A/N: Enjoy.

Set after "The Portrait" but before season one's finale.

"Do it and I'll send you back to prison."

"Save it, Neal. One more word and you're gone."

"You look good in orange!"

Peter never forgets that Neal's an ex-con. It's not that he minds, really. But Neal certainly wishes that he didn't feel obligated to remind him every other word or action.

"Don't even think about it."

Undaunted, Neal grins and quirks an amused eyebrow from his casual seat on the agent's desk. "What? It's a good plan, Peter. Admit it."

It's a simple case. An art thief had decided to make his career in NYC, stealing paintings from various museums. He was pretty talented, except for one thing. All of the paintings were by the same artist. It made his moves predictable – enough to set a trap, but none of the museums were willing to put their collections even more at risk. Neal had valiantly offered to take the time out of his schedule to paint a forgery to draw the thief in. Like he had said, it was a good plan.

Unfortunately, Peter is firmly against it after what he suspected had happened with Julianne's portrait. Neal hadn't done any legitimate (if it could really be called that) forgeries for the FBI since.

"Neal," Peter starts, and from the tone Neal can tell the agent is in a genuinely upset. A few consecutive late nights/early mornings could do that to you. "Do it and I'll have them order your size in orange."

Neal can't quite stop the flicker of irritation from crossing his features, but it's gone before anyone notices. Hopefully.

"Come on, Peter," he says, definitely not whining, "what can I do in a room full of FBI agents watching my every move?"

Peter shoots him a Look and Neal realizes that maybe that wasn't the best thing he could have said, all things considered. "I don't know. You tell me; you're the conman."

Yeah, really bad mood.

"Your trust in me is inspiring," he quips dryly, idly twirling a pen with his fingers.

"It only goes so far with you."

"You have any better ideas?"

"Not yet. But I'd prefer something that wouldn't wind up with you back behind bars."

"Christ, Peter, will you knock that off? I get it, already." Neal finally snaps, slamming the pen on the agent's desk. Peter jerks in surprise, unused to seeing Neal with less than superb composure. "Why are you so certain that I'm going to end up back in prison anyway? My end of the deal is to help you guys – that's what I'm trying to do." His narrowed blue eyes and tightened expression slowly relax into something calmer. Maybe those late nights were getting to him, too…

"I'm going to go work on some cold case files," he says, smile firmly back in place. He slides off the desk and heads in the general direction of his own.

"Neal…"

He closes the door behind him.

Lunch is a tense affair that day, with both Peter and Neal stuck inside with packed lunches. Of course, Neal's is something fancy and high-quality made by June's cook, and Peter stares down at his deviled ham which, as much as he enjoys it, looks nowhere near as appetizing.

Neal doesn't bother with his usual stream of chatter, focusing far too intently on his – was that glazed salmon? – lunch.

Peter breaks first. "Listen Neal, if this is about the forgery…"

"That's not it."

He waits for him to continue, but the consultant is conspicuously quiet.

"Then what is it?" Peter asks, exasperated. He can't think of anything he'd done that was so out of the ordinary that it would faze Neal, let alone make him angry.

He doesn't really expect a straight answer, so when Neal finally looks up, spark of anger lighting piercing blue eyes, he's more than a little surprised.

"I'm a conman, an alleged thief, an ex-con, and there are consequences, I get it. But dammit, Peter, you don't need to threaten me with prison for every little thing I do. Will you make up your mind already? If you don't want me here – for something one of your guys did, mind – then just say it outright and send me back."

The hell? "Neal, what are you talking about? I don't threaten you with prison for everything, and Fowler is not my responsibility."

"Oh yeah? Just this morning." He made no further comment about Fowler.

Peter thought about it and had to hold back a wince. He had been rather awful that morning, certainly making prison very obvious three times in less than five minutes. Not one of his best moments.

"Neal, you know I'm not serious about that."

"I can't tell. It's the same every time, whether you think I'm actually going to pull something or not."

"Would it help if I smiled when I said it?" For a second Peter couldn't believe that had actually come out of his mouth.

Neal froze, an odd expression crossing his face.

"Listen, I'm sorry. I didn't know it bothered you that much. I'll try to keep it to a minimum – unless you do something really stupid, of course."

The consultant tilted his chair back, crossing his arms almost petulantly. "I guess." His lips quirked slightly. "You could stand to come up with some better arguments anyway. It's not very imaginative, is it?"

Peter let out a silent sigh of relief. "No, I guess it's not."

They sat in companionable silence for almost a full minute before the ex-con spoke up. "So does this mean I can paint that Matisse, now?"

"No, Neal." He hesitated, not quite sure if he should risk it, then added, "We could see if they'll bring back the old stripes instead of orange, just for you."

Neal's eyes narrowed until he actually looked at the agent.

Peter was wearing the biggest smile he could muster.