Day Nine is upon us! For those who liked the raw grief in yesterday's chapter, have some more, sandwiched between lighter stuff. Today's chapter summary: The White Collar team on a stakeout discussing tattoos.

It was about 8 o'clock at night on a Friday, and Neal was bored. The White Collar Unit had been assigned a stakeout, watching the supposed next target of a suspected art thief. The team had visited him earlier and he seemed spooked. Neal was sure nothing was going to happen, but no amount of protests (no matter how reasonable they were) would get him out of a stakeout or out of the van. So, there he was. Or, rather, there they were. Neal, Diana, Jones, and Peter all sat around the van, pretending to pay attention to the screens and imagining they had anything to see.

Neal resisted the urge to spin around in his chair. He was bored out of his mind and wanted nothing more than to fidget or pace or do anything other than stare at computer screens all night. Neal would be spinning in his chair and annoying Peter. However, Diana and Jones were in the van as well. Four people were a pretty tight fit in the van. There wasn't much space to stand up, let alone pace or spin in one's chair. Instead, Neal sighed with as much melodrama as he could muster.

"Guys, he's not going to pull anything tonight." Neal could tell they didn't understand. He summoned all his conman instincts to explain. "He's still on high alert from our visit and he's planning tonight, not heisting."

He wasn't sure if 'heisting' was a word, but he could hope. Neal picked up a small ball left on a shelf by someone many stakeouts ago and started to toss it from time to time. Peter turned around, jostling Diana on the way, and grabbed the ball in mid-air. Peter gave Neal a flat look. Neal shrugged, meaning what are you gonna do.

Diana threw a playful look over her shoulder. "You'd know, wouldn't you, Caffrey?"

Neal threw a matching look over his shoulder. "Ha ha, Diana," he said, with no emotion in his voice.

The two stayed locked in a battle of wills, both staring, neither willing to surrender. Then, something broke and the two dissolved into a mess of giggles. There was no good reason, just boredom and a newfound trust between the pair. Peter leaned against something that was probably very important and much more expensive than he could afford.

"We know he's not going to do anything," he explained. "But, higher-ups said we're going on a stakeout, so…" Peter gestured for the assembled group to continue.

They responded like children in a classroom. "We're going on a stakeout."

"Good job, kids," Peter said, in his best impression of a slightly patronizing children's show host when the kids at home find a clue.

This time, all four laughed. They knew nothing was going to get done, but they had to pretend things were getting done. Neal stole a pack of Post-It notes and a pen and started doodling. Jones pulled a small book out of his jacket and started to read. Diana decided to at least pretend to be responsible and look at the monitors. She stretched out, narrowly avoiding Neal's head with her hands. Neal ducked.

"If we're going to be here all night…" Diana started. She was trying to lead the rest of the group to a-from her perspective-obvious conclusion. Snacks.

Neal picked up on her hint immediately. It was a useful skill, he thought, knowing what someone meant when they didn't want to say it. Very useful in my profession. Old profession. It took him all of thirty seconds to think of a way to kill two birds with one stone. Neal would get a chance to leave the van and Diana would have some more trust in him.

"I can go on a quick food run, if you want?" Neal asked, politely. His face was a picture of perfect innocence, all big blue eyes and rosy cheeks.

Peter rolled his eyes, but knew a battle of wills with Neal would end with Neal getting what he wanted anyway. "Go on a coffee run. Ten minutes." He tapped his watch. I'll be waiting.

"Gotcha."

Neal managed to stand elegantly before disappearing out of the van. How does he do it? went through the heads of all present. Diana relaxed a bit more and Jones put away his book, taking over Neal's attempt at surveillance. The three pretended to surveil, while trying to resist the urge to join Neal.

"Was that exactly a good idea?" Jones asked Peter, once Neal was entirely out of sight.

Diana smiled at Jones. "Ten minutes without Caffrey around?"

He shrugged. "I guess you have a point. Ten minutes without origami animals crowding the van."

"He hasn't started origami yet," Peter pointed out. "I give him fifteen more minutes before there are twenty animals for every person here."

"Ten," Diana raised.

"Twenty," was Jones's counter.

The bickering continued for as long as it took for Neal to go down the street, order the coffee, pay for the drinks, make a quick stop in a Walgreen's, pick out and pay for food, and return to the van. As he opened the door, the squabbling faded away, leaving Neal standing in the middle of an awkward silence. He tried to break the ice by lifting up the drink tray.

"Coffee!" he said with his usual charm and cheer. He put the drink tray on a shelf. "White chocolate mocha for Diana."

Neal awkwardly twisted to hand Diana her drink. She took pity on him and matched his twist before taking her coffee from Neal's hands. "Thank you," Diana said, before spinning back.

Neal slowly untangled himself until he no longer looked like an out-of-work contortionist. "Caramel latte, Jones." This one he could hand without any twisting.

Jones took the drink out of Neal's hands with a simple "thanks."

"Red eye for you, Peter." Neal handed it over. Peter took it with a simple nod." And white chocolate raspberry cappuccino for me." Neal took a small sip and let out a quiet moan. "That is so good," he whispered to himself. Collecting himself, he continued. "Every drink has an extra shot. Thought we'd need it." Neal took his seat again and immediately started to fold tiny origami animals. The agents shared a look over Neal's bowed head.

"Neal," Jones asked, "how much do I owe you?" He pulled out his wallet. There was an ulterior motive for this question: he'd win. If Neal had to mentally calculate what he was owed, that was time he wasn't folding origami. In addition, he looked polite by asking to pay him back.

Neal ruined this plan. He waved Jones's concern off his shoulders. "It's on me. Got me out of the van for a few minutes. Also, I got snacks." He put the bag of snacks from Walgreens on the shelf in front of Diana and Peter.

"Thanks, Neal," Peter said, sincerely, before moving the bag so actual work could get done.

Jones contorted and took the bag before hiding the granola bars and trail mix inside in the secret snack hiding place. This hiding place was only known to a select few: everybody who ever went into the van. Neal continued to insist that it was nothing as he glowed from the praise heaped on him. I can see how easily he became a con man, Peter thought. The kid needs people to like him.

Diana stretched again. Her shoulders popped loudly. The men jumped and looked at her, worried she'd broken something. She was fine and waved them off with a stern glare. Quietly, she stood up and removed her jacket, leaving her arms bare. She draped her jacket over her chair before sitting back down. Neal turned around carefully, jostling everyone the minimum amount possible. He wanted to spin again, but stopped himself just before starting. He gathered his nerve.

"Diana?" he asked, finally.

Diana spun around to face Neal. "Yeah?"

"I have wanted to ask you this since I first saw you shirtless."

Stunned silence filled the van. Jones and Peter shared a look that said Did I hear that right loud and clear. Neal's face went bright red, redder than someone's face had any right to be, especially a conman's. It was strange to Peter to see Neal so flustered. He usually had everything under control and all the words came effortlessly to his mouth. But to hear him say something so tactless and abrupt and turn so red was almost hilarious to Peter.

"You know that's not how I meant it!" Neal yelled.

Diana started to laugh. She patted Neal's shoulder, unable to control herself. "I know," she laughed out. "I would've murdered you by now if that's what you meant. What'd you want to ask, Neal, since you first saw me without my jacket?" She put special emphasis on the last word.

Neal managed to recover, somehow. The redness drained from his face and he regained his usual control. "What's that tattoo mean?" Neal pointed at her arm, with its four squares and line connecting them, like inked braces.

"Oh, this?" Diana asked. She was caught off-guard. No one had ever actually asked her about her tattoo before. "Um…"

Peter leaned forward. "You know, I've always wanted to ask too."

The group could see the tension melt from Diana's shoulders. She relaxed and cleared her throat. "So, I was twenty-one. I decided I needed a tattoo and started doodling some designs." She gestured to her arm, underlining her tattoo with Vanna White style motions. "I liked these squares with a line and went to a parlor, got it done, and decided that was enough." She shrugged. "Christie likes it."

Neal nodded. "Okay, I needed to know if there was some deep meaning behind it or not. Like a Mondrien painting or something."

Diana shook her head. "No, no deep meaning. Just an impulsive college student getting a tattoo." She turned to Jones. "You have any, Jones?"

He shook his head almost sadly. "Nah. Always thought about getting one, but I couldn't decide on a design."

"That makes sense," Peter added in. Neal, Jones, and Diana all turned to Peter. He had inserted himself in the conversation. He needed to answer the question. He shook his head. "I never wanted a tattoo." The three cried out in disappointment. "I guess that makes Diana the only one with one," he continued. "You couldn't decide, I've never wanted one, and you hate needles. So-"

Neal cut Peter off. "No, I have tattoos," he protested.

Jones and Diana raised their eyebrows in unison. They shared a look that clearly read Neal? Neal has tattoos?

Peter crossed his arms. "I don't believe that. Real, stick-and-poke, what?"

Neal rolled his eyes. "Real, Peter. I wouldn't let someone I didn't trust stick a needle in me repeatedly. I went about two months ago." He suddenly thought of something. Peter had a GPS tracker strapped around his ankle. He had to know that Neal spent hours in a tattoo parlor two months earlier. "Didn't you notice?"

Peter waved him off. "I don't really look anymore," he explained. "Only once or twice a day, usually after you leave and before I go to sleep."

Neal nodded. "Got it." A devious smile crept across his face. So, as long as I-

Peter realized what that smile was. That was the 'Neal is planning something' smile. And not planning a good thing. Planning something irresponsible, dangerous, or exceptionally stupid. "No, no. I know that smile. That did not mean do whatever you want."

Neal rolled his eyes like a teenager told to not do anything stupid at that party. His face eased up and his smile shifted. Peter had become very good at deciphering Neal's smiles. This was a true smile. An honest smile. A smile that meant everything a smile should mean.

"I know, Peter. I'm not that stupid." He laughed. Peter gave him a challenging look. "Anymore," Neal clarified. Peter gave him another, identical, look. "Most of the time." Peter nodded. Apparently, that was good enough of an answer.

Diana decided to break the tension of the two men's nonverbal argument. "What are they?" She thought for a minute. She'd never seen Neal's tattoos. That meant they weren't on his arms, neck, or face. She'd seen his legs-at least his left one-and there weren't any tattoos there. That left either his chest or his upper thigh. "Can you show us?"

Neal pretended to think for a second. He'd made up his mind to show his tattoos off a while ago-he was just waiting for the right moment-but he had to make the drama. Have to make your own entertainment. Diana and Jones were 'encouraging' him (read: whining until Neal gave in to what they wanted). Neal gave up in the most dramatic way possible, with a giant sigh and an exaggerated 'I guess' look.

"Sure," he said, completely cheerfully. His speech was the only thing that belied his overdramatic demeanour. "I actually designed them myself." Neal stood up, pushing his chair back under the shelf-slash-impromptu-desk. "I let the artist tweak it, obviously, but my designs."

He took off his jacket and carefully draped it over his chair. Peter rolled his eyes. He'd seen Neal's jacket stunts many times, always overly dramatic. Whenever he was called on it, he would reply with something along the lines of 'it's a Devore.' While Peter was distracted and thinking, Neal had removed his shirt and draped it on top of his jacket.

Neal turned slowly, dramatically, and displayed the right side of his body to the team. Starting at his waist and going all the way up onto his ribs was a perfect recreation of a Bordeaux bottle in dark greens and burgundies. The bottle was full with burgundy wine, the bottle a reflective green that seemed three-dimensional, even on the canvas of Neal's ribs. The cork was nearly open, but still enough to keep the bottle sealed, almost like the wine could spill, but not yet. Not without something left to happen. The label was empty, Neal's creamy skin tone filling it in.

"So, here's the one," Neal said. His voice sounded weird, almost thick.

Diana stared at Neal's waist longer and more intensely than he'd be comfortable with if Diana was either a straight woman or a man. Neal shuddered. It was surprisingly cold in the van. "What is that?" she asked, bluntly.

Jones looked for slightly longer than Diana, but with less intensity. He let out a little gasp of recognition. "Is that a Bordeaux bottle?"

Neal nodded. He swallowed. The lump in his throat didn't go away. In fact, it just grew larger. He sniffed. Neal thought he'd gotten over Kate's death. He thought he'd gotten over it in prison when he had to move on or get written up for being disruptive. He thought he'd gotten over it when he was trying to get out of prison, either via escape or other, more legal, means. He thought he'd gotten over it a dozen times since the explosion happened. But…that didn't mean he had gotten over it. Every time something was mentioned that brought back memories of Kate, he'd hover on the edge of tears before either politely excusing himself or burying himself in work. Maybe I'm not over it yet.

Peter put a gentle hand on Neal's shoulder. "It's a memorial for Kate, isn't it?" His tone was gentle, as soft as he could make it.

Neal nodded, tears coming to his eyes and up his throat. He bit his tongue, hoping the pain would stop him from crying. "Read the label," he whispered.

Diana took the initiative in leaning in completely shamelessly. She looked up at Neal. "Don't get any ideas, Caffrey," she said, seriously and playfully. Neal smiled sadly at her. She read the tattoo and gasped. She moved back to her chair to sit like a normal person. Diana's eyes found Neal's, hers wide open and in shock and his bluer than anyone had ever seen and swimming in tears. "'Perdue.' It's French. Means lost."

Neal nodded again. Tears threatened to spill over his eyelids. He didn't dare blink. "It was going to say 'lost forever,' which is-"

Diana cut him off. She could tell his voice was about to crack. French doesn't do well with a cracking voice. And Neal having to say those words in his favorite language might be too much for his psyche to bear. "Perdue à jamais."

Neal gave Diana a look. Diana gave him a gentle, reassuring smile. Neal recognized something in her face. It wasn't pity, or anger, or sadness, or anything else that women usually had in their face looking at Neal Caffrey, professional conman. Because she wasn't looking at Neal Caffrey, professional conman. She saw Neal Bennett, scared kid. Neal Caffrey, grieving lover. Neal Caffrey, thrust into a life he never expected to live. And she was sorry. But she believed he could be better. The tears started to fall from Neal's eyes.

He wiped them away and tried to hide the quiver in his voice. "But that was too long. So, 'perdue.'"

"Was it always…" Peter's thought got derailed. The bottle on Neal's side was full. "The bottle's full," Peter said with his usual lack of anything resembling tact.

Neal sniffled. He nodded. "A full bottle," he whispered. Neal's voice was cracking. He was crying in earnest, something he hadn't done for years. He hadn't even cried after Kate's death. He'd raged, but not cried. He went on. "A better life. We can afford real '82 Bordeaux together." The tears didn't stop coming and they probably wouldn't for a while.

"That's really pretty, Neal," Diana said, softly. He was sure she'd pet his hair if he was closer. Diana has motherly instincts after all.

Peter, Diana, and Jones all turned back to the screens. They thought it would only be polite to give Neal a few minutes to collect himself before they bothered him again. Neal was thankful. He wouldn't have asked for privacy, but he did like that it was given. He took the few minutes he was given to take deep breaths and wipe away his tears. He managed to almost pull the conman persona up entirely.

"And the other," he said, turning around.

That was all it took for the other three to forget they were on a stakeout entirely. They spun around, ready for Neal's second tattoo reveal. He turned, showing off the left side of his chest. He raised his arm above his head, revealing simple lines of black ink on his ribs. It was a quote written in the most beautiful script handwriting any of them had ever seen. There were simple stars surrounding it and a small line-art version of the Eiffel Tower beneath it.

"Is that a quote tattoo? I love those." Diana was entranced.

The three tried to read it. However, the writing was too small and they were too far away to read it. Getting closer was an option, but they figured Neal would appreciate his personal space being respected.

"What is it?" Peter asked, voicing the popular opinion.

Neal recited from memory. "'Though lovers be lost love shall not; And death shall have no dominion.'"

Peter had a clueless look on his face. "T. S. Eliot?" he guessed.

Neal gave him a flat look. It didn't have the impact he'd hoped it would with the tear tracks still running down his face. "Dylan Thomas," Neal said, with the gall to sound disappointed in how uncultured Peter was. I mean, El is like a goddess of culture. How did she marry him?

Jones cleared his throat. "Is this also a memorial for Kate?"

Neal shrugged noncommittally. He lowered his arm. It was starting to go numb. He cleared his throat. "It's really a memorial for everyone that I won't see again. Kate, the part of my family I liked, my childhood friends, some of my ex-girlfriends, a few ex-boyfriends, everyone really."

Diana and Jones nodded gently. There wasn't much of a response possible to that. Nothing that wouldn't sound either patronizing or like it was minimizing his struggles.

Peter realized something interesting in what Neal said. "Ex-boyfriends?"

Neal whirled on Peter as best he could in the small space. His temper had gotten the better of him. No, that wasn't quite true. Neal was still emotionally jagged inside and decided-unconsciously-to transform the sadness and grief he felt into anger.

"Diana has a girlfriend," Neal snapped. "I have had boyfriends. Is there a problem?"

Peter shook his head quickly. "No, just asking."

It was unlike Peter to back off so quickly. Does it still look like I'm about to cry? Neal swiped uselessly at his face, clearing away tears that aren't there. Neal took a deep breath and made himself calm down. Maybe hiding all my feelings isn't a good way to cope. He almost laughed despite himself.

Neal shrugged again. "I was young and dumb."

That was all the explanation they'd ever get on the ex-boyfriends. They didn't need the entire dramatic story. They only knew they existed and probably weren't criminals. That was enough.

Neal forced down his emotions again, completely recovering his conman facade. He turned casually to put his shirt back on. After slipping his arms through the sleeves, he saw a flicker of motion in the corner of his eye. Something made him look over and not dismiss it as just one of the team moving. He studied the screen for a moment. A man, tall, blonde hair, black clothes, stalking around the museum. Their main suspect was a man, tall, blonde hair.

"Something's happening!" he exclaimed.

That was enough to snap the other three out of their various states of shock and get their attention back on the stakeout they were on. The four stared at the screen, trying to figure out what was happening. Is he casing the museum? Or is he-

"He's breaking into the damn gallery!" Peter did the closest he could to leaping to his feet in the small confines of the van. "Caffrey, stay here and call for backup if we need it." He made sure his pistol was loaded, locked, and where he needed it before starting to suit up.

Diana and Jones joined Peter, going through the same steps. Neal nodded. It wasn't worth it to protest right now. Now was a time for action. I'll complain about being called Caffrey later. He took Diana's newly empty seat. The team went into action, leaving the van and starting their pursuit.

Neal took his position of computer guy and communication expert. Neither of which were great titles for Neal to have. He was mediocre with computers and definitely shouldn't have been in charge of communication. But, he managed to supervise decently and watched in awe and something close to fear at how efficiently the team worked.

The team had nearly closed in on the thief when Neal noticed the three men meant to serve as the thief's backup. Neal made a quick judgment call and called for backup. He must have seemed urgent, because the backup seemed to be there as soon as he hung up the phone. With no trouble at all, the White Collar Unit (with a little bit of help from New York's bravest, the NYPD) had apprehended a four-person gang of art thieves.

The White Collar crew went back to the van. Diana argued they needed to check in on their con, and, honestly speaking, they owed him thank yous for saving their lives. Probably. Neal wasn't likely to ever get those thank yous. But they were owed. When they came back, they returned to see Neal leaning against the van like he didn't have a care in the world. He looked perfectly composed-like crying was impossible for him, like he never felt a human emotion that wasn't confidence. I gotta admit, Jones thought. He cleans up fast. Peter's thoughts were more along the lines of Neal needing a licensed psychologist.

"Got 'em?" he asked.

Like he doesn't know. "Got 'em," Peter replied.

Neal nodded. "Good job."

Peter nudged Neal in the ribs. He winced, overexaggerating how much it hurt. "You noticed," Peter teased. "We were all distracted by the fact you had Dylan Thomas on your ribs."

"He was a roistering, drunken, and doomed poet," Neal answered with a shrug. "Why wouldn't I have his emotional words permanently marked on my chest?"

Peter pushed Neal away from him, playfully. Neal actually stumbled a little before catching himself. "Don't go back to prison."

"It's not like I have Oscar Wilde." Peter gave him a weird look. Honestly, Peter, do I have to spell out everything for you? "I'll tell you when you're older," he added with a laugh.

"Forget what I said. I'll take you back myself."

Neal stood for a second, trying to figure out if Peter was joking or not. The sparkle in Peter's eyes gave him away, despite his stern expression. Neal laughed. Peter gave up and joined him.

Neal's mind wandered and he had a sudden thought. "Does El have any?"

"Any what?"

"Tattoos."

Peter thought for a moment. Elizabeth did have some beautiful tattoos. An adorable little sunflower decorated the back of her left shoulder. And a large lotus flower just above her panty line. Peter always loved those tattoos. She'd had them before she met him. Once, Peter asked her and she mentioned that they were from when she was young and reckless in her teenage years and early twenties. Those tattoos were beautiful. But, did Neal need to know?

"None that you'll ever get to see," he answered. Neal answered that only with a smile.

So, Marsha Thomas (Diana's actress) and Tiffani Thiessen (El) actually have the tattoos mentioned (you can see Diana's) and that is Marsha's reason for getting her tattoos. However, Matt Bomer does not have any, at least as far as I could find on Google. Please review if you really liked it. Those participating in NaNoWriMo: basically a quarter of the way through! You can do this!