A/N: Um... moment of insanity?

"You know, this is the first time I've been on this side of a break in."

Peter shot Neal a hard stare.

"Not that that means I've been on the other side, of course."

The agent closed his eyes and let out a long breath. "Neal…" he started, slowly.

"…Shut up!" Two voices roared at the same time.

Neal paused, wondering for a moment if he'd heard Burkes in tandem. Shaking that (frankly rather frightening) thought away, he ignored both the agent and the burglar. "I feel like I've been ganged up on."

The thief and Peter glanced at each other. Peter sighed. The burglar's trigger finger twitched.

Neal promptly shut up.

That, of course, lasted for all of thirty seconds as the thief rifled rather unprofessionally through the ex-con's apartment. Neal winced. "Oh, taking on a mark as big as the Schinasi Mansion and not knowing what you're looking for. Or even who's here. Peter, I can't believe we're being held up by this guy!"

Peter tried counting to ten silently. Of course Neal would actively try to piss off the only guy with a gun at the moment. Or weapon. Or even with his hands free. Yeah, sounded like Neal. Hopefully the burglar would decide not to shoot him along with the con artist.

"Really, man, really? What are you – did you seriously just spit on my floor?" Apparently their thief was fond of chewing tobacco.

"Shut up!" the guy said again, waving his gun around for emphasis. Peter stared. Spit DNA on the floor and screw around with a weapon like it's some kind of toy. Oh, he was never telling the office about this. He'd be laughed straight out of the FBI if any of them caught wind of the sheer ridiculousness of one of their best agents being held up by a burglar of this guy's caliber. Or lack thereof, at any rate.

A few minutes passed in relative peace before the burglar seemed to give up (if there was one thing Neal was good at, it was hiding his valuables – or maybe the thief really was just that dumb) and left to search the rest of the mansion. Mere seconds after that, Neal was up and out of his seat.

The next series of events passed quickly. First, Neal headed over to the kitchenette, apparently forgetting that Peter wasn't an escape artist like himself. Then the door slid open, the burglar having apparently forgotten his tobacco from where he'd left it on the table. Neal picked up a rolling pin. The burglar stepped inside, gun holstered in a (by now expected) move of utter stupidity.

Neal hit the would-be thief over the head with the rolling pin. Hard.

The burglar's eyes rolled back in his skull and he collapsed, knocking his head on the doorknob in the process.

Peter sighed, stared, and sighed again, wondering how much paperwork this was going to cause and how to get it through the office without anyone finding out about it. He looked over at Neal who was grinning like a loon and had yet to untie Peter, and made his resolution then and there.

He'd make the conman do it.