hahahahaha...

It really had been a while since he had last been to DC, Neal Caffrey mused behind his coffee cup, crowd watching at Union Station.

The place really was a beautiful piece of architecture, though he hadn't seen it in quite some time. And, of course, the last time he'd visited the capital, he certainly hadn't had an ankle transmitter—which was thankfully out of its jurisdiction—and definitely hadn't been working for the feds.

Peter had been a little more then reluctant to take Neal with him out of New York, but they'd been on the lead of one of the world's most dangerous con-artists for quite some time and Peter wasn't about to lose the trail cold just because he had a little bit of issues bringing Neal outside of the ankle's tracking range. And most dangerous, mind you, certainly not the best.

Because that prize belonged to a one Neal Caffrey, and that was one title he was taking to his grave.

Between the Amtrak and the Marc, and the subway all going on at once the station was abnormally crowded, with people bustling,

Of course, this wasn't anything new. People were always in a rush to get somewhere. Hell, even Neal should get going, before Peter started worrying more then he already was. The conman was sitting on a bench waiting fruitlessly for Diana to get out of the Victoria's Secret—no way in hell was he chasing her out of there—when he spied what could possibly have been the most delicious piece of artwork he'd ever seen.

Although it wasn't actual artwork, but this kid was as close to living, breathing art as anything he'd ever seen.

And at any rate, he obviously had to be something beautiful for him to catch Neal Caffrey's eye.

Neal was up in record time, easily sliding through the parting, shifting crowd, eyes never leaving the disheveled coif of distinct, unruly cinnamon hair. There was a moment in Neal's interception in which he paused, looked down at his watch, and then—

"Oh, god I'm so sorry—

"No, no, it's fine." Neal shook his head with a dazzling smile, awarded with an unguarded, closer look at the boy's face. Probably a little older then Neal had suspected, mid twenties, maybe. He really was something, Neal thought, to be able to unintentionally look like Buddy Holly and still manage to make it seem presentable.

The boy made a slight, apologetic little nod and then he was on his way, scurrying quickly off into the ebbing flow of people.

The conman allowed himself a little smirk as he walked back in the direction of the stores, slipping the wallet into his hands and perusing through it.

Huh, Dr Spencer Reid. Dr? The kid couldn't have been any older then—ah, twenty eight. Not bad. Very much so legal. Neal perused a little further, hundred twenty in cash, a few credit cards—a USAA health card? Was he part of the military or something…

The brunette paused as he fished out the boy's business card.

Dr Spencer Reid, FBI

Oh.

Oh.

Neal's brows raised. FBI? Was the Bureau fishing out of the kiddie pool now? Belatedly, the man realized that this poor kid was going to have a hell of a lot of trouble getting into his office if he didn't have his ID. Ah well, he still had his badge, right?

He probably should have felt guilty.

Nah.

"Oh, Caffrey!" Diana came out with a flushed, sheepish smile, carrying not one, but two pink striped bags. "I was looking for you."

"You didn't expect me to sit in pain forever, did you?" Neal smirked. "Are you ready to go?"

Diana nodded, scowling a bit. "Don't act like I took that long—and this was completely off the record, okay? Peter asks why we were so late, you tell him the train got held up."

"Deal." Said Neal magnanimously.

.

.

.

"Emily!" Reid called, flagging the woman down as he approached. "Sorry. Almost missed my train."

"You're fine." Emily smiled, gesturing to the coffee shop. "We still have thirty minutes. Wanna grab a coffee?"

The thought of the caffeine immediately brightened him. "Sure!"

Though the good doctor did have an eidetic memory, he thought nothing of the man he'd bumped into earlier on his way to work, though he had a picture perfect memory of his face. That was, until, he fished into his pockets for his wallet…

Only to find it wasn't there.

All he could think of was those brilliant blue eyes and that charming smile, "No, no, its fine." And then—

"That guy took my wallet!"