By the time the NYPD arrived on the scene, Neal and Elizabeth were seated in the lobby awaiting their arrival, impatiently tapping their toes for different reasons.
"Their response time leaves a lot to be desired." Elizabeth commented quietly.
"Uh-huh." Neal replied, carefully avoiding looking any of the officers who were now flooding the gallery in the eye.
"Rob," she nodded at one of the security guards. "Told me that the kid was paid to grab a painting. I guess it was so that thief could take the other painting at the same time without setting off the alarm again."
"Probably."
"Are you alright, Nick?" she asked, surprised at his monotone answers. "You're not nervous about talking to the cops, are you?"
"What? No, I'm fine." he responded, flashing her a smile. She didn't look convinced, but she had no time to say anything as it was at that moment that an officer strolled over and started questioning them.
Neal was in the middle of giving his – very brief and hurried – statement when the entrance to the gallery opened and a man, in what Neal found was a very bland suit, entered. He looked around at the cops for a moment before heading over to Neal, Elizabeth, and the officer talking to them. Neal groaned and put his head in his hands.
"Nick, are you sure you're okay?" Elizabeth asked, putting a hand on his back. "What's wrong?"
"Hi, Agent Peter Burke, FBI. Are you the officer in charge?"
"There's absolutely nothing wrong, Elizabeth." Neal said, sitting back up. "I'm just gonna go to the bathroom, and then I'll be right back." He got up before anyone could say anything, and rushed to the men's room at the back of the lobby.
He shoved open the door and hurried in, immediately looking for a window or another door. No such luck. Neal sighed and leaned against the door, and hit his head against it a few times for good measure. He just had to go to the gallery today. He couldn't have visited two or three times, like a normal criminal, and then be done with it.
He bashed his head once more before taking a deep breath and moving over to one of the mirrors. He paraded his most charismatic smile, but he couldn't take away the edges of panic that surrounded it. For a moment, Neal took out his phone, debating whether to call Mozzie and have him create some sort of distraction, but he decided it would probably create more problems than it'd solve.
Taking another deep breath, Neal rolled back his shoulders and headed back towards the lobby, smiling easily at Elizabeth's frown as he sat back down next to her.
"I'm fine." he said, before she could ask. "What are we talking about?"
"The… robbery." she said slowly, looking up at Agent Burke, who nodded.
"Miss Mitchell here tells me you saw the guy as well?" he asked.
"Yeah, he was – uh – wearing a black hoodie, had blond hair, uh–" Neal faltered, trying to think of prominent features to describe.
"Do you think if you sat with a sketch artist, you two could create a profile?" Peter asked them, his hands resting on his hips while he waited for them to answer. He was mainly looking at Elizabeth, which was something Neal was incredibly thankful for.
Elizabeth suddenly hit his arm and Neal recoiled, rubbing his arm and frowning incredulously.
"Oh!" she said, her eyes lighting up. "Nick's a wonderful artist, he could probably draw him for you!"
Neal stared at her wide-eyed, wondering what he'd done to provoke such a betrayal. Agent Burke looked him up and down.
"Could you, Mr…?"
"Halden." Neal croaked. He could do nothing to escape the sinking ship, so he accepted his fate. "I'd be happy to."
Elizabeth beamed at him and squeezed his arm. "I'll help, of course." she said.
"Of course." he replied.
"You're what?!"
Neal collapsed face down onto his single bed, deigning not to answer.
"Please tell me you did not just say you're sketching a portrait of a thief for the FBI?"
Neal didn't reply. He sighed into his pillow.
"Neal." Mozzie prompted, a looking appalled at his young friend.
The con man rolled over and shrugged. "I'm considering a change of career?" he tried.
Mozzie looked like he wanted to throttle him. "I promise to visit when you're in prison." he said, heading towards the door.
"Moz, don't be such a drama queen." Neal answered. "This Burke guy isn't gonna figure out who I am."
"You're right, because we'll be long gone by then. How's the Caribbean supposed to be this time of the year?"
"We're not going anywhere until I get that painting."
Neal didn't have to look at Mozzie to know the expression on his face in the silence that followed.
"You're kidding, aren't you?"
"No, I'm not." Neal said. "I told Kate I'm going to give her that painting–"
"And she didn't reply to you," Mozzie interrupted. "She's gone, Neal, she's not interested anymore."
"She's not gone, Moz. She's in hiding or something."
"Or something." Mozzie said with scepticism. "You don't even know why she's gone, she didn't tell you she was leaving, how long is it going to be before you realise she's not coming back for you?"
"Enough, Moz." Neal said, getting up from the bed and heading towards the bathroom. "I'm getting that painting whether you like it or not. And anyway, I've spent weeks there, I'm not going to have wasted all that time for nothing."
"This isn't going to end well for you, Neal." Mozzie called, but the other man had left.
Neal was asked to come to the FBI the next day so that he could provide his sketch. In the lobby, he met Elizabeth and the two of them travelled upwards in the elevator together. Agent Burke was waiting for them and he smiled at Elizabeth when she stepped out first.
"Right this way," he said, and he led them through a set of glass double doors that revealed an open room with numerous desks dotted about. Neal smiled uneasily at an agent that caught his eye as they headed up a set of stairs and into an office, presumably Burke's.
"Ok," Burke said. "If you two want to sit down, I'll go get a sketchpad for you, Mr Halden, and then you can draw this robber to the best of your ability with the help of Miss Mitchell."
"Oh, call me Elizabeth, please." she said with a bright smile, and Burke returned a small smile, leaning casually against the side of his desk.
"Then you can call me Peter." he replied, then he let out a quiet chuckle and Elizabeth laughed too, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Neal watched their exchange with a frown, slowly looking from one to the other while they talked. When they turned to look at him, he raised his eyebrows.
"'Mr. Halden' will be fine."
Laughing again, Elizabeth lightly smacked his arm – why does she keep doing that? – and shook her head. "Really, Nick? What kind of friend refuses to let others call him by his first name?"
"A self-absorbed one?" Peter guessed, and Elizabeth flashed him another dazzling smile.
"Well, now that we're all friends, and you've insulted me after talking for thirty seconds, perhaps we could do this sketch?" Neal said, barely repressing the urge to roll his eyes at the two of them.
Peter nodded and left to get the paper and pens, and when he returned Neal began sketching the thief. Every so often, Elizabeth chipped in with details about the criminal, but otherwise she was occupied with answering questions while Peter filled out a report.
"And did you see which way the robber ran after he left your gallery?"
Elizabeth thought for a moment, "Right, I think. He went right. Nick?"
Neal nodded.
Peter hummed as he typed into the computer. Then he cleared his throat. "Towards that new Italian place?"
Neal paused in his sketch, frowning down at the paper while he listened to Peter.
Elizabeth looked surprised. "Er, yeah, I think so. I've never been."
"Oh, it's great." Peter said. "They do great pizza. You should, uh, go there some time."
Elizabeth considered and smiled. "I will." she said.
Peter nodded at her answer and then turned back to the computer. He didn't start typing, though.
Neal raised an eyebrow. "Agent–?"
"It's cosy." Peter said over him, and Neal bit his lip, fighting down a grin. He looked back down at his sketch.
"Is that so?" Elizabeth said, and Neal could tell that she, too, was struggling not to smile.
"Yeah. Got a nice atmosphere."
Are you gonna ask her, or what? Neal mused to himself as he shaded an eye.
"Well, it sounds lovely. I'll have to have dinner there sometime."
With a nod, Peter worried his lip between his teeth. "You should." he said, smacking his lips.
Oh my God, am I going to have to do this for you? Neal looked across at Elizabeth with a bright smile. "You know," he said. "Peter's made this place sound great. You wanna get some dinner there tomorrow night?"
Peter's mouth dropped open, but Neal pretended not to see. Elizabeth did the same.
"I'd love to, Nick, thank you." she said with a small smile.
Peter snapped his mouth shut and glared at the screen of his computer. Neal watched him with a grin for a few moments, trying not to chuckle as the agent jabbed at the keyboard.
Eventually he took pity on him. "Hey, you should come too, Peter."
Peter looked across to Elizabeth, who nodded. "You should, unless you can't? I mean, I don't know if you're allowed to go to dinner with witnesses out of hours, but–"
"Well this is pretty open and shut." Peter interrupted, leaning back in his chair. "It'll probably be done by tomorrow."
That is incredibly untrue, Neal thought to himself, but he didn't say anything. "Well, it's a date." he said instead. He got up from his chair and handed the pad to Peter. "Here's your sketch, so am I free to go?"
"You're not a suspect." Peter said with a smile as he, too, got to his feet. "But yeah, you can go. I'll walk you to the elevator." He looked down at Elizabeth. "I've got a couple more questions for you, Elizabeth, if you don't mind staying?"
"I'd be happy to." Elizabeth replied, blinking up at him. Peter maintained eye contact with her for a few more seconds, until Neal cleared his throat and the agent jolted, looking towards Neal as if he'd forgotten he was there.
"Right," he said. "Let's go."
The two of them walked back through the bullpen, and as they waited for the elevator to arrive, Peter glanced across at him.
"You and Elizabeth," he began. "Are you…?" He trailed off, and Neal smiled at his implication.
"Just friends." he replied. "Well, barely. We've known each other for a couple of weeks."
"Right," Peter said, nodding and looking down at the floor. "So you're not–"
"No." Neal interrupted. "I've got a… someone." he finished lamely. Peter looked like he wanted to question that but Neal continued before he could say anything. "She's all yours."
Peter shifted and cleared his throat. Neal noticed he'd been doing that frequently these past forty minutes. "If she'd have me." he muttered.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Neal smiled across at Peter and patted his shoulder. "She'd be lucky to." he said, fishing for any meaningless platitude. What did Peter want him to say? He didn't even know him.
Well, the dinner he'd spontaneously arranged would change that. "See you tomorrow." he said, and stepped into the elevator. He turned around and watched as the doors closed on a contemplative Peter.