Chapter Twenty-four

"When is your 'house' going to be open?"

"Sorry, Peter, the hotel doesn't open for another six months. Did you have trouble getting in?"

"I had to flash my badge at a construction worker to keep him from calling the police."

"Next time just tell them you're here to see me. They know I'm here."

Peter just shook his head sadly as Neal stepped aside to let him into his apartment. They only had one more day before they headed to New York and the Ivory meeting and Peter wanted to make sure that Neal was as prepared as possible. Peter had his doubts that this operation was going to uncover any of the lost Gardner art, but he couldn't deny that it would be a considerable asset to have Neal embedded undercover in the Ivory List. The FBI didn't even know the full scope of the Ivory List and even just getting an idea of how much art and money there were moving around would be instrumental in getting full support from the higher ups to work towards bringing it down. The Ivory List wasn't always taken seriously since a great deal of it was born of rumor and wishful thinking by wealthy art collectors rather than solid viable targets. However if they could prove that it was organized and a credible threat all that could change.

Neal had answered the door wearing a white tank top that was stained in various oil paint colors that also streaked his skin. He seemed particularly energetic today as he welcomed Peter inside. He had pushed all the furniture aside in the main room and put down a heavy drop cloth over the carpet to protect it. Set up on the drop cloth was a small table covered in paints, pallets, various spirits, and paint brushes along with two easels that were back to back so that only the one with the Rembrandt forgery could be seen. Peter walked up and inspected the undeniably breathtaking copy that Neal had spent the last few days fixing the signature on.

Peter stared at the detailed painting wondering what Neal's life would have been like if he had focused his raw talent in a better direction from the start. Neal's mood had always darkened at any mention of being a true artist as if that path had been taken from him. The absence of his father had left a wound on his life that had barely begun to heal when his father had come and reopened it by betraying him again. In the end Neal had seemed to have found a strange kind of closure in the abandonment and it had helped him realize who his real family was, but it had still taken a heavy toll on him. Although he knew he probably should Peter didn't talk to Neal about his father anymore. He hadn't even decided if he wanted the FBI to manage to catch him or not. As much as Peter wanted justice for being framed for murder it would probably be best for everyone involved if they simply never heard from James Bennett ever again.

"I'm proud of you." Neal broke the silence.

"What?" Peter asked taken off guard as he was pulled out of his thoughts. "Me?"

"You're doing a very good job resisting the impulse to arrest me for this." Neal gestured towards the Rembrandt.

"Believe me, it's not easy."

"You didn't even reach for your cuffs." Neal teased.

"They never work on you anyway."

"True."

Neal chuckled lightly but he appeared somewhat uneasy now that Peter was paying better attention to him. It wasn't often that Neal gave off a nervous vibe so when it did it usually meant something big had happened. Looking at him closer Peter noticed that the paint that marred his skin and shirt was mostly in bright vibrant colors which was in stark contrast to the deep muted colors of the Rembrandt. Since he'd only been painting over and redoing the signature there wouldn't have been any call for the shocking colors or even the mess. Peter furrowed his brow as Neal suddenly flashed him his patented 'I'm hiding something that I hope you figure out but I can't just tell you' smile. It was a look Peter had grown accustom to over the years and was subtly distinct from the version where Neal was hiding something that he hoped Peter didn't figure out.

Peter circled around the easel with the Rembrandt to look at whatever Neal had been painting on the other one which was situated to get better light. The large bold work was abstract but at the same time the use of deep blues and grays up the sides with contrasting flame orange and reds that rose up out of the center sharply reminded Peter of the Manhattanhenge. The Manhattenhenge, also called the Manhattan Solstice, occurred twice a year in New York when the setting sun aligned perfectly with 42nd street causing the sun to glow in the gap between the rows of iconic skyscrapers. Peter missed the city just looking at the streaks of color but at the same time it made him smile at the memory of the few times he'd seen the spectacular event himself with Elizabeth.

"Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful." Peter replied honestly. "I've never really understood abstract art, but this one is different."

"Thank you."

"I don't recognize it from anywhere. Did Frost ask you to do this for something?"

"No." Neal picked up a brush and cleaned up one of the lines. "There, all done. I'll sign it once it dries."

"Neal…as much as it relieves me that you're painting again you can't sign it. Even if you don't intend to sell it you know that the signature turns it from a reproduction into a forgery."

"Not if I sign my own name." Neal smiled proudly.

"Wha...wait, this is an original work?"

"It is and trust me, I am just as surprised as you are." Neal chuckled as he instantly lost his nervous edge. "I was working on the Rembrandt and I suddenly wanted to do something more, something of my own. I've tried before in the past but I've never done anything that I felt truly worked until now."

"You've always had the talent, Neal, you just had to find the heart."

"I finally know who I am," Neal agreed "and it's who I want to be."

Peter smiled warmly at Neal. He knew how hard Neal had fought to get to this point and it was good to see that he was proud of where was. Peter had to admit that there had been times that he'd feared that Neal was a lost cause, destined to either add to the recidivism rate or simple get himself killed. For as much damage and heartbreak Frost had caused Neal the end results for him were beyond anything Peter could have hoped for. Peter had still found himself harboring anger towards Frost for tearing Neal down to the point of almost killing him in a vicious cycle of pain and drugs. However much like what had happened with his father Neal seemed to have needed to lose everything before he could find what really mattered.

Turning his attention to the painting again Peter saw a new image in the splashes of contrasting colors: a phoenix born from the ashes of its own destruction.