Here's an extra large chapter to inspire more reviews.

Lyn sat in Susan's office in the woman's designer bakery picking at her turkey sub while the brunette happily chatted away. Lyn needed a lunch break that didn't involve trying to find her niche in the complex social structure of a federal building. Here, she felt comfortable, listening to Susan's merry babble about brown sugar to flour ratios and her newest employee Raphael.

"…so he's just standing there, all 6 foot Italian muscle-"

Lyn was going to have to put an end to this before she had to file a sexual harassment suit on Raphael's behalf.

"I'm gonna stop you there, sweetheart. You have a crush on him. I got it."

"Crush? I want to use his body as a jungle gym!"

Lyn covered her eyes with her hand and scrunched her nose.

"Please don't." The redhead abandoned her sub for the much more appealing snicker doodles Susan had brought in. The other woman shrugged.

"Ok, I get it, you're not in the mood. So how's it going at the FBI? The day's not even over and you're hiding in my office so I'm going to venture it's been a little rocky?"

Lyn sat back in her chair and tilted her head, considering. "Not really rocky more like weird." Susan gave her a curious look. "It's weird to describe a forger to another forger. Every time he opened his mouth I kept expecting him to discredit something I said. It's going to get some taking used to." Lyn glanced at Susan's face. The woman's eyebrows were drawn together and her mouth was a little parted- a mixture of surprise and confusion. Lyn had gotten too specific without any preamble and her explanation must have not made sense to anyone on the outside.

"I have no idea who you're talking about but I'm on your side."

Lyn looked at the wall clock and sighed.

"I have to go, Susan. My lunch break is over." Lyn gathered her things to leave but something her shorter friend had said during her Raphael story. "How is Raphael fitting in here?"

Susan's eyebrows twitched upward, and her eyes widened- confused. It was a reasonable response as Lyn had shown very little interest in the man before.

"Ummm, fine. It was a little rocky at first, but there's always a learning curve when working somewhere new. I'm sure it's the same thing for you."

Lyn was barely listening at the end, her mind already whirring. She let out a distracted 'See you, Susan' before heading back to her new office.


"I've been thinking." Lyn was pacing in front of Peter's desk. Jones sitting in one of the guest chairs, watching her move back and forth, an almost amused expression on his face.

"That's good," the older man said slowly. Lyn ignored him.

"Why sell to the small gallery when The Met obviously would have taken it and paid a better price? The forgers knew it wouldn't stand up to extreme scrutiny so they sold to a smaller gallery that couldn't afford testing. The painting wouldn't have even been questioned if it hadn't been sold to The Met. And the various painters worked seamlessly together. You had to x-ray and then put the thing under the microscope to see the differences. Whoever these people are they know the system and each other. I seriously doubt this is their first forgery."

"Alright. And how is this going to help us find them?" Jones' tone wasn't mocking but it wasn't curious either; more like he just couldn't understand what she was doing there. A lot of law enforcement officers were confused about that but they usually weren't as polite as Jones was being about it.

Lyn was glad Peter jumped in because she hadn't really thought that part through.

"Well we can't go around and check every small gallery in New England for these three part forgeries or whatever they are. Let's just start with the ones in the city and see if we can't scrounge up a lead on the perps."

Lyn watched Jones shift in his seat to sit up straighter and lean forward, the picture of attentiveness. It was clear how much he wanted Peter's approval.

"We should start with any unusual purchases, very valuable paintings." Jones almost did a double take when he heard the suggestion come from Lyn instead of his mentor. "Having a more valuable piece usually means it's rare and therefore more desirable. It would help ensure the gallery, especially a smaller gallery, be more cooperative, maybe overlook questionable, I don't know," she waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, "these things usually come with some sort of paperwork for authenticity or something, right?" Lyn heard try to Peter suppress a snort of amusement and she saw Jones' smirk out of the corner of her eye. When she looked at him his face projected professionalism and sobriety but his eyes were brimming with laughter, but not in a cruel way.

What? White Collar wasn't her specialty. Peter knew that. Jones could be good-naturedly amused all he wanted, she knew what she was doing.

"Alright," Peter nodded at both her and Jones. "Go at it."

Lyn was confused. "Both of us?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Ok, not really part of my job description but I can go with it."

"Get Neal to help," Peter looked over his desk into the bullpen. Caffrey was twirling his hat and staring off into space. "He looks bored."

Yeah, cause more research and paperwork was bound to keep him entertained. He would probably commit fraud for kicks. By the slight smirk on Peter's face, he was quite aware of what fate he was binding his charge to.

Jones stood and opened the door for her- a gentleman- not like to way Caffrey had done it- for the attention. "Shall we?"


Clinton Jones was a give-a-guy-(or girl, as the case may be)-a-chance kind of person. Unlike many of his co-workers Jones had sat back and reserved judgment when Neal Caffrey came to work at the White Collar unit under Peter's custody. Caffrey had turned out to be, not to sound cliché, a breath of fresh air. He brought the creativity level up around the office and was whip smart, which Jones always appreciated, and well, was just a really likeable guy. Not that Jones wasn't entirely aware that Neal could cut and run at any moment but until he did the agent was satisfied just to enjoy working with the ex-con.

And then there was Lyn Marrow. Jones had been suspicious at first, thought that this was another OPR scam to get at Peter or Neal. But she had looked him in the eye and told him in no uncertain terms what she was doing there, and she was being honest, Jones had always been good at deciphering things like that. And Peter trusted her. Hell, Peter hired her as their personal shrink. So he was sitting back, just as he did for Caffrey, and was reserving judgment. So far she seemed competent and could go toe-to-toe with Neal, which was a feat in itself. And there was just something about her that made you feel comfortable and relaxed. Which could be just as much of a psychology trick as Neal's likeableness could be a con.

"Hey man," Jones said, tapping Neal's elevated foot on his desk, "We've got more research to do." At first the con man looked up at Jones like a kicked puppy but then his face shifted over into reluctant professionalism.

"On what?"

"Grab your laptop, we're going to the conference room." Caffrey complied. They began to ascend the stairs as Jones filled him in. "We're supposed to be looking at small galleries in New York that got unusually valuable paintings." Jones let Neal walk in first and he caught the slight hesitation when Neal saw Marrow was sitting at the conference table, already started on the research from the looks of it.

"Dr. Marrow," the blue-eyed man greeted.

"Hello, Mr. Caffrey. Agent Jones."

Jones noted that though she was continuously friendly her tone was several degrees warmer when she said his name. Caffrey sat right across from the psychologist, just like this morning. The con man opened his laptop and settled in but he kept glancing up at Marrow, like he didn't want to let her out of his sight. Or couldn't keep his eyes off of her. She was a good-looking woman after all. But Jones had a gut feeling it that wasn't it.

"I got a list of all 300 art galleries in New York City." Marrow gave them both, well, mostly Jones, a wry smile. "Want to go alphabetically?"

"So you're here to profile the galleries." The redhead's focus was immediately diverted to Neal.

"I can't profile a building."

"Why not?"

"Seriously?"

"Absolutely."

"Because it's a building. I'm here because this will go faster with three people."

"Then why isn't Cruz here instead of you?"

"Because Peter is a sadist."

"Peter?"

"Yes, I do believe that's Agent Burke's name."

"I'm aware, I just didn't know you were so casual."

"He calls me Lyn."

"Yes but you call me Mr. Caffrey."

"That's because my relationship with Peter is nothing like my relationship with you."

"We're in a relationship? Well it's a little fast and there's that whole engagement thing on your part but I suppose that's taken care of easy enough."

"This ring is going nowhere."

"You can call me Neal."

"I think I'll stay with 'Mr. Caffrey'."

"Can I call you Lyn?"

"You can call me Lyn when I start calling you Neal."

Jones was 99% sure they had forgotten he was there. But he wasn't offended, this was… interesting. Neal looked like he was having the time of his life while Marrow was impossible to read behind her stonewall friendly-but-utterly-professional look, even when she was calling Peter a sadist.

"Uh, guys?" As entertaining as this was, they did have work to do. "Let's just split up the list and get working."

"Fine with me."

"Great."

Jones glanced back and forth at their identical guileless expressions. Yep. Definitely interesting.


They had been going at this for an hour and Neal felt like he was about to go nuts. There was even a kind of humming noise in his head. Not only did they have to research the current displays on every single gallery in New York City but every piece of artwork that passed through those galleries in the past five years.

Wait, the humming wasn't in his head, it was coming from Marrow. The tune sounded vaguely familiar, like something he had heard on the radio or in a restaurant or something. Definitely not something he owned.

"Are you humming Metalica?"

At Jones' question Marrow's head shot up from her computer and her eyes wide and her body gone still, like she had been caught red handed at something particularly embarrassing. It was priceless.

"No."

A few minutes later Neal heard the low humming again. This time it was 'Good Morning' from Singing in the Rain. Metalica to musicals?

"You're humming again." Neal couldn't resist pointing it out. Her professional face fluttered back and forth to flustered.

"No, I- I used to, when I work, but not anymore."

Neal shared a thinly veiled amused look with Jones.

"Of course not." Neal could tell she was biting back a retort somewhere along the lines of an indignant 'I don't!'. But then she stopped and calmed and Neal was transported back to that stupidly neutral room with the plants in every corner. She simply gave him a small, pleasant, close-lipped smile and went back to her list.

When Neal heard the first two bars of 'Share the Land' he almost burst out laughing. Neal knew that most of the work in White Collar was going to be paperwork and research but it must have been getting to him more than usual if he was about to break his carefully constructed composure over Guess Who. Luckily Peter joined them and prevented Neal from cracking open like a cheap safe. He didn't think he'd fare well in that condition under Marrow's neutral room stare.

"So have you found anything?"

"Mmm, I've got a suspect early Duchamp at the Pinhole Gallery," Jones supplied.

"There was a $450,000 purchase of a Mondrian at a place called…" Lyn scanned her third of the list and her eyebrows centered and raised, the universal muscle twitches for 'you have got to be kidding me', "Halfway House. It was sold to some guy named Daniel Picah."

If Neal were writing this scene he would have himself take a drink of water right at the mention of Daniel's name so he could dramatically and comedically choke and sputter. Luckily for him there was no water in sight. The con man refused to look at Peter lest it trigger the secret sadist, the one that brought deviled ham into an enclosed space, that he knew lurked within Peter Burke.

"The name sounds familiar," Lyn said absently. Neal ignored her in favor of staring holes into his borrowed FBI issue office laptop.

If I pretend it's not happening it'll just go away.

"Wasn't he the guy who had one of the jade elephants?" Jones supplied. Traitor.

Neal was still not looking at Peter but he could hear the smirk in his voice and feel his jubilant stare boring into his forehead.

"Yes he was."

God, Peter sounded way too happy about this.

"Well," his handler continued, "I think it's time we dropped by Mr. Picah's place. Retrieve the Mondrian ourselves. Neal?"

Oh, no. Peter wouldn't be so cruel. Peter wouldn't subject him to that house that bastardized priceless works of art and had absolutely not sense of cohesion. And Peter definitely wouldn't subject him to the distorted hero worship of Daniel Picah. Neal finally looked at his partner, his own expression probably locked in pitiful.

Actually, yes, he would be that cruel.


It took all of Peter's considerable self-control to not burst out laughing. Daniel Picah was probably one of maybe four people Neal really, really would rather not like him. And as much as Peter enjoyed and appreciated Neal's intelligence and expertise he also thought his charge's seemingly infallible suave veneer should be deservedly shaken. If Neal was going to be a normal (read: law-abiding) person then he was going to have to start acting like a normal person, not like a character in some hyper-stylish caper movie. Or cartoon.

And the expression on Neal's face when he suggested they go see Picah personally. Priceless.

But there was more to the visit than simply jerking Neal's chain. If there was something suspect about the painting's origin and the gallery knew about it or even suspected, they would clam up the second the acronym FBI left his lips. Picah, however, would be more than willing to help. Especially when Neal, Picah's epitome of cool, was around.

Peter caught Lyn eyeing Neal's reaction interestedly. She would be useful when dealing with Picah. Picah distracted easy and the woman had a talent for getting people to talk about exactly what she wanted them to. And maybe Peter wanted to keep all of the man's attention off of him.

"Lyn, why don't you tag along?"

The redhead looked confused.

"He's a suspect?" she asked slowly. Peter shook his head.

"He gets… sidetracked. I need you to do your psychobabble thing to keep him on point." Peter stood up. "Jones grab Cruz and finish this list. I'll send a team over to the Pinhole Gallery."

"So do I still have to go with you?" Neal was giving him his best puppy-dog eyes.

"Oh yeah."

"Right."

Lyn just looked between him and Neal suspiciously before packing up her things and walking out the door.


Neal was sulking in the passenger's seat. Well, he was trying not to show it in front of Lyn but there was a slight hardness to his mouth that wanted to turn into a pout. The kinder thing would have been to just take Lyn along and leave Neal at the office but with how dull the day must have been for him, Peter didn't really trust the ex con away from his supervision.

Lyn's head appeared between the seats and the agent was struck with the urge to scold her for exhibiting unsafe behavior in the car like she was a child.

"So, Mr. Caffrey, why are you so anxious to see Picah?"

Peter couldn't help himself and let out a snort of laughter. This got Lyn's attention as she turned to him for explanation.

"Oh, you'll see when we get there."

Lyn leaned back in her seat.

"Uh-huh."

They pulled up to the rather sizable house that contained several floors of, according to Neal, horribly mismatched pieces of art.

"Agent Burke! Neal!" Picah's overly enthused visage filled the doorway. His eyes fell on Lyn and they almost popped out of his skull. The redhead graced him with a wide smile and offered her hand to shake.

"Lyn Marrow." The trust fund baby took the offered hand and kissed the back of it.

"Enchante." Peter had taken French for two years in college and while his own skills were lacking due to disuse that was possible one of the worst accents he had ever heard. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Neal's jaw tighten for just a moment, suppressing the urge to laugh. Lyn took it in spades, her smile never faltering. "Come in! Come in! I just got a 16th century Parisian dagger. 5 Grand if you can believe it."

The house was just as it was those two months ago, big and filled with things the stands for cost more than his car. Well, there were a few exceptions. There was now a very nice hat rack filled with fedoras and there was an antique record player with stacks of Sinatra albums fashionably placed next to it. Peter would bet anything that Picah's closet was currently filled with vintage suits.

"Hey Neal, check it out." Picah lifted one of the fedoras and did that flippy thing Neal does whenever he feels the need to accessorize. The movement wasn't as smooth but the man was obviously proud of it.

"Hey, you learned the trick all by yourself."

Picah darted over to Lyn, who was switching between observing him and taking inventory of the place.

"That's a 13th century silk fan from Beijing. $45,000 if you can believe it." He turned back to Peter and Neal. "Hey, I'm glad you guys dropped by I've got some vintage Chianti and cigars. We could hang out."

"Yeah," Peter interrupted, "Actually we're here on another case."

"Really?" This seemed to please him even more.

"Yes," Lyn began, "You purchased a Mondrian from a gallery called Halfway House."

"Yeah, for a cool 45 K if you can believe it."

"Well we suspect it may be a forgery," Neal finished.

"Wow, can you believe it! That I would have not one but two hot pieces!"

"Well it was bound to happen." Lyn waved her arm to draw attention to the clusters of artworks. "Statistically speaking."

"And you haven't even seen the rest of the house!"

"And I would love to see it." Lyn wasn't being flirtatious, just friendly. "Why don't you tell Agent Burke where the painting is and he and Mr. Caffrey can check it out." Picah looked torn between leaving his idol and showing off for Lyn. But the woman fixed him with an expectant stare and so he caved.

"It's on the fourth floor on the right. View from the Dunes with Beach and Piers, Domburg."

Peter glanced at Neal who nodded, meaning he could identify the piece.

"Shall we?" Lyn turned her body towards the stairs. It was a way for her to control Picah's movements, subtle but effective. The pair disappeared to the second floor while he and Neal ascended to check out the possible forgery.


Neal stared at the Mondrian painting. It was beautiful. It was more than beautiful. Strokes of color, Burnt Orange no.4, Teal Meadow, Periwinkle Blue, it was one of his earlier works, before he transitioned into Analytic Cubism. It was a landscape, only distinguishable by the direction and type of brushstroke. It was also a forgery. A very, very good forgery but a fake nonetheless.

By the looks of it there was a great chance that it was done by the same trio. Or quadruplet or whatever.

"It's a forgery," Neal informed his handler, straightening from the bent position he assumed to get closer to the painting. "Looks like another of our group projects." Peter nodded.

"Ok, I'll get a forensic team to come collect it," Peter said, taking out his cell phone. Neal raised an eyebrow.

"Ok? That's it? No snarky comment? No sarcasm? No questioning my considerable expertise? Just ok?" The FBI agent gave him a dry what-are-you-talking-about-you-idiot stare.

"Yeah. Ok. Believe it or not I actually trust you about these things. Or else you wouldn't be here." The older man shook his head and turned away to make his phone call. Neal was confused. They had gone off script. He leaned against the railing, hands in his pockets, the pose made him looked sharp. He had practiced this stance so much it was effortless.

The sound of Picah's and Marrow's voices made him twitch his head to the side, trying to distinguish the words. The con man had to lean back and look over to the floor below to hear clearly. There was Marrow, in her pretty cream blouse- silk, actually, high quality, watching Picah patiently who couldn't seem to stop telling her everything she wanted to know.

"…so after I told the curator I wanted it she got kinda nervous, went into her office to make a call. The door wasn't shut so I could hear her. She was talking to a guy, called him Professor something. Something with an M. Not that I make a habit of eavesdropping or anything-" Marrow cut him off by shaking her head, and while he couldn't really see her face he imagined she was smiling at the trust fund baby pleasantly.

"No, I wouldn't imagine you do. And you really can't remember the professor's name?" Her voice was soft, almost hypnotic and Neal imagined she could get innocent men to confess to murder with that voice. Poor Picah.

"No, if you can believe it."

"Mmm. That's too bad. Would have really helped Neal and the investigation."

Ah, so she had noticed Picah's little man-crush on him. Peter had finished his call and joined Neal looking down at the pair.

"She's good," Peter said low enough so his voice didn't carry to the next floor.

"Very good," Neal agreed. The con man ignored Peter's stare boring into the side of his face.


The trio exited the modern mansion as the forensic team entered.

"So what did you think of Picah?" Peter's voice held a hint of barely contained mischievousness. Neal glanced over at Lyn and saw her lips twitch and purse, her jaw tighten and eye crinkle. The con man rolled his eyes.

"Oh, go ahead."

Marrow caught his gaze and then burst out laughing. And she wasn't just laughing, she was pointing and laughing. Well, getting her to laugh was a step in the right direction of where he wanted her to go, even if he hadn't so much gotten her to laugh as she was openly mocking him.

But hey, reality was really all about interpretation.