"I cannot believe you are doing this." Peter's voice was calm, quiet, icy. He meant what he said, he meant business. " I really had you begged for an intelligent guy."

Neal didn't answer. He was far too busy cursing his tongue which had suddenly come loose and mumbled out her name. He was also busy thinking of ways to convince Peter to not toss his ass back into prison. Getting involved with a victim of a crime was forbidden fruit when it came to law enforcement of any sort, the FBI not being an exclusion. Moreover, romantic liaisons with someone of the stature of a Rossetti was not only damaging to the Bureau (caused biased opinions), but also simply stupid.

"Well, are you going to talk?" Burke's voice now went up a few notches to an irritated snap.

"Honey, please don't yell at him. He…" Elizabeth tried to lull the coming storm but instead, felt its fury redirected upon her.

"You knew about this? You knew what he was doing? How could you not tell me, Elle?" He was actually yelling now.

"This. Peter Burke! This is exactly why I couldn't tell you. Because you'd fly into a fury and not bother to listen to what anyone else might have to day." Elizabeth voice suddenly matched her husband's.

Both Peter and Neal were startled to hear a high tone of voice from the lips of the always-amiable woman they both loved, in different ways. Peter opened his mouth, then shut it again. He was too flabbergasted to think, let alone talk.

"Neal has reasons for doing what he did, Peter. I'm asking you to give him time to talk, and that means having the patience to listen and not rage at him. Do you get that, at all?"

Burke nodded tightly and looked at his partner, who sat at the dining table with head bent. Peter felt a chill of remorse stab his heart, he had been a bit too harsh. "You going to tell me what's going on?" He asked, lowering himself onto a vacant chair.

He watched Neal sigh deeply, defeatedly. " I guess it just happened, Peter….I—"

"Wait, what happened? Have you two…you know..?" Peter hastened to clarify.

"What….NO! We just…we went out a couple of times. You know, exhibitions and a few concertos…" Neal was aware that his face was growing increasingly hot and he started talking, fast.

"Its nothing serious between us. We just like each other's company, and we have a lot in common, Peter. We both like the same sort of music, and she even likes the Rat Pack, which frankly, I didn't expect. I mean, she doesn't look it, does she? But, did I tell you that she actually walks around on the streets at night? She says she likes to explore and…"

Both the Burkes watched him blabber, and both of them knew what Neal was actually trying to say. "You're in love with her." Peter stated flatly, sighing exasperatedly.

The younger man shut up. He bit his lower lip and lowered his head, causing clumps of black-brown hair to fall over his eyes. "I…I don't know. I mean, I don't think I know who she is."

"Yea, and you're in love with her. Look, Neal, you're unsure and confused about a lot of things, but love isn't one of them. And I know you well enough to know when you have that look in your eyes." Peter shook his head. "Elle, could I have some coffee? I have a long night ahead, gotta clean up some messes."

Elizabeth nodded and went into the kitchen, but not before patting Neal assuringly on his arm, as she was prone to do.

"So, what are you gonna do about it? Did you tell her?" The FBI man scratched the ears of Satchmo, who had proceeded to lay his head upon Daddy's legs.

"No. I need more time to think, to figure out things. Peter…" He looked up again. "What do you mean, "that look in my eyes?""

"The look you had whenever you talked about Kate. That weird, dreamy, I-wonder-where-she-is-right-now look. Its very prominent."

"Wha-" Caffrey stopped. How could one refute an argument as that? And Peter was right about one thing, he did know Neal better than anyone else.

"Stop sitting there, Caffrey. We have a painting to retrieve here."

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"This is definitely something." Neal tried, as hard as possible not to gawk at the incomparably exquisite décor that glowed upon the walls of the new Rossetti residence on the outskirts of Manhattan. "You're tempting me, you know. The criminal within me stirs."

The room was sprayed with Rembrandts, Monets, even a Goya. "Dear God, I thought they were all confined to the Prada." He turned to Aisha who reclined on an antique mahogany divan close to the gigantic arched window that overlooked spacious gardens. "How, I heaven's name did you acquire this place? I didn't even know this kind of space existed anywhere close to New York."

"Concetta is skilled in ever so many ways." Her eyes twinkled in mischief. "Some of her exploits could make you shiver."

"Is that so? Well…I'd like to hear some." He sat beside her and pulled the blanket which covered her feet, upto her waist. "But, first thing's first, how are you feeling?"

"Perfectly well. Only you and Concetta both insist on treating me like a fragile flower, Neal. Truly, I never thought you two would have so much in common. She's been spoiling me since I met her, as do you."

Neal watched her, a strange warmth engulfing him. Inspite of what she said, she did look fragile. She wore a steel colored morning dress [she probably hadn't changed into anything formal because of her weakness], a subdued number with shades of gray touching the hem and leaving her wrists bare. It matched well with her tired eyes. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer so that her small frame was easily pulled into his chest. He remembered that he would have to ask her about Daciana, but that thought was the farthest from his mind. Her eyes intoxicated him, her fingers entangled themselves in his. He felt himself lean closer, until he could see the dark rush of her eyelashes. Their lips brushed, feather-touch, then deeper. Her hand caressed his arm, then traced across his cheek and ventured into his hair. Neal pushed her gently back onto the divan, deepening the kiss. His hand left hers and traveled downwards, his lips left hers and traveled to her throat; he heard her whimper softly and wondered wildly if she was possibly a virgin. He planted butterfly kisses on her skin, leading to the nape of her neck, then upwards to her earlobe, which he nipped gently. "Aisha, I—"

His cell phone buzzed indignantly, fracturing the moment like merciless rain on a sunny day. Neal contemplated tossing the buzzing devil out the window, but changed his mind when he saw the caller ID. Peter. "S'cuse me.." He mumbled, sitting up. "What, Peter?"

Aisha, who was reasonably flustered watched as her blue eyed consort's eyes brighten. "That's great. I'll let her know." He cast her a smiling glance. "Should she…?" He sighed. "Yes Peter, I am with her. Alright…alright. Yea, see you. Bye."

"They found the painting. They found the Amore di inganno." Neal watched joy splash across her face. She wrapped her arms around his neck held him as tightly as her weakened state would allow. "Whoa…someone's awfully happy." He held her back. "I'm glad, Aisha."

"Thank you, Neal. Thank you." She whispered.

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"Case closed. Though strangely." Peter, Diana, Jones and Neal raised a toast of champagne, in paper cups, which had become quite a regular occurrence in the office.

"This still feels so wrong." Neal waved his cup. "Paper."

"Stop complaining, Caffrey. You've been drinkin' Cristal out of crystal goblets while this is all we got." Jones poured himself more of the liquor.

"What?...Peter! You told them?"

"Hey, don't eat me. They guessed. I just gave them a yea when they asked me. Damn, this is good." Burke swallowed another draught of champagne.

"Yeah Neal, we're not stupid, y'know." Diana winked. "We've all decided that we hate you now. But, all that aside, how's it going?"

"Yea, I'm not telling you guys anything. And, gimme that bottle, Jones. I need alcohol right now, thanks to him." He jerked his head towards Peter, who waved off the accusation. "I keep telling you, they figured it out."

"Sure. Anyway, I'm gonna take off, guys. Getting late. Thanks." He raised his cup.

"Going for a little late night Italian, are ya?" Jones was starting to slur.

"No. And, you get home. See you."

"Bye, Neal.

"Yeah, Bye, Caffrey."

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"Okay, let me get this straight." Mozzie fiddled with a glass of wine at Neal's table. "You are in a relationship with the heir to one of the most prolific and extravagantly wealthy bloodlines in the world, and she's staying back in New York because of you? And the Suit knows about this?"

"Firstly, stop making it sound like I'm not reason enough for her to stay, even if it might possibly be true. And yes, Peter knows, and he's okay with it. And, don't you think it's a little late for you to be up. Moz?"

"I happen to be a denizen of the dark hours, a creature thriving in the…" He was interrupted by a yawn that cracked his jaws. " night."

"Yea, as I can see. Look, no discussion now, ok? Just crash on the couch. You want some more wine to help you sleep?"

"No, I'll be heading out. Your couch had been inflicting me with an ailment of the spinal cord. Plus, I have some crepes to sample."

"At night? Seriously?"

Mozzie was already at the door. "Good night, ye of little faith." He left dramatically, closing the door with a creak.

Neal laughed mentally, reminded of all his friend's quirks. He finished his wine, put the glass away, undid his shirt and lay down on the purple covers. A soft sigh found its way out of his chest as his mind reverted to her. They have come close today, real close. He wondered if they would have made love. He wondered what he was about to say to her? "Would I have told her…?" He turned on his side, hugging the pillow. It was never this confusing with his other women, not even…They were of the same world. Neal rubbed his face on the cotton pillowcover. He didn't want to think of it now, but that was the thing about the human mind. It tended to think exactly that which it abhorred. "Kate.."

His cell vibrated on the little bedside stool. It was her. He smiled, and was conscious that every inch of the guilt that racked him only a instant ago seemed to recede. "Good night, me Corazon." The message read. "Me Corazon…my heart."

A subdued knock tapped on his comforting thoughts. Mozzie. Neal swept aside the covers, wondering if he was ever going to find a semblance of sleep tonight. He didn't bother to pull on the shirt and yanked open the door. "Okay Mozzie, what…?"

He froze. A vicious fist slammed into his heart. He felt his breath literally stop, air refused to go past his throat. Every hair on his body stood to feverish attention, and a cold sweat drenched him. In that moment, he felt his world crashing upon him, and he felt it rising to pallid stars once again. In that moment, Neal Caffrey didn't know what to feel.

"Kate..?"

Black hair, muted brown eyes, slim, elegant, confident frame, bleated charcoal jacket.

"Hello, Neal."

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Guys, I really need reviews. I need to know the pros and cons of my work. Please, Please, Please help me. Pleaseeeeee! Oh, and the supernatural aspect of the story begins now. Thanks for the previous reviews.