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Chapter 4

If Neal didn't have the control he did he would be fidgeting in his seat. He wasn't nervous per se; he just had a lot of pet up energy from being in the small car. As he watched the downtown buildings pass by, he absentmindedly listened to the conversation in the car. The bits and pieces he heard were mostly about the Burkes' house or Elizabeth's event planning business.

"So Neal, how would you like to decorate your room? Mozzie's thinking about an island theme, would you like something similar?" Elizabeth was turned around in the front seat smiling at him. Clearly she was still trying to be friendly and Neal's cold demeanor hadn't dampened that at all. From his peripheral vision he could see Moz watching him expectantly. Neal grimaced slightly, trying to think of a noncommittal answer but Moz beat him to it.

"No Neal's not as into the island theme as I am. He'd probably prefer to paint his own room." Neal gave Mozzie a glare.

"You paint Neal?" Peter interjected, making eye contact through the rearview mirror. His brown eyes were warm with curiosity. Neal looked away, a little confused as no one had ever asked about his skills before.

"Yes, I do. I haven't been able to recently though, since I used the last of my paint a few weeks ago." Neal didn't miss the glance between the Burkes but was at a loss as to what it meant. Did they not like that he paints? Were they looking for a sports fanatic? If so, then they were going to be greatly disappointed since neither Moz nor he were much into sports. Neal was drawn out of his inner thoughts as Elizabeth started talking to him again.

"What would you paint in your room then, if you could that is?" Neal paused for a second, thinking of all the masterpieces he had done but none of them stood out in his mind. Instead there was another image in his mind. Before his most recent stint in the foster homes he lived in an old warehouse. While the building itself was horrible and falling apart, the view was spectacular.

"The New York Skyline." Neal replied, vividly remembering every detail from that building. His answer seemed to surprise the couple, especially Peter, even though he quickly hid the shock.

"Could you really paint that?" He asked, something other than curiosity in his voice, however, Mozzie answered for him.

"Neal definitely could. You should see some of the work he does, it's amazing." Blue eyes turned back to the window, feeling a little heat come to his face.

"Do you have any of your art with you, Neal? I would love to see it." Elizabeth inquired, but Neal shook his head.

"No, I don't really keep any of the stuff I paint for very long." He exchanged a knowing glance with Moz. Most of the works he did weren't quite, well original. Whatever he got paid to paint, he painted. Usually that consisted of forgeries, not that Elizabeth and Peter needed to know that.

"Well," Elizabeth began, turning back to face the road, "we'll just have to change that won't we?" Neal figured the question was rhetorical so he didn't answer. He wasn't sure if he wanted to do his own work. It was easier to do someone else's work rather than get attached to his own.

From the outside the townhouse looked like all the others, Neal observed. The bricks and windows were the same as all the others on the street. There was one thing, however, that made the house stand out. It had a bright red door. Most of the others had neutral toned doors, but not this one. Neal reflected on this difference as he walked in.

"There's someone else you two need to meet." Neal glanced between Moz and Peter; the former seemed just as confused as he, Peter, however, was smiling. He set his duffle down on the floor and understood when he heard the distinct sound of dog tags clinking. Not a minute later a yellow Labrador retriever came around the corner to the small living room. The dog went to Peter first, but gave the teens a questioning look.

"This is Satchmo." Peter told them as he pat the dog's head. The lab trotted over to the teens, reaching Neal first and he was unable to refuse those doleful eyes. He knelt down and started scratching the dog's neck, underneath the bright blue collar. Satchmo gave him a lick on the cheek for his efforts before moving on to Mozzie. The young teen watched his pseudo-brother pet the lab before surveying the rest of the room. It was relatively calm design, mostly blues and grays. It was a strangely soothing effect. Just as some of the tension was fading from his shoulders, blue eyes landed on the coffee table. There sitting next to a small pile of baseball magazines was a coffee mug. Normally, Neal wouldn't find this at all worrisome, well besides the obvious baseball obsession, but what the mug said worried him.

There on the bright white mug in bold, black letters were the words 'World's Best FBI Agent'. Neal felt some of the blood drain from his face. His world seemed to narrow to that mug. He glanced to Peter, looking more closely at the man. He took in the average everyday suit and tie, trying to figure out who Peter was.

Just what had Moz got him into this time?

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