Undisclosed Desires – Summary – Neal and Sara grow closer while working together in their search to find Gerhardt Wagner.

Tag and extension to episode 2x15, 'Power Play'; it does contain missing/deleted scenes adapted from the original script.

Warning – The story does contain a scene and references of threat.

Disclaimer – I do not own White Collar or any of its characters. No Copyright infringement intended.

Thank you to Mel, Jamie, and Gabi for their help and feedback, and a special thank you goes to my wonderful beta, lstuds, for all her work and helpful suggestions.

Undisclosed Desires

It has been said that we all wear a mask to hide who we truly are, to protect us from the pain and shelter ourselves from the harshness of life. We play a role; we adopt a façade to weave our way through the seemingly endless days. I know because I wear one myself. But when someone comes into our life and sees through the veil what then?

Neal stares out at the rising glow of the dawn. He hadn't slept at all last night. He is keen to blame his discomfort only on clammy sheets and the stifling temperatures gripping the city as the current heat wave reigns on.

Watching the sunrise is something he's become long accustomed to doing. He wakes up early, sometimes on his own accord and sometimes because of the nightmares of flames and the tears of losing Kate. He's found that staring out at the first glimmers is calming, and it helps him put things into perspective. He marvels at the rays of pink and orange as they dance across the blank, cloudless canvas. He inhales deeply, breathing it all in. When he was locked away in prison, he had longed for the feeling of freedom.

Sometimes he still feels trapped; the small weight of his tracking anklet serves as a permanent reminder that he's still serving out his sentence. And the unanswered questions tied to Adler and the mystery of the music box pull him back from the path of moving on.

With a shallow breath, Neal moves from the terrace and back into his apartment. He picks up the artist's pallet and his brush. He turns his attentions to the beginnings of the work of art in front of him. With the light day's breeze tickling through his hair, his eyes gaze off into the distance, while his brush glides over the canvas.

A light knock at the door pulls his attentions from the easel. He sets down the pallet and grabs the graying paint rag. He wipes the flecks of paint from his hands before he turns the door handle.

"Morning, Mozz," he greets his friend, who's standing in the hallway looking a little disgruntled in a loose fitting cotton shirt and an iced tea in hand.

"This heat is unbearable," Mozzie grumbles, stepping into the apartment. "I haven't slept for more than an hour at a time in the past two nights."

"And we all know you need your sleep," Neal says as he shuts the door firmly behind him. The little guy has told him many a time how he cannot function without his much-needed rest.

"That I do," Mozzie replies in a matter-of-fact manner and settles himself into a seat at the table. He takes a long sip of the iced beverage.

"Practicing your technique?" Mozzie's head inclines to the picture in progress. The colors are bright and bold, the lines and detailing are more modern than a lot of Neal's earlier work.

"And thinking…." His nightmares don't occur every night now, they are becoming fewer and fewer. He's moving on, or at least trying to. When he'd first lost her, the void seemed so vast and all encompassing. He'd never thought he would move past the love that he governed the last few years of his life; the pain of that loss had been too great. It still hurts, but it's fleeting. He knows he has to move past Kate, and he thinks Kate would have wanted him to. But sometimes he almost feels guilty for it. For having the opportunity at a life that Kate should have had.

"Kate?" Mozzie says her name; he knows Neal is trying to move past her. He knows his friend is trying and he knows when it comes to the subject of Kate, Neal is keen to keep everyone at arm's length.

If Neal is honest with himself, he does still think about her and he always will. She'll always be a part of him, he's come to accept that and he's okay with it.

"Adler," Neal supplies. Vincent Adler is really the only thing holding him back. His old boss may hold the answers to why Kate was taken from him and from the world. Neal feels that he owes it to her, and to them, to uncover the truth.

"Then, in that case, I have good news," Mozzie offers. He sets down the empty plastic take-out cup and sits forward. "I can have the gas canisters brought here by the end of the day."

"Thanks, Mozz," Neal answers gratefully. Once the gas canisters arrive, Mozzie can start work on the antenna, and they'll be one step closer to finding Vincent Adler and maybe the truth of Kate's death.

Sara Ellis weaves her way through the busy streets of Manhattan. She brushes the hair from her face; she frowns as the tips of her fingers touch against slightly clammy skin. It's barely nine AM and the temperature in the city is already soaring. She's headed to the F.B.I building. She's been back in the states for just about a week and, after recovering from jet lag and catching up on all she's missed at Sterling Bosch; this is the first real chance she's had to visit Peter and Neal with her findings.

She's thought about Neal Caffrey more than she probably should while she was away in Argentina. And if she's really honest with herself, her wandering thoughts had little to do with the fact that she was in South America searching for answers. Sure, she'd spent weeks looking into the mystery of Julian Larssen for Neal and his quest for resolution. But as she found herself lying awake on warm nights listening to the blurring fans and thinking of Neal, she knew something more was going on.

Sometimes she just hates herself. She likes him and she likes spending time with him, but she really doesn't want to. Her father had always told her to never believe a con man, to never trust words spun from a man who makes a living on his smile and his tricks.

She can't pinpoint it exactly; she just knows that she's seen Neal as less of a con man and more of someone she wants to get to know. He's someone who's fun to work with and who keeps her on her toes. She puts it all down to working together to catch Larssen, to giggling with him over prank calling Peter and their fleeting and faked shotgun marriage.

Her and Neal, she keeps reminding herself, is completely illogical. It would be doomed to begin with; two such different individuals would be a relationship of heartache that she doesn't need nor want, and yet she can't quite quell the burning attraction. No matter how much she convinces herself that she can.

She spots him immediately, seeing him peeling away from the F.B.I building and stepping onto the street just a little way in front of her.

"Neal." His name passes her lips, and she feels a wide grin tingling at the corners of her mouth. The irony of the situation isn't lost on her; of course she runs into him in the middle of the street. Seeing him again without Peter Burke acting as a buffer wasn't really what she'd had planned.

"Sara." He flashes that big, white, and perfect smile of his. He looks well, she thinks idly. The ever present fedora is perched on his head; he looks brighter and happier than she remembers.

"Hi." She returns a genuine smile and shakes the hand he extends in front of her; it is good to see him.

"When did you get back in town?" he asks, still smiling his perfect smile at her.

"Just a few days ago."

"How was Argentina?"

"It was hot." Though those stifling temperate were only partially responsible for keeping her awake on those warm, feverish nights. She's already unzipping her bag and reaching for her files as she continues on. "But very interesting."

"What did you find?" he asks, moving the subject from awkward small talk and on to the reason she was journeying across town to come and see him.

She digs her file out of her bag and hands it over to him. He takes it gladly, flipping through her findings. "I figured out where those crates we found were being smuggled out of." She points at the first picture. "It's an estate in Southern Argentina."

"Love what they've done with the place," Neal mentions in a sarcastic tone. He stares down at the photograph she'd managed to snap of the demolished estate while it was still awash with bright orange flames.

"Yeah…. Someone burned it down. And I'm pretty sure it was Vincent Adler." She watches Neal's jaw tighten just a fraction at the mention of Adler's name. She'd researched Adler as soon as his name had been brought into the whole mystery, and she knows the man was Neal's old boss. "I think this is where Adler was hiding after he fled the U.S."

"This is good." It gives them a fresh angle to go on, and that's more than they've had since the arrest of Julian Larssen.

"Yeah." She pushes on to reveal the rest of her information. "I also met some locals."

"And some llamas." Neal's attentions are focused back on the file he cradles in his hands and stares down at the one candid picture she'd taken.

"Yes and some llamas." She catches the glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes as he studies the unfortunate looking animals; the ones that she thought were cute in an oddly endearing sort of way. She concludes that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and she points her index fingers at the next photograph. "Um, this is Rosa. She worked in Adler's kitchen. She said he was obsessed with finding a German soldier named Gerhardt Wagner."

Neal's brow creases at the mention of the name. "Who is he?"

"I don't know." The trial ended with the soldier, all the leads had dried up, and she'd accepted that she didn't have the authority to look into the matter further. "But hopefully the F.B.I. can find out."

"Alright, I will pass this on to Peter." He looks up from the files, tucking the photographs into the depths of the files. He flashes her that winning smile of his and he finishes with a genuine, "Thank you."

"It's good to see you," she says once they've covered the business side of things.

"You too."

Neal smiles and his gaze holds hers. She smiles back and struggles for something else to say to him.

"Call me…?" she ventures and earns a quizzical look from him. "When Peter finds something…."

"I will," Neal merely nods at the request, and they share a brief smile. She idly tries to convince herself that she is only asking that of him because she wants to know what the buried secrets regarding Wagner are all about.

"Okay," is shared between them and they both turn to leave. She sashays away, her step is a little bouncier now that she's seen him, and that fact isn't at all lost on her.

It takes her only a split second to realize they're headed in the same direction. She cranes her head and she's walking just slightly ahead of him. She turns her attention to the people on the other side of the street while the smile trails from her face. It's only then that she turns back to him. "Are you really going this way?"

"Yeah," he slurs with an almost uncertain smile.

"I hate that…."

"The awkward goodbyes after you've already said goodbye…."

"Yeah." She's normally so confident and sure of herself. And normally she really does hate those awkward little moments. Only she doesn't necessarily hate the seconds of quiet uncertainty. It's more she's unaccustomed to feeling this way. It's silly and it's foolish. She almost feels like a teenage girl with a high school crush.

"I'm going to grab a coffee," he offers quickly; with the sun beating down on the sidewalk, an iced latte sounds tempting.

"Bye." She strides away with a beaming smile on her face.

For Neal, the day has been full of new or unforeseen events. A trip to the Microbrewery Banquet Hall, a favor to Elizabeth, now has him masquerading as an FBI agent while they investigate Andrew Stanzer, to discover the true cause of the city's blackouts. And Peter's digging into classified files has produced a new angle into their search for Gerhardt Wagner.

He leaves June's, trailing behind Peter and Mozzie. All he wants now is a long swim to clear his head in order focus on the week ahead.

Sara walks at his side, and they peel away, leaving Mozzie's voice to trail off into the night. Neal can't help the slight chuckle of amusement as Peter tries to convince Mozzie that the USA government is not conducting mind control experiments. The little guy is of course having none of it, and Neal thinks that his poor unfortunate partner is going to have a long trip home.

"Are we doing this again?" Sara asks with a chime of laughter as she and Neal both step up onto the sidewalk.

"I guess so." He turns his head to look at her. "Are you headed home?"

"No. I'm going to go grab a bite." Peter had shown up late at her office, pulling her away to Neal's apartment before she'd had a chance to order dinner. "What about you?"

"Just to the gym." He always visits the gym late in the evenings. It's become somewhat of a tradition, just getting him out of an empty apartment for a couple of hours and in the company of others. And sometimes after a long hard day, it's a welcome relief from frustrations.

"Really?" she questions, and he offers her a curious, sideways glance. "I just, I took you for more of a sit up, push up in the morning kind of guy." She realizes she's probably given far too much thought into how Neal Caffrey maintains that lovely physique of his.

"Nah. I swim." Neal feels the prickle of uncertainty at the back of his neck. He turns cautiously to look over his shoulder and sure enough, he spots the dark figure. Alarm dances its way to the pit of his stomach; they are being watched. He suspects Sara is being followed.

"Yeah?" she continues on, making small talk and she's seemingly unaware to the fact that they are not alone. "How does that work with your ankle bracelet?"

"It's waterproof." He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and leans in towards her. "Are you trained in counter surveillance?"

"Are you checking about the guy at our six o'clock?" she answers his query with a cocky smile.

Neal takes hold of her hand, gently twisting her and pulling her to him.

Sara knows it's a cover, a mask of inconspicuousness. It's so they can spy on the man who's lurking just beyond the shadows. But her pulse quickens a little as she feels the warmth and strength of his body pressing against her smaller frame.

"So the answer's yes?" Neal murmurs. There's a glimmer of excitement dancing in her eyes. He can't help but notice that she appears to be enjoying this.

"Yes." From the distance, Sara spots their shadow's form stiffen just a fraction. Then he comes to a full stop. "And he knows we made him."

"How long do you want to stay here?"

"'Till we see what his next move is."

Neal smiles at her reply; if she wants to play games then he's happy to indulge her. He shifts his body and he turns them around so he has the vantage point. "Much better," he whispers back at her.

"That's not fair. It's my game," she says through gritted teeth. She much prefers things on her terms, and she tries to turn them back.

"Nah, we take turns." Neal holds her firmly in place. He watches the figure raise his arm; he's signaling for backup. "He's making his next move."

A black car hurtles out of the darkness and screeches to a halt in front of their mystery man. The figure is inside the vehicle in the blink of an eye while Neal sprints towards it. The car squeals away into the night, and Neal strains his eyes to read the registration. Unfortunately, it's unmarked, leaving Neal with not much to go on.

"You okay?" he asks as Sara now makes her way to stand beside him.

"Yeah." She nods and reaches her hand to rest against her lightly fluttering heart. "Yeah I've been followed before in my line of work." It comes with her job; those high stakes are very much a part of the career path she's chosen.

"Whoever he is, he knows you're working for us." Neal is quick to conclude that Vincent Adler most likely had Sara followed since her return from Argentina.

Sara nods again, releasing that baited breath she's been holding on to; she's suspected the exact same thing.

"Do you want to come back inside?" It isn't lost on him that Adler may very well be responsible for Kate's death and the attempt on Mozzie's life a matter of weeks before. He doesn't want to add Sara as another casualty to that list.

"No, I think I'm just going to catch a cab home."

"Yeah, okay." Neal reaches for her arm and leads the way to the street to get her a cab. She's all too aware that she's lost her appetite for pad Thai, and all she wants right now is a stiff drink.

Sara realizes she's shaking just a little as she makes her way home to her empty apartment in Park Slope. Neal had seen to it that she got safely to a cab to take her home. He'd even offered to take her home in his landlady June's car, though it was out of his two mile radius. She'd refused, waving off his concerns and telling him that she was perfectly fine.

But after she's paid the driver, and she climbs the steps to the door, she feels her calmness ebb away little by little. She punches in the numbers of her combination on the electronic keypad. It's not at all lost on her that she's had to install the new home after an attempt was made on her life not that many months before.

There's a bleep as the security system accepts her password and she opens the door. But she catches herself glancing back into the darkness over her shoulder just in case. There's no one there and she feels a little foolish as she crosses her way into the building. She makes her way slowly into her own home, immediately sliding the chain on the white wooden door and then dropping her keys in the dish on the table beside it.

Sara sits down on the couch and slips the heels from her feet. She lets out a light sigh and stares into her quiet and darkened room. It occurs to her that as much as danger and excitement is a part of her lifestyle; if it wasn't for her hidden feelings for Neal, this would be one mystery she may very well consider leaving unsolved.

The following day, after an early morning briefing, and filling Peter in on the events outside June's, Neal leaves the FBI offices. He makes his way across town to the city's Immigration Archives center to meet Sara. He's worried for her. Too many people he cares about have been hurt because of his involvement with Vincent Adler. He doesn't want Sara to be added to that list of causalities. He has every intention of following Peter's advice of staying close to her.

Neal walks along the busy sidewalk, and he spots Sara through the throngs of the crowd. He picks her out from the scurrying pedestrians easily; the way she walks is deliberate, strong, and distinctive. He weaves his way across to the other side of the street.

"Hey." He catches up with her quick stride and she turns her head into his direction, smiling in greeting.

"Hi," Sara says with a sideways glance, and they fall into step with one another.

"Did anyone follow you?" Neal quickly looks over his shoulder to check that the dark, looming figure isn't tagging along after Sara this morning.

"No. You?"

"No. All clear."

"They said over the phone that it could take up to four weeks for us to get access to those files," she informs him.

"That's alright." Neal flashes his winning smile. "I've got a plan."

"Are you going to share that plan with me?" He's so confident and she knows immediately that he has no intention of going down the proper channels to gain access to the information they need. He merely grins and extends his hand toward her. She takes it, and smiles back at him.

They make their way up the stones and towards the archives building. Neal's eyes drift toward the direction of a teenage boy who is standing at a street-vending stand. It's the child's shifty stance that holds Neal's attention. He can't be more than thirteen years old. His clothes are a little worn and shabby, and he tries to casually slip a pair of sunglasses into his school bag without the vendor noticing.

"Excuse me," Neal says lightly to Sara, peeling away from her side. Sara stands still, folding her arms and she watches keenly as Neal steps forward towards the boy.

"Hey, kid."

The boy raises his head sharply while his hand pushes the pair of stolen glasses further into the depths of his bag. He smiles questioningly and tries to play it cool, but Neal catches the look of guilt mingled with both shock and surprise. "Yeah?"

Neal places his hands firmly at his waist and tries to prefect Peter's well-practiced stare of disapproval. "You want to put those shades back?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, mister." The kid in front of him shrugs his shoulders but his eyes are focused elsewhere and certainly not on Neal.

"Peter Burke, F.B.I.," Neal flashes his badge and the boy's calmness falters.

"The Feds?"

"Damn straight." Neal moves a couple of steps closer and points his finger towards the school kid's bag. "What else have you got in there?"

The boy places the sunglasses back in the original place on the vending stand. "Nothing, I swear."

"Okay, I believe you," Neal says with a small smile. Just from watching this boy's reaction, he doesn't believe he's a bad kid. They don't start off bad, Neal thinks to himself. He remembers being this kid.

"Can I see your badge?" the boy's eyes glitter with enthusiasm.

"Sure," Neal holds out the badge for the boy and the kid utters a 'wow' and smiles broadly. He's clearly very impressed.

"It's a lot more fun to use one of these than to have it used on you," Neal utters his words of wisdom, the experience he has most certainly learned the hard way. "Understand?"

"Yes, Sir." The boy nods. "Thanks, Agent Burke."

"You're welcome." Neal reaches forward to pat the boy gently on the shoulder. "You hurry along now. I'm sure you have somewhere better to be…like school?"

The boy nods in agreement before he speeds off. The proprietor of the stand smiles and mouths a 'thank you' in Neal's direction.

Sara tucks her stray curls behind her ear and Neal moves back toward her. She can only smile at him. Of course he's good with children; Neal Caffrey is full of surprises.

"Let me see that." She pulls at his hand, so she can get a better look of the badge. She's mildly impressed and more than a little dubious as to how he's acquired it. If she didn't know better she'd have thought it was authentic.

"Peter knows," he replies automatically to appease that critical look that quickly spreads across her pretty features. "The broad strokes."

She lets out a small chuckle and raises her brow just a little. She probably doesn't want to know why Peter would even allow it, so she says nothing further.

"Shall we?" Neal gestures to take her hand into his once again. He smiles his charming smile and she lets him, before they stride toward the Archives building.

"This is it," Nancy, the forty-ish Archives Administrator says as she leads Neal and Sara into the records room. "Records, ledgers, card catalogs." She points to each separate section of the room and smiles. She's been nothing but helpful since she learned the pair was working in the interest of the bureau.

"Which ones are from 1946?" Neal asks, staring around the room that is stacked and filled to the brim with information.

"All of them." Nancy smiles again with maybe a hint of commiseration at the large task that lies ahead of them. "Excuse me." She moves between them before she leaves the room.

Quietly, Neal and Sara move between the tables to stand in the center of the room. They stare around at the large space stacked with old files. This is going to take a while, Neal thinks, and he brushes a hand against his slightly clammy forehead. With the present heat wave and only a scattered few fans acting as the rooms air conditioning this isn't a task he relishes.

"I guess we just jump right in." Neal shrugs his shoulders and moves to the nearest shelves. Sara mutters in agreement and does the same.

"You were pretty convincing back there, with the kid and that badge Caffrey," Sara comments as she pulls out a dusty file. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?" Neal feels his brow furrow and crease as he asks the question.

"Lie." The one word statement leaves her lips. She stares and waits for his answer. She knows she shouldn't encourage any justification of his behavior from him. And the way his mind works shouldn't fascinate her. But it does all the same. Neal Caffrey is the most fascinating mystery that she's come across in a long time.

Neal holds his tongue for a moment and considers his reply. He wonders whether he should just feed her some line. A good con man never reveals his secrets after all. But he finds himself telling her the truth. And he suspects it is not only because from all his experiences with Sara, he knows she's so damn good at weeding the facts from the falsehoods that spring so willingly to his lips.

"The key is not to lie. I have to believe every word of what I'm saying."

"So you really think you're an F.B.I. agent?" Sara asks incredulously and sits herself at the table.

"I am." Neal offers a shrug of his shoulders but he lowers himself down in the chair opposite her. "At least for the case Peter and I are currently working on."

"But that's not who you are," Sara states with certainty and a shake of her head.

Neal holds her gaze; he stars into those unyielding green eyes of hers. He knows from experience that she isn't about to give him an inch. She's so black and white. In his line of work, he's learned to see the shades of gray; to bend the rules, to shape the lies into the acceptable and the believable.

"You like to think of me as a criminal, but people aren't all just one thing." He watches her fold her arms across her chest. She's always been so quick to brand him, to label him as a con man and keep him at arm's length. And he understands it, it's a natural survival instinct and it keeps her safe.

Sara takes in his justification, but she doesn't buy it, not for a second. Ever since she's known him, he's tried to justify his actions. She protests as she reminds him of the one factor that separates him from her; "You are a criminal, Neal."

"Everyone plays a role, Sara, every single day. They go out, they go to work, and they solve the case and catch the bad guy or they wait tables or they sell cars. Then they go home to the ones they love or they sit alone."

"Okay…" Sara can accept that much, but she still doesn't buy his defense or his reasoning. After all what he is capable of doing put him behind bars. "But they don't break the law."

Neal leans in closer, keeping his voice clear and crisp. "My point is that they all put on a façade. Even you, Repo. And when I con people, I become the character. I play a role."

He doesn't say anything further and she doesn't challenge him. He lowers his head back down towards the files in front of him and she does the same. He pulls out the yellowing documents and old photographs and she steals another glance in his direction. She might not agree with who he is, or like the way he thinks, but Sara can't deny that Neal doesn't continue to intrigue her.

Night slinks its way slowly in through the day and envelops New York City; Neal sees the shadows lace their way across the corners of the room. He's just been watching them idly for the past half an hour as they spread themselves thicker and deeper into the room, covering and concealing everything in their path.

Neal sets the last of the crumpled pages back into the file with a loud sigh in the otherwise quiet and still records room. He catches Sara's eyes look up at him from under a veil of long lashes. There's nothing more frustrating to him than looking for a needle in a somewhat endless hay stack.

"Maybe we should call it a night?" she suggests. She's happy to continue on, but Neal's becoming increasingly more restless and it's beginning to irritate her.

Nancy had left hours ago, and there's only the security guard patrolling the halls. The now very accommodating administrator had even gone as far as to supply Neal with a key to come and go as he pleased. Sara has the good old Caffrey charm to thank for that one.

"Yeah, good idea." Neal brushes his hair back from his slightly moist brow. If anything, getting out of this stuffy room with the buzzing and seemingly ineffective fans would be a great relief.

"Yeah…Okay." Sara sighs and admits defeat. She gathers the books and files she collected from their scattered arrangement across the table. Neal does the same in quicker, more eager movements and he's soon disappearing into the never-ending rows of stacks. Sara busies herself by sliding the folders back into their place on the musty shelves. Her shoulders are stiff and she stretches her arms to loosen the tight muscles.

"Quite the long day, huh?"

His voice startles her just a little and she folds her arms back to her sides. She knew he was lost somewhere in the stacks putting folders into their rightful places, but his steps are quieter and catch her a little off guard. She tries to ignore the telltale fluttering within her heart. And she tries to ignore the fact that she still feels somewhat ill at ease that someone may have been following her ever since she got back from Argentina. She brushes the thoughts away, she turns to face him and she smiles. "Yeah."

"Do you want to grab a bite to eat? My treat?" Neal suggests. He, himself, is restless. The corners of his eyes are stinging from glancing at countless numbers of forgotten pages and his neck, and back ache from being hunched over.

Sara only smiles and answers with a soft, "Yes." She really isn't in the mood for going home and sitting alone in her quiet apartment.

They set the files back into the endless stacks and lock up the records room for that night.

Once back out on the busy streets, Neal takes her hand into his own once again that day. They fit well together, and he can't help but notice. Her small hand links so comfortably with his larger one. They mingle past other couples out for the night under the stars of the bustling city. They talk about an art exhibit he wants to see as they stroll casually down the sidewalk.

She leads them to a bar just around the corner. She's been there before, months ago, on a date with a man who was less than memorable. In fact the only thing notable from that evening was the food, soft lighting, and jazz from the establishment itself.

She recommends the spiced honey chicken to Neal, and he heads off to place their order while she finds a quiet table by the window. Sara settles herself onto the high stool and watches as Neal carries two glasses of wine back towards her.

"So…" Neal begins when all idle subjects of conversation have been covered, and he's setting their second round of drinks down in front of them.

"So?" Sara meets his eyes, waiting for whatever is coming next out of his mouth.

"You going to tell me what your angle is in all of this?"

"My angle?" She can't help the slight niggle of hostility that betrays her tone. She's doing this for no other motive other than she respects Peter, and whether she likes it or not, she can't help but care for Neal. He's probably right not to trust her completely, given as she's not sure how far she can trust him. It occurs to her, that given their pasts, it's probably easier to define one another as the con artist and the bounty hunter.

"Why are you helping out?" he continues with a ruffle of his shoulders. "Spending your vacation days flying out to Argentina? Giving up your evenings to go digging through dusty, old records?" He has to ask; in Neal Caffrey's world, people aren't always necessarily nice or just. Sure, there are people like Elizabeth Burke that have befriended him and have good, kind natures. But they are rare. The majority of people he's come across have had a hidden agenda. It's made it hard for him to trust people. And certainly, from what he's seen from Sara Ellis, the somewhat ruthless woman doesn't do anything without the promise of her own personal gains.

"If Adler's spent his life searching for something then it means the payoff's got to be bigger than the million he's already stolen." She has to admit that the thought of capturing Neal's old boss is very appealing on a monetary level.

"That's all?" Neal questions, his crystal blue eyes tell her that she's not very convincing.

"I like the mystery," Sara offers then. He returns a wry smile. It's his turn, for one of the very few times, to listen to her and not believe a word of what she is saying. She feels uncomfortable in her own skin and watches while Neal's smile slowly fades from his lips and attentions drop immediately back to his glass of wine. He takes a large sip of Bordeaux and it's clear he doesn't believe her. Not for a second.

It occurs to her that she wants him to trust her. She's doing this for him after all. She takes a shallow breath; but if she's honest with herself, she's not even really sure why she wants him to believe her and understand her motives.

"I know what it's like to have a lot of questions."

"Really?" Neal sets the glass back down on the table. He focuses his attentions on Sara once again. Her voice is a couple of notches lower. She's tentative, and she looks and sounds sincere, but he decides to remain dubious. The Sara Ellis he remembers from the courthouse and the days of hunting him down is shrewd, manipulative, and tricky.

"When I was thirteen, my older sister ran away from home and we never heard from her again." She keeps her tone soft and her eyes focus firmly down onto the table.

Sara's confession takes him off guard. He hadn't meant to push her and he'd never suspected anything like that. But then if life's taught him one thing, it's that you never do know the secrets held beneath the shallow film of strength.

"I'm sorry," he tells her softly. Neal doesn't truly know what to say, he hadn't meant to pry. He's good at reading people, it's a gift, and he knows from the sad, haunted look on her face that she isn't lying.

Sara looks down into the dark depths of her wineglass. It still hurts to talk about her sister. She doesn't discuss Cynthia Ellis's disappearance voluntarily; even with her therapist, it had taken a few weeks for her to build up the courage to discuss the aching void her sister had left within her soul. And yet, with Neal, the words spill from her mouth without a second thought.

"I was always my daddy's little girl."

Neal offers a small grin at that thought. It doesn't really surprise him. With those big beautiful eyes of hers, he can imagine Sara's father would have done anything for his daughter.

"But Cynthia, well she was wild and beautiful. She was independent and she had this fire…."

Neal takes a small sip of wine and he can't help but think that those qualities were probably apparent in both daughters.

"I used to go into her room and just look at her things and hope that something held the key. You know, if there was a book about dancers I'd wonder if she was a ballerina. Or," Sara pauses, lost in the recollection. "There was a pony poster so I wondered if she was off on a ranch somewhere. And I never found the answers I was looking for."

Sara remembers her therapist stating that maybe she went into her line of work because, while she had never turned up anything on Cynthia, her career choice meant that she was searching for and recovering precious items daily. Items were so easy to both steal and recover while maybe her sister didn't want to be found.

"Did your parents look for your sister?" he asks tentatively, breaking her thought process.

"Yeah, they did. They hired an investigator for a while but… nothing ever came of it." Sara takes a fragile breath. "And now with my parents gone…it all seems…" She doesn't finish the sentence. Sometimes, late at night once her work is done and she's alone in a bustling and lonely city, she really believes she's abandoned Cynthia. That she let her down by not searching the earth to bring her big sister home.

The truth is she's moved on because she hadn't known what else to do. She used to want nothing more than to find her sister and bring their family back together. But now, with everyone gone and all the questions left unanswered, moving forward seems like the only logical thing to do.

"I'm sorry," Neal repeats like he did the other day. He doesn't know what else to say. The past few months he's filled his days and his nights with his quest for answers. He has to know the truth; he can't imagine spending the rest of this days not knowing why Kate was taken from him. Why Mozzie was shot and why Vincent Adler seems so hell bent on keeping the truth hidden from the world.

Sara shakes her head in an attempt to keep her composure. She's resolved a long time ago that some questions, for whatever reason, go unanswered and are left buried and lost in the past. She has to be alright with that.

"It's in the past," she reiterates what she tells herself practically every day.

Neal doesn't say anything, his fingers trace idly up the stem of his wine glass. Sara seems so lost when she talks about her sister. He knows from experience that no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that Kate is gone, and he has his own life to lead, the past has a nasty habit of encompassing all his thoughts of the future and his intentions of moving forward.

"But…" Her tone rises to a pitch laced with hope. Her eyes lock with his; she pauses for just a moment. "You have a chance for closure with Kate, and with Adler. And that's why I'm in."

"Okay." Neal smiles softly. He believes her.

"Okay?" she repeats in a questioning tone.

Neal nods. He never expected Sara harbored those kinds of secrets, but he is touched that she's so willing to help him find an answer to his own buried truths.

"Well then…." Sara stretches her arm towards her glass. "More wine?" she proposes after taking the final sip from her glass. She's not giving him any opportunity to ask any further questions. It takes a lot for her to open up at all when it comes to the subject of her sister. She's sliding off her seat as he nods his head. She sashays away, calmly brushing a hand through her falling locks as she approaches the bar. She's surprised she's confided in him, and she's even more surprised that her heavy heart feels that little bit lighter.

It's Saturday, the evening of Stanzler's event, and time for the FBI to close the case of the city's blackouts. Neal and Sara hadn't talked much after her revelation about her missing sister. He'd been busy with the case, and posing as Agent Peter Burke, leaving Mozzie to watch after Sara in the likely event that Adler was still having her followed.

"Hey," Neal says as he comes to stand beside Sara.

"Hi." She glances up from the aging, crumpled file in her hand. In truth, she's grateful for the distraction of pawing over old records and countless photographs.

"How's it going?"

"Slowly." Sara sighs and sets down the file on top of the half a dozen others that she's yet to look through. "Mozzie's taken the stacks on the left, and I've got these."

"Not the best way to spend a Saturday night," he commiserates.

"No, not really," she sighs. The task is showing itself to be long and arduous and she feels her eyes stinging from tiredness and the strain of pouring over small and faded print.

"Everything set for tonight?" From what she's gathered from talking to Peter over the phone and Neal himself, Peter is playing the part of a con artist while Neal poses as the FBI agent for their latest case involving the blackouts.

"Yeah, Peter's actually fitting in well to the role of the con."

"Guess he had a good teacher," Sara admits. She chuckles a little at the thought. If anyone can teach a crash course in the art of the con, it's got to be Neal Caffrey.

"Mozzie's the…"Neal's about to say Mozzie's the man to thank for Peter's impeccable transformation, but Sara cuts him off by surprise.

She moves forward on instinct to straighten his slightly crooked tie. Her fingers hook around the silk garment and she adjusts it. He always dresses impeccably; he always looks more like a male model than an FBI consultant. And she knows she's holding on for a little too long when he lowers his sparkling blue eyes down to meet her own.

Neal doesn't pull away from her touch. He finds that he really doesn't want to. He trying to move on with his life, and Sara's come right back into it. And she's smart, sexy, and has an uncanny way of keeping him on his toes. He has to admit that sometimes he doesn't like it, or the way it plays out for him, but now as they work closely he finds it unbelievably attractive.

Sara lowers her gaze from those intense eyes; she wants to move in closer and act on her suppressed desires. She hasn't been able to stop thinking about him.

It hurts her ego a little that he doesn't act on impulse; that he doesn't close in on those last couples of inches of space between them. Normally, Sara's the kind of woman who makes the first move when she likes someone. She's been that way all her life. She's the kind of person who sees what she wants and gets it. But, with Neal, things are different; she's still wrestling with the fact that she's really not sure she should be falling under the spell of a con man. And she knows in the back of her mind that he's still in love with his lost girl.

Kate.

Sara clears her throat and her figures uncurl themselves from his tie. She knows the making a move on a man who's still clearly struggling with matters of the heart is really not a clever idea.

"You clean up nice, Caffrey," she tells him casually. She brushes her hand against the fabric of his lapel in some feeble gesture of explaining why she was so close to him moments ago.

"Thank you," Neal mutters in reply. He looks almost disappointed that the contact has vanished between them. But she thinks that maybe she's imaging it; that the heat and the stuffiness in the stacks is clouding her mind and her judgment.

She backs away a couple of steps. "You go do your thing. Mozzie and I will keep looking."

"Okay." He knows he should probably get going. Elizabeth is waiting and Brooke is counting on him. "I'll stop by after the party."

"Yeah, okay. Bring me back some bar food," she utters as a hopeful request. With all these hours researching, she's quickly tiring of candy bars and chips supplied from the vending machines down the hall.

"And beer," Neal says through a smile. "Who works late in the stacks without beer? Especially late on a Saturday night."

"And beer," she repeats, returning his broad grin.

"I'll be back later."

"Yeah." Sara smiles back at him and they share one last look before Neal peels away and disappears behind the stacks as he heads for the exit.

Neal strides confidently and finds Mozzie buried amongst the stacks in the far edge of the room. "Hey," he utters in greeting and tries to ignore the strange contraption resting atop of the little guy's bald head.

"You all set, Mr. Suit?" Mozzie's enjoying this whole switching of identities about as much as Diana and Jones have been back at the bureau.

"Yes. Everything's in place." If it all goes well he should be back soon to aid in the search for Wagner. "Keep an eye on her."

"Yes of course. The little lady will be safe under my watchful eye." Mozzie thinks back to what Sara had implied mere hours before. Neal had asked Mozzie to stay with Sara because two pairs of hands going through the apparently endless records would be quicker. Neal had also, of course, been worried about Sara's welfare given that their old 'friend' Adler was having her followed. But now Mozzie also thinks that maybe Neal is a little more invested with the insurance investigator than Neal is willing to admit.

"Thanks Moz." Neal pats his friend on the shoulder before he turns to head out.

"It's blindingly obvious you know," Mozzie calls after him.

The sentence causes Neal to falter, and he turns back to face his friend.

"What is?"

"You and the insurance lady."

"Mozz," Neal utters in mild dismay.

"And don't even try to deny it. I have a nose for this kind of thing." Mozzie taps the tip of his nose to illustrate his point.

"Good to know," Neal tells his friend. He offers a final smile and pretends that there isn't an ounce of truth shining back in Mozzie's eyes. Mozzie doesn't offer another word on the subject.

I had to work a lot harder fitting into your world than you did fitting into mine.

It's been both an eventful and successful evening. With Andrew Stanzler now caught and the case officially wrapped for the night, its Peter's words that run through Neal's head. Neal had watched as Peter slipped seamlessly back into his role of career man and beloved husband. Neal had looked on as Peter and Elizabeth had been reunited. He'd watched while Peter's wedding ring was placed back onto his finger, before the Burkes had headed home, and just happy to be in each others' company. They were content, for them all was right in the world for tonight.

Now alone once again, Neal heads back into the banquet hall and mingles in with fading guests. After the evening's action, most people have begun to peel away to their homes and back to their loved ones. His partner's words stay with him; he thinks that while Peter had to act differently and learn the trick of the con for the case, it's actually he, himself who had found it harder.

In the past, the lies and the games had come so readily. Neal used to rely on trick and illusion to con. He lulls people into a false sense of trust. But that's all it is: an illusion, a fleeting mirage. It isn't real; even in the throngs of the game and the heist Neal knows that.

Mozzie would most likely call it an epiphany while Neal calls it cold realization.

He can play the role so well and he can make anyone believe it, but he can't fool himself into believing he has the happy marriage and the perfect life. Tonight, just like any other, he'll go home to an empty apartment with a million dollar view.

He knows in the back of his mind that he wants normalcy; he wants love and someone to go home to.

Neal moves to the bar, asking the caterer to put together whatever food they have left. He remembers from their rooftop meal that Sara has a taste for spicy foods; so he adds in a request for the peppery mini quiches Peter had bitten into before turning slightly red and quickly requesting a glass of water from the nearest waitress.

Peter and Elizabeth are lucky. In spite of the job and the people both he and Neal catch, Peter goes home to warm smiles and dinner with the one he loves the most. His best friend makes it seem so very possible that happiness can be achieved, that forgotten dreams can come true again.

And as Neal hails a cab and makes his way back across town, he wonders if it all can be that simple and that easy. To have someone in his life that loves him and cares for him no matter what. He ponders whether he will ever be fortunate of having someone to go home, to and share secret smiles and tales of not so great days at the office.

Maybe, someday, Neal can have that chance once again.

He walks into the Archives center and down the hall to the room where he's spent so much time in the past couple of days. He pushes in through the double doors and walks into the quiet, dimly lit space. He finds Sara up a short flight of stairs, her concentration caught up with the pages on the table in front of her.

He comes to a stop, watching her for a moment. She's soon aware of his presence and she turns around. She meets his eyes while he stands there silently, holding her take out dinner behind his back. Her gaze narrows in her quiet questioning. He soon gives up what he's hiding, and brandishes the tin-foil swan in a faux-swimming motion. Her wide eyes twinkle with recognition and she laughs softly.

"Thank you. I was starving." She takes the offering from him eagerly. "Mozzie's in the other room looking at microfiche. How was your night?"

"Oh the usual," he replies readily, brushing a hand through the back of his hair; though his night has been far from usual.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Neal deposits his jacket on the table before leaning casually on the counter behind him.

"What'd you get me?" Sara asks excitedly; food being very much at the forefront of her mind. She peels the foil open and smiles down at the contents inside: spiced chicken, a favorite of hers. She's mildly surprised he even remembered. She realizes, of course, she should know better; Neal is the master of seduction. But instead, once again, she thinks that Neal can really be sweet. "Oh I love gourmet finger food." She giggles at the gesture, and she's aware that she's only falling further under his spell.

At the precise moment, the lights dim out, and she looks up in alarm. She is startled momentarily, though the darkness somehow makes being around him that little bit easier. She's attracted to him, and right now she wants nothing more than to act on impulse and opportunity. She's been trying to convince herself for weeks that getting close to Neal is a bad idea; his heart belongs to someone else. She's too canny, and her heart is too fragile, to get caught up in that. To be left hurt and feeling rejected is not something she wants ever again. The pain still lingers after being left behind by her sister, and then her parents.

Sara keeps her personal life simple and fairly uneventful; she revolves solely around her career in an effort to protect herself from the disappointment. It's through her work where she gets her thrills and satisfaction. But recently she finds that she's been craving more; the routine re-possessions and traveling to exotic places hasn't been enough.

Being around Neal excites her. She's never met anyone quite like him before. And getting a glimpse into his life, and seeing how he works, makes her want more than a bland and boring routine of work, sleep, and more work. With Neal she feels like she wants more. She wants the excitement and the intrigue. And, in all honesty, that scares her.

Her ex-fiancé, Bryan McKenzie, had never made her feel this way. But then dating, and then becoming engaged to, her boss had just happened. Their relationship hadn't been passionate, at least not on her part, and she hadn't wanted to truly give her heart away. Bryan, and their engagement, had fitted easily and seamlessly into with her already monotonous routine. It seemed perfectly logical. It was a safe option. No man has ever reduced her to a weaker and feebler state. She hasn't let them; she's never given them that power.

He waltzes back into her life, with his charm and his smiles, and she isn't so certain of her choices anymore. It isn't love; she's wise enough to know it's merely attraction, and yet she finds herself wanting that life that Peter Burke had advised her to go after and embrace. Being in the dusky surroundings with Neal, she finds herself wanting to let go of some of her lingering fears and insecurities. The darkness seems to offer her a sense of comfort, and the luxury of acting on her feelings.

Neal glances upwards at the shadows stretching up toward the ceiling. "Guess the blackout finally caught up with this grid," he concludes.

"Yeah….Moz…," Sara steps forward, in search of the little guy's cautionary aid. "Mozzie gave me a lantern. It's just…," she reaches forward in the dim room, brushing past him as she moves. The slightest contact with him weakens her at the knees, and she really wants to hate herself for it.

He's so close to her when she moves back from switching on Mozzie's lantern. Standing with not even inches between them and in the semi hue of dusk, everything seems so simple. Without the vivid glint of perfect blue eyes, sweet smiles, and fleeting promises, everything seems more obtainable. The graying shadows seem to blanket away her doubts, and slowly she reaches for him.

Neal meets her gaze, neither move for a moment, and he seems just as tentative as she is. She knows it is her fear of rejection, and the need to be accepted, that stops her from making that first move. Neal, the con man with the dashing smile, has her under his thrall, but she won't allow herself to take that final plunge. She's not brave enough to make that move and have him reject her straight off.

Sara's so close to him; the whisper of her touch and the warmth of her body stir something forgotten in him. He seizes the moment; cupping and tilting her face up towards his. He kisses her slowly and gently at first, because he is still a little hesitant that this is what she really wants.

She presses her body closer to his. She lets him know wordlessly that this is exactly what she wants, and she deepens their once chaste kiss. It's a bold move but he only reciprocates the feelings she's tried to keep at bay for so very long. Neal's kisses become more insistent and more demanding. His hands bury themselves in her hair, and his lips graze against her fluttering pulse. She feels both dizzy and weightless from the frenzied, heated touches. She reaches her arms around his neck needing both the closeness and the support.

In eager reply he lifts Sara easily, moving her effortlessly to the wooden counter behind them. He deposits her there with a gentle thud. She settles, her fingers curling around the silk fabric of his tie to bring him near again. She laughs softly as both pairs of hands fumble, carefully, and blindly peeling away unwanted garments. Her fingers glide over the firm, clammy skin of his chest and his keen hands squeeze the soft flesh of her thigh.

The feverish symphony is short lived; the lights flicker back on. Sara's breathe catches up in her throat while the brightness shines down on their impulsive actions. She wishes they didn't, but the fluorescent lights bring her doubts flooding back. In the darkness they were just two people acting on want and desire, but now her dazed mind is reminded all over again of whom they really are. In the well-lit archives room he's once again the con searching for his lost love and she's the woman who's afraid to give her heart away.

Her body stiffens as she stops herself from moving in for another kiss. She draws in a deep gulp of air, and she tries to calm her frantic gasping to assess the situation.

Neal reaches a hand out instinctively, and his fingers brush the thick red hair away from her face. He tucks the stray curls behind her ear and he smiles at her. He feels like he's seeing the real Sara for the first time. She looks shy and uncertain, like she's gotten carried away in the darkness. And it's the most genuine he thinks he's ever seen her. Just like back at the bar, she's showing him the real person, with the real feelings and desires that she's been hiding, even from herself, for too long.

"I'm sorry," she whispers with a faint smile.

"Don't be sorry," he tells her gently yet firmly. Sara certainly has nothing to be sorry for. For the first time in a long while he's found something to fill the aching void of his loneliness. For the first time after months of bleakness and confusion, the hurt falls away to the welcoming and long forgotten feelings of warm hope and the desire to care for someone else.

Neal grins in invitation and she concludes simply that she must be crazy. Sara smiles in reply and she reaches for him again. He has the power to make her feel some many things at once. Gone were the days when she readily hated him, and when everything he did infuriated her. Sometimes she finds she misses those days, but only because things seem easier when her heart isn't at stake.

She must have lost her senses because he smiles that wide and dazzling smile and she wants to kiss him. And she does. She kisses him again and it feels so right and so natural. It's like, for right now, nothing else matters and the rest of the world has faded into the distance.

And then Mozzie enters, and that mirage slips away.

The mention of Alex Hunter had sucked away any remaining heat that Mozzie's presence hadn't already managed to extinguish. Sara hadn't known what to make of the tense atmosphere as Wagner's only surviving relation was revealed to be his granddaughter. With their questions finally answered, the three of them had tidied and tucked all the records into the dusty shelves and locked up the records room.

Now outside, Mozzie walks slightly ahead of Neal and Sara. He is still a little uneasy about walking in on them.

"I'll call you," Mozzie says with a gesture in Neal's direction, his discomfort and eagerness to get away from them is still very apparent. "Goodnight, Sara."

"Goodnight, Mozzie." Sara offers a small smile and raises her hand to wave him off.

The little man shuffles away into the shadows of the night and Neal and Sara are left alone for the second time that night. That awkwardness is back between them and Sara feels that hint of embarrassment she really wants to shake off and forget.

"So?" Sara begins unsurely now that they are alone once again. Her head is full of so many thoughts and questions. She knows what could have happened between them if Mozzie hadn't interrupted. She feels that heat of shyness tickling in her cheeks.

"So…?" Neal's plunges his hands into the depths of his pants' pockets.

"Guess I should probably be going too," she says gently.

"Yeh…, I'll get you a cab," he offers all too quickly.

"No, I got it." She's eager to go home, she can't help but feel foolish, and she hates herself for it. She offers him one final smile. "Goodnight, Neal."

"Night."

Sara peels away, leaving him to stand alone on the sidewalk. She looks straight ahead, walking down the darkened street as she searches for an available cab. It's been a long couple of days; she ignores the whistle and the lingering stare from a fat balding man she wouldn't look twice at. She's tired, preoccupied, and maybe just a little flabbergasted as to all that's just happened.

"Can I buy you a drink?" The man asks her. She shoots him a sharp look in reply and saunters past him.

Neal stands rooted to the spot in the street. He looks behind him one final time, just in case Sara's being watched or followed home. He doesn't see any sign of their dark figure, and he decides he should be heading on home himself. It's been quite the night and he's ready for it to end.

With a heavy exhale of breath, he slings his jacket over his shoulders and begins to walk along the sidewalk in the opposite direction to Sara.

"Hey, Red, what's your problem huh? I just wanna talk to you."

The barking tone and the word 'Red' strikes something within Neal. He turns and navigates away from the heavy current of sports fans spilling from the nearby bar. He looks back in Sara's departing direction and his keen eyes search for her. He finds her easily, and, sure enough, someone is following her. Neal sprints into action.

Sara ignores the catcalls and the remarks from the drunken man who lurches out from the bar at the end of the street. She knows this man is now following her, his comments getting more angry and lewd as she refuses to talk with him. She picks up her pace after she finally throws a proper glance over her shoulder, now taking note of him. She assesses the situation quickly; he's at least twice her size, drunk, and intent on getting her attention. She's really not in the mood; her temper gets the better of her and her hand reaches for the zipper of her purse.

Across the street, Neal's step quickens as the man's crude language turns into more infuriated shouts. Sara, he's sure, will say that she can handle herself, but he can't just leave. He reaches into his pocket for his cell as he formulates some kind of plan.

Sara's fingers locate her baton just as the man lungs for her. He catches Sara a little by surprise with his sudden burst of speed and his strength. He wrenches her off her feet and she screams as he pulls her into an alleyway. She struggles to pull her weapon from her bag but he's too strong and he overpowers her.

"I don't think so, Red," he snarls in her ear. His beefy hands rip the baton from her grasp, and he throws it aside with a clatter. Sara's breathe catches in her throat as her back connects hard with a nearby building. The thug's fingers wrap themselves in a squeezing grip at her wrists.

Neal dashes down the street. He rounds the corner and down the alleyway. He sees that Sara's been pinned up against the bricked wall, her bag of tricks kicked aside by her assailant.

"Hey, FBI!"

Neal delivers with confidence as he had done back at the museum. He reaches for the badge nestled in his jacket pocket but it isn't there.

Peter.

Any other time he would probably have laughed at his partner mastering the pick-pocketing trick. But he holds firm, as he's trying to convey the illusion of control.

"Let her go!"

The man stiffens and immediately releases his grip on Sara. Sara sags against the wall. She may be a little shaken, and more than a little pissed off, but she's unharmed.

"You don't look like FBI," the man slurs, turning his full attention to Neal and he staggers forward.

Neal can smell the alcohol on his rancid breath and he backs up a couple of steps, using the time to weigh up the odds. He's unarmed, there's no gun holstered beneath his jacket and the man is larger. Neal can't remember the last time he'd engaged in a fistfight. He's always preferred to talk things out and alleviate a situation that way.

"Why don't you get a coffee huh?" Neal offers with a smooth smile. "Sober yourself up before you do something stupid."

"Don't tell me what I should do." The man only ascends forward. His movements are slow but deliberate. Neal moves backwards cautiously. The man might be drunk but right now he seems focused and dangerous.

"Don't do anything you're going to regret," Neal warns.

The large fist connects with Neal's cheek and his vision blurs for just a second from the impact. He sways backward and collapses to the ground. He brings a hand to his stinging face and sees his own blood glistening on his fingertips when he moves his hand away.

"Not so tough now are you, Mr. F. B. I.?" The man pronounces the letters slowly before he snarls mockingly. He's looming over Neal's crumpled form, and he balls his fist and lunges for another strike.

"Hey!" Sara's voice sounds, capturing the assailant's attention. She's up on her feet again. And her fingers are curled tightly around the baton she must have retrieved. "Don't do that!"

The man stiffens and his fist slackens away from Neal's chin. Neal reaches his fingers to his brow and winces at the pain triggered by the touch. One look at his hand tells him he's bleeding from the man's powerful hit.

The man turns his head sharply away from Neal. He looks in Sara's direction. He merely chuckles but from the look in her eyes, Neal knows she's livid and out for a little satisfaction of revenge.

A spark of uncertainty flickers across the man's face when he sees the slender black weapon she's holding, but he still underestimates her. And Neal knows from experience that it's a mistake to underestimate Sara Ellis.

"Come on then, Red," the drunken thug sneers, the alcohol no doubt clouding his better judgment. He raises his hands and beckons her on. "Let's see what ya got."

Sara glowers. She swipes the baton cleanly and powerfully against the man's shin. It connects with a crack, and the man's knees buckle from beneath him.

He yelps in pain. Sara feels the buzzing satisfaction swell in her stomach. He isn't so tough and imposing now as he lies crumpled on the hard ground.

Neal's up on his feet now, and he moves towards Sara who's still standing over their attacker. "You okay?" he asks her.

"You bitch," the man grumbles through the pain, bringing his hands to the tender limb.

"What did you just say?" Sara seethes, threatening him with another swipe from the baton.

"Sara! Stop!" Neal reaches out tentatively to stop her. He understands why she's angry, the man had preyed on her, but he doesn't want her being charged for assault.

"I'd listen to your boyfriend, Red."

Sara throws the man a venomous look; he's still jibing at her. She would really like nothing more than to beat him down.

"Sara, he isn't worth it," Neal attempts again.

She knows that he is right. She lowers the baton slowly down toward the ground. Her heart's not hammering so hard in her chest now and her anger begins to dispel.

The sound of sirens penetrates the dense, heated air. They aren't alone. She can see the blue and red flashing lights of police cruisers and soon the officers are approaching to diffuse the situation.

"I can look after myself," Sara says as Neal lets them into his apartment. A patron of a nearby restaurant had called the police, and they had intercepted the situation. Both Neal and Sara had given their statements, and the man had been arrested. With Neal refusing to get medical attention, Sara had accompanied him back home.

"Evidently," he murmurs in reply. That's why he's sporting the welt under his left eye and trying not to let his male pride get the better of him. He'd rushed to Sara's aid and somehow she still ended up saving him. He drops his jacket on the first chair at hand before he shuffles over to the mirror hanging on the wall and winces at the damage.

"You should have gone to the hospital," Sara tells him as she comes up behind him. Her hands rest firmly on her hips and she looks over his shoulder with a critical eye.

"It's just a scratch."

"Neal." June knocks softly at the door. She appears in the doorway, and both Neal and Sara turn to face her. June's face a mask of concern for him, "I brought up the first aid kit."

"Thank you." Neal moves forward and takes the box from her.

"Do you want me to…?" June gestures her index finger towards Neal's puffy and bruised eye.

"No, I've got it, thank you," Neal replies hoarsely.

"Of course," June nods and offers a small, thin smile at Neal's guest; June still remembers letting in Ms. Sara Ellis and the New York police in to arrest Neal several months before. She's more than a little wary and distrusting of the insurance investigator who had burst in and violated her home. And now the very same woman who seemed so hell bent on having Neal locked away is showing up late in the evenings. June can't help but feel protective towards Neal. But at the same time, June knows from experience how charming a con man can be.

"I'll be downstairs if you need anything," June tells Neal before she leaves the room.

"I'm just going to go clean this up," Neal ventures, turning on his heels and heading to the bathroom. He winces at the state of his face. He's taken a fairly decent hit, his right eye is swollen and the skin around the socket is turning a molted bluish-purple.

"Let me," Sara offers gently. He hadn't even realized she'd followed him into the small room.

"It's fine, I got it." He hesitates and lowers his eyes down to the first aid kit as he sets it down on the sink beside them.

"Neal!" Her hand moves to curl around the plastic box, and she pulls it from him. "Please," she requests in a softer tone, and he doesn't protest.

She pulls out a bottle of disinfectant and wipes out of the container and tells him to sit down. This is the least she can do. Neal was, after all, coming to her defense. She won't ever admit it, certainly not to him and only in a very reluctant whisper to herself, but she kind of liked that he leaped in to defend her. When she'd 'died' not so long ago no one cared or even so much as noticed. Now the man she's tried so long and so hard to hate is jumping in and taking punches for her.

"Okay." Neal sits at the lip of the white, porcelain tub. He watches quietly as she moves toward him while her fingers work on tearing into the packet of an antiseptic wipe.

"This might sting," Sara warns.

"Ouch." The hiss leaves Neal's lips in a somewhat involuntarily reply as the antiseptic seeps into the wound.

"Sorry," she says once again that night. She never says she's sorry; indeed she's rarely ever sorry, certainly not when it comes to this man. Up until very recently, she felt like nothing and no one could touch her. Her days were filled with work and routine, with recovering whatever precious item had been stolen. Neal Caffrey waltzes back into her life and suddenly things don't seem so clean cut anymore.

"It's okay," Neal murmurs while wincing through the stinging. He almost wants to reach for the gauzy wipe Sara's holding between her fingers and protest that he can do this for himself. But it was oddly comforting having someone to tend to him in this way. Her touch is warm and soft, different from how it was back in the stacks, but it's still nice and welcoming.

"He got you pretty good," Sara mentions as she cleans away the dried blood. Their attacker had left a small cut above Neal's left eye. Sara remembers the large ring the man wore on his right hand, cheap and chunky, while he grabbed her and pulled her from the street and down into the alleyway.

"Yeah, I'm sure I'll feel it tomorrow."

"Yeah," Sara repeats as she focuses on disinfecting the wound.

"What happened earlier?" Neal questions while she works.

"What do you mean?" She knows what he means really. She knows that she'd been lost to the heat of anger with that man. And normally with everyone else she'd simply tell them that she hadn't lost her cool. She does whatever she wants; she's ruthless and strong. But for some reason, with this man, she constantly falters. With Neal she suddenly isn't so certain of herself anymore.

"Back in the alley, you picked a fight with the guy?"

"I didn't…." She doesn't finish that sentence. She knows in a way she was. She likes the danger and she likes to get into trouble, and her chosen career path comes with an element of both. It's what she signed up for and she enjoys it. She lives off that rush of adrenaline. She's trained in martial arts, and she loves to watch the surprise of those who underestimate her. She likes to show these crooks that she tracks down that she has bested them and has the upper hand. She loves to watch the smirks diminish and the thieves' and the cons' masks fall as they realize they have lost.

Though tonight, though it was only for a few seconds, she hadn't been in complete control. And that bothers her; it did back in the alleyway and it does now.

"You aren't invincible."

His words ring true, and it's her turn to feel the sting of a bruised ego. But she still chooses to ignore the warning. She likes the rush of danger, the liberating feeling of control, and the self-satisfying victory of taking down crooks who think they're bigger and stronger than her. It's all a game until the high stakes bring her crashing back down the earth.

"You could've been hurt."

Sara doesn't say anything to that. His voice is low and full of concern and for once there are no cocky retorts readying themselves to spill off her sharp tongue. She can almost feel that man's hot rancid breath against her skin. And she can still imagine those strong, unyielding hands squeezing her arms as he pushed and pinned her to the hard-bricked wall. He had gotten the better of her, and she won't allow herself to imagine what could have happened if Neal hadn't followed her.

"Who is Alex Hunter?" Sara asks for the second time that night. She asks the question to change away from the sensitive subject, but she also asks out of curiosity.

"Alex? She's…" He shouldn't be surprised that Sara changes tack from an awkward matter by broaching one that he'd rather not address. Leave it to Sara to ask him a question like that when he's really not sure how to answer, especially after what has gone on between them earlier that evening.

"She's from your past?" she asks and watches as Neal nods wordlessly. Sara isn't necessarily shocked. She purses her lips together and holds his gaze while she waits for his answer. The shadow he holds just behind the eyes tells her there's a lot more to that story.

"She's an old acquaintance."

"You worked with her?" He doesn't answer and she takes his silence to mean 'yes'.

Neal stares at the white tiles of the bathroom wall and Sara doesn't ask anything more. He has to admit, before he'd been sent to prison, everything seemed so much clearer. Even though he walked the other side of the law, he knew who to trust, who his friends were, and who his enemies were. He ran the con, he broke the law, and he was the rogue. Since trying to tow the line, it seemed so much harder. It was ironically not so clear-cut any longer. Kate's gone now; Alex may or may not be working against him.

"Guess you don't always know a person like you thought you did," he mutters.

"People can disappoint you," Sara states. "Or they can surprise you." Neal's certainly surprised her since he's come back into her life.

"I suppose so," Neal replies quietly. Throughout his time working with the FBI, people have come into his life and taken him by surprise. Peter's belief in Neal being capable of doing the right thing and Elizabeth's unconditional kindness have not been things Neal has ever been accustomed to.

Sara works quietly after that, cleaning out his wound and mopping dried blood from his brow.

"You'll live," Sara says, finally moving away from him and dropping the soiled wipes into the trashcan.

"Thank you for your concern," he jibes and she throws him a look. He stands up and moves towards the medicine cabinet in search of aspirin; the dull throb tells him he'll wake up with a terrible headache tomorrow and taking painkillers seems like a wise precaution. He swallows two tablets down with a swirl of water.

"I should probably call a cab."

"Stay." He catches her hand. His fingers curl gently and graze softly against her palm.

"Neal, I don't think that's a good idea." Sara hesitates and swallows the quickly swelling lump that forms in her throat. She wants to stay, but after all the twists and turns of the evening, she really doesn't think it's wise.

"No strings…. We can order some take out," he mentions, remembering the food he'd brought for her that has gone uneaten. "Have a glass of wine."

"Alright," she concedes. She's far too wired for sleep. Wine and company sounds a lot more tempting than straight scotch and an empty home.

He smiles and walks to the kitchen area, leaving Sara to follow. He pours them both a glass of wine while she orders the food. He's grateful of the distraction. He really doesn't know what to make of the night's events.

Neal opens his bleary eyes sometime later that night. The rain raps against the skylight overhead, and he guesses the heat wave has finally broken. The cooler air tickles at his bare skin, reminding him that the doors are still wide open. He lifts his head from the couch arm and brings a hand up to his tender brow. With a sigh, he lifts his weary body from the couch and pads over to bring the doors to a close.

He surveys the quiet room; the gentle breaths coming from his sleeping area confirm that he's not alone. Not tonight.

He remembers that he and Sara had talked into the wee hours of the night; they'd played a little chess. From the take out containers, empty wine glasses, and bottles littered over the dining room table and coffee table, he remembers that they had drank a considerable amount between them.

Sara had drunk a little more than he had. In a fit of drunken giggles, she had tried to get a cab home but he'd convinced her to stay the night. She hadn't needed much persuasion. He recalls her staggering across the room, kicking her shoes off along the way, before collapsing onto his bed.

And now she looks beautiful lying in the whispers of early morning light. She's sleeping on her side, curled and peaceful. Her red hair is tousled and fanned over the porcelain skin of her cheek before spilling in waves across white pillows.

He moves closer and pulls the blanket up from the mattress and over her resting figure; he doesn't want her to be cold now that the temperature has dropped along with the raging storm. A smile flutters across his face as he admits to himself that he likes this woman. It's kind of crept up on him, and yet it's blindingly obvious to him at the same time.

Neal moves away; he crosses back over to the easel and stares at the near finished painting. Unconsciously, he reaches for the discarded pallet. He mixes the colors, and adds the strokes of paint to the canvas. He blends the golden sunlight, filtering it across a blue and almost cloudless sky. He works quietly; he doesn't need to stare out at the hue of morning. He paints from a fading memory and watches the colors blend before him.

Some people believe you never get over or forget your first love. And Neal knows that he believes that too. He won't forget Kate, the girl who stole his heart and had him believing that forever was not a fairytale. He had a lot of dreams wrapped up in Kate, in an 'us' and a bright shining future, and he'll never forget that. He visits her grave at least once every two weeks and brings her favorite flowers.

But he believes he's ready to move on and to try and let go of some of the heartache. It's difficult for him to admit that he's thinking of a future without Kate when he'd been invested in nothing else for so long. It's been almost as hard admitting that to himself as it was accepting Kate was never coming back.

Sara stirs softly, opening her eyes slowly to the greeting of morning sun flittering through her lashes. It takes her a moment or two to register that she's not lying in her own bed but rather she's beneath the covers of Neal's. It's the sight of smooth hand-carved mid nineteenth century tiger oak that begins to stir her memories of last night and why she's here. She shifts in the bed; she keeps the blanket close to her as she feels the welcome chill of morning air.

She's alone in the room, unaware of where Neal is, and she soon moves to stand up. Her head's a little delicate from the haze of too much wine and not enough sleep. She crosses into the living area of Neal's apartment and stifles a yawn with the back of her hand. She spots Neal standing outside on the balcony with his back towards her. The early day sun bathes his form in light gold, and she smiles inwardly.

She knows she's falling under his spell. She's tried to fight it. She pulls her glance away from the balcony and moves toward his mirror. She surveys the dark circles beneath her eyes critically before she runs her fingers through her messy and tangled bed-hair. Only mildly satisfied with the hasty improvement, she turns back toward the room. She soon stops in her tracks. She focuses on the easel in the center of the room.

She stares at his painting of the Chrysler Building. Her eyes study the fleeting and blazing brush strokes as morning hits the crowned skyscraper in his picture. It's beautiful, bold and unique. She realizes it's probably the first time she's cast eyes on a Neal Caffrey original. She's seen his forgeries but this is different. She can't help but grin as she marvels at his work. He's so talented, and so full of potential. She remembers back in 2005 when she'd taken on the case of the stolen Raphael and had first become aware of the young art thief. Even back then, as much as she didn't want to admit it, there was something special about him. Something different that set him apart from the other cons and criminals, from their false smiles and broken promises.

Or at least she hopes he is different.

"Good morning," Sara says as she pads over to him.

He turns and he smiles. He hadn't heard her, and it's a little strange for him to be seeing Sara's sleepy eyes and tousled hair. But he likes it. "Morning."

"How's your head?" she inquires, indicating with her index finger to the bruising and cut on his forehead.

Neal's brow creases and he reaches up to touch the healing wound. "I'll live," he drawls and earns a smirk from her.

"Did you sleep at all?" Sara questions gently.

"Yeah, a little," he replies. "How about you?"

Sara nods in her answer; the wine had helped her sleep. She stares out across the city stretched out in front of her. "The city sure looks beautiful at sunrise."

"Every morning I wake up and watch the sunrise," Neal mutters, his hands resting on the stone of the balcony's walls.

"It's quite the view." Sara never allows herself the time to do such things; she never stands back and just appreciates the quiet and the wonder of the city around her. After she'd come back from the dead, as she jokingly refers to it, she promised herself she would. She'd vowed to live a little, to embrace her life, and enjoy being young. She hasn't of course. She's fallen straight back into the routine of work and success, but she knows that she should.

"It is." Neal inhales a deep breath of fresh air. After the storms of the night before, the city has been left cooler and newer. "Seeing the city like this, it's like being on top of the world."

Sara smiles. "You asked me the other night what my angle was in all of this…?"

"Yeah?" he asks cautiously. He had been curious, that hadn't gone away even after she confided in him. Peter had told him that maybe Sara wanted to help because some people act out of kindness and nothing more. But in Neal Caffrey's world of experience, everyone had motive. He had wondered if he still needed to watch his back against Sterling Bosch's leading investigator along with an ever-growing list of adversaries. Now, he's not sure he wants to know.

"Maybe I just like you." She's been helping out just to be closer to him, and she's ready to admit that to herself. And, after the events last night, she's maybe ready to admit it to him.

Neal chuckles softly from the depths of his throat. He knows from the look of irritation spreading across her face that he shouldn't be laughing.

"Don't laugh at me," she snaps and quickly backs up a step or two away from him. She's irritated, and she walks back into the apartment. She hates to be laughed at, she always has. She hates to be ridiculed, especially when she's admitting something so close and personal. And it's quite clear to her that Neal can make her want to go back to just hating him in the time it takes for him to crack a wide, charming smile.

"Sara." He moves back inside after her. He steps forward and gently reaches to catch her by the wrist to stop her from leaving or getting the ever- present baton out of her purse. He's only laughing because he's finally allowing himself to notice the attraction. He remembers Peter's already called him on it, and teased him for spending late nights working with Sara. Mozzie's stated it was blindingly obvious and El had meddled. It was as if everyone around him had seen it before him.

"I'm not laughing at you." Neal smiles a small smile; Sara's standing firm and unyielding. She purses her lips together and she doesn't say a word. She won't give him an inch, and he's almost unsure as he pulls her close. She doesn't stop him when he moves to kiss her.

She kisses him back; the kiss is different this time, not fueled only by blind desire. This kiss is softer, lingering, and he cradles her face in his hands.

"Maybe I like you too," he tells her when they move slightly apart.

"Yeah?" she utters quietly with the same shyness he'd seen in the archives room.

"Uh huh," he murmurs.

Sara smiles her pretty smile as he admits that he likes her too. She palms his shirt, drawing him in for another kiss that seals her happy acknowledgement. Neal smells of oil paint and traces of cologne, and she grins against his perfect lips. He likes her back and that's more than enough for her right now.

"What are my chances of getting you to have lunch with me?"

"Pretty good." He doesn't quite ask her out and she doesn't quite answer his invitation.

"Yeah?" Neal's wearing that boyish grin on his face that she really wishes she didn't find so very charming.

"Yeah."

"You like to keep a guy guessing, don't you?" He doesn't expect anything less from the dangerous woman who carries a baton in her bag and probably still harbors the memory of the Raphael somewhere in the back of her mind.

"Uh huh." Sara nods and lets her lips brush lightly against his while he pulls her close once again.

The front door opens with a click, and Mozzie shuffles in. "I've asked around and there is no word as to Alex's location… Oh good morning." Mozzie falters and throws a meaningful look in Neal's direction after Sara has pulled herself from Neal's embrace. Given what Mozzie had walked into back at the archives room and the fact that he's just found them still together the morning after, it is not hard to guess what Mozzie's conclusion is.

Sara pulls away from Neal again, wrapping her shirt securely around her body and bringing a hand self-consciously to her lips.

"Ah." The little guy's single word passes through his teeth and he smiles uncomfortably.

"Morning Mozz." Neal offers a smile and Mozzie returns a tiny smile.

"Well I should go." Sara moves from Neal and finds her purse lying on the couch where she'd dropped it before tending to his injuries. She slings it over her shoulder before she wanders to the sleeping area to get her shoes.

Mozzie then offers Neal a shrug of his shoulders in commiseration. "I didn't expect you to have company," he mumbles.

Sara returns to the center of the room, armed with her things and ready to go. "I'll keep looking for Adler," she assures Neal, wanting to help see his search through to the end and to give him some sort of closure.

"I'll call you," Neal says with a nod. He follows her toward the door to see her out.

"Nice seeing you again, Mozzie," she directs to the little guy before she opens the door.

"You too, Sara." Mozzie offers a flourishing wave, and a clearly embarrassed Sara steps into the hallway.

"Bye." Sara smiles to Neal.

"Bye." He grins at her before she heads down the hallway. He closes the door slowly and turns his attentions back to his new visitor.

"Another bad time?" Mozzie jokes when Sara's left the apartment.

"Mozz." Neal shoots a look, cutting off his friend's teasing before it's even begun.

Mozzie moves to sit at the table and focuses his attentions to the equipment he has lying in front of him. His eyes inspect the antenna he's still working on. "Just so we're clear, I don't approve."

"Of what?"

"You and the little lady," Mozzie states his reply, not even looking up to meet Neal's gaze.

"I don't…never mind." Neal shakes his head. "I'm going to take a shower."

He moves from the room, leaving Mozzie to work on the fractal antenna, and he enters the bathroom.

He's soon standing under the warm spray of the shower. The feeling of peacefulness within his soul is a welcome change. He doesn't know what the future holds for him. In his experience, life tends to throw him more twists and turns than he can handle. But for today he can bask in the idea of the simplicity of a new beginning and no regrets.

~fin

Thank you for reading. For anyone following my chapter story 'Never Turn Back' I will have the next chapter up in the next few days.