A/N: I just realised that I forgot to mention that the title is from Fun.'s song "Stars" which I feel really, really links in with the fic. There's also a few more songs but I can't remember them off the top of my head (it's about 1am so please forgive me) - if you want to know, just ask and I'll try and remember. I think one may be a Noah and the Whale song. But yeah. Just felt I should mention that.

It was Quinn that Peter called into the conference room first, which surprised everyone.

As soon as they arrived at the office the next morning, Neal handed over the pen and, without a word, Peter retreated back to his office to listen to it. Quinn had thought maybe he'd talk to them first, or they'd listen to the tape altogether. Apparently, Peter was going to listen to it before calling Quinn to him.

"So, Williams," he began, sitting on the edge of the table. "Tell me about him."

Quinn bit her lip. "Err, what do you want to know?"

"Recognise him?"

Yes. "No, he – " she began, swallowing. "He's not the murderer."

"Huh," Peter replied, pulling a face. "Then why did you leave in a hurry?"

Quinn felt her heartbeat rise as she lied, "I – I just couldn't do it."

"Okay, well," he said, sighing as he stood. "I guess you can go. You might as well go back to the flat. I'll call you if we find another suspect."

"I… Okay," she agreed quietly, slipping from her chair and crossing the room.

As soon as she was out, Neal was there, asking, "Well?"

She shrugged.

He frowned. "Is everything – "

"Neal?" came Peter's voice from the door way. Quinn saw him grin as he caught sight of the tracker on his ankle. "How did one night of freedom feel?"

"Amazing," he admitted, rocking back on his heels with a grin as he dipped his hands in his pockets. "Any chance for another one?"

"Not yet. We're back down to zero suspects."

"Oh," was all Neal said, before realising Quinn had already fled down the stairs and was halfway across the office. "Hey! Q! Where – "

"I told her to head home," she heard Peter tell Neal before she left. "I think we need to talk."

Quinn supposed he meant about the party, but there was no reason for her to be out of the office when he did that, or even out of the room. It didn't make sense, but she was sure whatever it was, it had something to do with how Peter had reacted when she'd told him she couldn't pretend to be someone. He hadn't sounded cold, more disappointed, but that was the feeling Quinn got from him. It was as if Peter had thought the murder had been that straightforward. She would have given anything to assure him that this murder was as confusing as an episode of BBC's Sherlock.

Neal didn't say anything about what they'd spoken about, or what they'd done at the office that day when he returned home. Instead, he peeled off his jacket and sat backwards on a kitchen chair, leaning his crossed arms on the top of the chair's back. Quinn could feel him watching her as she read but, instead of giving in, she licked her lips and made herself focus on the story. Since she'd been staying with him, Neal had often done this. It was kind of like a game; Neal would watch her, waiting to see how long it would take to irritate her so she turned and asked him what the problem was.

Quinn lasted three minutes before she put down the book. "What?"

"Nothing," he replied with a smirk; he took great pleasure in knowing he'd won, she could practically hear it in his voice as she looked away. "What did you do today?"

"Read, draw – the usual."

Neal thought about this for a moment before asking, "Have you done any practice sketches of Van Gogh's Starry Night?"

Quinn turned to him. "No…. Does this mean – "

"Moz!" he shouted as he got up and crossed over to her, planting himself on the sofa opposite. "Stop skulking on the balcony and get in here!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" he called back, hurrying across as quickly as his glass of red wine would allow. "Who's dying?"

"No one's dying – but Quinn will soon be living," Neal declared, grinning at them both in turn. "I've found a prospect buyer for our painting. Last night, Williams – "

"No, wait, I've found a buyer!" Mozzie stated.

Quinn rolled her eyes, lifting her feet to rest them on the coffee table. "Well, we can't sell it twice…"

There was a silence as they considered this, before Neal realised suddenly, "Yes, we can."

"I'm not painting two," Quinn told him immediately.

"You don't have to," he assured, leaning forwards. "But we don't need to worry about that yet. We need to sort out how we're getting in and out of that museum without getting spotted by the cameras."

"I don't want to know," she told them, standing up and walking away. "I want to know as little as possible, okay?"

For that reason, Quinn spent the next few days avoiding the main area of the lounge. Mozzie was around most of the time, sat at the kitchen table with a plan of the museum and a glass of wine in front of him. Neal was only there in the evenings, after work, while she was still avoiding the office. Peter's cold disappointment rung through her every time she thought about what they were doing. Especially involving Williams. He was nothing but bad news, and even the infamous Neal Caffrey couldn't pull one over on him.

"Hey, earth to Q," came a voice, waking her from her thoughts.

"Huh?" she asked, blinking as she looked up to see Mozzie sit opposite her while Neal lifted her outstretched legs so he could sit on the sofa with her.

"We've figured everything out," he told her, his fingers caressing her ankles, which he'd placed back on his legs. "But, because I have to toe the line, we need to get me a good alibi."

"Which is where you come in," Mozzie told her, pointing just to make sure she knew who he meant.

Quinn bit her lip. "What do I have to do?"

"You're going to accompany me to dinner tomorrow night," Neal told her, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he waited for her to react.

"Wait, like a date?"

"Exactly like a date."