The next afternoon was parents evening – something Neal had been dreading for quite some time. Though he had barely been at school at all that year, he knew that the teachers would have plenty to say about him (not all of it good.) To make matters even worse, Peter had insisted on coming along.

"No, Neal, I won't hear of it. I'm your legal guardian – I'm going to come and see what your teachers think of you!" He wouldn't listen to Neal's protestations. And so it was, on that foggy Wednesday evening, that Neal found himself sitting in the mint green Volvo with Special Agent Peter Burke, on the way to Merrinote School to listen to a bunch of self-righteous teachers complaining about the felon in their midst.

The hall was set up with a dozen small tables lining the edges of the room and a row of chairs in the middle. Parents were invited to arrange a meeting time with each subject teacher online before coming to the evening, and the idea was that parents and children would move from table to table, talking to each teacher and listening to the mumbo jumbo like 'predicted grades' and 'mock results'. Mr Harris was first on the list. Peter and Neal sat down before the maths teacher's small, wooden desk, ignoring the fact that everyone was staring at them. Yesterday's assembly was obviously still fresh in everyone's mind and the whispers that Peter was a federal agent rustled around the hall. Neal sat with his head raised high, basking in his now high status as a popular student and trying to hide the fact that he was terrified of what Mr Harris was going to say.

"So," Harris folded his hands together and glanced between Peter and Neal. "Nick is doing very well in maths at the moment. He's coping with the advanced topics easily, but I'm a bit worried about his ability to understand the basics of mathematics." The piercing brown eyed stare turned to Neal, and he directed his next words towards him, "You're fine with trigonometry, vectors and quadratics, but when it comes to simple things like area and multiplication, you seem to really struggle." Neal looked away. It was true that he found the foundations of his maths course difficult, but that was because he had missed a lot of his education in his early years. Whilst other five year olds had been learning their times tables, he had been out learning the arts of thievery.

Peter nodded slowly. "We'll work on it." He placed a calming hand on Neal's shoulder, "I'll practice your times tables with you tomorrow. But do you think that Nick is going to do well in his exams?"

"Oh yes." Mr Harris nodded energetically, "He's predicted to get an A, but I think that he is well on track to getting higher than that – as long as he practices his basics and gets a grip on his times tables."

"Good." Peter leaned forwards, and suddenly the concerned and interested parent was gone, leaving the no-nonsense federal agent sitting in his place. "Now tell me, Mr Harris, why you allowed Neal to be bullied when he returned to Merrinote. I'm appalled at the way this school failed to sort out a problem such as this – Neal was very upset and you were doing nothing to stop it!"

Neal stared up at Peter, utterly mortified, before quickly glancing around the other tables to make sure that nobody was in earshot. In the general hustle and bustle of parents evening, he was pretty sure that they weren't going to be overheard, but his hands grew clammy anyway. What was Peter doing? He had just addressed Neal by his real name, and though Mr Harris knew the truth about whom and what he was, it was still a surreal experience.

"I'm – I'm s-sorry," Mr Harries stuttered, "I tried to solve the bullying problem, but N-Neal…"

"Don't bring Neal into this," said Peter, voice dangerously low, "He was a victim. As a teacher and a god damn human being, you had a duty to help him. But you couldn't see past the criminal to see the person underneath." He looked away, disgusted.

"I-I-I tried,"

"You didn't. And you know it." Neal looked down, avoiding Mr Harris' gaze. Peter was being totally embarrassing – and he was starting to realise that there was nothing worse or more deadly than a parent on the rampage (especially when that parent was trained in the art of interrogation). He felt bad for his maths teacher, but he supposed that Peter did have a point. Mr Harris hadn't solved anything, and Neal had been forced to take matters into his own hands. Not that bugging the staffroom had been a particularly successful plan of action…

"I did do s-something." Mr Harris protested, "I organised a cake bake and I got N-Neal into the student council-"

"I don't care!" Peter hissed, obviously trying his best to keep his voice down, "I the one who got Neal out of this mess, me. Not you, not Neal, me." He directed his last words down at the teenager by his side, making Neal flush with embarrassment. Peter knew all about his botched attempt to sell on stolen information from the staffroom so as to boost his popularity. "Do you know what Neal was forced to do in order to stop the bullying? Do you?" Mr Harris shook his head, eyes frantic, "He was forced to break the rules. You forced him to do a criminal act in order to save his sanity. Neal is reformed. You're lack of action pushed him into becoming the person he didn't want to be anymore – the person he had left behind!"

Neal stared at him. Reformed? He wasn't so sure about that. He was still holding the microchip in his possession… but then again, when was the last time he had stolen something, or done something illegal? Now that he thought about it, he hadn't broken the law since he had become an honorary Burke. Apart from the incident with the party, but that didn't really count.

Mr Harris, meanwhile, had gone very pale. "I'm so – so sorry, I don't know what to s-say, Neal-" But Peter had already stood up, gesturing for Neal to follow. They left the floundering Mr Harris sitting behind his desk, his hands shaking and his mouth set into a thin line.

"Thanks, Peter."

"You're welcome, kid."

Neal didn't have the energy to visit anymore teachers. He didn't want to abandon Peter in the hall full of staring school children and nervous parents, but when he saw that the next teacher on the list was the formidable Mrs Cromwell, he balked and lost his nerve.

"I'll be right back," he muttered to Peter, before turning tale and slinking off. He had to get out of there. His feet carried him to the one place in the whole of the school where he felt safe. Without even knowing how he had gotten there, he was standing in front of the locked door that led into the lighting box. The box was for technicians or tech-savvy students to control lights and music during assemblies. They could sit at the back of the hall and dim the lights or make the projector screen roll down, as if by magic, from the ceiling. Right now, Neal knew that the box was rigged up for the school's upcoming production of Peter Pan.

He pulled out a hairpin, the most simplistic and innocuous of all his lock-picks, and casually toyed with the lock until the door popped open. He climbed the stairs and sat down on the floor of the box, wanting nothing more than to have a quiet few minutes alone.

The only problem was that he wasn't alone.

Somebody else was already up there, sitting in the box. He swore.

"Alex! What the hell are you doing here?" The tall girl with the long, caramel coloured hair shrugged her shoulders. She was sitting crosslegged on the floor of the box, looking serene in the dim lighting.

"Waiting for you, stupid."

"How did you know I was going to be here?" The question had been nagging at him. He himself hadn't even known that he was going to be there.

"I know you, Neal. You like lights and wires and electrical things that make even the darkest places look pretty. You like special effects and meaningless, purposeless beauty. And what is more meaningless than a light with a pink filter?"

"Lights aren't meaningless-" Neal started, but Alex hadn't finished,

"You like to be in control, Neal, and don't you dare deny it. Honestly, if you were an object, you would be this lighting box. The control centre of the entire school."

"I'm flattered," said Neal, flatly. "Why are you here?"

"Because I still need your help."

Peter Burke was having a whale of a time. Who'd have thought that parents evening could be so damn fun? After Neal had pulled one of his usual vanishing acts and disappeared off into the crowds, Peter had been left to deal with the kid's teachers alone. At first, the prospect had been daunting, but as he settled into it he realised that he was starting to enjoy himself. There was something about working in the civil service that drew people together. Being a federal agent wasn't that different to being a teacher – they both had to deal with unruly miscreants, they both had to be able to think on their feet, they both received miserly incomes from the state. And being without Neal was definitely a bonus. The teachers he spoke to really opened up once they saw that Neal wasn't accompanying him, and Peter learnt a lot more than he had first expected.

"What a delightful boy," crooned Mrs Cromwell, the wizened old history teacher, once Peter had explained who he was. "A joy to teach, really. And so clever! It's just a shame about his personal circumstances." The teachers would always pause here, as though the fact that Neal was a criminal was something to be acknowledged but definitely not said aloud. All of Neal's teachers seemed to struggle with the concept that the nice boy who raised his hand in their lessons was actually facing a hefty sentence in federal prison.

Peter completely understood the befuddlement. Neal, a criminal? It was something that just didn't compute. He was so polite, so thoughtful. And perhaps, he realised, there was the problem. The kid thought too much. He thought through every alternative, every course of action… and it led him down paths that he shouldn't tread. Take the microchip, for starters. He knew that the reason Neal was hoarding it had nothing to do with him. Neal was well aware that refusal to hand over the chip would have serious repercussions for the Burkes, but he still refused to relinquish it because he knew that if he did, it would all be over. The kid had thought through all the outcomes of the situation and had arrived at the conclusion that, overall, the chip was better off where it was. If he revealed it, bad things would happen to him. Cold and calculated as it may be, Neal had thought through everything to ensure that he arrived at the best conclusion for his own happiness and wellbeing.

Thoughtfulness. Funny how a shred of intelligence could turn children into monsters.

"He's lucky to have you."

"Hmm?" Peter glanced up at Mrs Cromwell. She was looking at him with large, doleful eyes that seemed to cut through his skin and penetrate the soul beneath.

"He's a good kid, is Nick. He just needs some guidance. And you, sir, seem like the perfect role model for the lad. Turn him into someone we can all be proud of. He has the potential. You just need to show him who he is."

Peter swallowed. His throat had gone very suddenly dry.

Neal stared at Alex. It all came flooding back. The history lesson the other day where she had slapped him hard around the face, her cry for help before she had stormed out of the room.

"What do you need help with?" He asked. She stared at him.

"The microchip, you muppet! Give me the chip!"

"I told you – I don't have it." Neal did his best to hold her gaze, but it was no use. Alex Hunter always knew when he was lying.

"If you don't give me Datum 815, I will die," the words came soft and quiet, like unwelcome summer rain. "Honest to God – Keller said he would kill me if I don't have the chip by this time next week."

Neal felt as though a bucket of ice water had just been upended over his head.

"K-Keller? He's the one threatening you?" "

Yes." Alex looked exasperated to the point of shouting. At first he had mistook the energy rolling off her tense body as anger, but now… he realised he had read her wrong. Alex was afraid. Afraid of Keller. Afraid for her life.

"Keller's in prison," he said slowly. Maybe if he said it aloud it would come true. "Keller's locked up."

"Not any more. He escaped eight days ago."

"Do the feds know?"

"Of course they know!" Alex exploded. She saw the hurt look on his face and laughed once, a harsh, bitter wheeze. "What, did cop-dad neglect to tell you?"

Neal stayed silent, but inside he was reeling. Why hadn't Peter told him something as important as this? Keller had kidnapped him, kept him locked in a cage like an animal… He deserved to know the truth. Peter had no right to keep something as vital as this a secret.

Very slowly, all the pieces clicked into place. The way Peter had snapped at him last night. The sudden mood swings, the long, drawn out silences. He had known that Peter was keeping a secret from him. But he had never suspected that the secret would be on as big a scale as this one.

"When do you need the chip?" He asked her, mind suddenly made up.

"Next Thursday." Alex's shoulders slowly relaxed. "You're gonna help me?" "

I'll do my best."

"Nick always knows the answer to every question." Miss Treble was telling Peter earnestly, back in the hall. "He's so passionate about the English language it never ceases to amaze me. Did you know that he read Crime and Punishment when he was ten years old?"

"No." Peter said, leaning back in his chair. This parents evening was getting better and better. In the half hour that he had been here, he had learnt more about Neal than all his files put together. "So is there anywhere that he needs to improve? I know that Nick really wants to get a good grade in his English exam." The young English teacher shook her head, curls bouncing.

"No, he's perfectly on track to getting the grades he deserves. Just make sure that he stays on the straight and narrow!" And there it was again. Another light hearted joke about the extent of Neal's criminality. Like the others, Miss Treble didn't seem to believe that Neal had it in him to be a cold blooded thief. Even Peter doubted it sometimes. It had been months since Neal had broken the law. Apart from the matter of the stolen microchip, had Neal actually, truly reformed in the Burke house?

Neal paced away from the lighting box, his thoughts in a jumble. He had just pledged the microchip to Alex – and though it pained him to relinquish the thing, he had to admit that she had the best claim to it. Peter needed it to secure his financial situation; he himself needed it to ensure his freedom. Alex needed it to live. It was time, he told himself, to let the troublesome Datum 815 go. It would be a lot easier to deal with the consequences of that if he knew that he had saved Alex's life in the process.

He pressed through the crowds of students and parents, trying to find Peter. He spotted him almost instantly, talking to his English teacher on the other side of the hall. A pang of guilt laced through him – he shouldn't have run off like that. He had left Peter alone to deal with all his teachers and he was sure that they weren't saying nice things about him. With a sigh, Neal started off in Peter's direction, but stopped before he got halfway.

Mozzie was standing in the corner. His friend was half-concealed behind a curtain at the edge of the stage, where school productions took place every year. The irony of that made him smile: Mozzie had always been the brains of the operation, the proverbial man-behind-the-curtain, whereas Neal had been more of a front runner. He made his way over to the other boy and straight away realised that something was wrong. Mozzie was as white as a sheet. His hands were shaking uncontrollably and when he turned and saw Neal standing behind him, he let out a small squeak.

"Neal!"

"Moz, what's wrong?" Mozzie shook his head slightly, then led the way onto the stage so that they were both hidden behind the curtain. Neal felt slightly foolish. "You going to tell me what this is about? Come on Moz – you're acting weird!"

"D-d-d-death threat." Mozzie whispered, voice hoarse.

Neal's stomach did a somersault.

Another death threat? This couldn't be a coincidence. His hands curled into fists.

"Let me guess," he said coldly. "Keller?" Mozzie nodded morosely, clutching his waist.

"He said that he would kill me if I didn't get him a painting."

"Oh." For a second there, Neal was actually relieved. He had thought that Keller wanted the microchip from Mozzie too. It would have been the ultimate way to get back at Neal – threaten both his friends and kill whichever one failed to deliver. But what did Keller want a painting for? "

Which painting?" He asked instead, as though that would clear up the matter.

"Raphael's Saint George and the Dragon." Mozzie mumbled and Neal groaned loudly. He understood now. Saint George and the Dragon was one of the most heavily protected paintings in the world. Stealing it was going to be tricky. But if it was to save Mozzie…

"I'll do it."

"I haven't asked you to do anything yet." Mozzie rested his forehead against the wall, trying to regain some of his composure.

"I don't care, Moz. I'll get that painting for you." "We'll both get it." They shared a small, nervous smile in the dark behind the stage.

Neal tried to ignore the words that were pounding through his head as he walked away from Mozzie and back into the hall. Reformed. Peter had told Mr Harris that he was reformed – yet here he was, planning to steal a painting from a museum. But what choice did he have? The very thought of Peter made him seethe with anger. The agent had lied to him – there was not a chance that he was going to tell Peter about the death threats. Besides, even if Peter hadn't betrayed him, even if everything was still fine and dandy between them, there wasn't much that he could do. Neal had dealt with Keller before. He knew that the only way to solve a death threat was to deliver what was demanded. All he had to do now was figure out how to steal the Raphael…

He was so wound up in his thoughts that he nearly walked right into Sara Ellis.

"Whoa there!" She giggled, catching his shoulders to stop him falling on top of her, "Neal! Just the person I was looking for." He blinked up at her. His semi-girlfriend was with her parents.

"Neal," Sara said, gesturing to the stern looking couple behind her, "This is my mum and dad. Mum and Dad, this is Neal."

"Pleased to meet you." Mr Ellis held out his hand. Neal took a deep breath to mentally compose himself. He forced down his worries about Keller, Alex and Mozzie and shrugged into the skin of Neal Caffrey – perfect boyfriend.

"How do you do, Mr Ellis? It's a pleasure to finally meet you." He shook hands with Sara's father then made to do the same with her mother, but Mrs Ellis made a tutting sound and scooped him up in a hug.

"Neal, my dear, we've heard so much about you!"

"Yes. I heard you're living with an FBI agent, that right, son?" Mr Ellis stepped forward and looked down at Neal through his bifocals.

"Yes, sir, that's right." Neal stood up straighter.

"Well, I won't have you getting into any trouble, you hear? My Sara's a good girl – don't you start messing with my daughter's head. If I hear about any trouble, any at all…"

"Daaaddd," Sara moaned, "Stop it, you're so embarrassing – Neal isn't a criminal."

"Just no funny business, you understand me?"

"Yes sir." Neal nodded. "I wouldn't dream of doing anything to your daughter. And don't worry, I'm well and truly on the right side of the law now." The lie burned a hole right through him. He remembered Mozzie behind the curtain, and the promise they had made to pull an art heist together. He remembered Alex and his promise to give her the stolen microchip.

"Come on, Neal." Sara shot a warning look at her father and laced her fingers through his. Then she dragged Neal away from her parents and into a secluded corner.

"I'm so sorry about my dad…"

"Don't worry about it, he just wants what's best for you. I know I'm not the best boyfriend in the world. If I had a daughter, I wouldn't let her anywhere near me…"

"Shut up, Neal." Sara sighed and they kissed under the lights, ignoring the stares from passing students and parents. "

Sara, I need to tell you something." He had to tell someone. He had to tell someone otherwise he would go mad.

"What is it?" He told her. Told her about the death threats, Alex, Mozzie, Peter and the fact that Keller was on the loose. Once he had finished, they sat there, crosslegged on the floor, in rapt silence.

"So let me get this straight," Sara started, "You want the microchip so that you don't have to go back to prison."

"Yep."

"But Peter wants the chip so that he doesn't lose his job."

"Yep."

"And Alex wants the chip because if she doesn't give it to Keller, she'll be killed."

"You got it."

"And Mozzie will be killed by Keller unless you steal a painting."

"Yes."

"But Peter, meanwhile, thinks that you're reformed and… and you just promised my dad that you won't steal anything ever again. If you get caught you'll go to prison!"

Neal sighed and put his head in his hands. "I didn't just promise your dad I won't steal, Sara, I promised myself. But I have to do what I need to in order to save my friends. Even if I'm not that person anymore, I have to be a criminal. I don't have a choice."

"You always have a choice, Neal."

"Not this time." He buried his head in his hands. "Not this time."

Hey guys, hope you enjoyed this chapter! Sorry for not updating for so long, I've been busy with school and stuff. Also, sorry about the weird formatting! Anyway, would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter, so please drop a review! :)