A/N: Fair warning, lots of OFC at the start of this chapter. But it's necessary to get where we're going - and more Neal and Peter follows ;-)

Neal wandered out to the patio, staring out over the city. But tonight the view did nothing to calm his nerves.

He hadn't been this nervous about a meeting since… well, it had been a long time.

It turned out that Gayle Hunt was coming to the city anyway for a lecture, and she'd be stopping by to pick up the artifacts.

She also wanted to talk.

It was the talking part that had him worried. Talking wasn't usually something he had a problem with. But when you lived a lie, dragged someone else unwittingly into that lie, became intimate with that someone else, and then left that person without a word of explanation or farewell…

Yeah, he was a little worried about this.

And even beyond the past sins, there was something else. Feelings that had resurfaced when he saw her again, and thought about what they had shared. There was no way he deserved a second chance with someone like her, and no reason to think at this point that she would even consider it, and yet…

And yet, he couldn't stop those feelings and thoughts.

More likely though that she wanted to talk about how he had hurt her, and who could blame her?

He took one last look around and started back inside, just as the knock sounded on the door.

Neal took a deep breath, ran his fingers nervously through his hair, and went to answer the knock.

She stood on the landing, looking almost as nervous as he felt. Khakis, a light sweater, her hair pulled back – as beautiful as he remembered.

"Hello, Neal."

"Gayle." He stepped back, letting her inside. "I'm glad you could make it." And it was true, he realized. Even if he didn't like the conversation, it needed to be done.

"It worked out well. I was coming in for a lecture tomorrow anyway."

"I'm sure you're in great demand."

"I do get more speaking offers than I can accept," she replied, a small smile on her face. "It always amazes me."

"Why? You're at the top of your field."

"But who wants to listen to a crusty old professor when there are rap artists and hip hop bands out there?"

He grinned. "I can't see you ever being crusty."

"Well, thank you – I think."

"It was meant as a compliment," he assured her. "Would you like a glass of wine?"

"Yes, please."

He opened the refrigerator and took out a chilled bottle of Riesling. "Still a favorite, I hope?"

"Yes, it is. Good memory."

"I remember the important things." He opened the bottle, poured two glasses, and handed one of them to her. "This one is imported from the Mainz region."

"My very favorite." She took a sip and smiled. "You always did have excellent taste in wine."

"I try."

"Excellent taste in lodging as well. This is very nice."

"You haven't seen the best part." He gestured toward the balcony and followed her out, smiling at the surprised gasp he heard.

"That is… incredible," Gayle agreed, staring out at the city lights.

"Yeah, I got pretty lucky with this."

They stood in silence for several magical minutes as Gayle took in the view. Finally she turned to him again and the spell was broken. "We really need to talk."

Neal swallowed nervously and nodded. "We can sit out here if you want," he said, pointing at the table. "Or inside."

"Out here is fine." She pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, setting her glass on the table in front of her.

Neal followed slowly and sat down across the table. And then he waited.

"You hurt me when you left," she finally said, very softly.

"I know," he admitted. "And I am really very sorry about that."

"When it all came out – con man, thief. It was so hard to hear, and it made me wonder. Was I part of that? Just another bit of whatever…"

"No," he said firmly, cutting her off. "You… what we had… that was real. I lied to you about my background, and why I was really at Cornell. But I never lied about how I felt about you."

"Why were you at Cornell? I mean, they didn't find anything missing."

"I wanted access to the library. I admit, I was making plans for other jobs – but I never intended to take anything from Cornell except knowledge."

"You wound up taking my heart as well."

"Gayle…"

"I was really falling in love with you. Did you… I mean, how did you really feel?"

"I was falling too," he admitted. "Pretty hard, to be honest. I was actually thinking about re-evaluating my plans."

"You would have given up the con for me?"

"Maybe." He sighed, looking away. "Emerson showed up, and everything fell apart so fast."

The silence sat between them for a long moment before she finally spoke again. "I had finally convinced myself I was over you, you know. Oh, not that I had totally given up on comparing men to you. But then when you showed up again a few weeks ago, after all this time, and all those feelings came flooding back…"

"They did for me too. Gayle, you saw more of the real me than I had let anyone see for a very long time."

"And yet, I don't really know you at all. I didn't even know your name."

"Nicholas Halden was an alias I've used, at Cornell, and other times."

She leaned back in her chair, eyes staring at him. "So tell me who you really are. Who is this Neal Caffrey?"

He mimicked her pose, leaning back, but his eyes looked up at the sky. "That's a good question," he said softly. "And there isn't an easy answer."

"If I wanted easy, I wouldn't be here."

"Neal Caffrey," he started slowly. "He's a con man. A forger. An art thief. He used a lot of people along the way." He wouldn't insult her by using the 'alleged' disclaimer.

"Why?"

He looked over at her. "Why?"

She nodded. "Why do all of that? Neal, I saw your work. I listened to you teach that class. You have so much real talent."

"I guess it wasn't what I was best at," he said softly. "Living a lie was easier – most of the time anyway."

"I don't understand."

"Maybe I don't either," he admitted. "And lots of people have tried to figure it out over the years. You know, what drove me from good little boy – which I was – to criminal. But I don't know the answer, other than that I found things I was very good at, and life just went on from there."

"A man of mystery."

"Some of that, I guess. But mostly I just moved from one challenge to another."

"So Cornell was just another challenge along the way?"

"Yeah, it was. Or at least, it was supposed to be."

"Wouldn't it have been easier to just register as a student if you wanted to get access to the library? The university even offers the option to take one class instead of paying full tuition."

"Easier, maybe," he replied, a wry smile touching his face. "But I wanted the challenge. And I really do know a lot about art and art history."

"Oh, I know. As I told Agent Burke, the undergrad class you taught had higher scores than any other recent class."

That got a genuine smile. "Really? Maybe I did miss my calling."

"Do you actually have an art degree?"

"I never even finished high school," Neal admitted. "I'll have my GED in the next week or so, assuming work doesn't get in the way again."

"That's… amazing."

"See, I figured I knew a lot about art, and I could share that. And if I was a professor, I'd get paid for being on campus. I looked at quite a few schools before winding up at Cornell. It just worked out that Willingham was taking a leave of absence, and the school was looking for a short-term option."

"What happened after you left?"

"I wound up in Europe for a few months, and then back to the States. But a few things had put me on the FBI's radar, and Peter was on my trail."

"Peter? As in Agent Burke?"

"One and the same."

"And now you work with him?"

"He finally caught me on a bond forgery charge. I went to prison for four years – except just before the sentence was up, I escaped. There were reasons, and I thought they were good reasons at the time. But Peter caught me again, and they added four more years to my sentence. Fortunately, I was able to convince Peter that I could help him solve a case he was working on. He did close that case, and the FBI extended my deal."

"So this is a work release or something?"

"Sort of, yeah." He reached down and pulled up the left leg of his trousers, revealing the tracking anklet and its green light. "They monitor me. I have a two mile radius around here when I'm not working. As long as I play by the rules, and do the work assigned, I stay out of prison and work off my sentence." And if there had been some bumps along the way in playing by the rules – even some major mountains to climb – that didn't really change the basics.

"How much longer do you have to go?"

"About twenty months." He took a deep breath before continuing. "Of course, right now, there may not be a budget for my position come January." Yeah, that was a safe way to put it – for now.

"So then what?"

"I wind up back in prison until my sentence is finished." Or until I die… or unless I run… He cut that thought off quickly.

"That hardly seems fair."

"Peter's working on it. Hopefully something works out before January."

"Would you run, like you did before?"

For as much practice he had had at handling the unexpected, and thinking on his feet, that one threw him totally off his game. He covered by taking a sip of wine. "I've been asked that a lot. But running really isn't that easy. For one thing, I'd have to leave everyone I care about behind."

"I know that hurts from the side of the person being left behind."

"It hurts from the other side too, believe me," Neal said softly. "And I'd never be able to come back to New York."

"So you'd choose prison?"

Would he? "I'm hoping I don't have to choose," he admitted, hedging around the question.

"I hope so too," Gayle whispered. "I don't want anyone getting hurt again."

Neal nodded and got to his feet, walking back into the apartment. A moment later he came back carrying the plastic cases containing the artifacts. "Thank you for these," he said, setting them on the table. "They helped us close the case."

"I'm glad it worked. And I have to say, the fake ones you put together looked amazingly real."

"I always wished you luck finding something larger than shards. I created what I thought they'd look like."

"They're exactly what I would imagine. And who knows, maybe one of these days I'll find something to prove it."

"I have every confidence in you. You're going back again next summer?"

"In January, actually. I'm taking a sabbatical from Cornell. I was offered full funding for a study, and I need to take advantage of that."

"Wow, that's great."

"I guess I'm the one who gets to disappear this time."

"At least yours is planned," Neal pointed out.

"True," Gayle agreed, stifling a yawn. She glanced down at her watch and got to her feet. "I should go find my hotel. It was a long day at the university, followed by a long drive."

"Look, you can stay here," Neal offered. "I'll take the couch, I promise."

She gave him a soft smile, and reached over to run a finger lightly along his temple. "Ah, but would I let you stay there?"

"Gayle…"

"Neal, I need to think about all of this, and I can't do that here, with you." She reached into the pocket of the sweater and pulled out an envelope. "I don't know the city all that well. Is that within your two mile radius?"

He looked at the address and nodded. "I believe it is."

"The lecture tomorrow is invitation only – and you're invited, if you'd like to come."

"I'd love to."

"It's all right if you don't."

"No, really, I want to."

"Well, I guess I'll see you there then."

He reached for her hand. "Gayle…"

She pulled gently away. "I need to think, Neal." Picking up the cases, she headed inside.

He nodded and followed her through the apartment, reaching around to open the door. For just a moment they stood there, as close as two people could be without actually touching. And then she leaned in, brushing her lips ever so lightly against his cheek.

"Good night, Neal."

He watched her head down the stairs, standing as if frozen in place.

The lecture went just as he would have imagined – Gayle was brilliant, as always. And he was certain he was being absolutely unbiased in his evaluation. The other attendees seemed to appreciate the event as well, asking a lot of good questions.

At the reception that followed, Neal saw a lot of those people writing checks. Good, more funding for Gayle's work.

For his part, Neal spent most of the reception nursing a glass of champagne, talking with various people, always making sure to subtly endorse Gayle's work. He was hoping to get a chance to speak to her, but she was constantly in demand, moving from one potential benefactor to another.

He had just finished talking to the head curator at the Metropolitan Museum, and was considering getting another glass of champagne, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"So what did you think? Honestly."

"Honestly?" He turned to face Gayle, smiling. "You never disappoint in a presentation."

"It's hard to come up with new angles, when my source material is so old."

"It doesn't matter. You speak so authoritatively, with so much…"

"Passion?"

He grinned. "Exactly. Passion."

"And do you think everyone sees that passion?"

"They'd have to be blind not to."

She smiled at that. "We seem to be getting some good funding," she conceded. "And they offered me a position at the Met again."

"Are you considering it?"

"Considering? Of course. I always consider offers. The thing is, I really like teaching. Seeing that spark in a student's eyes when the historical importance of that shard really hits home…"

Neal grinned. "See? Passion!"

Gayle laughed softly. "Yeah, I guess so." Her hand reached out, her fingers brushing his. "Would you like to have dinner with me, Neal?"

His breath caught, and he swallowed hard before answering. "Like a date?"

"Yeah, I guess it could be."

"I'd love to."

"I have a few more people to talk to, but it shouldn't be long."

"I'll wait."

He watched as she moved back into the dwindling crowd, stopping here and there to talk with someone. His stomach felt like it was doing flips, and that was a feeling he hadn't experience for a while. Well, it had been kind of like that when he had been holding the gun on Fowler, but these flips were definitely different… better…

She'd gone away last night to think, and tonight she was asking him out to dinner. That had to be good, right?

Workaholic.

El frequently joked that if they actually looked the word up in a dictionary, it would be illustrated with Peter's photo. At least he thought she was joking…

And, here he was, at the office on a Saturday evening. Of course, El had an event going on anyway, so she couldn't say too much.

This time.

He finally had all of the paperwork finished up for the Pittsburgh trip, including the expense reports. Man, how he hated those. But everything was itemized and justified… hopefully…

Actually, there was one more thing. Since the artifacts Dr. Hunt had loaned them had actually wound up being used in the operation at the museum, they needed signed receipts showing that he and Neal had received the items, and that they had been returned.

He printed out the appropriate forms and reached for the phone. Neal had taken charge of the items, and was making the arrangements to return them, so Peter picked up the phone and dialed the consultant's number.

No answer… so what was Neal up to?

He briefly considered pulling up the tracking data, but then dismissed the idea. If Neal had gone outside of his radius, there would have been an alert. And even though he had the right to know where Neal was every minute, it was a right he had exercised less and less frequently as Neal became more of a friend and partner, and less of convict to be watched incessantly.

Peter folded the papers and stuffed them into an envelope. El wouldn't be home for a little while yet. Maybe he'd stop and pick up a bottle of wine that he knew she liked, and then swing by June's. Even if Neal wasn't there he could drop the forms off and then call and leave a message.

Dinner had been one of the best experiences in recent memory. In fact, it felt like they had gone back in years to the time at Cornell, when everything was new – and he hadn't run out in a hail of lies. They had talked about new things, leaving that past behind. And it felt good, much like it had the first time around.

Except this time she actually knew who and what he was, and hadn't run screaming.

They made the drive back to June's mostly in silence, with just a couple of brief interruptions as he gave directions. And when she pulled up in front of the house, he didn't want the evening to end.

And really, it was still early…

"Would you like to come in for a drink?" Neal offered, hopefully. And his heart leapt as she put the car into park and cut the ignition…

"I'd like that."

It took a fraction of a second for her answer to register and then he was out of the car, hurrying to the other side and holding her door open as she got out. He led her around to the side door, unlocked it, and let her inside. Her arm went around his waist as they made their way up the stairs.

His hands were shaking as he tried to unlock his door.

He flipped the lights on and let Gayle in first, closing the door again behind him. "Wine?" he offered. "Or I have some Scotch, and maybe brandy, if Mozzie hasn't cleaned me out."

He watched as she set her shoulder bag down on the table and turned back, moving toward him. She didn't stop until she was right in front of him, so close he could feel the heat between them, yet not quite touching.

"I'm not really thirsty," she said, her voice so soft he wouldn't have heard her if they had been any farther apart. "Maybe later."

"What should we do in the meantime?" he whispered, heart racing, mouth dry.

Her reply was to lean in until their bodies were melded together, her lips reaching for his. They kissed, long deep, and then she finally pulled back just a bit. "We were pretty good at this before."

"Must be all the passion between us."

"Must be."

"Gayle…"

"Eyes wide open this time, Neal. I'm leaving in January. You don't know what your future will be then either."

Or even if he had a future… but that thought passed quickly through his mind and he forced it out.

"Eyes wide open," he agreed, as he closed his eyes and took her lips again.

Later, he had no memory of getting to the bed, or of how their clothing disappeared on the way. His boxers were the last piece to go, dropped by the side of the bed as he climbed onto the mattress.

He hadn't turned the lights off, and for a moment they were just looking at each other. They were both years older, and yet everything seemed so familiar.

And as he laid down next to her, and their bodies joined, and it was as if no time had passed at all…

Peter let himself in the side door with the key June had provided him shortly after Neal had moved in and headed up the stairs. The rest of the house was dark and quiet, but he'd seen the lights on in the upstairs room as he drove up. So, wherever Neal had been before, he was apparently home now.

June had absolutely refused, however, to provide a key to the apartment itself. Peter had argued the details early on, pointing out that he had that right to check on Neal any hour of the day or night.

June simply told him that he should do what was right instead and knock. And the fact was, he had never asked about a key again.

He got to the landing, and knocked.

He waited, and then knocked again. "Neal?"

He thought he heard something behind the closed door, and he waited. A moment later the door opened just a little bit and Neal looked out. "Peter?"

Peter smiled, taking in the younger man's rather disheveled look. "Turning in early tonight, are we?"

"Something like that," Neal replied, somewhat vaguely. "Did you need something?"

"Yeah, need to talk about finishing up some of the paperwork from Pittsburgh. Can I come in?"

Neal looked over his shoulder, and then back toward Peter. "Ummm, Peter, this isn't a good time."

"If you had answered your phone before, maybe I would have known the timing was bad."

"Sorry, I had it turned off."

"It's only going to take a few minutes."

Neal looked over his shoulder again and took a deep breath before answering. "Peter, I'm not alone."

"Mozzie still doesn't want to see me?"

Neal looked down at his boxers-only state of dress and gave Peter a wry smile. "Peter, it's not Mozzie, believe me," he said, stepping out into the hall.

Now it registered on Peter that Neal was only wearing boxers…

"It's Saturday night, Peter. People go on dates sometimes on Saturdays."

"You had a date."

"Yeah, you know, boy meets girl, girl asks boy out to dinner, boy says yes."

"Wait, she asked you out?"

"It is the 21st century, Peter, it happens. And sometimes, if the date goes well, the boy doesn't go home alone…"

"Ahhhh." Peter could feel himself blushing as the reason for Neal's refusal to open the door fully registered.

"So, unless you feel the need to verify that she's over eighteen and consenting…"

"No. No, that won't be necessary."

"Thank you." Neal ran a hand through his hair and then pointed at the envelope in Peter's hand. "Is that what you needed to talk about?"

"What?" Peter looked down at the envelope, his purpose momentarily forgotten. "Oh, yeah." He handed the papers over. "Just something that Dr. Hunt needs to sign when you return the artifacts. You said you'd make the arrangements."

"He did, and I have them."

Both men turned as the door opened wider and Gayle stepped out, wrapped up in Neal's robe.

"Dr. Hunt."

"It's kind of informal here. Maybe we could be Peter and Gayle."

Peter nodded, blushing again. "Gayle. I apologize for the intrusion. I had no idea."

"Well, I can confirm the over eighteen and consenting issue, if needed."

"I'll take your word for that."

"Thank you." She reached for the envelope in Neal's hand. "I believe I heard my name in connection with this?"

Peter nodded. "Just some forms concerning those artifacts you let us use. Neal said he was arranging to return them to you."

"I have them," she confirmed. "They're in my car."

Neal looked at her, a puzzled look on his face. "In your car? That doesn't seem as safe as your hotel room."

Her hand reached for his, fingers intertwining. "Actually, I checked out this morning. I was kind of hoping I wouldn't need the room tonight."

Neal's answering smile was soft and genuine. "I think I can offer you another alternative for the night."

Peter was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. "Look, I really am sorry," he said. "If I'd had any idea you were going to be here, I wouldn't have come."

"Well, I was coming to the city for a lecture anyway," Gayle explained. "So when Neal called about returning the artifacts, it seemed like a good time to combine the two tasks. I drove in last night, and we had a chance to talk."

"She got to meet the real Neal Caffrey," Neal said.

"I invited Neal to the lecture, and then I invited him to dinner."

"That would be the date part," Peter said.

"Exactly," Gayle said, smiling. "Neal mentioned you were a pretty smart man."

"Oh he did, did he?" Peter glanced over at the younger man, who simply shrugged.

"He did," Gayle confirmed. She held up the envelope. "Do you need these now?"

"No, not right now," Peter replied. "When do you go back to Ithaca?"

"Oh, late tomorrow afternoon. I have an early staff meeting on Monday morning."

"Well, maybe you'd like to come by tomorrow for Sunday dinner," Peter suggested. "My wife would love to meet you, and the dog kind of likes it when Neal stops by."

"Satchmo does like me," Neal confirmed.

"Well, if you're sure it's all right…" Gayle started.

Neal nodded his agreement, as did Peter. "Nothing formal," the agent said, "but we'd love to have you come over."

"Then I accept. Thank you."

"Want me to bring the wine?" Neal offered.

"Yeah, that'd be great," Peter replied. "Not sure what the menu will be yet though."

"I'll bring both red and white."

"All right. Ummm, maybe figure on around noon?"

"We'll be there," Neal confirmed.

"And I'll bring the forms," Gayle added, holding up the envelope.

"Right. Thanks." Peter looked back toward the stairs. "Look, I'm really sorry for barging in on you. It's just, I saw the light on, and I didn't think…"

"Peter, it's all right," Neal said. "Most nights it probably would have been just me and Mozzie here." He paused, grinning. "But I do usually wear more clothes with Moz around."

"That's comforting, I think," Peter said, turning for the stairs. "All right, I'm leaving. Enjoy your night, and I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good night, Peter."

"What do you suppose they're talking about in there?" Peter asked.

He and Neal had been banished to the living room, while Gayle and Elizabeth were sequestered in the kitchen, supposedly finishing up dinner preparations. But their voices could be heard, though too low to make out the words. And more distracting were the occasional bouts of laughter that emanated from behind the swinging door…

"No idea," Neal admitted, sipping his beer. Peter had decreed that to be the beverage of choice as they sat in front of the television with the football game on. The wine Neal had brought could wait until dinner was served.

"And it doesn't bother you?" Peter pressed.

"What? That they might be – no, that they are probably talking about us?" Neal grinned and shook his head. "Nope, doesn't bother me. Peter, I just found Gayle again, and I never thought that was possible. After everything with Kate… well, I wasn't sure I could even feel this way again. Gayle can talk about anything she wants to as long as I don't lose her. Well, until January anyway," he added, his voice trailing off.

"Neal, we are going to figure something out," Peter said firmly.

"Yeah, maybe so," Neal said noncommittally. "But I lose Gayle anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"She's taking a sabbatical next term and going back to Egypt to work on a dig site. Even if I manage to stay out of prison, she'll be gone."

"Still a long time until January," Peter said softly.

"Sure, three months," Neal said. "Not exactly a lifetime, but I guess I'll take what I can get."

Peter took a long pull on his beer, thinking, and unable to come up with a reply. What did you tell someone under those circumstances, when life was measured in months, not years or decades?

He couldn't think of a thing.