With an overly dramatic groan, Neal Caffrey lowered himself into one of the comfortable chairs scattered around his apartment. The other occupant of the room, dressed in a dark leather jacket and a white shirt, was not impressed.

While in normal circumstances, the sight of your own face staring back at you would be alarming, the two men in the room seemed comfortable with each other.

Of course, this had to do with the fact that they were twins.

"Remind me never to tell you your job is easy again, Bryce."

The other man in the room laughed, although he winced in sympathy when one of the many cuts on his twin's face began bleeding through one of the many bandages adhered securely to his injured body.

"Well, it would be much easier if people would stop thinking that you're me."

Neal said nothing, but silently agreed with the spy's statement.

Growing uncomfortable, Bryce reassured quickly, saying,

"I promise, Sarah and Chuck are arresting them as we speak."

"They better be arresting them as we speak. I don't like being beat up by Russians calling me 'Bryce'."

Neal, clearly trying to maintain the grumpy expression he plastered onto his handsome face, failed when he saw Bryce's guilty face. He cracked a tiny smile, obviously trying to avoid outright grinning.

Bryce, when he saw the reformed con-man's expression, grew an almost identical smirk on his face. Finally, the twins were laughing uncontrollably, despite the situation not really being funny at all.

The next morning, Bryce, still dressed in a pair of his brother's pajamas, barely remembered to put on a shirt as he answered the door to Neal's apartment. Although he wasn't awake enough to remember all the reasons not to answer the door, at least he had the sense of mind to cover up the two bullet scars in his chest.

In his defense, Bryce had stayed up all night with his bruised brother, watching Firefly and eating mint ice cream.

The only issue with this was, in Bryce's mind, that they were now out of ice cream. But he added to the list of problems as soon as the door was completely open. Peter Burke was standing outside, foot tapping in impatience.

"Neal! Why aren't you dressed? Hurry up, or I'll make you take the subway to work."

Bryce was about to respond, maybe explain how he would not be working today due to the fact that he was not Neal, when he practically felt his brother's blue eyes burning a hole in his back. Peter Burke, apparently satisfied by his wakeup call and the sufficiently surprised expression on Bryce's face, closed the door and stalked off, presumably to wait in the car or go kick a puppy.

Neal, jumping out of his bedroom, practically hissed at his brother as he herded him towards the closet holding his many suits.

"You have to go to work for me!"

He said, shoving a Devore jacket onto his brother's shoulders and handing him a pair of slacks. At Bryce's indignant look, Neal simply glared.

"I'm way too beat up for this not to be suspicious. Plus, he'd definitely know something was up if I answered the door perfectly fine and stepped out looking like I'd gone ten rounds with a tiger. Go!"

Bryce tried his best to argue. Well, for like two minutes, until he finally relented to his younger twin's begging. (Haha, older by six minutes. Suck it.) Neal, now grinning, shoved the hat onto Bryce's head as he pushed him out the door, giving last minute advice.

"My desk has the bust of Socrates, Peter's office is up the stairs next to the conference room, and don't flirt with Diana. Good luck."

And with that, Bryce Larkin the superspy found himself hopping into a Taurus with an irate FBI agent.

Bryce didn't know a lot about his brother's FBI handler beyond the background check he had run on him when Neal had begun working for him. But he wasn't expecting the agent to stop scowling, grin, and hand him a mug of coffee with the words "World's Best CI" printed on it.

"You forgot this at my house when you came over last."

He said, as if he hadn't just been growling at him to hurry up before he left him behind.

Bryce took the mug and sighed. How hard could it be, to pose as a criminal for a day? He was a CIA agent, after all.

Bryce found himself tested just minutes after getting into the car while the agent blabbed on about his wife, his dog, and how the remodeling of his kitchen was going.

He was surprised. He never made this kind of connection with his own assets, while his brother seemed to have charmed his way right into the FBI agent's heart. Bryce nodded or made noncommittal answers to questions. Peter was friendly enough, but going into a cover unprepared made him want to shoot something.

Of course, that was another problem with going under as Neal. No weapons, not even his throwing knives, plus the anklet chafing on his leg were making him irritable. He was starting to wish he had never given Neal the key to the anklet "for emergencies".

Closing his eyes, Bryce tried his best to think about Neal's disappointment in him if he would happen to kill his handler with a well-placed pencil to the neck. Not to mention Chuck. Together, the two of them were more threatening than any weapons dealer, torturer, or tiny, redheaded generals he had ever faced.

Peter glanced with concern at his partner, who had his eyes closed and was leaning against the door, barely sipping his coffee. Even though he looked relaxed, he seemed to be aware of everything that was happening in the car.

When he had opened the door, he had looked genuinely surprised to see Peter standing there. Peter shook his head. He was being paranoid. Just because Neal had his stupid hat on his lap and not on his head like he always did, no matter how many times Peter told him to take it off, was no cause for alarm. Probably.

At the FBI building, Bryce looked around in curiosity, although, to most, it probably appeared that he was simply stretching his neck.

However weird it was to go undercover as his twin, it was a pretty easy assignment compared to some. He had grown up with him, after all, and probably knew Neal better than he knew himself. Peter had passed him a stack of reports as soon as they got in the door, making some pop culture reference Bryce only vaguely recognized because of Chuck.

Having successfully found Neal's desk, Bryce got to work. It wasn't the worst thing he had done for the job.

Although he didn't quite have his brother's talent for forging, Bryce did his best with his brother's writing, getting a sample off of a sticky note stuck onto Socrates's head, barely legible around the artistic doodles decorating the page.

A black agent who passed by Neal's desk told Bryce that Peter had called a meeting in the conference room. To Bryce's surprise, the man continued walking with him all the way up to the room, talking about a Yankees game.

Bryce grabbed a well-worn rubber band ball off the desk as he walked up the stairs as an afterthought. Neal tended to not be able to sit still when he was bored, he knew, so he fidgeted with it throughout the meeting, which seemed to be the right choice. Peter grabbed it out of the air on the third toss with the patience of a man who had done it many times before.

A pretty agent, who Bryce had figured out was Diana. briefed the room in tag-team with Peter.

It was pretty standard stuff, a rich guy was stealing money from some rich couples with the backing of some mobsters, and the White Collar division had to stop it. Well, not exactly standard, but not exactly boring either.

It could be fun to solve a case as his brother.

Bryce quickly appreciated the irony when he was told he would be going undercover. He would be playing Neal Larkin, who was playing Neal Caffrey, who would be playing Nick Halden. Why they were sending an untrained, unarmed CI undercover was a mystery to Bryce.

Before heading out, Bryce stopped by the bathroom to call his twin. Neal finally picked up.

"How's it going being me?"

"Hard. How was I supposed to know not to drink the coffee here?"

Bryce complained, thinking back on his traumatizing experience in the break room.

"Haha. Did Peter assign you a cover yet?"

"Yeah, I'm going to be Nick Halden, which does not sound fun. You're lucky I owe you one, man. And you're lucky I'm so awesome at going undercover. What is that noise?"

Bryce asked, the crinkling that had accompanied Neal's side of the conversation getting to him.

"I made an ice pack out of frozen peas. Did you know we're out of ice cream?"

Bryce was about to answer when a loud banging came from the bathroom door. Peter yelled something for him to hurry up and Bryce quickly said goodbye to his brother, who was laughing now.

He hoped he hurt his ribs even more laughing at him.

Back at his apartment, Neal heard his brother cursing quietly under his breath on the phone as he hung up. At least Peter seemed to be buying it. And Neal was getting a free day out of it. Although he hurt pretty much everywhere, Neal thought it was worth it to imagine his brother in the smelly FBI van.

Neal was halfway through a sip of wine when June, humming an old blues song and carrying a basket of laundry, stepped into the room without knocking. Why would she? As far as she knew, Neal had left that morning with Peter, perfectly intact.

June took one look at Neal's guilty, injured face, and sighed.

Bryce did not like being Neal. The van stank and the stupid anklet was really uncomfortable. Although the undercover op had gone fairly well, Bryce was certain at least one of the perps had gotten away.

Peter was grumpy as a result, especially so when Bryce commented on the antiquated systems the FBI used. Chuck had higher quality surveillance cameras in his room than they did keeping watch on the whole mission.

Not for the first time, Bryce pondered the option of simply calling Sarah and Casey to take out the FBI agents in the painfully obvious van. Then he could go back to Neal's place and take a shower and change back into his comfortable leather jacket.

Peter looked at him strangely as he climbed into the Taurus, and Bryce really hoped he hadn't said the last part out loud.

"So, El said that you have to come over for dinner tonight."

Peter said, rolling his eyes. So he probably wasn't voicing his homicidal thoughts out loud. Bryce sort of remembered that El was Peter's wife.

"Uh, no, I couldn't."

Bryce stammered as Peter held up a hand.

"Sorry, Neal, you're coming. El says she needs your cultured palate. And I need you to eat the food so I don't have to."

Bryce blinked. All he really wanted was to go home, but he could tell Neal would want to go. Taking his silence as assent, Peter turned towards his house.

Pulling up to the Burke's house, a tidy, pretty thing, Bryce braced himself. He had already figured that Elizabeth was the real brains of the Burke house, although from the stories he had half listened to in the car, the couple complimented each other nicely.

Sauntering up the walk, Bryce tried to project the confidence his brother always did. A pretty, blue-eyed woman opened the door for them, greeting Peter with a kiss and Bryce with a hug. El looked at him for a second too long, and Bryce began to worry she saw through the ruse.

But then she smiled and led him inside, closing the door behind her. Bryce relaxed; there weren't many people there to fool, and he needed an exercise in going undercover anyways. Besides, the two of them hadn't switched places since they were kids.

A big dog came barreling excitedly towards the door, stopping with a little whine when he reached Bryce. He cocked his head, as if not sure about the person standing in front of him. Bryce barely avoided smirking. Dogs all loved his brother and hated him. Eventually, the Lab let out a small bark, like he was testing to see if it would get him in trouble. At Elizabeth's scolding, "Satchmo" slunk back to his dog bed, keeping a wary eye on Bryce.

Bryce had been to enough fancy galas to know fancy foods, although he had never been much of a wine man himself.

He made it through the dinner easily enough, although there were a few tough moments. Elizabeth seemed like she knew something was up with him, but she was pleasant enough.

Eventually, after all the dishes were done, Bryce finally headed back home in the passenger seat of Peter's car.

Peter, not for the first time, wondered about Neal. He seemed eager to get home, although normally, he would milk his visits for as long as possible. Peter and El never really minded. The last time it happened, they had gotten their kitchen painted.

Today Neal seemed especially broody. Although Neal loved dogs, he stayed clear of Satchmo. It was weird. But outwardly, he seemed to be acting perfectly normally. He even played with that stupid rubber band ball he had scrounged up somewhere. Peter wondered if he had forgotten some sort of anniversary, like the day Kate died or something equally traumatizing.

Peter broke out of his thinking when Neal got his signature mischievous look in his eye, the one that made Peter want to check for his wallet.

Neal began playing with the screen on the Taurus, making various beeping and flashing sounds that couldn't be good. Peter shoved his hands away, grumbling halfheartedly.

Yeah, Neal was fine. And now he had a GPS system set to Chinese.

Neal, safely ensconced at home, wondered how his twin was faring. June had finally left, scolding him about keeping a secret from Peter. Bryce should have been home by now, unless Peter had swindled him into dinner with El.

He grinned, wondering how that went.

Loud footsteps pounded up the stairs. And unless Bryce had gained 100 pounds and two more feet in the time he was gone, the people coming up the stairs were not friendly.

Neal reached for the fire poker as the door flew off it's hinges, splintering as it did so. Two men Neal didn't recognize burst through the hole where it used to be. Before he could protest that he was not Bryce Larkin, the bigger man pointed at him.

"Nick Halden! You rat. I knew you was working with the FBI."

He said, as articulately one can expect of a goon. Normally, Neal at least knew why the people who were pissed at him were there.

As a huge, meaty fist flew towards his face, Neal pondered the unfairness of getting beat up twice in as many days for things he hadn't even done. Neal, cracking one eye open, realized he had braced for an impact that had never come.

Opening both eyes fully, Neal saw Bryce, swinging a shopping bag around in one hand and punching one of the men with the other. Ignoring the surprise appearance (He had grown to expect it with his brother), Neal grabbed a frying pan out of the sink instead, dropping his fire poker.

Although Bryce was doing okay one on one, the second man kept throwing in punches to his face while the bigger one held him.

Sneaking up from behind, Neal swung his pan as hard as he could.

The smaller guy dropped with a satisfying thud, and while Thug #2 gaped at his unconscious friend, Bryce dropped him with a single punch. Stepping over the men on the ground, Neal approached his brother, who now had battle wounds to match Neal's.

"What's in the bag?"

He asked curiously. Bryce, grinning, pulled out a container of mint ice cream, undamaged by the fight.

"Woohoo!"

Peter, laying in bed next to his wife, groaned when he heard his phone ring. Don't be Caffrey, don't be Caffrey he pleaded silently to the air. The agent groaned once again when he saw the caller ID, complete with a picture of Neal looking smug to really rub it in.

"Yeah, Peter, you might want to get over here…"

Neal surveyed the damage to the apartment. It wasn't too bad, all things considered. Bryce had recognized the thugs, telling him that they were there at the bust Peter and he had pulled that day.

The two of them got to work, bandaging Bryce up and unbandaging Neal. If it really came down to a hospital visit, they really didn't want to explain why Neal had a different fingerprint, two bullet wound scars in his chest, and a different blood type.

For some reason, they didn't think that'd go over well.

As Neal heard Peter race up the stairs and Bryce dive into the closet, he rubbed his face to make the injuries seem fresher than they were. He also gave the thugs a small kick. No use having them escape and tell Peter how they were beaten up by two Neal Caffreys.

Peter, out of breath from his run, burst into Neal's apartment. Not that it was hard; the door wasn't even there. Neal, who looked slightly the worse for wear but okay, grinned at him through his injuries. His breath whooshed out all at once, his worry subsiding somewhat.

Yeah, Neal was back to normal.

Peter busied himself clicking handcuffs on the two perps as Neal explained what happened. One of the men stirred, muttering something Peter must have mistaken to sound like;

"Evil demon twins."

Neal just grinned at him.

Later that night, or more, early that morning, when the cops finally pulled out, Mozzie finally made his appearance.

Stepping through the doorway without a door with a look of horror, he froze when he saw the two at the table. Neal's spoon was halfway to his mouth, ice cream dripping off the end as he stared at Mozzie. Bryce could barely bring himself to glare as he shifted the bag of peas laying on his head. To top it off, a painting screeched and fell off the wall, a casualty of the fight that had occurred hours before.

Throwing up his hands, Mozzie calmly spoke.

"Nope. Nope. I didn't see anything at all. I'm leaving now."

Stepping through the doorway with grace, Moz grabbed a bottle of wine and opened it on the spot. Although his muttering was almost indecipherable as the two watched him leave, Neal was pretty sure he heard him add another comment about demon twins.

Shrugging, Neal and Bryce continued to eat their ice cream.