Chapter Text
“You know how you told me to keep an eye on Kramer in case he tries to tank your commutation hearing?” Mozzie spoke before Neal even realized the other man was in his apartment. Neal turned to see his friend sitting on his couch with a laptop open on the coffee table. Mozzie held a glass filled with a clear liquid—probably gin, which wasn’t a good sign as it meant he felt the need for something stronger than his usual wine. When Mozzie’s words finally registered, Neal frowned.
“I never told you to-”
“You’ll thank me later.” Mozzie pressed play on his computer and Kramer’s voice echoed out from the speakers.
“-I don’t care, Caffrey is mine… Petey doesn’t understand what he has on his hands. DC needs Caffrey, and I’ll be a much better handler than Pete could ever dream of.”
Neal sank onto the couch next to Mozzie, staring at the computer as panic bubbled up inside of him. “He wants to take me to DC?” Neal hadn’t been worried about the hearing because he knew either way he’d stay in New York with the people he loved—DC wasn’t supposed to be on the table.
“Which I will not let happen,” Mozzie interjected.
“I don’t know that you can do anything about it, Moz,” Neal said in defeat.
“Tell the Suit! You know he doesn’t want you to leave either!” Neal sighed and shook his head.
“I can’t. I mean, best case scenario, Kramer admits it and Peter can’t do anything about it. Worst case, Kramer denies it and then they’re both suspicious of me.” Neal wanted to yell. It wasn’t fair. Not that life had ever been fair to him, but for once Neal was happy exactly where he was. The hearing wasn’t supposed to change anything. But this? Taking him away from New York? Away from his friends and the life he’d built? All because Kramer wanted his closure rate? Neal couldn’t let it happen—but he didn’t know what to do.
“Isn’t there anything we can do? Maybe something outside the law to prove Kramer doesn’t deserve you?” Something in Mozzie’s phrasing clicked in the back of Neal’s head and a smile grew on his face.
“You know, there might be someone I can call.”
“You want to help Neal Caffrey?” Sophie fought not to roll her eyes as Nate’s outburst echoed around the briefing room—otherwise known as Nate’s living room.
“Hang on, as in art forger, Neal Caffrey?” Hardison questioned.
“Gem thief, Neal Caffrey?” Parker asked.
“The guy who dated Kate Moreau, Neal Caffrey?” Every eye in the room turned to Eliot, who shrugged. Sophie took advantage of the silence to cut in.
“He’s an old friend and he needs help.”
“Do you know how many times I chased him for IYS?” Nate grumbled; Sophie ignored him.
“I’m going to help him, so you can either join me or deal with my absence. I owe him that much.” There was a long moment where no one talked; finally Nate sighed and waved his hand.
“Run it.” Hardison broke into a grin and brought up an array of information on the TV screens.
“Right, so, our mark is Special Agent Phillip Kramer, head of the DC Art Crimes unit.” An image of an older man in a black suit with bushy eyebrows and a scowl on his face appeared on the screen. “He’s known for being relentless and unafraid to get his hands dirty in the pursuit of “justice”,” Hardison rolled his eyes, “but fortunately, most of the people he goes after had it coming. Unfortunately, he also has a track record of some questionable arrests, specifically regarding work with his CI’s—criminal informants. This guy loves to promise criminals a lighter sentence if they work for him, make them do wild things, then throw them back in jail for longer than they were originally in for,” Hardison shook his head in disgust, “I mean, bad enough he makes guys like us go straight, but then he doesn't even deliver what he promised. Where’s the “justice” in that?”
“Hardison,” Nate warned. Hardison cleared his throat and got back on track.
“Now our client is Neal Caffrey—world renown art forger, thief, and general con-man.” The photo Hardison pulled up showed an older Neal than Sophie remembered—but he had the same sharp jawline, same bright blue eyes, and the same perfectly coiffed brown hair. “He is willingly working as a CI for the New York White Collar division under Agent Peter Burke.” Yet another photo, of a man somewhere between Neal and Kramer in age, with receding brown hair and an expression that said he had no time for bullshit. “For some ungodly reason Caffrey likes working for the FBI and wants to stay there, but Kramer is trying to make Caffrey his CI down in DC. Given Kramer’s track record, that isn’t gonna go well.”
“Yeah, so we’ve got an FBI agent who thinks he’s untouchable and an infamous art thief turned FBI informant,” Nate got up and walked to the front of the room. He paced back and forth a few times, thinking.
“We could do the Spanish Turnabout?” Hardison offered.
“Last Call?” Parker suggested.
“The Dash ‘n Bash?” Eliot added.
Nate shook his head. “The Underdog Relay.” The team murmured assent at Nate’s choice of con as he clapped his hands together. “Let’s go steal the FBI.”
Two days later Neal entered his apartment and noticed one of his windows was propped open, letting in a breeze.
“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Neal said casually as he picked out a new bottle of wine and two glasses. He didn’t hear anything, but by the time he turned around a lithe blonde woman was standing in the middle of his apartment.
“Sophie says to say “I’ll always remember Greece,”” the woman recited, looking a little to the left of Neal’s head. She refocused on him and smiled, sharp and dangerous. “She can’t scale buildings, and you have two cops sitting out front.” Neal nodded and offered a glass of wine to her; to his surprise she ignored it to start poking through the paintings he had leaned up against the wall.
“Yeah, and they’ll stay there until Kramer is gone. You really think you can make him leave without me?” The woman waited several seconds before responding.
“Nate says we’ll do our job, but the less you know the better.” She looked back at him, eyes going distant before refocusing—telltale signs of someone wearing an earpiece. “And Eliot says he’s sorry.” Neal briefly wondered who this Eliot was but he brushed it off.
“Do you mind sharing?” Neal asked, tapping his ear. The woman grimaced.
“Nate says-”
“The less I know the better. Got it.” Neal held up his hands in surrender and took a seat at the table. The woman had stopped poking through his things, but her eyes were still flitting around the room—lingering a moment longer on several secret exits and hidey-holes.
“I see you made it through our security system,” Neal said, motioning to the open window. The woman grinned, her eyes flashing with excitement.
“It put up a good fight.”
“I’ll be sure to let Mozzie know we need an upgrade.” She nodded, then looked back at the window. Neal got the feeling she was about to disappear. “Is there anything I can do to help?” He asked desperately.
“Oh-!” She dug into her pockets and produced a simple black tie pin. “Wear this.” Neal took it dubiously before he realized it was a camera.
“This is impressive tech,” Neal said. The woman lit up, excited in a way she hadn’t been before.
“Hardison’s the best,” she said with a bob of her head. She turned to leave, hesitating at the window for a moment before ultimately deciding to pull open the door to the patio. She stepped out onto the balcony and levered herself up onto the railing.
“Do you have a name?” Neal asked, trying to keep his heart in his chest as she balanced precariously on the edge with no harness. She looked back at him and quirked her lips into a smile.
“Parker.” She jumped.
Neal just about had a heart attack as he raced to the railing, sure that he’d see her splattered on the pavement and Sophie blaming him for it—but she was gone. He caught a flash of a blonde ponytail down the street before an unmarked van drove silently off into the night.
It was only then that Neal processed the name she gave.
“Wait, Parker?”
Neal went into work the next day as normal, wearing the tie clip that The Parker had given him—and yes, Mozzie had been insufferable when he learned that The Parker complimented his security system—and was unsurprised to see Nate Ford chatting with Peter in the conference room.
“Neal!” Peter gave him the two finger point. Neal stopped at his desk just long enough to drop off his hate and hurried up to meet them. “Neal, meet Nate Ford, insurance investigator. We worked together at several points to chase you.”
“Worked against each other, really,” Nate added, his steely gray eyes raking over Neal, cataloging every aspect of his appearance in a way that reminded Neal unsettlingly of Keller. His eyes stopped for a half second on Neal’s tie pin. “I’m pleased to see someone finally caught you.” Nate’s hand shake was like placing his hand in a vice.
“Well, I only let the best catch me. Dare I ask why you’re here?” Neal shot a glance towards Peter.
“Nate is representing a client who recently recovered some rather priceless artwork,” Peter started.
“She requires it to be authenticated by the best. And since it’s right here in New York I figured why not see if you’re as good as I remember,” Nate finished.
“I won’t disappoint,” Neal replied easily. Peter clapped his hands together.
“Let’s go!”
They made their way to the Samuels private gallery downtown; a young black man working the front desk let them in, shooting a wink at Neal when Peter wasn’t looking. Neal was surprised to find the entire gallery empty, save for one painting with a man and woman standing in front of it.
“Your client rented the entire building?” Peter asked, curiosity and incredulity mixing in his tone.
“She’s a private person. Ah, Sophia!” Neal only had a moment to admire the way Sophie could effortlessly transform herself when he stopped dead at the sight of the man next to her.
His hair was longer than the last time Neal had seen him, but his blue eyes were just as cold. Neal would never forget the sound of his voice as he growled into Neal’s ear, or the bruising grip of his hands as he threatened to break every bone in Neal’s body if he hurt Kate.
“Neal?” Peter’s voice snapped Neal back to reality to see everyone—including Spencer, a name he would never forget even if he wasn’t sure if it was a first or a last name—staring at him.
“Sorry, I was taken aback by the painting. Is it really The Just Judges ?” Neal didn’t need to fake his enthusiasm for the art, and he tried not to skirt around Spencer as he went to inspect it. Spencer was obviously working with Sophie, though how she got Damien Moreau’s guard dog on her side he had no idea.
“Yes, part of the Ghent Altarpiece by Jan Van Eyck,” Sophie filled in. “My uncle had it in his attic of curiosities. He passed away recently, and I found it while going through the items he left behind. I wanted to ensure it was real before I donated it.”
“You’re donating it?” Neal was surprised, the Sophie he knew would never give up such a treasure.
“It’s not right to keep such a beautiful thing locked away,” Sophie said with a sad smile.
Peter engaged her more about her uncle and how he might’ve acquired such a piece, but Neal tuned them out. It was a masterpiece—and very, very real. Neal let himself examine it longer than strictly necessary, though he was hyper aware of Spencer’s eyes on him the whole time.
“Your verdict?” Peter’s voice pulled him from his awe.
“It’s real.” Sophie beamed at him. “The brushwork is impeccable, and the yellow is the right shade for the time. You could run some tests on the age of the canvas, but in my opinion it’s unnecessary.” Sophie and Peter talked a bit more before they said goodbye, though Nate said he would rejoin them back at the office.
Peter grabbed Neal’s arm once they were outside.
“What happened back there?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Cut the crap, Neal. Whatever made you freeze like that wasn’t the painting. What did you see?” Neal hesitated, torn between wanting to tell the truth and not wanting to blow up Sophie’s con—not to mention the fact that Spencer was certainly listening through his tie pin.
“The man in there with Sophia Bianchi,” he said slowly.
“You know him?”
“...he’s dangerous,” Neal said simply. Peter frowned.
“Dangerous how?” Neal shrugged. “Should we be worried?”
Neal shook his head. “He’s only as dangerous as whoever he’s working for—and if he’s working for Sophia and we’re helping her, we should be fine. Just- don’t run him.”
“What?”
“Don’t run his face through the FBI database. Trust me on this, it’ll be worse if you do.”
“Neal-” Peter put his hands on his hips.
“Please, Peter. He’s on our side for now—don’t give him a reason to change. Just trust me.” Peter didn’t look satisfied but didn’t press the issue further.
When they made it back to the White Collar office, Neal was surprised to find Sara waiting.
“Sara!” She flashed a smile at him—warmer than she’d been recently, but worlds away from what she had been before. “What are you doing here?” She frowned.
“I got your message that you needed- Nate?” She looked past him as Nate entered the room.
“Sara!” Neal watched the two of them greet each other like old friends.
“You two know each other?” Peter asked; Neal was glad he wasn’t the only one confused.
“Yeah, Nate was my mentor while I worked at IYS—before I transferred to Sterling Bosch.”
“I’d love to catch up, but I need to finish some paperwork for my case with Agent Burke. Are you free for dinner tonight?” Nate asked, his eyes flickering to Neal briefly.
“Oh, I, um-” Sara shifted uncomfortably.
“We’d love to,” Neal answered for her, slipping an arm around Sara’s waist. She shot him a startled glance. “You can bring Ms. Bianchi.” Nate nodded his head subtly.
“That sounds great, I’ll see you later.” Nate and Peter walked off. Once they were out of earshot Sara pulled away.
“What was that for?” She asked accusingly.
“What?”
“Don’t bullshit me, Neal. What angle are you playing?” Neal sighed.
“I can tell you wanted to catch up with Ford, and I want to talk more with Sophia—she’s got this amazing piece of art-” Sara held up a hand and he stopped talking.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” Sara narrowed her eyes.
“Don’t lie to me, Neal.”
“I’m not!” He wasn’t—he did want to talk to Sophie about the art and where she “found” it.
Later, once Nate and Sara had left, Peter pulled Neal aside.
“How did you know Nate and Sophia were together?”
Neal scoffed. “Their body language made it obvious. You act the same around Elizabeth.” Peter frowned.
“I do?” Neal patted him on the shoulder.
“It's a good thing.”
Mozzie was waiting at his apartment when Neal got home—drinking the rest of the bottle Neal hadn’t finished last night.
“Hey, Moz. I don’t have long—going out to dinner tonight,” Neal said as he went over to his wardrobe to pick out a different suit for the night.
“I don’t know what your “friends” are planning, but they’ve caught the attention of every criminal in New York—and some from beyond. Some dangerous ones.”
“Yeah?” Neal shot a glance over his shoulder as he flipped through his ties.
“Yeah. There’s rumors abound regarding a heist planned for a recently resurfaced Van Eyck. And funnily enough your name is attached to it.” Neal frowned, but didn’t turn his attention from his clothes.
“What?”
“Everyone seems convinced you’re going to steal it.”
“Well, I’m not.” Mozzie let out a quiet “humph” and Neal looked back at him. “You thinking of getting in on it?”
“Well, I was. But then I heard Eliot Spencer was going to be involved. I prefer to keep my limbs attached to my body, thanks.” Neal froze—that was Spencer’s first name? Now Parker’s message made more sense.
“I ran into him this morning,” Neal said, keeping his voice calm, even as he remembered the fear he’d felt at seeing the other man.
“What? Do you need to leave the country!?”
“Relax, Moz. He’s on Sophie’s crew.”
Mozzie scoffed. “Forgive me if I keep my distance. Oh! You should wear the yellow tie.”
“Everyone ready?” Nate murmured. The team chorused assent through the earbud. “Good.” He held out his arm for Sophie and they started walking down the street towards the restaurant they were meeting Neal and Sara at. “Hardison, are the rumors circulating?”
“Oh, yeah. The city is abuzz with talk about the art. I’ve put forth the information that at least two separate teams have assembled to steal it. And I’ve built a fault into the security system, so all Parker has to do is trigger it and she can nab the painting.”
“Okay. Parker, are you in position?”
“Yeah,” she audibly pouted. “I still don't like it. I mean, all I have to do is walk in and walk out. Where’s the fun in that? This building has an amazing vent system that I don’t even get to use.”
“Keep it simple, Parker,” Nate warned. “Once we sit down for dinner you can go. That should give us enough buffer time so Neal won’t be blamed.” Parker grumbled but acquiesced. Less than a minute later Neal and Sara appeared. “Sara!” Nate greeted the two of them and introduced Sophie to Sara.
“I’m impressed you got a reservation here, they book out months in advance,” Sara said.
“I know someone who owes me a favor,” Sophie said mysteriously.
“Make sure you try the ceviche, it’s Oscar’s best dish,” Eliot spoke into their ear.
They’d barely settled down at their table when Parker spoke. “The painting’s stolen.”
“Already? You were fast,” Hardison muttered.
“A little early for that, don't you think,” Nate said, pointing randomly at the menu to Sophie. They weren’t giving Neal much of an alibi.
“No, I mean someone else stole the painting. It’s gone.”