Peter and Diana entered the Louvre a little after opening. After the call he'd made his way quickly back to their hotel, with swift and efficient use of the hotels wi-fi they found the source of the quote. From there it took mere seconds to connect the dots, and so they found themselves searching the paintings on the 1st floor looking for Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres depiction of Oedipus and the Sphinx.
Looking around, the area was sparse; an average Thursday in Paris. Peter could only presume most tourists on entering were headed for the Mona Lisa. It all seemed very surreal to Peter, but he was sure Diana was correct, this had Neal Caffrey written all over it. A clandestine meeting in an art gallery, who else could it be?
"Suit!"
Peter near jumped out of his skin.
"Mozzie." Peter greeted once his heart calmed.
Mozzie had managed to use his skills and height to supreme advantage by secluding himself in the corner of the lavish gallery, next to the entrance way's double oak doors and behind a glass display case housing some no doubt priceless renaissance trinket.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Peter pulled him from behind his hiding place, putting himself between Mozzie and the door.
"Could ask you the same thing?"
"You saw the storage locker."
"I did." Mozzie kept his face passive. "So did you I take it?"
Peter realized he was gripping Mozzie like a perp, the looks from other patrons tipping him off and so quickly let go, forcing a look of casual indifference to his still tense body.
"You didn't think to maybe, check with me before coming out? It could have been dangerous!"
"Did you?" Mozzie shifted closer, smiling at a couple wandering by while both he and Peter pretended interest in the nearest painting.
They smiled politely until the couple past.
"Fine. It doesn't matter." Peter decided, if Neal had left them both clues then it was because he wanted them both here. He could explain himself plenty once they found him. "So, what's with the Oedipus deal? I know you like your word play but-"
Mozzie looked blankly at him. "Wait, you think I asked to meet here? When I saw you I thought you did-"
"Since when do I do word play?" Peter spat in annoyance, but realization dawned and his anger quickly morphed into paranoia.
"I got a note telling me to meet here, no time. Very unoriginal if you ask me."
"I didn't-" Peter spotted Diana a little further up and signaled her to hang back. Whatever was going on, if this wasn't Neal then he wanted to ensure they kept some secrets.
"Suit?" Mozzie followed his gaze.
"Just follow my lead. Somethings not right."
…
"There it is." Mozzie pointed at the painting they'd both, in different ways, been directed to.
Peter grabbed Mozzie and held him back, signaling without words his decision to exercise caution. Mozzie was normally much more careful, but the idea that Neal was alive had messed with his head a little, made him giddy and prone to mistakes.
"Suit I approve of the distrust, but I think the only way we'll know if this is Neal-"
Peter cut him off with a shove. He didn't like it, but with no discernible threat nearby he actually agreed. Diana was back-up, they had to take the chance.
They approached the Ingres oil, standing at nearly a metre high, the gaudy golden frame against the rusted orange background wasn't to Peter's taste. He's pretty sure it was to Neal's though. He remembers taking Neal to the MET as a birthday treat one year and him talking at length about the absurdity of people who put priceless works of art in their guest bathrooms because they didn't care to consider the enjoyment of art and just wanted to own it.
"Where its viewed is just as important as the art itself Peter." Neal enthused, heading off at a barely restrained run to the next gallery having devoured everything in this section.
Peter let him go, trailing behind like an indulgent parent, watching carefully for any potential danger, or in Caffrey's case, an opportunity.
"I best take that Monet out the laundry room then." He quipped once he caught up.
Neal didn't rise to the bait, too busy taking in as much as he can as quick as he can. Well aware thanks to Peter's repeated warnings that they only had the day and would not be coming back anytime soon to catch any bits he missed, being as the museum was a measly 1.5 miles outside his radius.
"If you had a Monet in your laundry room I would have removed it by now, for your own good." Neal flashed him a quick serious smile, before redirecting his attention to more worthy attributes'.
"Removed it? That what your calling your thievery now." Peter chuckles, enjoying the flustered scowl on Neal's face as he tries to both keep up with the banter and contain his excitement at just being allowed in the museum in the first place.
"I stick to my original statement."
"Heard that before." Peter grumbled, lips curving, eyes twinkling with amusement as Neal opens his mouth no doubt to retort but instead gets distracted by a symbolism display.
"You okay?" Peter queried when he noticed Neal was no longer smiling, and the quiet awe he'd become accustomed to had turned tense.
Peter looked at the painting which had by all accounts stolen the happy mood. It looked innocent enough, a painting no different from the collection it was in. He searched for the plaque which had all the pertinent information. He was White Collar, not art crimes. He knew enough to get by but left memorizing artists and pieces to the experts.
"Kate liked the riddle of the Sphinx." Was all Neal offered before moving on, his mood returning to jubilant when they wandered into the next hall and discovered the Monet exhibit.
"Kate." Peter breathes the name, staring dead ahead, the memory of their little jaunt now bitter sweet.
"What?" Mozzie uttered accusingly, looking around for the dead girl as if she'd rematerialized fresh from the grave.
"The sphinx. Neal said Kate liked the story. It wasn't this painting but the same subject."
"A Gustave Moreau probably. Kate just liked that she shared the name." He snapped bitterly.
"I take it you never liked Kate."
"Neal liked her. Like you, she was a distraction who ruined my plans."
"Like me?" Peter had many questions for that statement, but what he just couldn't brush over is Mozzie comparing him with Kate in Neal's mind.
"We've had this conversation Suit, let's focus on why someone saw fit to bring us both here shall we?"
Peter nodded. He didn't like it but occasionally the little guys cautious paranoia was actually useful. Something wasn't sitting right. Why would Neal direct them to a meeting using a reference from his time with Kate? They'd never discussed Kate after the U-boat fiasco. Neal never brought her up and frankly Peter was happy to follow some old advice and let sleeping dogs lie.
"Suit"
"I said okay Mozzie."
"No! Look-"
Peter followed the direction Mozzie was looking. Caught the back of a brunette man, about six feet tall, walking away behind a group of Chinese tourists. Peter didn't hesitate, he ran to catch up, ploughing through the group without care. Entering the adjoining gallery, Mozzie on his heels, Peter drew to a stop, scanning the hall looking for any sign that the young man had come this way.
"Where'd he go?"
Peter lifted his cell out his pocket. "Diana?"
"I lost him, boss."
Mozzie heard the exclamation down the line, couldn't keep the disappointment off his face.
...
Peter didn't know where Mozzie was staying but after weighing up the pros and cons decided he was better off not knowing and invited him back to their hotel instead.
"Nice to see where my tax dollars are spent." Mozzie zeroed in on the mini bar with all the skill of a bloodhound.
"This trip isn't on the bureau. And you don't pay taxes." Peter snatched the mini gin out of Mozzies' hand before he could break the seal and slammed the fridge shut, planting himself in front.
"Whatever you say Suit, but if we're going to do this I'm going to need wine. Can't do my best work without good provisions."
"We're not doing anything. I'm going to make some calls and find Neal the same way I always have."
"You're not going to find him through legal channels."
"He may be right about that boss." Diana interrupted by walking in via the adjoining room door without knocking.
"What's this?" Peter took the folded paper she held out, ignoring her suggestion and Mozzie's smug look.
"Employment record for the Louvre. All independent contractors and employees hired in the last year. One name definitely stood out."
She was smirking and as soon Peter scanned the list, eyes drawn to the highlighted line midway down he realized why. It actually brought a tear to his eye. Peter had named his son after Neal and Neal – if it was him and not some outrageous coincidence – had named himself after Peter.
The name Peter Stone Jr, consultant, appeared underneath the heading for October. The time period fit perfectly with the newspaper he'd found in the locker.
Peter coughed, fought hard to clear his throat, but his words remained thick with emotion as he spoke. "We'll need to get hold of any i.d. Peter Jr may have used, since I assume the Louvre don't do street hires."
"Neal wouldn't just settle down and get a job." Mozzie scoffed. "He must be working an angle"
Diana was still smirking. "Wanna bet?" She produced a second piece of paper, holding it out for them to see. "I called in a favor, had a friend email this over. It's Caffrey alright."
Peter stared at the black and white photocopy of Peter Jr's work i.d. He was thinner and his hair longer, much like when he'd first picked him up from prison, but it was undoubtedly Neal.
"He's alive."
….
"Neal's alive." Peter said to El on the phone that night.
Her heart fluttered. She was glad she was already lying down otherwise that would have sent her to the floor.
"Is he alright?" Elizabeth manages to push the words past suddenly dry lips.
"I don't know." Peter sighs, she can tell he's hiding something. "All we've got is the forged I.D he used to get a job as security consultant at the Louvre."
"Neal has a job." She laughed, loud and unencumbered.
"What it looks like."
Elizabeth can hear the smile of pride in Peter's voice and it brings a smile to her too, because Neal Caffrey wasn't dead and that was the sweetest news she could hear, but if Neal really had managed to live an innocent life off anklet then all the traumas of the passed four years had certainly been worth it.
"Well I guess the forging I.D you can understand. He couldn't very well use the name Neal Caffrey." She chuckles to herself at how Neal had somehow normalized things she'd never dreamed of before he came into their life's. "So, what do we call him now?"
There's a pause, then Peter makes a soft sound, clearing his throat. "Well I think we should keep calling him Neal." That sound again. "He's going by the name Peter Stone Jr. Peter Stone was my alias for the Manhattan Prep case. Peter Jr was my fictional wayward son."
Elizabeth feels a tear slip, marking a trail down her cheek, pooling on the pillow beneath her head. "Oh honey"
"I know hon, I know..." The weariness of her husband's voice told her he knew exactly what she was feeling.
Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to reach down through the phone and hug him tight. A cry, soft at first but quickly turning frantic brought an end to their conversation.
"Neal's crying, I've got to go. I love you."
"Love you too, hun."
Dragging herself out of bed she lifted Neal from his crib, changed his wet diaper and resettled him with a bottle in their room. Both fell asleep together. Elizabeth hugging one Neal while her mind dreamt of her husband finding the other.