Note from the Phoenix: I have avoided all promos for the next episodes of White Collar...so please avoid asking my opinion about them. No worries if you have already, just for the future, I like surprises. Thanks!

Oh and more hugs to ButterMilk, she forced me to make this chapter longer. Also she pointed out the difference between Sparkling Wine over in Europe and here in the USofA...apparently sugary 'wine coolers' do not classify as wine over there. Next thing you know she'll tell me that Budwiser isn't considered beer...wait...what? *whisper* *whisper* I don't know...how is American beer like making love in a canoe? It's *what* close to water? Ack! (sorry if you don't get the joke, I censored it)

White Collar: The Eye of Sita

Chapter Ten

Stunned into deadly silence Peter sat back and tried to make sense out of his own racing thoughts. With his confession behind him Neal actually seemed to have calmed dramatically. Unwrapping his arms from his stomach he pulled his hands through his hair a few times. He leaned forward and rested his arms on his lap to support his weight. He hadn't fully regained his usual composure, but he was working on it.

Peter watched Neal's eyes track back and forth as he ran through whatever had happened in his mind. It was like watching a sleep walker, his eyes open but unfocused as they darted in a REM like pattern. He didn't seem afraid, it was more of a mournful expression. Neal wasn't offering any additional information, he was just working through his own thoughts while waiting patiently for Peter's reaction.

The more time passed the less sure Peter became as to what his reaction should be. He knew there had to be more to the story than cold blooded murder. Neal had also already proven to him with Fowler that he wasn't capable of killing for revenge. Although when Peter thought back he wondered how that scene would have played out if he hadn't been there to pull Neal back from the edge.

Peter leaned forward and picked his badge up off the table. He turned it over in his hands a few times. He knew he wasn't going to get another word from Neal if it wasn't still 'off the record'. However even as a civilian hearing a confession about a murder came along with certain responsibilities. Hearing such a story as a friend came with a completely different set of rules. Making a careful decision Peter put the badge back down and look to Neal.

"Are you sure you want to leave your badge on the table?"

"I am." Peter answered honestly.

"Thank you."

"So...does this mean I'm an now accessory to murder after the fact?"

"No."

Peter breathed an audible sigh of relief. Neal managed a sad smile. Needing a little more time to regather his thoughts Peter got to his feet and went to the nearby glass patio door. Neal got up as well, but only long enough to take off his shoes and resettle on the couch with his legs folded under himself.

It was barely nine am, but Peter was sudden in desperate need for a drink. It was early, but he had a feeling that this was going to be a very long day. Neal waited patiently on the couch while Peter went over to the large wet bar. He was a few steps away when Neal's anklet suddenly protested loudly. Peter took a step back in surprise and it fell silent again. He looked back over at Neal. Neal had been just as startled and looked over his shoulder at Peter before a genuine smile brightened his expression.

"Peter, did you tie me to your phone?"

"I did." Peter admitted.

"I didn't know you could do that. That's actually kind of clever."

"Thank you." Peter said drily.

Peter fished the phone out of his pocket and tossed it on the floor which was easier than resetting it at the moment. Raiding the mini fridge Peter found a bottle of imported beer and a bottle of some sort of sparkling wine cooler. Peter walked up to the back of the couch and gave Neal the beer bottle sized 'wine'. Neal looked doubtfully at the drink, he tended to distrust any alcohol that came with a twist top, but it was probably better than nothing at this point.

"Breakfast of champions, eh?" Neal chuckled as he accepted the offer.

"It's five o'clock somewhere." Peter shrugged.

Coming around to the front of the couch Peter followed Neal's lead and kicked his shoes off. He sat down on the couch next to Neal. Sitting by his side was a far less confrontational position than going back to the love seat across from him. Feeling a little guilty Peter used his foot to knock his badge off the coffee table so that he didn't have to look at it.

Neal held up his bottle and Peter clanked the bottom of his own beer against it in a mock toast before they took a drink. Neal made a face of disgust and forced himself to swallow the surprisingly sweet bubbly liquid. Peter on the other hand was impressed by the expensive import beer.

"Okay," Peter said after a deep breath "you ready to do this?"

"I think so."

"Right, can I start with a few quick questions?"

"Okay." Neal nodded.

"Accident or self-defense?"

"A little of both."

"Who is Daniel White?"

"My best friend."

"And Robert Caffrey?"

"He's harder to explain."

"Were you there the night he died?"

"I was."

"Is your name really 'Neal Caffrey'?"

"...sort of."

"Which part?"

"Neal, named after my grandfather."

Peter thought about the rapid answers for a minute and nodded. Taking a long pull on the strong beer he leaned back. Neal tried to drink more of the sweet drink, but he gave up on it after a second try and just held the bottle to give his hands something to do. It took Neal a few minutes to continue, but eventually he sighed and started.

"I suppose this won't make much sense if I don't start at the beginning."

"No, probably not."

"Are you sure we need to do this?" Neal complained. "I gave you the short version already. Isn't that enough?"

"If you want my help and/or protection from Walters when he finally smells the blood on that painting then I need the whole story."

"As I recall Walters is drafting up a deal for me as we speak." Neal pointed out.

"Do you really think you have enough dirt on me to get him to set you free?"

"I'm sure I could come up with something convincing."

"Neal, you're just stalling."

Neal took a breath to protest further, but Peter's expression told him that it wasn't going to work. Neal looked away and tried to find the words to start the long story. As much as he hated sharing his early years the rest of the story wouldn't make any sense. Neal tried the wine cooler again and remembered why he didn't drink such things.

"You promise not to mock or lord over me about any of this?"

"I wouldn't do that."

"Yes you would."

"Neal, I know this is serious." Peter assured.

"Okay, you already know some of the story. My father was a dirty cop, and he was killed when I was five. My mother on the other hand, she had gotten use to a certain kind of lifestyle and she wasn't willing to give it up. I never questioned how we afforded to live the way we did, it had always just been that way."

"Can I ask if this all happens in Texas?"

"Yes, indeedy." Neal replied in his natural Texas drawl.

"Explains your love of hats."

"I thought you said you weren't going to mock me."

"I'm sorry, and I interrupted. I apologize for both."

"It's okay." Neal said. "I was eleven when I found out the hard way just what was supporting us. She was dealing drugs."

"Drugs?"

"And I'm not talking about small quantities, she used the contacts my father had introduced her to and was managing warehouses of it. Mostly Mexican imports of marijuana." Neal stopped for a moment. "You know, when I was ten she grounded me for three weeks when she caught me and a friend of mine smoking a joint we'd gotten from a high schooler."

"Do as I say not as I do?"

"She wasn't a drug user, she just wasn't above making a living at it. Like I said, we had an expensive lifestyle. There's rich and then there's 'Texas Rich', and there is more than just oil money down there."

"So what happened?"

"DEA raid that lead back to her. She went to prison, I ended up in the foster system. Remember when I asked you if I wasn't my father's son, who am I? Well, being my mother's son isn't much better. When I told you that crime is in my blood, I really did mean it."

"I still don't believe in that." Peter said seriously. "Does this mean Robert Caffrey is an Uncle by marriage?"

"No, I have no other living family. I was placed in foster care with a wonderful couple that were understanding enough to take me once a week to visit my mother. I was moved out of the suburbs and into downtown Houston. I didn't like the big city at first, but I quickly learned that it had a lot of advantages that the suburbs didn't have. Same can't really be said of public school."

"Changing school even in the best of circumstances is never easy."

"I was was borderline bored in private school, I was extremely bored in public school, as you already know I didn't even finish. However, I was eleven, so it was a really easy age to make new friends."

"No, Neal." Peter corrected with a slight eye roll. "It's a horrendous age to even hold on to old friends let alone make new ones in a new environment."

"Really?"

"Really. You just have a talent for it. Ages ten through eighteen were extremely difficult for the rest of us."

"I had no idea."

"I have a feeling that you have no idea about a lot of the struggles that most people deal with. Do you even remember a time that you've been socially awkward?"

"Not really." Neal admitted.

"I bet you were a lot of trouble in school." Peter smiled.

"I know you'll find this hard to believe, but I really didn't cause much trouble. Although I had one bad habit."

"Let me guess: stealing."

"No. Graffiti."

"Graffiti?" Peter repeated in surprise.

"Were else is an artistically talented kid in Texas going to focus his energy? You think I would have been caught dead doing oil paintings of water lilies?"

"Good point. So, graffiti...I take it that you weren't just going around spraying swear words on the underside of bridges."

"I was not. I was doing full murals. From the start I had a love of the Old Masters' works. I stylized everything to make it a little more...urban. I would sneak out almost every night to find a canvas. Bridges, condemned buildings, rail cars, once a police car that had been left as a crime deterrent without any actual cops to go along with it."

"A cop car? Bold choice."

"All artists strive to find new challenges." Neal chuckled. "Over the course of a year I did dozens of murals. In fact some of them are probably still there today. Someone even wrote a book about them."

"A book? You're kidding."

"No." Neal smiled. "One of those big shiny coffee table picture books. I'll show you my copy some time."

"What's it called?"

"'Texas Anonymous'."

"Perfect. How does graffiti fit in with everything?"

Neal hesitated to continue. Peter didn't push him, he just nursed the beer while he waited. He hoped that now that Neal had started that he would continue. However now that the more light hearted pieces of the story were over he had fallen silent again. Eventually Peter gave in and gave Neal a nudge.

"Neal?"

"What?"

"The graffiti?"

"It's how I met Robert Caffrey...the greatest art forger the world has never known."