The Locket

"So how upset were they that you lost the hundred grand?" El asked. They had met up for a lunch together and walked back to Peter's office. He had been sitting in a meeting with angry and frustrated people all morning.

"'Upset' is a bit of an understatement," Peter sighed. "They've started an administrative inquiry."

Peter saw the sudden worry in his wife's eyes.

"Everything will be fine if I recover it—." He squeezed her hand. "When I recover it."

"Well, the good news is Neal didn't take it," El told him.

"Yeah," Peter agreed. He became subject for an inquiry and Neal did not steal easy money. "This is progress."

Had the kid not taken them because he thought he would get caught, or because he had not had a chance? Or because it was too easy? Or because he simply did not want to? He had not run away with Barelli's Bible. It had been two months and not a single thing to blame him for.

"Do you think he had anything to do with it?" Elisabeth must have seen a troubled look upon his face.

"No. But…" Peter hesitated, finding words for his thoughts. "The thing about Neal… nothing is ever what it seems. The guy is a contradiction. He's obsessed about Kate but you should have seen him flirting with this girl." Peter knew he was not much of a romantic guy, but how could he flirt with other women than the one he claimed to truly love?

"Honey, that's who Neal is. That's never gonna change." El hugged his arm. "That's what I love about you so much."

"What? That I lost all ability to flirt when we got married?"

She laughed.

"Honey, it was even questionable then."

"It was," Peter agreed with a grin. But he had caught the best woman of them all.

"Who's the new girl?"

"Taryn Vandersant."

"Mm. Don't know her."

"She's a buyer at the Lambert gallery. She's beautiful. Seems nice."

"Well, if Neal is interested, you should encourage it."

Peter stared.

"Encourage it? I need that like a hole in the head."

"Honey, if he falls for the new girl, he might actually stop chasing Kate."

Well, that would indeed be progress. He was sure Neal had not given up the search. Neal just kept him out of the loop since he had denied the kid to go to San Diego.

They said their goodbyes and Peter walked back to the office.

On the way in he met Neal, also returning back from lunch. He had not had a chance to have a proper talk with him about that fake arrest. When they got the elevator for themselves he took the chance.

"Are you okay about yesterday?" Peter asked him out of the blue.

"How do you mean?"

"I know you don't like cuffs."

There was an apologetic tone in his handler's voice.

"You were kind of pissed off," Neal pointed out.

"Yeah," Peter agreed. "I know that too."

Neal smiled at the unspoken apology he wanted to read into it.

"It was part of the plan, Peter," he assured him. "Don't worry. But I think Taryn enjoyed it more than me," he added with a grin.

The elevator doors opened and they stepped out and continued into the office.

"You and Taryn were getting along good yesterday."

Neal got the idea where that statement from Peter was going.

"She's not my type."

"What? Not your-?" Peter glanced at him as if he should fall for any beautiful woman. "Why isn't she your type? She loves art, she looks like Lara Croft in khakis."

And loved to show off her beauty, and be cuffed. This was just unbelievable. Yesterday Peter assured him that he was not trying to get him to date Taryn.

"Really? Does she bake cookies for orphans too?"

"She does," Peter replied without blinking. And you asked me how to lie, Peter, Neal thought. You're pretty good at it on your own.

"I get it. Meet a nice girl, maybe settle down." They walked up to Peter's office and the conference room.

"Simplify my life, probably save yours," Peter muttered.

"You're lying about the cookies," Neal claimed.

"Prove it."

Neal was about to tell his handler to stay out of this part of his life when he saw an elderly man in an old-fashioned suit and a grim face sit at the end of the conference table.

"Who's that?" he asked instead.

"Curator," Peter replied. "From the Channing Museum."

Peter was about to go in when Neal halted him.

"Wait," he whispered. "Why is he here?" Neal could think of a reason or two, and if so, he wanted to be prepared.

"The Haustenberg," Peter whispered in return. Neal relaxed. "He says it belongs to them." Oh, it that so. Well, he was pretty sure who it belonged to, and it was not the Channing Museum.

"Lose the hat," Peter hissed as they continued into the room.

Peter and Neal joined the other team members and the curator at the table, making the group complete.

"Welcome to the FBI, Mr…" he lingered on the name since the phone call he had got from Reece had only stated his title and not his name.

"Walter," the man replied without a trace of a smile and intention to rise to shake Peter's hand.

"I'm Special Agent Peter Burke."

"So I'm told," he replied. "Repeatedly. By the others around this table. Since I arrived. Good to finally see you here and that you put some effort into retrieving our painting."

Peter let the comments pass and sat down. Neal took the seat between him and Jones.

"You say the painting belongs to the Channing Museum."

"It does." The curator passed him a copy of an inventory slip.

"How come the Channing didn't report it missing?"

"We did report it when it was stolen in 1967."

1967 Peter thought. Julianna could not have had anything to do with it. She was not even born then. Her grandmother was another story. To Peter's annoyance, Neal raised his hand a second to call the curator's attention.

"I have a question. The painting was stolen in '67, but it's not listed on the Art Loss Registry."

"The Registry was established in 1990," Walter cut back.

"'91, actually," Neal shot in return. "You could have re-filed the claim."

The man was not used to being talked back like that, it was obvious to Peter. And not by young brats like his pet convict.

"I'm sorry, you are who?"

"Neal Caffrey," Peter informed him before Neal had the chance. "He's one of our art consultants."

"Caffrey..." the curator repeated. "Not familiar with that name."

"It's probably for the best," Peter muttered.

"You're an expert on Haustenberg?" Walter gave the young smiling man a skeptical look.

"All the late European post-impressionists," Neal assured him.

To Walter's credit, he accepted the statement that he was an art expert and passed the kid another copy of the inventory slip.

"I authenticated Young Girl with Locket myself when it first entered our collection. I'll agree it's an excellent work. A bit sentimental for my taste but the Matisse influence is apparent."

Peter knew a challenge when he heard one and wanted to leave the room right away. He saw Neal grin back at Walter and knew what was coming.

"Considering Matisse was a fauvist, I wouldn't agree at all. Unless you're talking about his early work. If you are, you're just wrong."

Obviously, Neal passed the test because Walter did actually smile.

"We have reason to believe this was taken in a residential robbery," Peter turned the focus of the conversation back to the crime.

"What happened to the painting when it was taken from my museum is not my concern," the curator slammed back. "Now, if someone elected to buy stolen property I believe that is a crime."

"We also have reason to believe the resident of that home had that painting in good faith," Peter continued.

"As I said, agent, that is none of my concern. If the painting is recovered, we will claim it."

"I don't like it," Neal told Peter the moment they were alone in his office. "That painting belongs to Julianna."

"Not if it's stolen," his handler replied.

"I know, but they didn't re-filed the claim, the painting doesn't mean anything to them. It does to her."

"Neal, we have laws and rules. We can't base our work on what we fancy or not. We have to follow the law and not favor single individuals."

Sometimes Peter was so predictable it was boring.

"Yeah, and I'm still in prison."

"You are still a prison inmate," Peter pointed out. "And you did get four more years for your escape, no matter reason for your escapade. The same laws apply to everyone. That's how a safe and civilized society is built. You can trust a fair treatment no matter who you are."

"All I say is that the reason that I'm here with you in your office right now is because you favored a single individual."

His handler needed to be a bit provoked to get his vision widened.

"Within the boundaries of the law. And if you break our agreement—"

"You'll slap the cuffs on me and take me back to prison, I know." It was a futile argumentation and Neal knew it. "Does your old promise still remain by the way?"

"What promise?"

"That if I go back to prison, you'll take me there? Just you and your cuffs, remember?"

Peter's eyes narrowed.

"What are you up to now, Neal?"

Neal juggled his rubber-band ball and put on his most innocent smile just to tease Peter.

"Nothing. I just want to know. It's within the boundaries of the law for you to grow tired of me and put me back."

"I'm not growing tired of you. Not yet at least. And yes, that promise still holds. Within reason. If you decide to run, I can't guarantee I'll be the one catching you."

Oh, yes, you will, Neal thought. Peter was the only one who knew him well enough to know where to look for him. And when they worked together like this, he became even more certain. But it worked both ways too. Neal learned Peter's way of thinking too.

"Oh, here she is," Peter said and Neal turned to see to. Julianna came through the doors and was escorted towards Peter's office by Jones.

"Pleased to see you again, Miss Laszio." They shook hands and Peter offered her a seat. Her eyes trailed to Neal.

"Hi." He smiled at her. She sank down in the chair offered and Neal sat down on the windowsill, staying in the background. He was well aware that his anklet was visible when he was sitting, and where he was he could not hide it under a table. But the truth was, he did not care. He could handle it. It was no longer something anyone could use against him.

"I came as fast as I could. What's up?"

"Do you know how the Haustenberg came into your grandmother's possession?" Peter asked straight to the point.

Julianna's pose and tone were defensive. With every right, she felt her ownership of the painting questioned.

"She brought it with her from Hungary when she came to this country after the War. Why?"

Jones put his head through the door, interrupting.

"Agent Burke, got a question for you."

"Yeah," Peter sighed and gave Julianna a nod. "Excuse me." He rose. "Play nice, kids."

Neal watched Peter leave with a smug smile. The second the agent was out of the room he was down from the windowsill.

"What's going on?" Julianna wanted to know.

Neal sat down on Peter's desk and gave the girl a smile as he looked at her.

"You're not a very good liar," he told her, getting straight to the point, just as Peter. "Your grandmother stole the painting."

"Why would you say that?" she asked in return without a hint of guilt or fright. After all, she had fought the man who broke into her home.

"She never had it insured. That was my first clue."

"Is this like a good-cop, bad-cop thing?" She leaned forward. "He takes a call, you wink at me."

"If we get the painting, it's going back to the Channing unless you give us a good reason to keep it away from them."

She just glanced at him, not playing ball at all. Neal smiled. She was cautious and he like that.

"Tell me a story," he encouraged her. "How did she take it? Just hypothetically."

"Hypothetically?" He nodded. "A little black dress, a laced bottle of whiskey and a horny Irish security guard," she told him with a grin.

"Why did she do it?"

The grin disappeared from her face. Without moving her eyes from his she pulled out a locket from inside her top and held it out to him, keeping the chain around her neck.

Neal blinked.

"That's the locket. Your grandmother is the little girl in the painting."

She did not reply. Just put the locket back together with all the other trinkets around her neck. She sighed. They both knew it did not qualify her to get the painting back. Not legally. But as Peter had pointed out, Neal was an optimist.