Chapter 3

Diana Berrigan, FBI agent on unpaid leave pending disciplinary investigation, restless and tense, turned over in her featherbed sending the kaleidoscopic crazy quilt her beloved grandmother made her falling down to the hand-hewn oaken floor while the sparkling white 600 count thread Egyptian cotton top sheet fell back on her damp body clad only in a light chemise with tiny embroidered bluebells and loose aqua pajama bottoms formerly owned by an ex-lover from ages ago. Christy had long since left for her shift at the hospital and what-was-that-annoying-racket anyway? Unable to tolerate the disruption one moment longer, Diana leapt out of the bed, surrounded by the lacey coral-colored curtains (Christy's choice), snatched up her cell phone from the antique nightstand, and stalked angrily to one of the two partially open windows facing their inside enclosed garden just in time to feel the sting of gravel hitting her face.

"I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry!" called a horrified voice from the enclosed wooded garden below. Quickly shaking the dust and dirt from her eyes while spitting out the sand, she peered down in astonishment. If Prince William himself had been blowing kisses to her from below she wouldn't have been more disbelieving of what her eyes were telling her. "Caffrey?"

"Let me in! Please," called Neal, looking up to the second floor window while the remainder of the gravel slipped out of his fingers behind his back. His handsome face, turned upward to her, was white with exhaustion although a tan overlay was evident and his thick brown hair hung past his shoulder blades as he craned his neck. He was nearly unrecognizable in sweatpants and shirt and on his feet Diana noted heavy stained work boots. Caffrey working? What a joke, she thought to herself.

"Go to the door," Diana ordered, slamming the window shut as she turned to grab her robe. Quickly she washed her face in the small bathroom, then reached blindly for a towel that wasn't there. Christy, what did you do with the hand towel, she muttered to herself in exasperation. She would've greeted Neal with drawn gun and badge but those had been taken away from her since her suspension and never did she miss them more. Emerging from the bathroom, Diana scanned the room for a usable weapon and then reluctantly abandoned the idea. In the years she'd known the con artist he was never violent. He should be the one to worry, she thought to herself, angrily. Neal Caffrey, the root of all her misery, here at her front door.

Skipping down the stairs in bare feet, Diana skidded to a stop unceremoniously as one foot hit the woven emerald green throw rug Christy insisted on placing in front of the entrance door and she found herself crashing into the heavily paneled wood of the wall with a resounding thud. I am going to break a leg on that thing! She gripped to herself for the nth time. What was it with Christy and decorating? Pausing for a moment to catch her breath, Diana turned the handle to find Neal Caffrey truly standing there – the last person she expected to see, outside of a secure, very secure prison, anyway.

"Sorry about the gravel, I was trying to get your attention," Neal explained nervously, twisting a worn blue Yankees baseball cap in his hands. Studying him closer, Diana marveled at his changed appearance and his chameleon gift. If she'd been standing behind him in a supermarket checkout line, she wouldn't have looked twice. Stepping back Diana motioned Neal inside and he clomped over her threshold noisily, glancing around with obvious apprehension, his face taunt and his blue eyes wary but resigned. It was evident he'd made a choice and was determined to stick with it, consequences be damned.

"Sit down," ordered Diana abruptly. She didn't like him towering above her. Neal looked around and went to sit down on one of the hard slatted chairs by the kitchen table, turning the chair away from the table to face her. The suspended FBI agent folded her arms over her chest tightly and glared at him, their eyes locking. She could see he was pained and her anger subsided slightly – but not by much. She'd lost a month's pay because of him and Peter was in jail! How dare he show his face. Yet how amazingly convenient. As her mind tried to figure out a way to subdue him, Neal spoke.

"It wasn't my fault!"

"Yeah?" Diana scoffed. "Then whose?" There was duct tape somewhere but she doubted Neal would wait patiently while she looked for where Christy might have left it. Sweet Christy who couldn't put anything back where she found it to save her life. How did she manage surgery, anyhow?

"Jeff's!" exclaimed Neal emphatically. "it was all Jeff's idea!"

"Don't blame this on Jeff!" warned Diana, horrified. "This is all you – Neal Caffrey, con artist extraordinaire.

"Mozzie said no one would get hurt," Neal continued, his face darkening. "I had no idea the FBI would think Peter had anything to do with it."

"And me!" snapped Diana, her voice rising with irritation. "And me! I've been suspended. No pay for over a month, you moron! Jones as well! They think we helped you!"

"That's ridiculous, "Neal stating the obvious. "You would have shot me first."

"So I told them!" agreed Diana, nodding her head as she finally sat down across from him at the kitchen table. "Peter told the FBI as well. He's taken all the blame on himself. He is so hurt, Neal. How could you do this to him? He tried so hard to help you."

At Diana's words, Neal dropped his head in his hands, covering his face. For a fleeting moment Diana felt a smidgen of pity rise up from her hardened heart but sternly tapped it down. The man was nothing but a con artist and would never be anything but a con artist. He'd sell his own mother down the…in fact, he probably already did! No. He was a heartless bastard who deserved no consideration from decent folk. But what the hell was he doing here?

Raising his head, Caffrey pushed his long, uncombed hair out of his eyes with his right hand. "How can we fix this?" he asked, looking at her without flinching.

"We!" exclaimed Diana with a half-laugh. "We! I had nothing to do with this. You, on the other hand…"

"I told you," repeated Neal patiently, "it was Jeff's idea. Third season itch. He said he wanted to 'reset' our relationship."

"What gibberish are you talking?" demanded Diana with irritation. Her brown eyes strayed to the fine blue satin curtain drawcord running across the front window behind Neal. Christy would have her head for ruining the curtains they'd brought over from their honeymoon in Paris. Darn. She dared not risk it - even to tie Neal up like a Thanksgiving turkey, despite the immense pleasure the thought gave her.

"Forget it," sighed Neal. It was obvious Jeff wasn't going to fix this mess. Where was his mind, anyway? Probably on his new pilot! "What will it take for the FBI to let Peter go and give him back his job?"

"Surrender yourself and your little accomplice AND return all the artwork you stole from the Nazi U-boat. That would be a start."

"Surrendering myself - I can do," said Neal, his voice husky, barely above a whisper. "Mozzie…I don't know where he is. I honestly don't." Neal glanced over at Diana's skeptical face, not surprised she didn't believe him for an instant. "And I don't know where the art is. Mozzie handled everything."

"Then why did you come back?" demanded Diana, impatiently. "What good are you by yourself? The FBI wants the artwork back! If they don't get the artwork then it's both you and Peter in prison."

"Me?" asked Neal, his eyebrows rising.

"Did you think I was going to let you waltz out of here?"

"You're suspended," Neal reminded Diana gently. "No gun. No badge. You can't arrest me."

"I sure as hell can call 911," Diana reminded him, shaking her cell phone in front of his resigned blue eyes.

"But you won't," observed Neal, quietly – careful not to challenge her.

"Why is that?"

"Unless I am free, I can't find the artwork.

"How do I know you don't know where it is?"

"If I knew where it was, I wouldn't have come to you. I'd have gone to the FBI directly," said Neal simply.

Diana rubbed her forehead. Her mind was spinning as she tried to follow Neal's con-like logic.

"Then WHY are you here?" she demanded. Why wasn't she asleep in bed or better yet left free to mope about her suspension in peace, blissfully Caffrey-less?

"Elizabeth sent me. She wants to see you."

"Elizabeth! I am not allowed to have contact with either Peter or Elizabeth – she knows that!" Diana had missed talking to Peter's wife; they had grown close over the years she'd been working with Peter.

"You're going to have to bend the rules if you want Peter out of jail," prodded Neal gently.

"That's right up your alley, isn't it?" snapped Diana peevishly. "Bending rules."

"I've got to get back," Neal suddenly announced, rising from the chair. Diana noticed his boots had left dark scuffed marks on the painted Italian tile flooring and made a quick mental note to clean them up before Christy got home. Neal pulled a small nondescript phone out of his pocket and tossed it to her. "Use this to call Elizabeth. The number is taped on the phone. Please."

"Why didn't you stop him from leaving? A karate chop or something?" demanded Jones an hour later when Diana told him about Neal's visit. "You let him walk out the door!"

"He made sense – sorta," Diana replied, embarrassed but not contrite. "We need help, Clinton, if Peter is going to be exonerated. Who better to free him than the man who put him there?"

"You're trusting Neal now?"

"No!" replied Diana in protest.

"Have you called Elizabeth?"

"No!" said Diana again.

Jones looked at Diana skeptically. "You and the Burkes have always been close."

"We haven't!"

"It's Fowler all over again. You and Peter with your secrets and I am out of the loop."

"It isn't!" protested Diana. "I asked you over here…"

"Whatever," replied Jones, unconvinced. He was going to be left blowing in the wind, his name wasn't even on the opening credits for goodness sakes!

"G'night, Diana," Jones continued, getting up from his chair as he heard Christy put her key in the door. "Just keep me in the loop this time – OK?"

As Christy pushed the heavy door open, black leather doctor bag and huge bulky purse in hand, she passed Jones and rose on tip toe to peck him quickly on his cheek, one hand resting briefly on his arm. He returned the kiss with a shy smile and closed the door behind him as Christy gave her partner a puzzled look.

"What did I miss?" she asked, tossing her things in a heap on the sofa and pulling a red barrette out of her long hair, letting it cascade down her back. "You seem – different. What's changed?"

Diana smiled slightly, "Nothing, honey," she said. She didn't want Christy involved in this mess – no way, no how.

Across town, Neal Caffrey's thumbs flew over the keyboard of his burner phone as he hurriedly texted. Elizabeth, standing next to him and leaning lightly on his shoulder, peered down at the tiny screen, her blue eyes widening in astonishment.

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