"Neal, lighten up. You've been begging me to leave the city for the past year and a half and now that we do, you're sulking."

"I'm not sulking, Peter, I'm simply using passive resistance. And I don't recall ever asking to go to Missouri. I'm more of a Venice kind of guy."

"Giving me the silent treatment does not count as passive resistance. Plus, I remember you begging me for days to go to Atlantic City just 3 hours away for a gambling ring, so don't tell me you don't feel like visiting Missouri."

The pair walked into the small town's middle school, Peter flashing his badge to the secretary on his way. They had arrived in Missouri an hour ago and, after dropping their bags off at the hotel, drove over to Brooks' old school. A bad mood had descended on Neal ever since Peter had announced Hughes's approval, and the agent couldn't wrap his mind around it. Sure, the con thought that this was a dead-end lead, but he had never passed up the opportunity for a field trip before.

The school was small and didn't have many teachers, and even fewer had worked when Brooks had gone to school. That left about 5 to talk to, and even Peter was beginning to doubt this lead. Not that he'd tell Neal that.

"Alright, I'll get the left side of the school and you can get the right," Neal said.

Peter was surprised, since this was the first conversation Neal had initiated since they had boarded the plane. "Why split up?"

Neal shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "This trip is already a waste of time, might as well not drag it out longer than we have to." Without waiting for Peter's response, he turned and began walking down the hall.

Peter frowned, but went the opposite direction anyway.

oOoOoOoOo

Neal had planned on never coming back here. Until a week ago, he had thought he was more likely to confess to all of his crimes than set foot in this town again. He kept his head down, walking in the most deserted hallways he could remember. It had been years, but the layout was still imprinted in his brain as a mockery of what he once had.

"Danny?"

Neal froze. He hadn't been called that name in almost 20 years. He wondered if he could keep walking and pretend he hadn't heard, but his pause was long enough that he heard the clicks of high heels approaching him quickly. It was either turn around or sprint away.

He turned slowly and saw his former art teacher, Mrs. Finch. She had aged, but Neal instantly recognized her. The sight sent a pang into his heart. The happiest moments of his childhood had been the hours in her classroom, learning how to paint and sculpt.

"It is you, Danny! I'd recognize those blue eyes anywhere. My, how you've grown!" She gave him a quick hug. "How have you been? I'm so sorry about your parents, darling. It was very tragic. And the news said you went missing! What happened, are you alright?"

Neal wanted to calm the flustered woman, especially before she made a scene. But, it took him a few moments to regain his voice. No one had ever told him they were sorry about his parents before.

"I'm alright, Mrs. Finch. I... ran away for a few weeks after their death. To... cope. But it's alright. I'm actually here investigating for the FBI right now. But, enough about me, how have you been? How's your son?"

"Oh, Jimmy's great, I'm great, we're all great. How's your painting going? I would love to have a Brooks original."

If only she knew. 'Oh, you see, I'm an internationally renowned art forger and I'm actually serving my sentence as we speak. Those dreams of being featured in the MET that we talked about are dead!' Neal didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or cry. He settled on saying, "I'll get to work on it straight away," with a flash of his grin. Mrs. Finch laughed. He had forgotten how nice it was to talk to the woman who was more like a mother than his own. Neal felt at ease for the first time in three days.

Until he saw Peter walking towards them down the hallway. He had to act fast. "I have to go now, Mrs. Finch. It was amazing seeing you. We'll catch up over dinner one day, alright? I'll be in touch."

Mrs. Finch smiled. "You better. I'm glad you're alright." With a final pat on his shoulder, she continued on her way down the hallway. Neal barely held in a visible sigh of relief.

"Who was that?" Peter asked as he got close enough.

Neal took a moment to compose himself, although a moment was not nearly enough. "The art teacher."

Peter nodded, still studying Neal closely. "What did she know?"

Neal rolled his eyes. "First of all, your stare is kind of creeping me out. And she didn't know much. She... remembered him. She didn't know any more about the kidnapping than what she heard on the news."

Peter sighed. "She was the closest one to him according to the file, our best lead. What about his life before the kidnapping? Any places he visited, anywhere he might have left a trace?"

Neal shook his head. "Not really. I told you this was a bad lead, if it can even qualify as a lead. Let's just get back to New York and do some actual investigating into Jones."

"Maybe you just weren't asking the right questions. I'll go talk to her."

"No, you shouldn't!"

Peter stopped mid-step. "And why not?"

Neal scoured his memory. He couldn't let Peter talk to Mrs. Finch, so he might as well give him something. "There was an old cave by the river that he hung out in."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Mrs. Finch told you that?"

"...yeah."

Peter grinned. "Well, why didn't you say that in the first place? Let's go."

oOoOoOoOo

sorry for the long wait and short update. I need to make sure people still want his story after I made them wait so long. anyway, thanks for all of the feedback! please leave your thoughts, I love reading them!