A/N: Content warning: in this chapter Neal will remember an experience of drowning.

Sinclair estate, Connecticut. December 31, 2003 – Wednesday evening.

After the meal, guests wandered in several directions. Some went back to the bar for drinks. Some settled around a roaring fire to talk. Some went to another room with a dance floor and a string quartet.

The watch's feed had been silent for a couple of minutes now. Peter didn't like it. He was considering texting Neal when they heard his voice, whispering, "Collins is going upstairs. I'll follow."

Peter reminded himself that Neal knew what he was doing. He'd pulled off intricate cons and heists. You didn't break into a museum and steal a major artwork without careful planning. Peter would bet that Neal thought of this assignment as something similar; all that time he'd been quiet in the backseat of the car, he'd been preparing for this. He'd been ready, and he had Gardiner in the house and a full support team monitoring.

Intellectually, he knew Neal was as well-prepared as possible, and should excel tonight. That didn't make Peter feel any less like a parent sending a child off for his first day of school.

"Where is it?" came Collins' voice over the feed.

"I'm not telling," said Bethanne.

"This is ridiculous. Don't you want to get better?"

"What difference does it make? Everyone says I'm dying. Now you want to take away the one thing that makes me happy. Marie said it's okay, so just leave me alone!"

"I've shown you the test results, Bethanne. I ran them twice, yesterday and again today. You aren't dying. And Marie is not your friend."

"I am dying. Everyone says so. The clinic says so, and they had all kinds of equipment and tests that you don't. That's why Dad doesn't go to work anymore, and why I got pulled out of school, and why you're here. If I'm fine, why don't you go home?"

"God, this family! No one believes basic scientific evidence. I should have stayed in the lab."

There was the sound of footsteps. It sounded like Collins was going back downstairs.

"I want to check out something on the third floor," said Neal, much to Peter's chagrin. The Gardiners' overview of the first two floors didn't mention a home office. It was probably on the top floor, and was probably Neal's destination. That was not part of the plan. At least, not the FBI's plan.

"Amateur," said Neal softly. "Didn't bypass the alarm. I've got to disable it, or they're going to set it off and bring the cops running. Sinclair will hide Collins and I'll never get to talk to him." There was a pause. "Piece of cake."

"What the hell is going on?" asked Rice.

"I think they have a burglar," Peter said.

"Yeah, your consultant."

"No, he's tracking someone else."

Neal's voice whispered, "I've never seen someone take so long trying to crack that model of safe." And louder he said, "You know, you really don't want to be here tonight. The FBI is outside, and you're just embarrassing yourself."

"Neal!"

"Kate?"

Guillaume looked confused. "The little girl?"

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, not Katy. Unfortunately it sounds like Neal's girlfriend crashed the party, too. Jones, I want you to head toward the house, and see if you can identify where she made her entry. Call me when you get to the edge of the property, and I'll let you know if you need to back up Caffrey."

###

"Did you really switch sides, Neal?" Kate asked.

Neal couldn't believe his eyes. He'd never expected Kate to be the person Mozzie hired for this job. It had been months since Kate stormed out of his life. She hadn't returned his calls, and he hadn't been able to find her. Mozz had known how to contact her all this time, and hadn't shared that piece of information?

Mozz had hired Kate for this job? Art, yes. Cons, yes. Solo burglaries where there were alarm systems and safe cracking involved, no. Those weren't her strengths, and Mozzie knew it. It's like he wanted her to get caught.

Or wanted Neal to catch her, and then to compromise his deal with the FBI to save her.

"I got a once-in-a-lifetime offer," he told her, shocked out of his Charles mindset and losing the accent. "Besides, I needed a change. It was only a matter of time before I went to prison. I couldn't find you if I'd been stuck behind bars."

"I'd have visited you."

"Well, if I'd known that…" Neal grinned. "Look, I've got immunity now. You could do the same thing. We both get a fresh start and make a real life for ourselves. No more running and hiding and aliases. We can have a home and just be ourselves, like when we met."

"You were using an alias when we met."

"This will be even better. No more lies."

"It's all a lie, Neal. Did you really think we could settle down in a nine-to-five routine like normal people?"

He remembered how much he had struggled with his first two weeks at the FBI, but said, "We were doing it before. We could have stayed that way if Adler hadn't disappeared."

"There's nothing sadder than a con man conning himself. At least I know who I am. We barely had a dime then. You think I'm going back to that?"

Neal frowned. They hadn't been rich, but Adler had paid them both a decent salary. They'd lived well. He'd been happy. Kate had been happy; he had to believe that. Sure, it had been a long con, but this part had felt so real. There had to be a middle ground. Maybe it wouldn't be a "normal" life, because who wanted to be average? But couldn't people have an extraordinary life that wasn't illegal and dangerous? Byron and June Ellington had found it. What he was doing tonight had the rush of a con while still being legal, and he wasn't stuck behind a desk anymore. "It's not about money. It's about people."

"Tonight it's about the money I'm going to get from stealing a book, and I'm not leaving without it."

"You're not going to find a book in this safe. Something this size is for a small bundle of cash and a couple of documents. His book collection isn't even in this room."

"My source said what he wants is in this safe."

"Yeah, well I'm pretty sure your source wants you to get caught. You need to rethink your options. If you aren't going to turn yourself in, then get out of here while you can. Because I promise you, the FBI is closing in."

Kate walked back to the safe, to try opening it again. Neal had forgotten how exasperatingly stubborn she could be. He wanted to spend more time reasoning with her, but had to get back to the party before someone noticed he was missing and came looking for him. Pushing her aside, he cracked the safe himself. Then he took a moment to look at the contents. Some cash, a diamond necklace, and a few pages of notes on L&B letterhead. If Sinclair had incriminating information about his business dealings, this was probably it.

Kate swept all of it into a pack she swung over her back. "This will have to do."

Neal waited till she was almost out of the room. "Think about it, Kate. I felt the FBI on my heels, and I was a lot better at this than you are. You'd better have a plan for what you're going to do when you get caught, because it's going to happen."

"Not tonight," she said, and slipped away.

Neal wiped his prints off of the safe, and then spoke directly into the watch. "She'll go over the fence on the east side. It's darkest there, and the neighbors are out of town. She cleaned out the safe, and you really want what's in her backpack. If she gives it up, please, please let her go. Just question her enough to make her see she's in over her head, and let her go."

For a moment he closed his eyes and simply stood there, letting emotions pour through him: elation at seeing Kate, frustration that they were on opposite sides, guilt that he'd been the one to put them on opposite sides, shock that she didn't think he could be reformed, fear that she'd be caught, fear that she wouldn't be caught. Anger… He didn't even know where to direct the anger. At Mozzie for recruiting Kate to do a job beyond her skills. At Kate for being greedy enough to accept a job beyond her skills. At himself for not convincing her to give up the job as a lost cause. At Peter for being Peter, the black-and-white upholder of the law who would arrest Kate and hold her fate in his hands without mercy.

No, it wasn't fair to say Peter didn't have mercy. Peter had gone out of his way to give Neal an opportunity to start over. He said he'd seen something special in Neal. Now Neal had to trust Peter to see that Kate was special, too.

He slowly unclenched his fists and channeled Charles again. He wouldn't know what happened to Kate until he finished this job and got out of here. It was time to get back to work.

###

Neal had barely returned to the main floor when Marie grabbed him and pulled him back toward the stairs, saying, "Charles, you're just the person I want. I need a favor. The girls like you, and I think you're tall enough to reach…" At the top of the stairs she turned left toward the daughters' bedrooms. "They won't let me have a moment of peace until this is settled, and I can't abandon my guests. Here we are." She opened the door to a massive room decorated in pastel pink. "This is Lily's room. Girls! I've brought you Charles. Quiet down and let him help you. Mama has to take care of her guests." With that Marie abandoned Neal to pandemonium.

Lily jumped on her bed, yelling, "Mine! Mine! Mine!" Bethanne sat on the floor beside the bed, sobbing. Katy crawled out from under the bed, and as soon as she saw she had an audience, she held up her hand and screamed.

The red marks on the back of her hand looked like a cat scratch. "We should wash that." Neal led Katy to the adjoining bathroom, lifted her onto the counter and ran her hand under water. "Keep it there," he said, and rummaged for something to clean the scratches. "What happened?" he asked.

"Doctor Collins doesn't like Charlotte. He wants her to go away. Bethanne hid her in Lily's room. Now she won't leave, and Lily's going to keep her."

Neal worked quickly to clean the scratches while Katy was distracted talking. "Do you think that's what Charlotte wants?"

"I don't care what Charlotte wants. She's mean."

Neal lifted Katy again, and set her on the floor. Then he grabbed a large, pink bath towel. "You've been very brave. Take me to this Charlotte. I'm going to fight the monster under the bed."

"Do you need a wand?"

"No. When you're older, you can read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and you'll see that towels have special powers, too."

Lily's bed was pushed against the corner of the room, leaving as much space as possible open for a play area. Charlotte was literally cornered. She'd backed herself into the corner under the bed. She didn't have an escape, and hissed and scratched at all comers. It was obvious she didn't want to be there, but didn't want to go out and face the girls, either. Neal could certainly understand. As he slid under the bed the din faded a bit. "No cat burglar jokes," he muttered at his watch. "I don't want to hear it." Then he wrapped the towel around the yowling animal and dragged her out from under the bed. "Where does she belong?" he asked Bethanne.

She finally wiped the tears from her face and sniffled one last time. "This way." She stood up and led Neal to her suite, where he'd heard her arguing with the doctor. The first room was set up as her own living area, with a sofa, entertainment center and computer desk, all in a French provincial style.

Neal leaned on the desk and loosened the towel around the cat. She was medium sized, sleek and pitch black. "Hello, Charlotte. Why's the prettiest girl at the party hiding up here?"

Charlotte leapt to the floor, walked around to ensure everything was in order, and then jumped on the desk to inspect Neal. She deigned to let him scratch her ears for a moment, and then curled up to rest after her ordeal.

"Thanks," said Bethanne. "I'm sorry for acting like such a… an idiot."

"Have you had her long?"

"A little over two years. She was a birthday present from Marie. The best present I ever got. I love her more than anything."

"Love." Neal shrugged in a particularly French mannerism. "It makes fools of us all."

###

Jones dropped the backpack on the Gardiners' dining room table. "She handed it over, but when I crouched down to pick it up, she pulled out a gun and fired."

"You're not hurt?" Peter asked.

"Nah. I don't think she was trying to hit me, just make me duck for cover long enough that she could make a run for it. She had a car waiting, couple of yards away. If it had been a longer run, I'd have caught up to her."

Peter knew Neal would be relieved, but he hoped they caught Kate soon.

"Got some good news, though," said Jones. "Before she spotted me, I saw her put away her gloves and drink from a bottle of water. When it was empty, she dropped it on the ground. I went back for it, and it has a nice, smooth surface. Should get a clear set of prints."

"They say if you litter, you'll regret it." Peter pulled on latex gloves. "Well, let's see what Neal thought was so important about this pack." The cash he placed on the table to be counted. The necklace was distinctive, the kind of thing a homeowner would have a picture of for insurance. That would add to the evidence against Kate in the burglarly. Then he unfolded the documents and glanced over the first page. "Damn. Get Wiese in here. She needs to see this."

Wiese skimmed through the documents. "With everything else I have, this is enough to get a warrant."

"Get it started," said Peter. "Maybe we can pull Neal out early. There have been too many surprises tonight. I have a bad feeling about this."

###

Downstairs once again, Neal prowled the party looking for Collins. Unfortunately the doctor had joined the group lounging by the fireplace. He had settled in with a drink in the middle of the group and didn't look likely to move away anytime soon.

The simplest solution would be to say Bethanne needed Collins. Then Neal could walk upstairs with Collins, and talk to him alone, as long as Marie didn't… And as he thought her name, she appeared. If Neal said Bethanne wasn't well, Marie would insist on going along.

Neal turned his attention to the bar. What if he spilled a glass of red wine on the doctor's suit? Apologize profusely, offer to help clean it. A bit clichéd, but the whole asthma thing made Neal uneasy. He could do it, he knew. He had vivid memories of drowning as a teenager to draw on, to convince people he couldn't breathe. But who in their right mind would want to do that?

He took a step toward the bar and bumped into something. He looked down to see Charlotte. She glanced up at him reproachfully, and then continued on her way.

A black cat had crossed his path. And a black-haired cat burglar had crossed his path. And the alias William Darcy was bad luck. Really, it was getting ridiculous. It was time to get this over with.

He stayed in the middle of the room, where he'd get an audience from the bar and the fireplace.

And he remembered. The windows were rolled down and water poured into the car. Landing in the lake knocked the air out of him. The shock of the cold water made him gasp. In an instant it had filled the car and he was sinking. The water was so heavy. It kept pressing on him.

"Your name is Charles, isn't it? Are you all right?"

He tried to unbuckle the seat belt, but his hands were too clumsy, the water so heavy it seemed he couldn't move his arms. He realized he was going to die and he gasped.

"Maybe you should sit down."

He couldn't breathe. Shouldn't breathe. But his lungs were aching, and he couldn't stop them, and he gasped.

"He came with the Gardiners. Can someone find them?"

He reached into his pocket for the inhaler. His hands trembled, and he dropped it on the ground. That's what he wanted. People saw it fall, they reached for it, and they reached conclusions.

A crowd of people were speaking at once. "That's an inhaler." "Asthma." "The poor boy can't breathe." "Est-ce qu'il y a un médecin ici?" "Where is Dr. Collins?" "Should he lie down, do you think?" "Would a glass of water help?" "Yes, I'm a doctor. You said he had an inhaler?"

Neal felt the inhaler pressed against his face. He reached for it, blindly, but he didn't have to. The doctor already had it in position. Neal heard and felt the mist. He relaxed a little. Time to start the recovery phase of this acting job.

Then the mist hit his throat, and the swelling started. He gasped. It had been bad, simply reliving drowning. This was worse.