Okay good news bad news time. Good news: I'm updating, that should be pretty good. Bad news: I failed my chemistry final. In my defense, I suck ass at chem, but I didn't fail it because I was writing for you. I failed it because chem+me=no. Anyways thanks so much for the reviews! It really pushed the update on this chapter up by probably a week.

Neal trudged down the stairs in the morning, not really noticed anything around him. As he shuffled into the kitchen wearing an old college shirt of Peter's and an old pair of flannel pj pants, Peter almost let out a chuckled.

Neal Caffery, 15-year-old con artist, who had evaded the FBI for years, charmed just about everybody, and young genius, looked like he was half dead. His dark hair was spikey and untamed; it looked as though he had slept for days instead of hours. Neal's thin frame was drowning in clothing so he stumbled into the kitchen looking even younger than he was, and Peter could hear him mumbling about random things as he walked into the counter.

"So who is Mozzie?" Peter said loudly. It had been one of the things Neal had been mumbling.

"Wha.." Neal muttered half confused. Peter was about to open his mouth again when Neal held up a finger, indicating that he needed a moment.

Peter sipped his coffee and stared at the kid who still had one hand held up in the 'I need a moment' gesture, while the other rubbed the kid's temple.

"Okay, I think I'm somewhat awake now." Neal said in a normal voice. He dropped both hands and looked up at Peter, who was struggling not to laugh, with eyes that continually blinked as though they were about to shut for good again.

"You sure about that?" Peter asked.

"No, but nothing some coffee won't fix." Neal said, and he stumbled over to the coffee maker, where a fresh pot had been brewed. "Where are you mugs?"

Peter answered by opening a cabinet and giving Neal an old mug he had gotten Elizabeth for her birthday. It had an image of Van Gogh's, Starry Nights. Neal muttered thanks and poured some coffee into it.

Five minutes later, Neal could keep his eyes open properly, and could form proper sentences. He was also aware of everything around him.

"Why do you look like you're about to laugh?" Neal asked Peter, who still had a smirk on his face.

"Well its not everyday I see the guy that robbed art museums, trekked across Europe and robbed them, paint master forgeries, and charm anyone stumble into my kitchen looking like a zombie." Peter answered. Neal just stared at him.

"What, were you expecting me to be a morning person?" Neal asked. "I'm a teenager. I don't do mornings when I don't need to be anywhere."

"And when you do need to be somewhere?"

"You'll see on Monday, until then, expect zombie mode." Neal retored. He glanced at the clock, seeing it was 10 am. "Don't you need to be at work?"

"Because of your little catch with the forgery yesterday, my team was able to track down the man. Hughes gave us today off." Peter told him. Neal looked at him skeptically.

"Shouldn't you guys be working on that giant caseload I saw before?" Neal asked, taking a big sip of his coffee.

"Probably, but I'm all caught up right now." Peter said with a shrug.

"Whatever. Where's Elizabeth?"

"She had to work. But she did tell me that I had to take you out shopping for clothes. Said it couldn't wait until Saturday."

Neal just nodded. He agreed with Peter on that one. He had worn his clothes for two days straight, and they were ripe.

"So when do we head out?" Neal asked as he finished his coffee. He was a lot more awake now.

"As soon as your ready. Elizabeth washed your clothes so then should be in a basket in the hall by your room. Get changed and meet me down here." Peter ordered. Neal nodded and went to do as told.

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"Why do you feel the need to get all dark clothing?" Peter asked Neal, probably for the fourth time that day. Neal shrugged, for the fourth time since coming into the mall.

"Its my style. Why do you feel the need to wear suits all the time?" Neal retorted, and continued looking through shirts at a thrift store that was only a few blocks away from the FBI. Peter had told Neal that he gets 700 bucks a month to do whatever he wanted with, as long as the bureau approved it. Cloth shopping had been approved by Hughes right away, as even the old man, who's senses were not that sharp over the years, could smell the kid from across his desk the other day.

"Because its professional." Peter told him. Neal shrugged again as he picked out a band shirt.

So far Neal had picked out many dark colored jeans, dark colored t-shirts, and two pleather jackets. He also had found a pair of Ed Hardies that he loved on sight. Neal then moved to looking at some collared shirts and nice vests to go with them. While Neal fawned over clothes as Peter put it (Neal said "clothes are a form of art, I am just appreciating an artist in the only way I can.") Peter answered emails.

What felt like hours later, but was really only one hour, Peter and Neal left the store. Neal was wearing black skinny jeans, a white collared shirt, a vest, a heavy black winter coat against the chill wind, and had a fedora that annoyed Peter to no end.

"You look ridiculous." Peter said the second they were out of the store. Neal laughed and shifted one of the bags that held his clothes to his other had, and pulled off the fedora. He annoyed Peter even moved by playing around with it the entire walk home.

"Its about noon. What do normal people do for the rest of the day?" Neal asked once he had placed his clothes in the Burke's spare bedroom.

Peter had to think for a moment. He rarely had days off, so he didn't know what to do either. "Well, the bureau registered you for school, so we don't need to do that. Oh, I know! I think a game is on."

Peter practically skipped over to the couch while Neal followed, slightly frowning. "Its November. I though baseball ended about a month ago."

"Yep, but college basketball just started. My alma mater was never very good at basketball, but that doesn't mean that I can't enjoy a game." Peter said as he flipped on the television and flipped through channels. Neal stood by the couch and looked at the television in disgust.

"What?" Peter asked, noticing Neal's expression.

"Nothing." Neal mumbled and went over to the bookshelf.

"You don't like sports?" Peter questioned.

"Never really connected with them. I never saw the point of grown men tackling each other for a ball or running around in a sandbox." Neal said, not taking his eyes off the books.

"Then what do you do all day? That's legal." Peter asked, adding the last bit.

Neal just shrugged. "I read and paint."

Peter nodded, and relaxed on his couch. He had decided not to burn it due to the fact that he couldn't afford a new one. Neal chose a book and sat down in an armchair.

The two passed time in comfortable silence, together.

Gah I know, lame ending. But this was more of a filler chapter. Reviews are welcome!