Neal walked into the office fedora in hand, sly stride in his step. He smiled charmingly at several of the female FBI agents as he passed them. There was a whistle on his lips, and a certain spring to his step that could only be attributed to some strange kind of happiness. He didn't know what it was about today, but today felt like it was going to be a good day. The sun was shining, the cabis were beeping, the pigeons were... well we won't go there. Regardless of that matter all of New York seemed to be happy right along with him, in it's own angry resentful way. And Neal would venture to say that Peter may actually be in a tolerable mood today.

"Neal get your ass up here! I don't have time for your dodling," said Peter growled from his office on the second floor. Well, maybe Neal had been wrong. The man squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and strode up the steps easily still whistling. "And stop that whistling, it's annoying."

"Right, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," it was said under his breath but the look Peter gave Neal said that the older man had heard it. He stepped into Peter's office, and took up residence on the arm of one of the chairs. "So what's with the brooding?"

"What do you know about Blackbird?"

"Blackbird the thief Blackbird," Neal asked. His eyebrows shot up, and his bright blue eyes went impossibly wide. Peter would use one word to describe his partner, shocked. It was very clear Neal knew something about Blackbird, and didn't expect to be hearing anything of the character. Which Peter found insanely interesting.

"Yes, that's the one. There is only one Blackbird after all." Peter said irritably his eyes moving back to the file before him, and the photo of the woman they suspected of being said Blackbird.

"Well not necessarily true Peter. There is the song Blackbird, by the Beatles. Then there are several blackbirds just outside on the sidewalk, or the-," Neal was cut off by a glare, and sighed worrying the brim of his hat. Peter had never seen the man before him look so positively frazzled.

"You know her don't you," it was rhetorical, Peter knew Neal and Blackbird had had dealings in the past. It said so in Neal's file. Which is precisely why this case had come to them.

"Correction, I knew her. I haven't seen her in, oh, five years. Just before she quit the business. Why, what do you have on her?" Now Neal was curious, and worried. He didn't like the idea of Blackbird getting caught. She was too good for that. She'd been just as good, if not better than him. It helped that she was a compulsive liar who never told anyone her real name until she really trusted you. And oh was that trust hard to earn. It also helped that she'd spent her entire life burying the truth about her past so deep underground that Neal wasn't sure what of herself was really connected to her past. It also helped that she had changed her name the moment she turned eighteen and left home.

"She's turned up. Well, I shouldn't say turned up. Her signature did on.. well you won't believe this, of all things-" this time Neal cut off Peter.

"Let me guess, a guitar? Or maybe it was a record? Or maybe it was Jon Bon Jovi's jeans from his first tour?" Neal smirked at the suddenly unamused expression on Peter's face.

"It was a guitar. How did you know?"

"She always had a thing for Rock and Roll. Never much understood it myself." Neal shrugged, and then sighed going back to worrying his hat brim. "But that's impossible, she quit. And Blackbird is one of those people who when she quits she quits for good. She went completely off the grid, sold everything she had, went civilian last I heard."

"You talk like you know her personally." Peter quirked a brow looking down at the petite good looking red haired woman in the picture. Yeah, he could see that. This broad and Neal. He could definitely see it. She was beautiful, no doubt, with sharp striking features. And those eyes, they were killer, a deep ocean blue with depths that looked like they'd seen the world and understood it quite well while still maintaining a childlike curiosity.

"Again, correction, knew her personally. Yeah, we were close, once." Neal said in a quiet thoughtful voice. His mind was already drifting far and fast to a place where Peter would never really understand. Peter understood Neal's love of Kate in some morbid mixed up way. But he'd never be able to understand the way Neal had loved Blackbird. Blackbird was his first love, the first woman who'd had enough sense to tell him to take his charming smile and compliments and shove 'em. He remembered it still, very clearly, the day he'd met her. He was in a museum, something he often did so as to scope out prospective pieces. She was there too, doing the same thing. Her hair was cropped in a short pixie like cut then, and that alone had Neal intrigued. What woman cut her hair like that? Well a hell of one, was the answer. So he'd immediately known he had to know her, even if he'd never see her again, he had to know her. He'd gone up to her with the most suave charming smile he could muster stretched across his face.

"I don't date men," the girl answered without even turning to look at him. She'd only seen him out of the corner of her eye, but she obviously knew what he was after. Neal, of course had been taken aback. How could such an attractive woman not date men?

"Excuse me," he'd sputtered trying to regain his footing as the smile slowly slipped from his face.

"You heard me, I don't date men. Now buzz off." She used one delicate little hand to make a shooing motion as her eyes remained firmly planted on the Van Gough before her.

"Then what do you date," he asked finally regaining his footing, and thinking this was a game of some sort.

"I don't date anyone. Now seriously off with you. I have work to do, and you're distracting me." Her blue eyes had never left the painting, and he wondered if she even cared what he looked like. All that seemed to matter was that she was not interested. But Neal Caffery had never been deterred, and would not be then by that small spit of a woman.

"You can't just not date anyone. You have to date someone. You could date women, men, both. But you have to date someone." Alright, so he thought this was some sort of cat and mouse game. He'd bite.

"Look," she said finally turning her ocean blue eyes on him set in a firm glare, "I don't have time for your nonsense. I don't know who you are-"

"Neal, my name is Neal," he cut her to the quick.

"Right, well Neal, as you say. I don't really care who you are. I'm busy, and you're interrupting. Now, be gone." She made the shooing motion again with her hands.

"Can't I get a name? I gave you mine, I mean really you can't be so pretty and lack the basic necessity of manners."

"It's Maria, now be off." She rolled her eyes, and turned back to the painting. Neal thought himself quite high and mighty at getting a name from her, what he didn't know until weeks later was that she was a liar, and that wasn't her real name. It was weeks later outside the same museum and there she stood angry. "You," she pointed at him as she saw him approaching.

"Me?" Neal asked immediately getting defensive at the rather aggressive posture the woman was sporting, and the rather angry glare her eyes were set in.

"Yes you, you Neal, you. You took my painting. I know you did. I saw your signature, you moron. You took my painting." She was coming at him now, and damn did she ever look fine when she was angry.

"Let's talk about this elsewhere." He grabbed 'Maria's' wrist and drug her half way across town to a little hole in the wall bar. She didn't fight the entire time, and he was actually surprised that such an angry little spitfire wouldn't at least protest. "Now what's this about a painting?" His tone was hushed as he sat in a booth in one of the darker back corners of the bar.

"The Van Gough, you took it. That was my mark, and you swiped it right from under my nose. Then left your cheeky little signature at the bottom." She ground out her finger drumming angrily on the wooden table.

"Wait, you're saying you were going to steal it?"

"I was. And you're a poor forger. I would have done a much better job. It's clearly a fake, anyone with half a brain can see that. Now just cough up my painting." She demanded holding out her hand like he'd be able to give it to her right then and there.

"What?" His voice raised several octaves as his eyes moved around nervously. Had the replacement really been that poor? He didn't think so. If so then how had this woman known? And who was she? If they were both thieves then they ran in the same circles, and he had to have seen her work.

"You heard me, my painting. Cough it up," she demanded again. Neal frowned.

"I don't have it here. Look I have it stored, but I'll give you the address of my apartment, and you can meet me there later and I'll give it to you." Neal couldn't think straight he was so flustered by the woman. Her eyes narrowed on him, and then she nodded seeming to decide he was being honest.

"Right, well I'll see you 'round eight then. Name's Chelsey." She offered and then she was gone. And that's when Neal realized she was a liar. He wondered idly if she gave him another fake name on purpose. Maybe she wanted him to know she was a liar. Whatever the reason he was left puzzled, and confused. He called up Mozz the moment he got back to his apartment. But he heard nothing more of 'Chelsey' for two months.

Neal shook himself from the memory, and frowned a little. "What were you saying Peter?"

"Well I asked how well you know this broad," Peter repeated slightly miffed that Neal seemed to be in his own little world.

"How well can you really know a compulsive lying thief? I guess I knew her as best as anyone ever has. I tell you Pete she isn't your girl for this. Blackbird wouldn't get caught. Sure, stealing a guitar is her style. But she quit, and went straight. She isn't your girl." Neal shook his head with a frown. He never understood why Blackbird went straight exactly, but he knew there had to have been a reason. And he thought it had something to do with him. She'd gone straight just after she'd left him.

"Maybe she got rusty in the five years she's been out of the game. Maybe she got sloppy. Maybe she wants people to know she's back. Maybe a lot of things. Either way her signature was on this fake, and you're going to be the one to prove it was her." Peter said holding up a very recent photograph of Blackbird. Neal had to restrain himself from snatching the photograph from Peter and examining it more closely. He hadn't seen the woman in five years, and not much had changed about her. She looked a little more mature, and her hair was much longer, but nothing else had changed.

"That's Blackbird. But I swear to you, this isn't her." The brim of his hat had become rather flat as he continued to worry it in between his finger. "And I'll prove she's not your girl. I'll prove she's on the straight and narrow. She's not the type of girl to change her mind once she decides to do something."

"Fine you prove it. I've got a meeting with her tonight at eight. You can come along, maybe she'll talk to you." With that Neal was dismissed. But Neal didn't go to his desk to work on his paper work, like he should have. No instead he trotted right back out that door he'd come in, and right back home to make a call to Mozz. If Blackbird was in town he needed to know where she was staying, and what name she was hiding under. He needed to know everything. Mozz would be the one to know, if anyone would know. But Neal had a sinking feeling no one would be able to keep track of a woman like Blackbird when she didn't want to be found.

An hour later found Neal and Mozz sitting at his kitchen table. "She's back? Really? Blackbird? She was the best of the best. Better than you even," Mozz sputtered on in some kind of morbid admiration. He'd always had a weird crush on Blackbird, even when Neal was seeing her.

"I know Mozz, but that's not what I need to know. What I need to know is where is she, and what alias is she under?" Neal's voice sounded desperate even to himself. He hadn't felt this desperate about Kate, even, especially recently.

"Oh you know I can't track her down Neal. No one ever could. I mean you kept tabs on her pretty well while she let you, but you know as well as I do that when she wants to disappear she does. And she wanted to disappear. She fell completely off the grid." Mozz frowned a little. There was only one woman who could get Neal more worked up than Kate, and it was Blackbird. That woman had been Neal's particular brand of poison, even more so than Kate. She was a thief, and despite her compulsive lying she had a kind of honesty in her eyes that you could always tell she was genuine. She was good to the core, just like Neal. She just didn't know any other way of going about living her life. Last Mozz had heard about her, she had a kid, but he'd never told Neal that. It would ruin the poor man to know that his first love had up and run off with someone else. It was bad enough he was dealing with this Kate thing, whatever it was.

"It's just so weird. Why would someone drag her up now? Why would they want to peg her for this? It's not even like the guitar is worth a lot. They could peg her for something more expensive. And who would want to frame her? She's not bothering anyone, she's completely off grid." Neal's fingers were running nervously through his hair as he tried to think. He was finding it impossible to think of anything but the past. That day 'Chelsey' left him in the bar it wasn't until he'd run into her at another museum elsewhere that he saw her again. And oh how she'd smiled and talked like they were old friends. Well, while people were looking. She didn't want anyone to know she was scoping out the place, and she didn't want him to cause a scene lest security get a good look at her. She'd given him a different name that time, Lucy. He knew that wasn't right either, she didn't look like a Lucy. But he let it slide. These run ins continued for a year before anything really substantial happened. Mozz, and he had figured out she was a thief known commonly as Blackbird, but nothing else. That's how he knew that the painting he had been scoping out had already been taken, and she'd left a calling card. It seemed she wanted him to find her, and she knew only he'd catch on. And so he found himself in the lobby of the Benjamin in a chair just hoping for a glimpse of the woman who had alluded him for a year.

"Neal," she grinned easily as she walked in the front door dressed in a pair of ballet flats, tights, and a dress straight from the 1920's. That was when Neal knew he was in love, that flapper dress had him hooked. Of course over the year of run ins a strange familiarity had developed. They were friends, sort of.

"Sarah," He grinned just as easily opening his arms, and expecting her to play along and walk into a hug. A hug that he will admit was too short, and gave away too much. He felt something strange for the petite woman in the strange get up with the compulsive necessity to lie constantly.

"Come on up to my room, the lobby is hardly a place for old friends to catch up." And so he followed her up several floors to a small unassuming room at the end of the hall. If she was as good as Mozz said she was, then she could afford a penthouse suite, but that would look too suspicious. She held the door for him, and then offered him a drink, which he graciously accepted. "So I see you found my mark. I guess you think you have me all figured out then?"

"No, I still don't know your real name. It's not any of the ones you've given me. What I have figured out is that you're probably my only true rival in our business, and it'd do me a great amount of good to get better acquainted with you." Neal had been nervous, alone with the only woman who could out do him, with a bed in such close proximity. Well, it was nerve-wracking.

"Oh that's such a shame. Here I thought you'd been drawn in by my charm and good looks," There was a playful smirk playing across her painted red lips that not even Neal could mistake. He may have been nervous, and oblivious, but he knew that look.

"Well I must say those helped at first, but I wouldn't have nearly the respect I have for you now had you not outshone me in my own field. And lord, do I respect you." His throat felt impossibly dry, and he'd licked his lips twenty times in the course of those lines. It all went up hill from there, and then drastically down hill. The following morning he woke up with a note on the night stand. There was a little blackbird drawn on it, and in perfectly curvy scrawl were the words 'I'll see you'. Yes, he was hooked. And he couldn't wait from that moment on for that woman to find him again. He knew he'd never find her, but she'd find him. He could only hope it'd be soon.

"Neal, you need to stop getting that dreamy look, people will think you've gone bonkers," Mozz said jabbing him in the arm with his short stubby finger.

"Right, sorry. I just can't help but think about her. I thought I'd gotten past it."

"You'll never get past her. She was your rival, and your match in every way. You never thought she'd be back, so you allowed yourself to fall for Kate. But you never quite got over her. All of us knew it, even Kate. Kate hated her for it." Mozz frowned a little. He could remember the angry look in Kate's eyes any time the song Blackbird would so much as come on the radio. She was jealous, and bitter that that woman would always hold a piece of Neal she never would. But as far as Mozz could see Kate had only wanted the good life. She wanted the things Blackbird had, not the problems she dealt with. Kate had never wanted Neal for just Neal. Which was what Blackbird had always wanted, as was evident by the fact that she was able to set him free when she had to.

"You know, I saw the list of aliases the FBI has for her. None of them are her real name, and even that name isn't the name she was born with." He remembered the night she'd told him her name. It had been two years into their relationship, and they had started getting serious. She would stay with him for lengths of time, and she'd even let him stay with her sometimes. It was very clear she had trust problems. But somehow Neal had managed to get her to trust him. They were laying in bed in her apartment, and he asked in the calmest quietest voice almost like a prayer being whispered into the air in hopes it'd get an answer. And that's when she rolled over to face him, her eyes set very seriously.

"My name is Scarlett. Scarlett Saxton Smith. I was born a Smith. I changed it to Linton when I turned eighteen." With that she kissed him soundly, and he held her as close to him as he could. He could tell from that moment on that she trusted him completely. Her name was something she held close to her chest. Even when she'd befriended Kate she'd never told Kate her real name. Kate only knew her nickname which was Blackbird. Neal'd decided to take to calling her that instead of Scarlett just in case. He didn't want her to lose the one thing she seemed to protect with everything she had, her anonymity. He respected her for it. Mozz didn't even know her real name, only Neal. He was the only one she trusted completely. The only one she was willing to give her name to.

"She may go by her real name now, since no one knew it," Mozz was saying as Neal came back to the present.

"I knew it. And she didn't want me to find her." If he didn't know better Mozz would think Neal actually looked sad at the thought. Like maybe he'd lost something instead of gained it when Blackbird had left him to Kate. That was encouraging. Especially since Mozz had a sneaking suspicion Kate was not the woman she always pretended to be.

"Yes, but you'd never tell another person it so they could find her. You could tell me it, and maybe I could hunt her down." Alright, so maybe Mozz just wanted to know the name behind the great woman. Well, then he thought maybe it wouldn't be so exciting. Half the excitement behind Blackbird was that no one really knew who she was, except Neal. No one really knew where she came from, or where she was going.

"No," Neal said firmly. "She trusted me with it, and I'd never betray her trust. Besides, I'll see her tonight. Peter set up a meeting with her."

"How did Peter find her," it was a valid question, but it earned him a confused look from Neal.

"I don't know, I guess through his FBI guys. I'm sure they keep tabs on people like her, they sure did on me. At least until we slip up just once and they can actually pin something on us. Maybe I can get her to come by for some coffee or something tonight. We should catch up." Neal drifted off in thought again, as did Mozz. They sat that way for quite some time, neither really sure how long. But each seemed to have a lot to think about. A person like Blackbird just popping back up was kind of strange, and disconcerting, and puzzling. "Well I guess I should get ready," Neal said finally hours later. "What should I wear?"

"Are you serious? The great Neal Caffery nervous about meeting a girl? No, no this will not do." Mozz tutted with a good natured smile. "Come on Neal, where is that good old confidence we all know and love?"

"As you'll recall, she didn't really fall for that suave thing. She kind of liked her men a bit more vulnerable." Neal smirked putting his fedora on his head.

"You mean she liked to be on top," Mozz joked which earned him a whack in the arm with a felted black fedora. "Alright, alright I'll help you pick something to wear. Jeez preening like a peacock, and worrying about what a girl will think. I don't know what happened to the Neal Caffery I knew."

"His ex came back in town and threatened to turn his world upside down again. I think I'd let her if she asked me." He was examining himself in the mirror, and Mozz rolled his eyes.

"You know you would, don't try to sound tough now. You'd let that girl tie you in a tree and pick your pockets if she chose. Now let's get you all dolled up for your date." Neal and Mozz spent at least an hour bickering and fighting over what to wear. Finally Neal was settled in a black suit, a blue tie that 'brought out his eyes' (Mozzie's words not his own), and a black fedora. He stood at the door of the bar fidgeting uselessly. Oh if only he hadn't given up smoking all those years ago at Scarlett's request, he'd have something to do with his hands while he waited for Peter. He wondered if this bar was picked because of it's proximity to his current residence. And if that was the case then who's idea was it, Peter's or Scarlett's? Well, hell, thoughts like that just weren't helping his nerves. He straightened his suit again, and bit his nail (something he usually never did).

"Nervous are we Neal," asked Peter as he walked up, an overly eager smile on his face. "You look like you're about to be executed."

"If you knew her, you'd be nervous too." Neal said in an overly fidgety tone. Peter quirked a brow and wondered to himself what it was about this girl that got Neal so worked up. Sure, she was beautiful. But Neal had been with a number of beautiful women, and this one was surely less beautiful than some of the models he'd been with. Sure, she was a thief. A thief that by record was more successful than Neal himself. That only had to warrant respect, not this kind of odd behavior.

"She must really be something special."

"You have no idea," was all Neal could answer waiting impatiently for the ok to go in.

"More special than Kate," Peter asked causing Neal to stop short as he reached for the door handle.

"Peter, you won't understand this much as I think you married your first love, but a man can really love more than one woman. I loved Blackbird first. She left me, just up and disappeared, and Kate was there to pick up the pieces. But as Mozz will attest, I never really got over the first. Sure, I found someone else, but I never really got over it. There was no closure. Just gone. And, lord, was she something else. You'd have to know her to get it." With that Neal opened the door, and walked as casually as he possibly could into the bar. Peter was close behind, but he just shook his head at what Neal had said. Nothing Neal said ever made much sense, but this made even less sense than most things. Neal was already headed toward the petite redhead sitting cross legged at the bar in a peasant dress with flowers pinned into her long hair. Well, that made sense. A girl who liked to dress out of period, and she was the one Neal was so nervous about. Peter hung back, finding himself a table close enough to listen but not too close so it looked like he was listening.

"Neal," the woman said not turning to look at him.

"You know, this meeting is strangely reminiscent of a few of our others. Especially your way of greeting," Neal tried to smirk, but found it giving way to a nervous laugh as the woman before him merely pursed her lips. She didn't look one bit amused, and Neal couldn't really blame her. They weren't meeting again on the best terms, and after the worst possible parting. Neal sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, before ordering a drink and taking up residence on the barstool beside Scarlett.

"What does the FBI want with me Neal? I'm clean, I've been clean for five years. I got out." She sounded tired in a way that Neal had never heard before. This wasn't the good tired, like when they were laying in bed at night and she was falling asleep on his chest. This was the kind of tired where she was stressed, and worried, and really didn't have time for nonsense.

"They think you stole a guitar. I tried to tell Peter you were out of the game. I told him once you quit something you didn't decide to go back to it. But it had your signature on it Birdie." He took a slow sip of his drink trying to avert his eyes from her, but finding it impossible. He just couldn't believe she was here, right in front of him. So close he could reach out and touch her. All that separated him from being with her again was his inability to convince her that that's what was best. But then he'd never been able to convince her of anything. She always had to come around to it in her own time. She was obstinate like that.

"Then someone is trying to frame me for it, get me put away. You have to do something," she turned to him finally with something akin to hope in her eyes. Before him sat a woman who knew she was in trouble, and was hoping to whatever deity she believed in that he'd help her out of it. He had a chance to be the white knight. He had a chance to prove his worth, to prove he still loved her. He had a chance.

"I..." He started then stopped, and wore on his lip nervously. Could he really promise her something he wasn't sure he could hold up his end on? What if he failed? What if she was put away? That'd be terrible. "I'll do my best," he finished lamely with a frown. She nodded and they fell into silence. But Neal couldn't let them stay in silence. He had to say something. He had to do something. There were so many questions running through his head. So many things he needed to know. "Why did you leave?"

"There are two parts to that answer," She almost whispered, and he frowned. Scarlett loved riddles, and puzzles, and confusion. And since she obviously didn't want him to know the whole of it she wasn't going to tell him. "One part you should ask your precious Kate about." It came out a little bitter, and he knew he saw hurt hidden under all those layers of lies. She was upset he'd moved on, and he didn't know why. But he needed to know.

"What about Kate," He asked reflexively, and then regretted it when he saw a deep scowl play easily on her pale lips.

"She's not everything she pretends to be Neal. She's the worst kind of crook, a dishonest one. She'll make you believe she loves you, and rob you blind. But then I don't have to tell you that do I? You know don't you? I heard she left you, robbed you blind while you were in jail." She must have caught the surprised look on his face because she bit her lip and sighed. "Yes, I kept track of you. You should know by now Neal, just because you can't see me doesn't mean I'm not there." She touched his hand lightly, and it sent a shiver up his arm. His hair was standing on end in seconds, and then he remembered exactly the effect she'd always had on him. But what killed him was that she'd always kept an eye on him. She'd cared enough to keep watch, and what had he done for her? He'd given up, and moved on. That's why she was hurt, and she had every reason to be. "Don't worry about it Neal." She whispered lightly near his ear, and another shiver went up his spine.

"I'm sorry," was all he could muster, but he meant it. They sat for a little while, her hand resting easily on his on the bar, and he refusing to look away for fear she'd disappear again. "And the second part?"

"Ask your FBI buddy. I'm sure he has everything about me on file." With that she kissed his cheek. Neal closed his eyes trying to savor and remember the feel of those lips on his cheek. Just those. When he opened his eyes again, she was gone. The napkin under his glass now read 'I'll see you', and beside it was drawn a little bird.

"Not if I see you first Birdie," He said quietly stuffing the napkin into his pocket before Peter could see it.

"Where did she go," Peter demanded charging up to the bar. "A waitress got in my way, and when she moved the girl was gone. Where is she?"

"She's not your girl Peter. She's still out of the game." His voice was quiet and slow. He was still trying to process everything Scarlett had said. Still trying to get the goosebumps to flatten out on his skin. But then he didn't want to for fear it'd be like she was never there.

"Oh God Neal, you promised to help clear her didn't you," Peter's voice was raised in that angry sort of way that Neal knew all too well. He merely nodded.