A/N: Yaaaay first White Collar fic. This may be confusing at first but it will explain itself in time. I have a simple economy in fanfiction – reviews for answers. ;D I'll try to update at least once a week, although I may need pokes and prods to do so.

Chapter 1: Partners

Neal could not stop fidgeting.

He and Peter had been waiting in the conference room for what felt like hours to the extremely impatient con man. He alternated between drumming his fingers on the tabletop to spinning his hat on a finger to playing with his hair. Peter had his back to Neal, looking out the window and over the city. His hands were on his hips and his mouth was pursed in suppressed annoyance.

Neal started drumming again.

"Will you cut that out?" Peter finally snapped, not turning around. Neal complied wordlessly, folding his hands in his lap and counting ceiling tiles as an alternate distraction.

They were both tense. Everyone had been lately. What had started out as a simple art thief had turned into a game of chicken with a very, very clever man. Or men. Neal had no idea.

Common knowledge amongst con artists was that having a partner increased the chances of betrayal but decreased the chances of getting caught – split the crimes, split the liability, double the tracks to follow. Most in the business were too proud to operate with a partner, but those who found reliable ones were well off indeed. Mozzie was proof of that.

Both men looked as Jones nearly broke down the door as he zoomed into the room, Lauren and Hughes hot on his heels. Peter was the first to speak.

"Anything on the surveillance footage?" he asked.

"You're not going to believe this," said Lauren as she and Jones laid out two files. Peter and Neal moved closer to see.

Each file had a still from a fuzzy surveillance feed. Jones pointed to the one on the left.

"This one is from a camera pointed north, just a few blocks west of Central Park. And this one," he said, pointing to the one on the right, "is from a southwest-facing camera a mile northwest of the other one. Notice anything weird?"

"It's the same guy," said Neal. "So what?"

"So," said Lauren, pulling out second copies of both photos and putting them on top. These ones had time stamps in the lower right hand corners.

"No way," said Peter.

"Taken within two seconds of each other," Lauren finished. "Either this guy's perfected the art of teleportation or there's something fishy going on."

"Could he have tampered with the time stamps?" asked Hughes, who looked puzzled. Jones shook his head.

"Body double?" suggested Neal.

"It's possible. We're trying to get more detail on the face. In the meantime, it looks like there's a new development."

Everyone within the sound of Lauren's voice looked closely at the photos. The fuzzy bunch of pixels were so far their only possible suspect – or suspects – in this mad tango.

"He can be in two places at once," Peter said, deflated. He looked at Neal. "Any thoughts?"

"Partnerships aren't all that common," he said, paraphrasing his earlier train of thought. "They're dangerous, but they can be used to throw law enforcement off the trail. Most con men are too proud to use them, though, which narrows our playing field somewhat."

"To whom?" Peter pressed.

"I'm working on it."

"Well, work fast," his partner replied. "There's a major art gallery opening a new display in a few days. We're already planning a sting, but if we have a name it'll be that much easier."

"Take me home and I'll get right on it."

Peter looked to Hughes, who nodded his permission for Neal to leave work and for Peter to escort him. As Lauren and Jones gathered up the files and photos, Neal, Peter, and Hughes exited the conference room.

"You'd better make good on this, Caffrey," Hughes said, prodding Neal in the chest as Peter went to his office to get his keys and coat. "This guy has stolen almost two million dollars in less than two weeks. We can't let him carry on like this. Who knows what it'll turn into."

"Understood," Neal replied earnestly as Peter rejoined them. He and Neal made their way down the steps, Hughes watching them as he stalked back to his own office.

In the elevator, Peter could not hold his tongue any longer.

"You're going to ask the short guy, aren't you?"

Neal nodded.

"Do I ever get to know his name?"

Neal shook his head. Peter sighed, and neither man spoke again until Peter stopped the car in front of June's residence.

"Good luck, Neal," Peter said as Neal got out of the car.

"Don't need luck, Peter," Neal said before shutting the car door and heading inside. He had already half-dialed Mozzie's number before Peter had driven away, shaking his head and clucking at the impudent con man.

Mozzie had come over as quickly has he could manage, which, in his case, took well over an hour. Neal was relaxing, no longer fidgeting now that he'd had some alone time.

He explained the case to Mozzie in as much detail as he could remember, going over everything that came to mind – he wished he'd had the sense to ask for a copy of the case file before he left. But he felt he'd hit the important points – not-so-standard art thief, two places at once, two million in two weeks, big sting operation, et cetera.

He had to pause for a drink of water when he finished his ramble.

"Anyone fitting that description pop into your head?" Neal asked, a ray of false hope as he sat back down with his glass in hand.

Mozzie bobbed his head from side to side uncertainly. "Well, partners do narrow the field down, but they widen it at the same time. I've heard that Mitchell Cameron, that painter from Maine, has been working with someone, but last word I got, he was in Mexico chasing a woman and her ten thousand dollar diamond bracelet. If someone does have a partner, they're not likely to advertise it, or spend time together."

"Like what old Firefingers used to say, right?"

"Excuse me?"

"Firefingers. Tory. The guy who always said 'work together, hide alone, lest you fall together.'"

"You actually remember his platitudes?"

"I held onto every platitudinous word, Moz."

Mozzie cocked an eyebrow.

"Then you'll also remember his tirade about the stench of cops?"

"The FBI are not cops," Neal retorted.

"Law enforcement, cops, same thing. Firefingers hated them. Probably still does."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Are you going to look into it or not?"

"Yes, I will look into it."

"Thank you."

There was a brief silence. Neal stared at Mozzie and listened to the sound of the city streets below.

"He who lingers gets caught by justice's long fingers," Neal sang, smirking.

"Will you stop quoting that crazy old bat?" Mozzie snapped.

Neal cackled as Mozzie bustled out of the dwelling and back into the underworld.

A/N: Firefingers is an OC. And yes, he will pop up eventually. This was mostly just exposition. I hope you liked my lame beginning (I've always sucked at starting things!) and I hope that you'll leave me a nice review and keep reading. =D