A/N: Painted Eyes' longest chapter yet. Enjoy :)

8.

"Isabelle! Wait up!"

Isabelle Reilly halted and glanced back over her shoulder. Behind her, Neal Caffrey hurried towards her, his head lowered against the brisk, chilly wind.

Ahead, Agent Clinton Jones paused and looked back, and a look of half-exasperated, half-"of course" acceptance came over his face as Neal caught up. "Neal, what are you doing?"

Neal flashed Jones a friendly grin. "Hey, buddy." He nodded towards Isabelle. "Could I have a quick word with her?"

Jones hesitated, then sighed. "Alright, but make it quick."

"Always."

Jones stepped back and stood guard as Neal turned to Isabelle, who flashed him a sweetly charming smile. "Neal Caffrey. To what do I owe this immense pleasure?"

Neal returned the smile and casually held out a rolled-up canvas. "I believe that this is yours, Miss Reilly."

Isabelle blinked, uncertainty sweeping over her features as she reached out and hesitantly took the canvas. Gently, slowly, she unfurled it, and looked down in silence at her forgery of Painted Eyes.

Wordlessly, Isabelle carefully rolled the painting back up and looked up. Neal smiled down at her.

"You know," he said, quietly, "I took a look at the real painting, and I must say, I'm impressed. Your forgery is amazingly well done—in fact, it's practically, almost exactly the same as the real one."

And then, at last, for the first time, Isabelle Reilly's diamond-hard emerald green eyes softened, and a look came over her face that hinted that she already knew Neal's next words.

He said them anyways. "Well, except, you know, the girl in the real painting looked perfectly happy to me."

Isabelle looked away and smiled—a real, genuine smile, and Neal found it remarkable how much younger and happier it made her look. "Well," she said, as she carefully tucked the canvas inside her coat, "you know what they say."

Neal tilted his head, questioningly. "What do they say?"

Isabelle looked up and met Neal's gaze with her own. "That artists reveal more of themselves in their work than they ever intend to." For a moment, she studied Neal with an appraising look in her bright, clear green eyes, a slight smile curving up the corner of her lips. "You're an artist yourself, aren't you?"

Neal paused, considered. "Yeah," he finally answered, with a light smirk of his own. "You could say that I am."

"Hmm." With a soft chuckle, Isabelle nodded to Neal. "Well, I'd like to see some of your work someday, Mr. Caffrey. Till then." She turned to walk away.

"Wait," Neal called. Isabelle paused, looked back. Neal hesitated. "Why—what made you confess? In the end, after everything—why did you do it?"

Isabelle exhaled, regarding him thoughtfully. "You really want to know?"

"Yeah," Neal confirmed, with a slight nod of his head. "I do."

She turned and retraced her steps until she stood close before him, her eyes unfocused on a spot just above Neal's shoulder. "The truth is," she stated, slowly and clearly, "I confessed because…" With a slight sigh, she looked up and met Neal's eyes with her own. "I confessed because I didn't want to end up like you."

Neal blinked, more stunned that he'd have liked to admit. "Oh." He paused. "Huh. I—didn't see that coming." He flashed her his famous Caffrey million-megawatt smile. "May I ask why? You know, they call me one of the most interesting criminals of the twenty-first century—it's a very enviable title."

A quick smirk flashed across her lips. "Oh, yes, you're definitely interesting."

Neal cocked his head, his smile fading. "But…?"

Her eyes softened. "The truth is…I don't want to be that kind of interesting." She shrugged slightly, looked away. "I don't want to spend three years of my life dodging the FBI. I don't want to spend another four in prison. I don't—" Her mouth twisted into a grimace. "I never really liked stealing from people. And—" Here she hesitated, her eyes glinting in the winter late-afternoon sunshine. "And I really—I really don't want to spend my freedom chasing after something that isn't mine anymore. That—maybe never was."

Kate.

For a moment, Isabelle remained silent, her eyes distant as they rested on New York City's famous, cloud-scraping skyline. At last, she turned to face Neal and met his eyes, a curve to her lips and a glint in her eye. "Thank you, Neal," she said, her voice firm and genuine. "For—everything."

And then, to Neal's utmost surprise, she stepped forwards and brushed a light, swift kiss on his cheek.

"Goodbye, Neal," Isabelle Reilly said. She flashed him a small smile and turned away, walking off to rejoin the awaiting Jones. "Until the next time we meet."

Neal exhaled, feeling a dozen different emotions come to a rest inside his chest. "Goodbye, Isabelle," he murmured, watching as the gravely graceful young woman and her FBI guardian melted into the crowd. "Until then."

A/N: And so the CONFLICT draws to a close…but the happy epilogue is yet to come! :D

I would LOVE some reviews, by the way. ;) Tell me EVERYTHING. Was Neal still good in this chapter? Because I really appreciate your support in that you approve of how I've portrayed him so far and I'd like to maintain that as much as possible. Also, did Isabelle melt too quickly? Because really, underneath that mask of ice she's just a girl… I had originally intended to put something in about how she had PURPOSEFULLY made the girl's emotions in her forgery drastically different than the girl's emotions in the original so that she'd get caught and could put an end to the life of crime she'd been living, buttt...eh. Oh, and it wasn't really clear, it's implied that the original Painted Eyes portrayed a perfectly content girl, but Isabelle's emotions overtook her forgery and churned out a completely different and much more raw and awe-inspiring version of the painting, which is why it meant so much to her.

AnYYYWAAaaYYs, to put an end to my rambling...tell me what you think, luveys! :)

cheers!

~queen