My original notes for this just had the words: "tooth-rotting White Collar fluff," and I hope I've achieved that. I also hope you enjoy it as well. Happy Halloween (provided it is still Halloween in your timezone)!

Thank you so much to Ginevra_Benci on AO3 for being my beta because words are hard. They were absolutely lovely and I couldn't have asked for a better beta.

It was a typical afternoon in the FBI White Collar offices. A bit cold outside, but what could you do about New York in October? No particularly large cases were happening, and the unit couldn't be happier for that. White collar crime was supposed to be the quiet one where agents didn't end up threatened with weapons in half the arrests. But apparently compromises were made where Neal Caffrey fit into things.

Caffrey, for his part, was also being quiet. He hadn't pulled anything particularly hare-brained or even vaguely out of the ordinary. At the moment, he was sitting across from Peter, reading a cold case file, while Peter was doing the same. Neal was, however, irritating Peter by attempting to balance his chair on its back two legs. A silent glare from Peter and the chair was back to four legs and Neal was smiling like he could never do anything wrong in the world.

Peter laid the file he was reading on his desk. "So, Neal," he said, in the best attempt at a casual tone he could muster.

Neal didn't play into it. "You never start with 'so.'" He closed the file he was reading and laid it on his lap. "Not unless something bad is coming up."

"Nothing bad," he reassured, shaking his head.

Neal raised an eyebrow. "For either of us?"

"For either of us."

"So what is happening?"

"El and I are hosting a little Halloween get-together for the unit." And suddenly, Neal was interested. He leaned back, opening up his body language. Peter was knowledgeable enough in 'Neal-ese' to know that he wanted more information. "Just a few people hanging out at our home, drinking, talking, maybe food." Neal quirked his head. "You're invited too."

Neal smiled. "Well, I'd love to come-a hot toddy or glass of mulled wine can bribe me from…well, just about anything." Peter rolled his eyes, all too familiar with his consultant's antics. "But I have a prior engagement."

"You have a date?"

It wasn't that Peter didn't believe him. Neal having a prior engagement when invited to a social gathering was basically par for the course (unless that social gathering included art, large sums of money, or attractive women). But so soon after Kate, with Neal still recovering, it didn't seem like the younger man would be going on a date.

Neal, in response, only laughed. "I wish," he said, shaking his head. "No, I'm taking Samantha trick-or-treating."

That threw Peter for a loop. Samantha? That was a woman's name, so the person Neal would be with was female. But trick-or-treating meant it was a child. Neal, as far as Peter was aware, didn't have any children. So it wasn't his kid. Whose child is Neal taking out?

"Samantha?"

"June's younger granddaughter?"

Peter only remembered the art student.

"The one that needed a kidney transplant?"

That rang a bell. "I know who you mean." Neal let out a sound that wasn't quite a sigh, but was pretty damn close. "You're taking her?"

Neal nodded again. "She wants to go trick-or-treating near Grandma June's house. Apparently there's better candy options in a brownstone neighborhood."

Peter laughed. That's the one thing a kid would know about: who gives out the best Halloween candy.

"Cindy," Neal continued, "wants to go to a party at school, which, fair. If she'd rather spend her Halloween dressed as a slutty pirate getting drunk with her friends instead of walking around town with her little sister, I can respect that."

"How old is she?" Peter asked.

Neal shrugged. "Twenty-one, I think. A little younger than me."

And wasn't that the largest measurement in the world. Neal was anywhere from twenty-six to thirty-three, depending which document or whose word you wanted to trust. Official FBI records? Thirty-three. Neal's own words? Somewhere in his late twenties. Peter was even willing to bet Neal was younger than that: somewhere around twenty-four or twenty-five. Anyway, Neal's age wasn't at issue here.

"Then getting drunk is probably more fun," he conceded. "June?"

"June wants to stay home and give out candy. She says it's more fun to see all the children coming to her home and their smiles. I'm the only adult left at home permanently." Neal paused. "And she asked me."

"That's adorable, Neal. She trusts you."

A small, almost wistful smile spread across Neal's face. "Yeah, I'm not used to it either."

"That's not what I was saying." Neal looked taken aback, like that wasn't what he was expecting to hear. "I was saying that a kid wants to be with you. Kids are the best judge of character. If she says you're a good person, you are."

Neal spread his hands in surrender. "I'm just being a fine upstanding citizen. By taking my landlady's granddaughter out around town to beg for food in a socially acceptable fashion."

Peter rolled his eyes. Only Neal Caffrey would consider trick-or-treating 'begging for food.' "You sure you'll be able to?"

All Peter got in response was a confused look. Did he not… Peter gestured to Neal's anklet from across the desk. Neal's mouth formed a perfect 'o' as he realized what Peter was thinking.

"Yes." A simple yes wasn't enough information. Peter just raised his eyebrow. Neal rolled his eyes before elaborating. "It's a kid. She's ten. We're not gonna cover twelve and a half square miles before she gets tired."

Of course he did the math, Peter thought. "As long as you're sure," was all Peter said. "I don't want any phone calls from the marshals saying you're out of your radius."

"I will swear to you that you won't get any phone calls from the marshals about me being out of my radius."

That was a little too perfect a quote to trust at face value. There were quite a few loopholes Peter could think of in that. As Peter stared at Neal, all Neal did was put on his most innocent expression. With that expression, it was easier to believe Neal was younger than thirty. It was the exact face a teenager pulls to convince his parents he isn't high or drunk or going to that party. Peter decided to trust him.

"Okay. If you're sure-"

"I am," Neal swore.

"All right, then," Peter said with a laugh. "Are you gonna dress up?" Peter could see Neal being one of those adults that were crazy about Halloween, but could also see him as one of those adults who only cares about actually major holidays.

Neal shrugged. "Probably." That answers what kind of adult he is. "I think Samantha wants to be a princess right now, so I'll probably end up as Prince Charming with her."

That would be adorable. Neal dressed as a prince escorting a little girl in a fluffy dress. "If anything changes, you're still welcome at ours," Peter reassured.

"I'll come if she taps out early."

"We're going 'til midnight," Peter said, trying to entice Neal into giving an affirmative answer.

Neal smiled and, in the exact same tone, just repeated: "I'll come if she taps out early."

The next evening, Neal was exhausted. An impromptu chase after an unexpected suspect would do that, he supposed. All he wanted was a glass-okay, more like a bottle--of wine and to go straight to bed. That would be the ideal evening. As he opened the door to his apartment, all his plans of a nice, relaxing evening evaporated. June was sitting at his table, apparently waiting for him to get back. She stood up as Neal came in. Yep. Definitely waiting for me.

"June," Neal remarked, managing to hide his surprise from his voice. "This is a surprise." He could only hope it was hidden from his face as well. Normally, if she wanted to talk to him, she'd either corner him in the foyer or knock and ask if she could come in once Neal was at home. Oh no. Neal was pretty sure he knew why June would be waiting in his apartment. "You want me out?"

"Oh, never, dear," June said, as reassuring as she could possibly be. Which was very.

Neal let out a breath and let the tension melt from his shoulders. Housing no longer in question, he smiled. "Then what is this about?"

"Samantha and her friends are here," she explained. Neal knew Samantha was going to go out with her friends, but wasn't expecting to meet them almost a week early. "And her friends' parents." Oh. That was why. "The adults want to meet you and Samantha wants to tell you her new costume idea."

"I thought she was being a princess?"

"Apparently, she changed her mind." June's voice was indulgent, like she was party to a secret Neal didn't know. She probably was, Neal decided.

"Okay." Neal still didn't know why his landlady was waiting in his apartment to talk about this. She could have found him earlier or interrupted him on his way up the stairs.

June, with instincts apparently from a conman for a husband, knew exactly what Neal wanted to ask. "I didn't want you to come into your home and be bombarded by a crowd of children you don't know."

Neal was thankful for that explanation. The emphasis on 'your home' was even nicer. It had been quite a while since he actually had a place he could consider 'home,' much less 'his.' "Thank you," he said, one hundred percent sincere. "That…would have been surprising."

"Never, dear," June said with a shake of her head. "I know how con men are. Ready to jump at shadows half the time." She reached on to the table behind her. "And also, this." She handed Neal a piece of paper.

He looked down. It was a computer printout, from one of those online maps, with a path highlighted, weaving through a neighborhood before looping back to Riverside Drive. This is a map. I don't know what of. Neal looked at June, silently asking what he was holding.

"It's the route Samantha usually takes. It's entirely within your radius."

Neal could have cried. June had not only shown Neal where he'd be going so he could scout (not case, scout) out beforehand; she had made sure he could take the entire route. Neal despite working with Peter for almost a year, still wasn't used to people caring that much about him.

"Thank you, June," was all he could manage to say. He put the map back where it was. He'd study it later. "I suppose I should meet the kids?"

With one week until Halloween, it was time for Neal to do what he did…well, not best, but maybe, like, fourth-best: covert research. Some people (such as Peter Burke for example) might call it 'casing' or 'finding a mark.' That was untrue. Neal was not intending to take anything that wasn't his. At least not permanently. He was just knowing his target.

His target was the White Collar Unit. Secretly, behind their backs, he was taking pictures of them. Not for any nefarious reason, such as finding where they keep their valuables, but just to know what they looked like day to day. What did Diana do with her hair? What did Jones usually wear? What were Peter's specific mannerisms? Did Neal already know a good bit of these things? Yes. It was still important to research them. This wasn't for him.

It was for the kids.

It was the day of Halloween. Trick-or-treating came and went, with Neal being roped in to referee a childhood debate. The kids were content with their sugar highs, Neal was content with his glass(es) of Zinfandel while helping children trade candy in an organized manner, and the parents were content with getting a break from negotiating their children's arguments. The kids were beaming and those giving out candy thought Neal's group was simply the cutest.

After the kids finished their elaborate candy trade, Neal made his excuses and gave his goodbyes to the other parents before hailing a cab.

Peter and El were still having their get-together, right?

At the Burkes', their get-together was well underway. The earliest guests had arrived an hour earlier, at just about eight p.m., and people filtered in from there. People were laughing, drinks were flowing, and the once-beautiful charcuterie board Elizabeth had procured was being systematically decimated.

Across the quiet hubbub of this gathering, a knock sounded at the door. El looked over at her husband. "I thought everyone was here that was going to come?"

Peter checked his watch. "That's probably Neal," he explained. "He said he'd try to come a little later."

El nodded slowly. Talk about being fashionably late. It's nearly an hour. "I'll get it then."

She navigated her way through the not crowded, but certainly not as empty as it usually was, home and opened the door. True to Peter's word, standing in the doorway was an impeccably dressed Neal, Devore suit spotless and black fedora charmingly cocked off-center. His blindingly bright smile was painted across his face.

"I hope I'm not too late to join in?" he asked as a greeting.

Elizabeth returned the smile. "Neal, thanks for joining us." She moved out of the doorway, letting Neal in out of the cold. "Peter said you might not make it."

Neal stepped across the threshold, pulling the door shut behind him. "I would have been here sooner, but the kids apparently have a complicated candy trading system." He flipped off his hat, not missing the chance for some extra showmanship, before hanging it up over someone's coat. "That needs a referee."

Peter took this as his chance to come over and tease Neal. "So," he said with a smirk, "you became law enforcement for the night?"

Neal paused. Thought for a few seconds. And nodded. "Yeah, more or less." He returned with a smirk of his own. "Turns out, I'm quite suited to it."

"Yeah, I bet you are," Peter laughed and playfully swung at Neal, landing a gentle punch on the younger man's bicep. Neal gave Peter an expression that was somehow both offended and jovial, giving the exact impression of someone who wanted to punch back and wasn't sure if that would be battery on a law enforcement officer. Neal rubbed his arm, pretending the punch hurt at all.

"Wine?" Peter offered.

"Please say-"

All the time with this kid. Peter cut him off. "It's mulled wine, yes."

Neal's smile faltered for the first time since El opened the door. For the first time since he made himself known, he actually looked like someone who'd been escorting a child all around town. "Thank God," he said. Christ, the kid even sounded exhausted. "It is cold out there."

El nodded in sympathy. She may not have taken her kids trick-or-treating, and she wasn't sure if she ever would, but she empathized with the young man roped into wandering Manhattan for a night without a jacket.

"I'll bet," she said. "Get yourself a glass."

Neal smiled before excusing himself to the kitchen. The Burkes' kitchen was a veritable treasure trove of warm autumnal beverages. A slow cooker gently heating hot toddy was on the counter, next to a fresh pot of coffee with just about every spice that was vaguely related to pumpkin pie next to it. Two pots were gently bubbling away on the stove: one that smelled like hot cider and one that looked like wine with oranges. Haven't had this in years, Neal thought as he gently ladled mulled wine into an available mug.

He emerged from the kitchen, stealing a delicately-folded slice of salami, a delicious-looking slice of aged gouda, and what appeared to be some kind of artisan whole-wheat cracker from a cutting board on the dining room table. At this point, any food that wasn't pure sugar and chocolate was what Neal wanted. The other parents had insisted that, since he took Samantha trick-or-treating, he was owed the 'parent tax.' The 'parent tax,' apparently, meant that he was allowed to steal a few pieces of her Halloween candy in exchange for helping her collect, count, and trade it. Neal wasn't the fondest of government oversight, but this tax seemed appropriate enough. Unfortunately, that meant that all Neal had had to eat that night was a fun-size bag of M&Ms, a peanut butter candy bar that felt like sand in his mouth but tasted alright, and approximately six Milk Duds. Plus, charcuterie boards existed to be eaten.

Neal, munching on his stack of meat, cheese, and cracker, accidentally ran into Peter and El again. He was fully intending to mingle with the other guests, but there was never anything wrong with talking to the two of them.

"So," El prompted, "how were the kids?"

"Also, kids?" Peter added. "I thought you were just in charge of Samantha."

Neal swallowed the last of his snack before giving Peter a tired smile. "I was. A group of her friends came-"

Apparently, that was enough for Diana to overhear and join her boss in a rousing game of 'poke fun at Neal,' a hallowed White Collar Unit tradition. "The great Neal Caffrey, babysitting."

Neal rolled his eyes. "It's not babysitting," he answered in a remarkably even tone. "It's being nice to my landlady. Who is giving me part of her home at significantly less than market value."

And now it was Jones's turn to join the 'Tease Neal' subset of the party. "I didn't see you as a real estate connoisseur."

"Any crimes I should know about?" Peter asked, jokingly.

Neal just laughed. "Never real estate. Too complicated." And then Neal properly looked around himself. The core of the White Collar Unit was gathered around him. "Are you all just here to make fun of me?"

"More or less," Diana said with a shrug. "Now spill."

"Samantha invited a group of her friends to go with her. I was her adult, their parents were with me, too. I wasn't alone with a group of children."

"And no one cared about the infamous-" Peter tried to quip.

"Renowned," Neal interrupted.

Peter carried on as if he hadn't been interrupted. "-Infamous criminal Neal Caffrey escorting a child?"

Neal shook his head. "They knew if I was with Samantha, I was with June, and anyone associated with June must be a good person." He paused. "I guess they never heard of Byron's…history." He took a sip of the mulled wine that was slowly leeching its heat into his hand. "Oh, that is good; thank you, El."

"It's nothing, just an old family recipe," Elizabeth demurred.

"It's brilliant."

El just smiled. "So, how did it go? How was it?"

Neal paused to pick an appropriate word. "Fun." He took another sip of his wine. "It was actually really fun."

El smiled again. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." She planted a small kiss on her husband's cheek before whispering in his ear. "Don't be too mean to him."

Elizabeth disappeared to be a decent hostess, which required mingling with the rest of her guests. As much as she said this was a casual get-together, all the force of her event planning career came with what Peter had come to call "Tropical Storm Elizabeth." That woman must have been an angel.

Peter gave Neal a proper once-over, noticing the plain (yet, knowing Neal, incredibly expensive) black suit he was wearing. "Did you get changed before coming here?"

Neal shook his head. "No." He took another sip of his wine. That is amazing, almost better than Germany.

"I thought you were dressing up with her," Peter said. His tone was halfway to suspicious.

Neal thought there was nothing to be suspicious of, so he only nodded and said, "I was," in the most enigmatic tone he could summon, before suppressing his slowly growing grin with his mug again.

"So you weren't Prince Charming?"

Neal shook his head once again. "No." He took a sip of his wine and nearly choked as he suddenly remembered something. "That reminds me." He switched which hand held his mug, freeing his right hand to fish through his pocket. The three FBI agents just stared at each other. No one had any clue what Neal was on about. That was until Neal pulled out a pair of handcuffs and held them out to Peter. "These are yours."

Peter, for his part, stared at Neal like he'd lost his mind before taking the handcuffs anyway. "When did you get these?"

Neal shrugged. "This afternoon." He switched hands back, leaving his left open. "Just before we left. Slipped them from you."

Peter nodded slowly. It was Neal Caffrey; he could pretend this made sense. "Why?"

Neal took a sip of his wine. "Will you believe me" he started, slowly, "if I said to keep up my skills?"

"No. Keeping up your skills would be my wallet. Which-"

Peter felt the pocket his wallet was still in. He hadn't gotten a chance to change after work, having been swept up in Tropical Storm Elizabeth. It wasn't there. His pocket was empty. He turned his head to see Neal, holding out his old battered leather wallet and looking at the ground. Peter just took the wallet and put it back in his pocket without further comment. Diana snorted into her drink and Jones desperately tried to hide his smile at his boss's expense.

"When did you get that?" Peter demanded.

"Right now."

Peter didn't quite sigh, but he came damn close to it. "So, why did you steal my handcuffs?"

"The kids," Neal replied, as if that was a perfectly reasonable answer.

The FBI agents paused.

"Gonna need a bit more elaboration," Diana finally said.

"So." Neal took a sip of his wine, hesitating just to annoy Peter. "Samantha asked me if I could take her trick-or-treating instead of her grandma." Peter nodded. He was familiar with this part of the story. "Once I said yes, she changed her costume. And talked her friends into joining her in a group costume."

"And you?" Jones asked.

Neal just laughed. "That didn't take much persuasion."

"So, what are you?"

Neal gave a grin like a Cheshire cat. "Myself."

Diana raised an eyebrow. "Neal Caffrey?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Infamous-" started Peter.

"Renowned."

This isn't happening again. "-Infamous art thief."

"Alleged art thief," Neal corrected. Ego the size of Texas, Peter thought. Neal took another sip of his wine. "And yes."

Peter asked the next obvious question. "So, what were the kids?"

"Subjects of famous paintings?" Jones guessed.

"Nope," Neal said with a shake of his head.

"Your 'alleged' accomplices?"

Neal shook his head again. "They never hit the papers."

Something clicked in Diana's mind. "Oh, no," she laughed.

"Yes," Neal nodded.

"No, they weren't!"

"Yes! They were!" Neal exclaimed, a genuine smile painting itself across his face.

"No way!"

Neal just nodded eagerly before holding up one finger. "Hold on, I have pictures." He swapped hands for his mug again before slipping his phone out of a different pocket. He swiped through his phone until he found the correct picture. "Here we go. This is Samantha as a miniature FBI White Collar Unit Special Agent…Diana Berrigan."

Diana made a sound that, if asked, she would absolutely deny was a squeal. Her smile felt like her face would rip in half. "I have to see this!"

And Peter thinks I have an ego. Neal turned around his phone, displaying the photo to the rest of the Unit.

On the small screen, Samantha was standing with a hand on her hip, hair straightened and meticulously styled, dressed in a small black pantsuit. In short: she looked like a miniature version of Diana, but about twenty years younger. She had the exact right attitude and a surprisingly accurate pose for a ten-year-old and a giant beaming smile across her face. Diana made another sound that she would deny on pain of death was a squeal. Jones and Peter had much more restrained, yet equally jubilant reactions. She was pretty adorable. She deserved those reactions.

"Why me?" Diana asked, with a strange mixture of being flattered and being horribly, horribly embarrassed. Probably an appropriate response, she figured, to a child dressing up as you for Halloween.

"She saw you around a while ago and asked June who you were," Neal explained. "When she got this idea, which I do not understand why, it was obvious to choose you."

"It's so cute! She actually looks like me as a kid. Well, not the clothes, but everything else is pretty close."

Neal figured it was more prudent not to give an answer to that.

"She is adorable," Peter supplied instead.

Neal swiped to the next picture before turning his screen out again. "And here is her friend Matthew as Special Agent Clinton Jones."

Matthew was a pretty good imitation of Jones in a child-sized suit. He looked like a child dressed up like his accountant father for a Career Day at school. Like Samantha, he was beaming from ear to ear, the top canine tooth on his left side missing. Diana didn't squeal that time, but her smile crept wider across her face. Peter smiled again. Jones, for his part, burst out laughing aloud.

"Why me?" Jones asked, with the same blend of flattered and embarrassed as Diana.

"He asked if I knew anyone he looked like and I said you." Jones nodded as Neal swiped to yet another picture. "Luisa as Special Agent Lauren Cruz."

A Hispanic girl with her hair tied back in a ponytail stood mirroring Samantha's pose, hand on her hip, hip cocked out, smile splitting her face. A light pink polo shirt (probably from a school uniform) peeked out from under a pinstriped jacket (probably an older sister's). Black leggings ending in patent leather Mary Janes completed the ensemble, making a pretty passable impression of Lauren Cruz for a ten-year-old. She was adorable, and the Unit's reactions said as such.

"Cruz…" Diana asked. "From Organized Crime?"

Neal nodded.

"She was transferred temporarily while you were in D.C.," Peter explained for him. "Your White Collar Unit had Lauren and Diana at the same time?"

Neal shrugged. "Compromises. More kids than agents."

That got a laugh.

Neal took a sip of his wine. "And finally, we have who is apparently her best friend Jordan as…"

Neal must have paused deliberately. There was no way it took that much time to swipe from one picture to another. Especially when they were probably taken at the same time. Neal was stalling for the three of them to realize the one person left: Peter. Oh, this has to be good.

"Special Agent Peter Burke." Neal turned around his phone.

A blond boy was smiling on the screen, complete in a black suit and red tie. He even seemed to have borrowed his father's (or brother's, no way to tell) tie clip to keep it firmly flat on his shirt. He had a small police badge in his hand, showing it off like an agent identifying himself. A huge smile was on his face.

Diana squealed again, although she absolutely would have killed any of the men nearby for ever mentioning it ever again. Neal just smiled at her. Jones smiled and quickly took a sip of his drink before he could say anything he'd regret. Something that would lead to inadvertently making fun of his boss.

"Neal," Peter began, in a tone Neal had come to fear. It was the tone that meant 'you are about to be in serious trouble, Caffrey, if you do not have a decent explanation in 0.05 seconds, and it better be a good one.' Not a good tone for a conman to get from a fed.

"Peter," Neal chirped back, trying his absolute best to sound chipper.

"These are children."

"Yes, that's what ten-year-olds are." Sarcasm probably wasn't my smartest idea.

Sarcasm wasn't the smartest idea he's ever had. "Why do they look so accurate?"

"Well," Neal started, in a tone Peter had come to fear. It was the tone that meant 'Peter, how could I think I would ever do something like that, aren't I the most innocent person on the face of this planet.' Not a good tone for a federal agent to get from a con.

"Talk."

"I took pictures of you and sent them to the parents to work out a costume."

Well, that explained the past week. Neal had tried to be subtle, really he had. It's just…taking pictures of someone you know isn't the easiest thing to do subtly. People tend to notice and wonder what you're doing. They all trusted Neal enough to know that he wasn't searching for valuables (and also knew he knew that already). They just didn't know what was happening. And now they did.

Peter just shook his head. There wasn't anything to be actually mad about, so they could move on. "And you were their pet convict."

Neal shook his head. "Nope." He took a sip of his wine before continuing. "Notice anything about that suit?"

The three shook their heads. It was just a suit.

"That," Neal explained, "is a kid-sized replica of Peter's 'arresting Neal Caffrey' suit."

"Caffrey." Diana's tone was flat, almost disbelieving.

"What?" Jones, on the other hand, was confused.

Peter had actually caught on to what Neal was saying. Neal himself had mentioned this in the past. "I only own four different suits!"

"And somehow you always wear the same one when you're arresting me," Neal quipped back, completely sincerely.

Jones smiled. "So, the kids were arresting you?"

Neal nodded. "Which is why-"

"You stole my handcuffs, I get it," Peter finished for him.

Diana took a sip of her mug of probably more coffee than she should be drinking given the hour of the night. "So, you spent the whole night slipping out of cuffs."

Neal shrugged. "More or less." He took a sip of his wine, mirroring Diana's motion. "They were kids; it's not like they were double-locked." He took another sip. "The kids put together a whole skit. Go up, knock on the door, put together this show, smile, 'trick-or-treat,' parents fawn, kids get candy, move down the street."

Peter smiled. "That sounds adorable." Both the kids and Neal actually enjoying himself. Kid needs to get out more and enjoy himself.

"I have a video. But give me a second…" Neal's voice trailed off as he started messing with his phone again.

"Did you tell the parents who you were?" Jones thought to ask.

Neal shrugged while still looking at his phone. "A few. Most recognized me." He paused from swiping to take a sip of his wine. "Some as 'the guy that rents out June's.' Most as Neal Caffrey. Comes from having your face on the news." Peter rolled his eyes. Like I said, ego the size of Texas. Neal continued. "If they seemed like the kind of parents that wouldn't freak out about a convicted felon escorting a group of kids, I told them the truth: I am Neal Caffrey on probation with the FBI, doing a favor for my landlady. If they seemed like the kind of parents that would freak out, I…played a small con."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "You lied to them."

Neal shrugged again. "I say con, you say lie, others would say misappropriation of the truth."

"You know misappropriation means embezzlement, right?"

Neal looked up from his phone, giving Peter the most innocent expression he could ever give. "And?"

"Every time with you," Peter muttered under his breath before taking a sip of his drink.

"So, what did you say?" Jones prompted, before the enmity in the room could go any higher.

Neal put on the most conciliatory tone in the history of con artists, fully intending on giving the whole show. "My name is Neal, but not Caffrey. I know, I look so much like him. Caused some real trouble for me a few years ago."

The agents stifled a laugh out of decency. That was the worst lie they had ever heard Neal tell. He could usually sell salt to a slug, ship sand to Hawaii, and send coal to Newcastle all in the same breath. And that was just…not it. That was so obviously a lie. It's like he wasn't even trying. …Maybe he wasn't trying. The more the team thought, the more likely it was that he wasn't trying. Just enough to get suspicion off his back and the people to move on, and then realize about ten minutes later what had happened. Oh.

"Find that video yet?" Peter prompted, seemingly shaking Neal from…whatever he was thinking.

He looked down at his phone and back up again. "Yes." He turned his phone out and pressed play on the video.

The kid dressed as Peter-the real Peter was pretty sure his name was Jordan-aimed a toy gun at Neal. It might have actually been a water pistol, but it served the image well enough. Neal dramatically raised his hands, lacing them behind his head.

"I'm unarmed," he quipped in a drastically overacted tone. If this kid wasn't in high school drama club, the world missed out.

Jordan put his weapon in his plastic holster. "Neal Caffrey, you're under arrest."

Neal smirked, almost directly at the camera, like he knew he'd be showing this to Peter in the future. "I know."

"Berrigan," Jordan ordered, only stumbling a little over the name.

Samantha went forward, Peter's handcuffs in hand, ordering Neal's hands behind his back. Neal complied, still laying it on thick. Samantha struggled a little bit before apparently locking the handcuffs around Neal's wrists. Neal's nimble fingers started, almost instinctively, probing the locks.

"Easier than I thought it'd be," the girl pretending to be Lauren-Luisa, her name was-said.

Matthew shrugged. "Beats the van," he quipped, drawing a laugh from the actual agents. It was a complaint they'd had long enough.

Jordan shifted the lollipop in his mouth from one side to the other. "Looks like I won this round, Caffrey."

Neal, having successfully extricated himself from the childishly applied (literally) handcuffs, held them out to Jordan. "Not this one."

The kids, giant smiles on their faces, went straight towards the camera before holding out their candy bags and screaming, in unison, "Trick or treat!"

The video ended. The team started laughing, this time including Neal. He was part of this, but it didn't stop it from being adorable. The kids were so serious about their little show.

"That was so cute!" Diana offered.

"That was perfect," Peter said.

Jones asked what they all were thinking. "Did you teach them what to say?"

Neal nodded. "A little bit. The beginning and the end I taught them and I…may or may not have…prompted them on the van line." That got the intended laugh.

"That was perfect," Peter repeated.

"That was the last time," Neal explained. "They just got home-to June's-and wanted to show June before the candy trade. She's the one holding the camera."

Peter abruptly reached out and grabbed Neal's phone out of his hand, drawing a protest from the younger man. He ignored Neal and looked closer at the still frame of the children smiling at the camera. I'm pretty sure that…yes! The lollipop stick peeking out of Jordan's mouth was exactly what Peter thought it was. He handed Neal his phone back.

"Thank you," Neal nearly snapped. He shook himself off. "If you're going to pickpocket me, do it right. I'm not supposed to notice."

Peter, as was becoming the norm of the night, ignored Neal again. "Is he," he started, "the kid pretending to be me, is he-" He trailed off.

"Eating a green apple sucker?" Neal supplied. Peter nodded. Neal nodded back at him. "Yes."

"Did you prompt that?"

Neal shook his head, an honest, almost shy, smile on his face. "No. He did it on his own." He took a sip of his wine. "Apparently, they have a tradition that before their candy trade, they eat one piece for free. And he just randomly picked out that green apple sucker."

"Absolutely perfect."

"I nearly cried. June thought it was just adorable."

Diana rolled her eyes. "Well, certainly seems you've had an…eventful night."

Neal silently nodded with another sip of his wine. He was started to feel pleasantly buzzed. Good thing I'm not going to be driving back.

"You were arrested how many times?" Peter asked.

Neal shrugged. "Forty or fifty times."

"Eventful," Diana repeated over the rim of her mug.

The four took sips of their drinks in silence.

"Happy Halloween," Neal offered as a closer.

"Happy Halloween," Peter echoed.