Maria Fiametta

"You gentlemen are with the FBI?" The voice came from a colorful woman with dark-blond hair who spotted them coming in. Maria Fiametta in the flesh.

"Yes," Peter confirmed and rounded Neal who, not surprisingly stopped to gaze at the charismatic person who just walked into the room. "We're hoping you can help us out on this one. We're working on a stolen Bible." He nodded to Neal. "Show her."

Neal handed over two photos of the Bible that Barelli had given them.

"Thank you, Agent-?"

"Neal. Caffrey."

"That's funny," the professor mused. "There's a very talented manuscript forger also named Neal Caffrey."

"How talented?" Neal asked with a grin and Peter sighed.

Maria Fiametta gazed at the young man in front of her and smiled.

"You're him?"

Peter saw the pride in Neal's eyes when he did not deny she was right. The professor laughed.

"And you're with the FBI?" she asked.

Neal gave Peter a glance.

"It's sort of a work release," he replied, never letting go of his smile. Peter put his hands on his hips waiting for the flirtatious Cindiana Jones to get passed Neal and get to the Bible.

"I have to ask," she continued curious gaze at Caffrey. "Is it true that the Vinland map is yours?"

What? Peter gritted his teeth. That was something he never heard of.

"How could it be?" Neal replied looking completely innocent. "But if it is a forgery, it's spectacular."

Peter glared at Neal but he did not see or cared. He was engulfed in this woman's eyes. Vinland map indeed. Damn kid!

"How about we get back to my current problem?" Peter broke in. "A pre-Renaissance Bible stolen from a church in Brooklyn."

The professor took her eyes from the charmer beside him, nodded, and took the photos to a table nearby. She gave them a quick glance through a magnifier glass.

"It's very beautiful," she commented. "But it's not a Bible."

"It's not?"

"Pre-Renaissance, yes. But it's too small to be a Bible."

"Then it's a book of hours," he concluded. What else could it be if it was called a Bible without being one? Maria Fiametta now sent her impressed flirtatious smile to Peter instead. At once he understood why she got Neal so spellbound.

"Most likely, yes," she agreed, still smiling. "In the Italian style."

He caught Neal's amazed stare and realized he had known something about antique things the well-prepared kid did not.

"A large prayer book," Peter explained. "To show their devotion, monks and nuns had to recite the Psalms hymns, or chants at specific times all day long."

"Sunday school?" Neal asked.

Peter nodded.

"Lots of Sundays."

The professor studied the photos again.

"This is a particularly nice example."

"Well, Ignazio thought so too." He watched Maria for a reaction.

"Sorry?"

"Do you know him?"

"No." Too quick answer? Too slow? It was so easy to get caught in the old cliches and call it a hunch.

"We believe he stole it."

"Oh, well, I hope you catch him."

"Can't. He's dead," Peter told her. She blinked. But who would not? "Looks like a mob hit. But we're still hoping to figure out who took the book."

"Well, I'd love to know. It's quite beautiful." Though she was not looking at the book any longer. Her eyes were at Neal again and he sure did not mind.

"Here's my card." Peter pulled one out of his pocket and gave it to her. "If you hear anything or come across anyone who's looking to buy or sell something."

"I will call you," she confirmed.

"Thank you." He moved towards the door.

"It's a pleasure," Neal beamed on his way out. Her eyes must have made him pause though.

"If you are ever in the mood to discuss medieval manuscripts…" she invited.

"You'd be surprised how often I'm in the mood for that," the charmer replied as natural as life itself.

As if those kinds of lines ever came naturally to men like Peter. Though he was happily married and had no need to flirt, it was not without Peter wished he had had Neal's abilities when he was younger. He, when he finally mustered the courage to face her, he had gone mute and Elisabeth had had to take the first step to a conversation.

Neal was impressed that Peter had not asked about the map. Maria had been right in there. The Vinland map was his work. One of his best, too. And it could never, ever be connected with him. It was a relief to know he had resisted the temptation to sign it.

"How about lunch?" he asked.

"No. I'm having a lunch meeting with Hughes. But come by our place this afternoon and have some dinner with me and El."

Neal halted.

"Dinner?" Did Peter just invite him to dinner with his wife?

"Yeah. Something wrong?"

"No… I… just wasn't prepared for it," Neal fought to keep his voice steady. Peter had made clear that he did not approve of him coming to his house or mix his wife into their work. Neal was allowed to come to Peter if needed but it was not something he had dared to do since his first blunder when he had come unasked for. Now he was invited to eat dinner with them.

"Have other plans?"

"No, no. Not at all. I love to come," he ensured his handler.

"Good."

"Thank you."

"You go and have lunch and then we meet up at my house, do some work on the case and when El gets home we have dinner."

"Okay. See you, Peter."

Neal watched Peter walk away and he felt lighthearted. It had been a month since he invaded Peter's home and crossed a line his handler had thought had been obvious. He had never been there since. Met Elisabeth when he pulled her into arranging a trap setup by the FBI. Another mistake according to Peter, to do so without asking him first. Peter sure had told the truth when he said he would not send him back to prison on a whim. That they both were allowed to do mistakes within reason.

He took out his phone and called Mozzie and they agreed on a place to meet up and then eat lunch.

"Was this just an exercise in schadenfreude?" was the first thing Moz said when they met. "Because you win. It's just a bottle, man."

It could not be.

"The lab needs to reexamine its work."

"The lab went over every inch of that thing. Fingerprints, chemicals, black light, nothing. I even tested the remnants of the wine left in the bottle which, by the way, was a very lovely boxed Franzia from early October."

Franzia. Boxed table wine. American. Too common to be a clue. Neal's phone buzzed. Mozzie saw the display when he picked it up and read the text message.

"Oh, your FBI friend keeps you on a tight leash," he commented, arms crossed. Rightly so, Neal figured, since their lunch plans just changed. Peter had texted him that his meeting was canceled and he had takeouts back at his place.

"Keep looking, Moz. Something's there, okay?"

Both lunch and dinner at the Burke's. Could not really complain about that, though he felt bad for Mozzie. Mostly because he so gladly followed Peter instead of his former mentor.

Did Mozzie think of Peter as a rival? Well, even so, Neal admitted that he saw a future with Peter that he no longer saw with Moz. Moz was his friend and would so remain, but he would always be a criminal and saw no problem with that. Though Neal had wanted to get out to find Kate and to catch the Dutchman before the man broke Neal's record, he had now to face that he was no longer so sure that he wanted a criminal future. There were other ways to use his intellect that was just as fulfilling. After all, he had no agenda with his crimes. He just liked challenges, to occupy his mind. It had cost him four years behind bars. And yet another four years hovering behind his every step.

Neal knocked on the door to the Burke's house and Peter opened.

"Hi, come in" his handler waved for him to enter.

Neal walked in but remained by the door while Peter continued into the living-room.

"I bought us some pizza."

Neal smiled.

"Of course you did."

Peter turned and grinned towards him.

"Do you mind?"

Neal shook his head.

"No. Being interrogated by you was fun." Neal dared to venture into the room.

"Grab a seat. 'Fun' you said?" Peter asked as he opened the pizza box.

"We did laugh a lot." Neal sat down and so did Peter.

"Yeah, we did." Peter chuckled. "I never understood what you did to make that interrogation a pleasant occasion."

"Me?" Did his handler just say that it was Neal who made the eight-hour interrogation fun?

"Yeah, you."

"I thought it was you."

They laughed.

"Were you never afraid to slip-up?" his former case agent asked.

Peter offered him to take a slice and Neal grabbed one. He considered. He had been afraid, but not for being with Peter.

"No."

"Honestly?"

"Yeah, Peter, that's the truth. I was afraid of a lot of things that night, but not for you. And not for admitting to an alleged crime." Neal sent Peter a stern look. This was as close as he would go on the subject.

Peter grinned.

"Right."

When Peter finished his first slice he rose and fetched himself a beer from the fridge.

"Want one?" Neal was not fond of beer, but he was thirsty. "Or do you prefer a cola?"

"I go for the cola."

Peter placed a big gulp mega cup in front of him, probably bought with the pizza.

"I figured you hadn't grown up yet, kiddo," he grinned.

"I can't remember you ever gave me much of a choice what to drink with my pizza when you questioned me." Neal was not a huge friend of soft-drinks either, but they were better than beer.

He took another slice of pizza and sipped from the huge cup.

"Did you ever consider to remove any charges?" he asked Peter, who frowned.

"No. Why would I?"

Neal shrugged.

"First-time offender, non-violent, harmless…"

"That's not how it works, Neal."

"I know, but that doesn't stop you from considering options, does it?"

Peter watched him across the table.

"Let's just say I thought the four years you got was sufficient."

That was good to hear.

Peter took a sip from his beer and shewed on his pizza.

"My job is to solve crimes, catch those who commit them. It's not my job to decide the consequences. If I start doing things in those lines then I corrupt the system, no matter who honorable reasons I have."

"But you'll let Steve go, even if he confessed he stole the Bible?" It was not that Neal minded keeping Steve out of prison. It was as food for thought since it contradicted what Peter had just said.

"Being tricked into doing crimes, and committing them deliberately are two different things."

Neal was not about to argue about that.

Satchmo came with a leach in his mouth.

"You think it's time for a walk, eh?" Peter asked the dog and ruffled his fur. "Finished?" he asked Neal who nodded.

They had not come far until Neal heard his anklet beep. He pulled up the leg of his pants and saw it blinked yellow.

"Oh, sorry," Peter said at once. "I forgot to check you in." He took out his phone, did something and the beeping stopped.

"'Check me in'?" Neal asked.

"I send a text to the marshals that you're working every morning when I see you, and one when you leave," Peter explained. "Before lunch, we went separate ways and then I checked you out."

They continued their walk. He knew he was a prisoner with an anklet. It was supposed to be a limitation and something to be checked. Yet, Neal could not help feeling depressed that Peter could not leave him without alarm for even a lunch. It was still monitored. Peter could always see where he was.

"What would it take for you to trust me?" Neal asked.

"You've been out for a month," Peter remarked. "One out of forty-eight. It's two percent of your time. And you expect me to trust you?"

"Have I done anything wrong during that month?"

"Not that I know of."

Neal ignored the huge hint that Peter figured Neal was doing something behind his back.

"That's something, isn't it?"

How could he explain that he enjoyed this new life, his days with Peter, in a way that Peter would believe him? Trust him.

"It's a good start," Peter admitted. "But that does not mean I'll stop checking where you've been and what you're doing. Learn to live with it. It could've been worse."

It could. But it was hard to have a friend you trusted who did not trust you in return.

"Can you at least trust me when I say I would never do anything to harm you or Elisabeth?"

"I would trust you with my life, Neal," Peter replied. "I just don't trust you with valuables, and that, my friend, is what counts in this exercise."

Neal sighed. It did not make sense. How could Peter trust him to save his life but not trust him with his wallet? In the world Neal knew, it worked the other way around.

"So, what would it take for you to trust me with valuables?" Neal persisted.

"Time. Now let's buy some coffee and head back home and do some work."

"She's lying about Paul," Peter said looking at Neal across the table. "She's two degrees away from our homeless guy. I also have trouble buying the fact that an attractive history professor offed a mobster."

Before Neal had time to reply to this, the front door opened and Elisabeth marched in, telephone to her ear.

"No! You don't want me to see the missing inventory!" she stated to whoever was unfortunate to be on the other end. "If I come down there, there'll be a lot more missing than centerpieces. You got that?"

"Okay, maybe it's not a complete stretch," he added to Neal who did not disagree. Peter figured they should have cleaned away the rest of their lunch from the table. Too late now.

"Hey, guys," El grinned at them as hung up.

"Hi," Neal replied as he looked like he tried to have a conversation with a dragon.

"Sorry. It's just my vendor."

"No, it's fine," Peter assured her with a smile. "We were just trying to decide if a woman is capable of murder."

"Oh, I think so," his lovely wife nodded with certainty. She grabbed the back of a chair as if she was ready to wring someone's neck. "What's the issue?" Peter exchanged a look with Neal and gestured for him to explain.

"All right…" Neal collected his thoughts. "I think we're dealing with a shell game." He rose and grabbed for the extra large paper cup he bought to Neal.

"Visual aids," Peter nodded in appreciation. "Nice."

Neal took a napkin and dried the inside of the cup.

"Big Gulp is Paul, dead mob guy." He turned it upside down on the table. "Coffee cup is Steve, our homeless vet." He dried one of the paper cups from the coffee. Then he took Peter's FBI mug. "Mug is Maria. Napkin's the Bible." He placed the crumbled napkin he had used for the mugs as number four in the row of mugs.

"Make Maria the salt shaker," Peter objected. He did not want the villain camouflaged into something with an FBI logo.

"Maria's the mug. Watch." Neal grabbed the big bulk. "We'll start with Paul, who for some reason reads Maria's book and realizes the Healing Bible is worth a hell of a lot of cash." Neal placed 'Paul' on the napkin. "But it's also Barelli's pride and joy. He doesn't wanna risk Barelli's wrath. He gets Steve to— "

"—steal the Bible," Peter followed along. Plausible deniability."

"But if it doesn't work," El joined, "then he lets the homeless guy take the fall. Well, that's evil."

Neal nodded.

"He takes the Bible from Steve," the kid continued and moved the cups and mugs around. "Calls Maria to make the deal. Something happens."

"Yeah. The deal goes down wrong." Peter rose and leaned against the backrest of his chair. "Or Paul decides he wants both the cash and the book."

"Well, whatever it is, Paul ends up dead," Neal concluded and flipped the big gulp over. "The Bible goes missing," he continued and flipped the coffee cup aka Steve over. "Steve never even met Maria." Neal sat down.

"And our girl walks away clean with a very expensive book," Peter finished the story and lifted his FBI mug. But there was no napkin. There was a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. Not only had he moved the napkin from the big bulk to the mug, but he had also switched it all together. Wow. Peter grinned all over his face.

"Okay, how'd you do that?"

Neal just smiled.

"Never reveal your secrets," El advised Neal and sat down by the table.

"How do we get Maria to reveal hers?" Neal asked.

Peter sighed.

"If I stretch it, I might be able to get a warrant to get into her place."

"You know," his wife looked at Neal's flipped over mugs and crumbled note on the table, "if she's smart, she's not gonna have that Bible anywhere close to her."

"El, I've never seen this devious side." It was hot though, Peter had to admit.

She winked at him.

"Don't cross me."

"Elizabeth's right about the Bible," Neal confirmed. "She won't keep it close."

Peter considered and suddenly remembered something from their meeting with Maria Fiametta.

"I've got it. She knew who you were. Neal Caffrey, master forger."

"Alleged," Neal pointed out.

"Alleged, whatever. If she's got the book, it links her to the murder. She's gonna wanna get rid of it. We've got the usual channels locked down. But if she thinks you might be interested."

"Convince her I'm pliable," Neal followed his line of thought.

"We find some street contacts," Peter continued. "Float it out that old Neal Caffrey is back in business."

"That could take time and there's no guarantee," Neal pointed out.

"Why don't you just ask her out?" El asked.

Peter and Neal stared at her in silence.

"That could work," Peter nodded. "Think she'll say yes?"

"I could prob—" Neal began but had no time to finish before Elisabeth stated with certainty:

"Yes."

They both stared at her again. Then Neal met his eyes and gave him a sheepish grin and shrugged.

"Clean this table, guys, and I'll start with the dinner," El told them as she rose. "Those who want dessert are free to help out when the table is cleared."

Neal enjoyed every minute with Peter and Elisabeth. For the few hours, it lasted they gave him a home where he felt welcomed. A kind of home he never had when he grew up. They made him forget he was a criminal for a moment. Peter, of all people, made him feel normal and appreciated.

It was so obvious they loved each other. With his wife, Peter showed another side of himself. Neal guessed Elisabeth was right when she said Peter was probably about the same at home as at work. The most prominent difference was how relaxed he was at home. How much he could let go and let his wife take control.

And Elisabeth was such a wonderful woman. She just accepted him as he was. She did not question his choices or came with any jokes about his anklet or his situation as a consultant. It was the way it was and she accepted it.

At dinner, they talked about many things, but they never pushed him into telling them things. They kept to neutral subjects. Elisabeth knew about modern art, so that was a subject for a while. Cooking was another subject. Neal had to admit he was a pretty fair chef and Elisabeth told him that maybe she could hire him. Both he and Peter had skills in cipher and its history.

Hours passed without any thoughts about crimes, prison, solitary cells or anklets. It was a pleasure in every way, except Kate was not there to share this with him. It would have been perfect with her there, they as a young couple planning their future. He pushed the thoughts away.

"It's been a lovely evening. Thank you," he smiled at Elisabeth. "And that chicken was perfect."

To his surprise, Elisabeth hugged him.

"Welcome back any time, Neal."

He hugged her back.

"Thank you."

He held out this hand to his handler.

"Thank you, Peter."

The agent gave him a warm smile and shook his hand.

"Thank you, Neal."

He said good night and left before it all became too overwhelming.