Author's Note:

I was chatting with my sister about something, and suddenly decided that I needed to know what would happen if Darien Fawkes ever met Neal Caffrey. Hence, this fic was born. :D

I actually wrote it a year or two ago, but just refound it on my computer and decided to clean it up so I could post it. :) So I edited and tweaked, and scrubbed a bit. Now it's looking pretty good for where it started, if I might say so myself...!

Disclaimer:

I do not know own anything related to White Collar or The Invisible Man. If I did, Darien would be mine forever, (and I would look up obscure quotes every day for him to look up,) Bobby would be given a beastly raise, and Neal would wear more suit vests... ;)

John Emerich Edward Dalberg Acton once said, "Never be surprised at the crumbling of an idol or the disclosure of a skeleton."

I guess I should have believed his words from the very beginning, but I couldn't help holding on to a small hope. Maybe I would someday stop feeling surprised when my idols turned out to be regular, fault-filled people. It surprised me every time.

Still, I guess I've got time to work on it. There's a few heroes I've been keeping in my back pocket, putting off meeting them for another dreaded day.

"Fawkes, you're insane if you think I'm going in there," Bobby Hobbes growled as he followed his partner.

"We're going inside," Darien said, not pausing in his confident stride up the front steps of the office building. He straightened the tie of his uncomfortable (and borrowed) suit as he mentally prepared to play the part for this gig.

"They're not going to help us. They're feds. They're bad—all of them—the whole lot of them!"

Darien came to a stop, two feet away from the imposing glass doors on the front of the building, turning to face his partner. "Hobbes, I know you hate the feds. And usually—ah-ah-ah!" he cut in before Bobby could start. "I know you hate the feds. And usually, you're right, they suck."

"Like a Dyson vacuum on full power."

"And steroids."

"With a jet engine," Hobbes added, frowning. "They suck the life right out of you."

"Hobbes, concentrate. I know you hate the feds, because they suck like death-on-wheels, but we need to get the file, so we have to go inside."

Hobbes looked up at the bold sign on the front of the building declaring to all passersby that this was property belonging to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. "Can't you just, you know, go Casper and get the file? I'll wait out here. The Official never even has to know."

Darien sighed. "No. Can't work. The Keep hasn't cooked up another batch since the er, incident..." He glanced at his wrist, the snake almost half red. "I don't think I could last long enough to find where the file is on my own as well as get it and get out, and I'd really rather not turn into 'Mister Hyde the Sequel' while I'm in a federal building with men who are heavily armed."

Hobbes rolled his eyes. "I could take them out for you. No problem."

"Guns, Hobbes! Guns!"

"Quiet, Fawkes. Quiet," Hobbes mocked.

Darien glared at him for a moment, but let it go. "The Official is going to call if we don't get back soon. You know he wants that file."

"Yeah yeah, the thing that Eberts couldn't get." He eyed the building as if it might be listening to him (perhaps thinking that very thing, too). "How shush-shush do you suppose this file must be if Eberts can't reach it?"

"Shush-shush enough that the Official might give you a raise if you bring it back."

Hobbes immediately pounced on that. "Did he say something to you, Fawkes?"

Darien shrugged casually.

"Fawkes, did he...did he say something to you? About me getting a raise?" Hobbes straightened his jacket, trying to hide a grin as he surveyed the people entering the building beside them. "A raise, huh? Well let's go inside then and get that file. No need to stay out here yammering."

Darien opened the door and held it for him to enter, grinning. "That's all I was trying to say."

Hobbes hurried to the door, but froze halfway through it, turning to eye Darien. "Wait a minute, Fawkes. Why are you all so gung-ho to get in there and help the Official? What's in it for you?"

Darien groaned. "Seriously, man, you are so paranoid! It's a job. I just want to get it done and leave so I can get out of this horrible suit, okay? If the Official gets his file then we can go home."

Hobbes eyed him for a moment longer, then nodded. "Fine. We get in, get the file, and get out. No funny stuff."

"Because I'm always the one to do something stupid."

"You are."

"No I'm not. Remember the last time we had to use our fake Federal badges?"

Hobbes rolled his eyes. "I was playing the part, just getting into character."

"Right. That explains why the Official will never let us use those badges again. I thought Eberts was going to shoot you!"

"He wouldn't have. He knows me better than that."

"He had two guns pointed at you, saying, 'I'm going to shoot you, Robert.'"

Hobbes shrugged. "I had it under control."

Fawkes rolled his eyes and shoved his way through the door. "Come on. Let's just get this over with. Who's our contact again?"

"Special Agent Peter Burke."

"Well let's go find Mr. Burke, shall we?"

"Seriously, Neal, what's up with the hat? Must it go everywhere with you?" Peter asked, sounding exasperated (yet, Neal liked to think, amused).

Neal grinned smugly. "You know you like it. And it's useful too. Practically draws women to me. You saw how that cashier smiled at me in the bank..."

"She had to be at least eighty-five."

Neal frowned. "Were we looking at the same cashier?"

Peter paused to look up from his computer, definitely looking amused now. "I really hope not."

Jones leaned into the office just then. "Peter, we've got some guys downstairs wanting to speak to you."

"Know what they want?"

"Nope. Wouldn't say."

"Did you get their names?"

"Sorry."

Neal raised an eyebrow. "Are they agents?"

Jones looked slightly uncomfortable then. "I'll uh, let them tell you what agency they're with." Then he ducked out of the office quickly.

Peter and Neal looked at each other for a moment in confusion. Then both stood to leave the office.

"What do you think it is?" Neal asked curiously, just glad that Peter was letting him tag along for this intriguing meeting.

Peter shook his head. "I have no idea."

Downstairs, Jones was standing with two men in suits (the taller man's suit looking slightly too short for him). The shorter man was the one talking Jones's ears off, gesturing, though Peter and Neal couldn't tell what about. He was Italian, short, slightly round, and balding. The man he was with was taller, by at least a good six inches. His hair added another three though, seeming to stand almost straight up in a style that Neal couldn't pin down as being an afro, mohawk, or bed-head. It was just...odd. He looked uncomfortable in his too-short suit of an unlucky cut and date. (Neal actually winced in pain at how outdated that suit was.)

"Not Feds," Neal mumbled to his partner as they headed for the men. Peter didn't agree verbally, but he looked curiously at the men.

As Peter and Neal approached the three, Jones introduced them to the strangers. "Gentlemen, this is Special Agent Peter Burke, and his partner."

"A pleasure," the balding Italian said in one of those professional tones that really meant the opposite. "Robert Hobbes. This is my partner, Darien Fawkes. We're here about a detail on one of your case-files."

"Which file are you looking for?" Peter asked, (a little cautiously, Neal thought).

The Italian looked at his taller partner, and Hair seemed to get the message because he pulled out his phone to check the information. "The case number is..." he began, pausing to squint at the screen of his phone, "3641172."

"I'm afraid that's under a considerable amount of security," Peter said, recognizing the case number immediately. "Why exactly do you need access to the file? From what I understand, the investigation—"

Neal suddenly mumbled an exclamation, cutting him off, when he connected the number to an actual case. The three other men turned to look at him.

"Arnaud De Thiel?" he asked Hobbes, earning a glare from Peter for stating the name so loudly. It had been their second to last case, and unfortunately was still an open investigation. "That's who you two are investigating?"

Hobbes and Fawkes looked at each other in consideration. It was Bobby who followed that up. "Yes... Our agency is investigating Mr. De Thiel's involvement in a recent incident."

"Good luck with that. The man's practically invisible," Burke's partner said.

Darien froze for a split second, not sure if he should allow himself a laugh or not. "Oh believe me, you have no idea."

Bobby sent him a warning look.

"I'm sorry, what agency did you guys say you were from?" the guy asked.

"The Department of Fish and Game," Hobbes answered breezily. "What's that got to do with it?"

The man let out an incredulous laugh. "Fish and game? Seriously? Do they have a department for that?" He looked to Burke, lowering his voice. "Do they have a department for that?"

Burke shrugged.

Bobby protested in righteous indignation. "Hey, animal conservation is serious business, my friend. Serious business. That's not something to go joking about lightly. You'd be surprised how much the mating patterns of bats might affect your daily life."

The younger man shook his head, visibly choosing to let that one go. "Arnaud De Thiel, huh..." he said instead. "That's a name with some bad history."

Darien's mood visibly darkened. "Tell me about it."

Bobby looked to Agent Burke. "Maybe there's an office we could step into, for some privacy?"

There were too many people downstairs, walking by, sitting at desks, able to listen in on the highly-confidential conversation.

Burke seemed to understand the unspoken message. "Let's move to my office upstairs."

As the four men headed upstairs, Burke's partner ended up walking beside Fawkes. He studied the man for a moment. "Do I know you?"

Darien felt slightly caught off guard by that. "Uh, no, I don't think you do."

"I recognize your name from somewhere," the man said, shaking his head slightly. "I just can't seem to place where."

Darien shrugged nonchalantly, not wanting to go into his past in front of a federal agent. Law enforcement tended to not like knowing that a government agency was employing an ex-thief.

"Elizabeth!" Neal suddenly exclaimed in an almost victorious tone.

Peter raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-sentence in his explanation for why the files were classified. "Excuse me?"

"No, no, not your Elizabeth. I remember now—Elizabeth Morgan!"

Fawkes glanced at his partner in uncertainty, almost seeming to question whether he should reply to that or not. "Um, what about her?"

"She talked about you," Neal said, grinning now. "Said you were a good kid. Helped her with the Tellerman jew—" He glanced at Peter, cutting off abruptly.

Darien seemed to barely notice that he had just been implicated in the very high-publicity affair of the Tellerman jewels heist. "You know Liz?"

"We only met once."

"When?"

Neal pretended to have to think about it before he shrugged. "Eh, around six years ago."

Peter rolled his eyes, mumbling, "Of course. The stupid Syntrinsia job. How could I forget?"

Neal tossed him a teasing grin. "Hey, I was never officially implicated in that."

"Right—and you'd better hope Nick Halden never becomes officially implicated in the investigation either. Hughes would send you back, no questions asked."

"Wait," Darien broke in, looking amazed. "Did you just say the Syntrinsia?"

Neal looked to Peter, but only shrugged innocently at Darien.

"Oh my g—you have to be kidding! You were in on the Syntrinsia heist? I knew somebody else was involved but I could never get the name from her! I've wanted to meet you for like—ever! You're practically an idol of mine!"

Neal grinned, practically soaking up the praise. "I was never officially implicated as the forger, no."

Fawkes seemed confused. "Wait, the forger? You didn't actually help with the heist? Liz told me she had help with the planning."

Neal was now confused. "What?"

Fawkes sighed. "If you didn't actually help, do you know how she did it?"

For a moment, Neal hesitated. His grin was losing a bit of its intensity. "I'm sorry?"

"How Liz did it. Do you know how she got in?"

"I uh..." Neal was thrown, looking almost surprised that Darien wasn't basking in the knowledge that he was two feet away from the man who literally recreated the Syntrinsia, painting it in such astounding perfection that the switch went unnoticed for three years—and was only discovered so soon because a certain FBI agent had become convinced that Neal had stolen the original. He forced the owners to have the painting inspected. Still, even then, it took the investigators two weeks to be sure the painting really wasn't the original.

"For the longest time, I thought she used a drill-bit, on the third story, but I realized later that it's a little indelicate for that kind of operation," Darien began. "So then I began to think it was the window of the lobby, knowing the doors were already impossible, but—"

"I don't know how she did it," Neal said, shaking his head. "Sorry. I uh, I didn't exactly follow her in."

"Neal," Peter warned, raising an eyebrow.

"I wasn't there," Neal added. He looked at Peter, shrugging in seemingly complete honesty. "Seriously. Even if I had painted such as masterpiece as the Syntrinsia's recreation—which really was a masterpiece, by the way—I wouldn't have been able to get into the building. The Jefferson-Walters building? It was a little higher-key than I could have handled at the time. Now maybe today things would be a little different, but then? No. Wouldn't have happened."

Darien smiled almost nostalgically. "Yeah...that would have been pretty much the highpoint of her career. I didn't find out she was a part of it until a year ago, and it was already a week or two after she disappeared into retirement." He shook his head. "Dang it! If I had known she did it alone, I would have let her find the way through those lasers in the Tennison building. Probably would've been a piece of cake for her, really, if that Jefferson-Walters has anything to say about it."

"Fawkes, can you concentrate?" Hobbes suddenly asked in an impatient tone.

"Right. Sorry. Arnaud."

"No, no, no," Peter broke in. "Hold up. You broke into the Tennison building?"

Fawkes immediately looked sheepish, glancing at his partner nervously. "Uh...well..."

"He was undercover," Hobbes said easily.

"Then why did you say you were friends with Liz Morgan? And you were in on the Tellerman jewels?"

"This is cool," Neil interrupted happily.

"Excuse me?" Peter asked, glaring at him.

Neil just grinned back at him. "Now I have another thief to bond with while we work on a case."

"Ex..." Bobby corrected, "ex-thief. He's rehabilitated and living on the right side of life."

Darien nodded in agreement with (or, at least, recognition of) his partner's words.

Peter rolled his eyes, sighing heavily. "I don't really like the thought of that."

Darien gave the man his best affronted look. "Well, ouch."

"No, not that," he growled. "The thought of Caffrey making friends with another great influence."

Peter waited until the two Fish and Game agents had left before teasing Neal. "You looked disappointed when the kid didn't recognize your work with the Syntrinsia."

Neal couldn't even hide his confusion. "It was a masterpiece. Whoever painted it—that was his greatest work. It had to be. How could a thief not understand the incredible perfection that would have had to go into creating the Sytrinsia replica?"

Peter patted him on the shoulder, slightly condescendingly. "I know, buddy. I know."

Washington Irving once said, "The idol of today pushes the hero of yesterday out of our recollection; and will, in turn, be supplanted by his successor of tomorrow."

Someone also once said, "When you meet your life-long idol, the person always seems to be the exact opposite of what you expected, so don't expect much."

Oh wait, that second one was me.