Neal had prepared himself for a relaxing evening at home, alone. Therefore, he was surprised when Peter Burke stormed into his apartment, followed by his wife.

"Peter, nice to see you. You look upset. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Don't give me that crap. You know exactly why I'm here. You did this on purpose. Have you been enjoying the thought about my wife unwrapping the painting?"

Neal was genuinely confused. "What's wrong with the painting? Don't you like it? You don't have to hang it up; I won't take offence. I won't even sulk. Promise!"

"Stop it! This is a forgery. Or even worse, you stole it from the gallery. What do you expect me to do? Tell me! Because, I really don't know what to do now."

"Hon, shut up." Elizabeth was kneeling in front of the paintings leaning against the wall. All of them Nickie Ferrantes.

She was thrilled and couldn't avert her eyes. "Neal, those are amazing. Why didn't you send those to the exhibition? They are incredibly intense. The exhibits are great, no objection. But nothing compared to these pieces of art."

"No, these are way too personal. You know, it's private stuff. That would be like putting up your diary for display in a public place."

"Elizabeth, what are you talking about?" For once, the FBI agent couldn't make any sense out of his wife's words.

"Oh come on, you have to recognize this. Look at this one. That's you and Neal somewhere in prison. There's this mixture of hope and desperation."

Neal was pleased. "Excellent observation skills! That was 4 years back when I tried to convince Peter to sign the consulting deal. I'm glad you can make it out. It's time, place and emotion. Everything that gives art a meaning. Of course, our FBI agent over here can see these only in baseball."

The FBI agent in question stared at the picture. "There is an orange sparkler and a greyish streak behind black stripes. I'm the greyish streak? You see me as a greyish streak? But Nickie Ferrante is an Italian artist, and you, on the other side, are Neal Caffrey." He had problems to digest the information.

The ex-criminal grinned boldly and opened his arms in a proud gesture. "Nickie Ferrante is my nom de plume..."

The agent corrected him resignedly. "Alias."

"OK, let's agree on alias. Anyways, I used it in the beginning of my career when I travelled round the Riviera and lived the life of an aspiring artist."

"Probably to con a naive collector into buying worthless stuff or steal the jewelry of a rich spouse!"

"You don't expect me to confess any alleged crimes? It was an innocent time back then. The alias wasn't really holding up. Mozzie got mad when I told him about it. But I was very young and brazen; I'll have to say in my defense."

"Nickie Ferrante had never made it to your file. Otherwise, I would have recognized it. It didn't ring a bell."

"It didn't ring a bell? Peter, your general knowledge of great American classics is really scary – unless baseball is concerned." Neal was sipping his wine. He made a mental note to give his friend a DVD movie box for the next birthday as educational material. But probably, he was fighting a lost cause. Still, it would be nice to spend a cozy Sunday afternoon with Peter and El watching some old Hollywood flicks.

Peter Burke was relieved to hear that the ex-forger hasn't slipped back to his criminal ways. He wasn't exactly the talkative type who expressed his feelings eloquently. Therefore, he simply turned towards his partner and engulfed him in a big hug. For a couple of moments, Neal was frozen in surprise. But then, he hugged Peter right back.

Peter took a deep breath when he finally ended the embrace, and gave Neal a pat on the shoulder. "I could do with some of this" - he pointed towards the bottle with red wine, "Before you go ahead. I take it you don't have plain beer in your fridge."

Neal fetched two more glasses and poured wine for his guests. "But Peter, even I wouldn't be so daring to send a forged painting to an FBI agent. That would be reckless stupidity. I'm adventurous but not stupid." He chuckled. "Thinking about it, maybe I have crossed the fine line between daring and stupid once or twice in my life."

They sat down to drink wine and talk. Neal confided to his friends how he had started to paint in order to keep himself busy after he had served his time and toured Europe. Eventually, he showed the paintings to a friend working in art business, and she was impressed and asked to put some of them up for sale. By the time he had returned from Dubai, he had already gained some fame. Consequently, he had agreed to set up the exhibition in the Uptown gallery.

The earnings from the sales were a welcome supplement to the consulting fees the FBI paid. Furthermore, it was legit, but still enough mystery involved keeping him interested.

While they were sitting and chatting, Peter Burke knew for sure that he couldn't have sent his friend to prison. He was extremely glad that he hasn't been forced to decide between his job and his friend. He loved his job. But he would have decided for his friend.

Slightly dizzy from the wine, he mused whether this made him a bad agent or rather a good friend. By all means, working together with Caffrey had changed both of them. He was far apart from being the archeologist and Neil was no longer a brazen criminal. By all means, it was a change for the better.

They opened another bottle of wine. It was almost midnight, and Neal raised a toast to celebrate the last minutes of his friends' anniversary. He was glad he'd found a home and friends who cared for him.

El expressed her sincere thanks for the extraordinary gift. "I'm really glad you didn't forge it. I wouldn't have returned it to rot in some evidence storage facility. I really, really love it. Thanks Neal."

Finally, the spontaneous party came to an end. The couple was heading towards the taxi that Peter had called earlier on. They had shared too much of the excellent Burgundy to drive a car on their own.

It was dark outside, and Neal was standing at the front door. He smiled and called for El.

"Good night Elizabeth!"

"Good night Neal!"

"Good night Peter!"

"Good night Neal!"

Peter complained, but with a faint smile on his face. "Can we go home now, El, or do we have to wait for another rehearsal of The Waltons?