anklet wasn't malfunctioning – for dragging him away from Elizabeth on one of their rare coinciding days off.
He stomped through the museum without seeing the exhibit. Caffrey is unwelcome at every museum in New York City but this one? He must have batted his big blue eyes at the blonde woman at the entrance, all the while the poor thing was unaware of the dangers of letting in such a man…
Burke hesitated in the doorway to the last gallery where Caffrey sat on a long bench, his back to the door, sketching the scene in front of him in charcoal.
A little boy pushed past Burke, all scurrying steps and suppressed giggles, returning to one of the five easels set out in front of a bowl of fruit.
"Mr. Neal," whined the largest of the boys – whose age Burke estimated ranged anywhere from six to eight. "I can't get this yellow right."
The forger dropped his pad and crossed the room in three long strides, at the halfway point, Burke's phone vibrated to alert him that Caffrey was outside of the two-mile radius.
Neglecting the fact that the pants he was wearing were easily more expensive than Burke's entire suit, Caffrey squatted by the child's side.
"Ok, so let's think this through. It all goes back to the basic color wheel theory we discussed this morning. You have four colors on your palate and that's all you need to mix the other shades. So, your yellow isn't right. What do you think you should do about it?"
"I don't know, that's why I called you over here," the boy quipped.
"I'm not doing all the work here, buddy," Caffrey chided. "Give me something to work with."
The boy glared at Caffrey, who chuckled and smiled in return. It was that smile that had Burke reaching for his phone.
[False alarm.] he typed to Jones. [Ask the Marshalls to extend Caffrey's radius to include all of Crossen Family Art Center and Museum.]
[I thought Caffrey wasn't allowed in museums?]
[Unless he's going to steal a kindergartner's finger painting or a senior citizen's macramé, I think it is safe to say his visits here will be more along the line of community service hours.]
[Got it, will do.]
For once Caffrey's smile reached his eyes. Usually his victims were so blinded by the handsome face and the mega-watt dentistry that they failed to notice that the smile never came from the depths of those dark blue eyes. Burke, for once, found himself smiling along with Caffrey.
"Ok, let's think about this. What will happen when I add green to this yellow paint?" Caffrey picked up the tube of paint and squeezed a dollop of green onto the bright yellow. He slowly mixed the two paints.
"It's too dark now. It's not the same color as the apple."
"You have a good eye," he praised. "What other color can we add to the yellow to make that color of green?"
"Um, I don't remember," the kid admitted finally, chewing at his lower lip. Caffrey squeezed a new glop of yellow onto the palette.
"Should we try red?"
"No, that'll make orange," one of the other children cried out in mock horror. All five boys gathered to watch as Caffrey feigned dropping the red paint into the fresh yellow.
"Oh, yes, silly me."
The boys laughed and Caffrey finally took pity on his student.
"What if we add just a hint of blue?"
"Yellow and blue makes green!" the boy said, finally remembering the basic lesson.
"It sure does," Caffrey confirmed as he put just a smidgeon of blue into the yellow and waited for the boy to mix it up. The boy didn't say another word, but he studied the color and nodding his head once, went back to painting the apple.
Caffrey stayed beside him, watching for a few moments before standing. As he stretched, he saw Burke hovering at the door and the smile dropped from his eyes, but then surged into the fake smile Burke knew too well.
"We have a case, Peter? Isn't this your day off?"
"It is my day off, thanks for reminding me, Neal, but yet I find myself away from my wife on this lovely spring day because one of my CIs appears to have a malfunctioning ankle tracker. Because why else would said CI continue to ignore the vibration warning on his ankle for the last hour and a half."
Caffrey looked genuinely confused and the fake expression faded. He headed back across the room, put his foot up on the bench, and lifted up cuff of his pants.
"I had no idea when I put on these $100 Mongolian-cashmere sock this morning that they'd completely shield me from the vibration," Caffrey teased.
"You're wearing $100 socks?"
"No, Peter, that was a joke, but I did put on two pairs of socks this morning," he said, pulling down the first pair to show off the second.
"Those hand-me-down shoes June gave you don't fit?"
"They fit just fine, but this anklet is rubbing me raw," Caffrey said, pulling down the second pair to show the red and chaffed skin along his ankle.
"Why didn't you say so? We can adjust that for you, you know?"
"I… no one cares about my comfort."
"Yeah? The FBI might not care one wit for your discomfort, Neal, but I'm a human being. You might want to consider that from now on."
"Ok, Peter, ok. So you said it can be adjusted?"
"Yeah, we'll have to drop by the office once you're done here, but I'll have Jones contact the Marshall's office again."
"Again?" Caffrey asked, one perfectly coiffed eyebrow raised.
"Again," Peter sighed. "I asked them to increase your radius to include the rest of this building. I don't want to be dragged out on my days off just to baby sit you, babysitting them."
Caffrey studied Burke, trying to work out the other man's angle.
"Not everything comes with a cost," Burke said, correctly interpreting the suspicion on the younger man's face. What could Neal have become if he'd had the proper mentor? "Just say 'thank you' and don't cause me any more grief."
"Thank you, Peter. I'll… try."
A/N: Thanks to Mwac for proofreading this one!