Author's Note: Hi! :) just wanna say thanks for all of you wonderful people that have read this and a quick apology in advance that updates will probably be quite slow after this - but I will try to update weekly.

I know this story is very Neal-centric but others will appear soon and there will be a Peter chapter, 2 or 3 chapters from now.

Oh, and before I forget - Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar or any of its characters

Chapter 2 – "the purpose of art is rubbing the dust of daily life off our souls"

(Pablo Picasso)

It was almost a week after Neal's original appointment and he still hadn't thought of a way to get out of the anklet for his scan on Sunday - short of cutting the thing off or telling Peter, Diana or Jones. Both of which were unfavourable options; Neal was uncharacteristically stumped.

The case they had just closed involved a fugitive FBI agent who had been in an 'inappropriate relationship' with his CI - a fact that brought disturbing mental imagery to Neal's brain. Though he wasn't adverse to relationships with other men, one with Peter made him feel more than a touch nauseous. Anyway; telling Peter, Jones and Diana wasn't an option because he loved the undercover work he could do at the bureau and the amount of trust Peter and he currently had. If anyone at the office knew about what was going on with him he would be treated with kid gloves and the equality he had strove to build up would be strewn aside and in its place would be concern, worry and worst of all - pity. Neal Caffrey was many things but a victim was not one of them.

Neal had also been trying to figure out how to get an FBI escort to the White Bored exhibit. If he did manage to get himself a babysitter he may be able to sneak off and get his scan done but that was unfortunately rather unlikely based on the timings and the amount of scrutiny he would be under whilst at the exhibit.

So, when rogue Marshall John Deckard just happened to have his keys within grasp Neal decided he would be kind enough to relieve the guy of the key to his tracking anklet. After all he would be able to kill a whole flock of birds with that stone; he could get his scan done, go to the exhibit, go after Kate's killer without the bureau's stupid rules and if push came to shove he could run with a massive head start on Peter. He would have to cover his tracks well though because he couldn't be seen in public if his anklet showed he was at home, there were so many opportunities from just one little piece of metal.

Actually Neal was so deep in thought with all he could do that he barely noticed Peter's boss's boss approaching until he was right next to him – with an interesting proposition.

And before he knew it Bancroft and he were walking around the White Bored exhibit exchanging views on the ingenuity of the artists' interpretations of the modern workplace. The artwork was fantastic and Bancroft wasn't stuffy or snobby yet still well-informed and insightful. In fact: Neal was happy and not just kind of happy but actually, seriously happy – he was looking at brilliant artwork (legally), in the company of someone he had quickly learnt to respect yet didn't treat him like dirt.

The exhibit was large with pieces on a range of things one found in the modern bureaucracy of work from suits to desks to meetings to coffee and all done on whiteboards with markers – genius!

They were coming up to an eye-catching and completely relatable piece showing the effects of a good cup of coffee - with the before being a black and white tired old suit, which was kind of reminiscent of Hughes, and the after being a bright much more lively fellow – more similar to Jones. The inevitable discussion of these similarities and of the sludge the bureau passed off as coffee was halted when Neal suddenly felt a wave of dizziness sweep over him. One moment he was walking perfectly upright, the next he was making an embarrassingly lopsided amble to the nearest seat. As soon as he felt the slight bump of sitting on the bench his head sent out an angered jab of pain and continued to hammer at the sides of his skull whilst also managing to incessantly ring and create the illusion of being on the waltzers. If Neal wasn't currently trying to keep the contents of his stomach inside his stomach and stop any humiliating descents to the floor he would have been impressed by his body's ability to multi-task.

Overall though, despite feeling decidedly under the weather, he was glad that this hadn't happened at the office; not only would it have been degrading for his colleagues to see him like this it could have been endangering to more than just himself. That thought brought the puzzle of whether his face was ill and pale, green and sickly or red from embarrassment.

That puzzle was then cut off though by a pain so intense it had him with his eyes screwed shut and panting for air paired with an even more extreme sense of nausea – man how he wished he'd remembered to take those damn pills today in all of that stupid excitement.

As the strong waves of illness became more subdued a more worrisome problem began to present itself - not that Neal was truly aware of it at the time.

~WC~

Kyle Bancroft was a strong, determined and open-minded kind of guy; it was these qualities paired with a no-nonsense attitude and a natural inquisitiveness that made him the brilliant FBI agent that he was. And it was the reflection of these qualities in Caffrey that warmed the director (albeit reluctantly) to the somewhat reformed conman and paired with the skill he had seen Caffrey display when solving the case Kyle had resolved to take the conman to the art exhibit he had apparently been trying to coax an FBI escort to.

Bancroft had actually wanted to view the White Bored exhibit himself so hadn't been greatly inconvenienced by the unexpected company and as the evening went on and he and Caffrey exchanged views on the pieces he found he was enjoying being with the consultant and hearing his unique perspective on the art more than he'd initially expected himself to.

So as Kyle stood in front of an interesting piece showing the revitalising qualities of coffee and was just about to offer his take on the piece, he was taken aback by the sudden empty space beside him where Caffrey had been standing just a few moments ago.

After conducting a brief visual search – it would be foolish to panic if the guy had just been loitering at another piece - Kyle was further shocked by the downright sickly looking man on the bench a few feet away. As he walked over to Caffrey he studied the man; he currently had one arm wrapped protectively over his stomach and another rubbing at his skull. It was only when he was right in front of the man though did he see the deeply pained expression on his face, his mouth was in a straight lined grimace and his eyes were scrunched shut as though he was trying to hide inside of himself in the darkness that created. And it was also from here he could see the trembling of the young man's body as he fought off the waves of pain he must be feeling. Concern – professional concern – etched itself across the elder man's face as he looked down at the suddenly ill young man.

And it was only from here that Bancroft was able to catch the young man as he started a nose dive straight to the hard marble flooring – God, that would have left a bruise in the morning.

Neal was practically a dead weight in his arms as he supported the kid back into an upright position, albeit still leaning against his arm. For the first time since Bancroft had looked over at the young man, he opened his eyes and Kyle was taken aback by the anguish and pain pooling in those crystal blues.

Throughout the week he had known Neal the barriers had always been up in his body language, facial expressions, carefully planned speech and most especially in his eyes but now he was seeing so much depth and honesty in Neal's most striking feature that it scared him.

What was even more worrisome though was what didn't appear in his bright blue eyes – recognition, the kid was staring around the room blankly and when he spotted his temporary pillow he seemed grateful but confusedly so. There was no polite embarrassment or even sheepishness just confusion at whose shoulder it was he leaning on.

Neal's next words shocked Bancroft back into the present and away from his ponderings.

"Gonna be sick" he mumbled in a completely un-Caffrey-like fashion.

At those words Bancroft hurriedly stood up and half guided, half dragged Neal to the nearest toilets where he preceded to do just that on and off for the next ten minutes, leaving Kyle to wait awkwardly outside the stall. He absentmindedly wondered whether he should be in there rubbing the kid's back or something – his bedside manner was pretty non-existent.

Eventually though Neal stumbled out of the stall and splashed a generous handful of water on his face as well as washing his mouth out a few times. The guy looked a bit better Bancroft acknowledged; some of the colour had returned to his face and he no longer seemed to be in such high levels of pain. But, although he no longer looked like he was going to throw up all other the shop, there still seemed to be a mask of confusion on his face and an openness to which the agent was not accustomed to on criminals, no matter how reformed they are.

The director approached him,slightly cautiously, and asked, "how you feeling Caffrey?" He was a bit dismayed at how much of his presumably hidden worry seeped through into his usually gruff voice.

Neal didn't seem to notice though as he replied quickly with a polite, "Better, thank you sir."

And just as the director was about to let out the breath he didn't even realise he was holding Caffrey added warily, "Wait, how do you know my name?" whilst backing away from the seeming threat.

In all of the years Bancroft had worked as an FBI agent, and there were admittedly a lot of them, he had never been taken quite so off guard as by that comment. So much so that he didn't immediately explain the situation to the skeptical and almost frightened Neal, he just stood there with his mouth hanging open - he could've sworn he heard his jaw hit the floor.

When Bancroft was able to speak again he simply said, "Neal, we've been working with each other for the past week or so. Director Bancroft – we were working on the Franklin case … or should it be the Deckard case? Anyway, we know each other Neal. In fact I'm Hughes' boss."

Neal still had no recognition in his eyes but, though he continued to look skeptical, he accepted Kyle's help in leading him back out of the bathroom and to the bench, he probably wouldn't have been able to walk the short distance by himself anyway. Bancroft was still very concerned with how drastically the young man's health had 180'ed but he decided he would wait until Caffrey was more himself to question him and simply led the way in silence grabbing a water bottle on the way.

~WC~

About ten minutes later Neal had recomposed himself and appeared to be feeling almost normal again, which consequently meant the suave conman was extremely embarrassed about what had happened between him and Peter's boss's boss. He had completely forgotten one of the most powerful men who could put him back in orange and revealed one of the most vulnerable sides of the bureau's asset - Yup, you are definitely going back to prison.

Bancroft had remained silent sitting next to Neal and seemingly waiting for him to make the first move.

Which he did, awkwardly, "I…uh…I'm so sorry about that Director Bancroft ... sir". Great now you can't even string a proper sentence together, get a hold of yourself Caffrey.

"What the Hell was that, Caffrey?!" Bancroft interrogated in his 'I'm a high-ranking FBI agent who could easily send you back to prison so don't lie to me' voice and although he was whispering it was still as intimidating as it was designed to be.

"I…err…I forgot who you were, sir" Neal mumbled sheepishly, speeding up the last part.

"I know that" Now he sounded annoyed – like a teacher to a pupil that didn't understand, "…but, why?" his voice softened with concern.

Neal knew he couldn't exactly get out of this now, "To be honest, sir, I don't know. My doctor he, well, he wants me to have an MRI scan but that can't exactly happen because of my anklet and well I can't tell the bureau cause I'll just go back to prison… no one wants damaged goods."

Neal had said more than he originally intended but once he started it just sort of kept coming, his walls were still undergoing repairs. Bancroft also looked a bit shocked by Neal's forthcoming response – after all it was rather uncharacteristic – especially that final ominous statement.

"Oh, well what's wrong with you?" The director queried. It appears they don't teach tact at Quantico.

As an afterthought he hurriedly added, "If you don't mind me asking."

"Uh…well, I've had migraines frequently for the past couple months, nausea, dizziness and then, as you saw, some memory loss. But it isn't that bad, I mean my doctor warned me about hearing voices and that hasn't happened." Neal explained – it was a relief to get some of the weeks of stress of his shoulders. Short of asking for the doctor's appointment, Neal hadn't told anybody – even Mozzie – about how he was feeling. No-one had even noticed that he was ill.

Though Bancroft was trying to conceal his emotions Neal was very skilled at reading people so could see the slight widening of the eyes in shock and the slight drawing together of the eyebrows in concern – he didn't deserve that.

"Look…um…this scan. When are you meant to have it?" He was clearly trying to be more understanding in his questioning.

"Sunday at 11, why?" Neal replied with more than a hint of trepidation in his voice.

Bancroft chose to ignore it, "Good – my flight doesn't leave until Monday at 6. I'll pick you up at 10." The director managed to convey sincerity and determination that the decision had already been made for the young conman.

"Wait…what?" Neal was more than a little taken aback by the statement.

"Sunday at 10, we can't have a valuable bureau asset damaged now can we." Bancroft replied good-humouredly. "Besides, how else are you going to get there?"

Neal decided it was best not to mention the anklet key burning a hole in his suit pocket or the fact he was booked in as James Campbell, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it and so he just gratefully accepted the director's offer/order.

The remainder of the evening was spent companionably comparing views on artwork, New York, DC and planning what would happen on Sunday.

It seemed Neal finally had an ally he could share his medical problems with, carefully. Bancroft wasn't all that bad. Now all he had to do was; keep James Campbell hidden; conceal his medical problems from everyone else (and receive treatment for said problems); and continue to hunt for Kate's killer, all without revealing the anklet key. Oh, and he had to continue his everyday life on a tenuous parole with his workaholic partner. It seemed there was never a dull moment in the life of Neal Caffrey.