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It was 2003, and Peter Burke had just busted a counterfeiting ring wide open.
It was one of Neal and Kate's less enjoyable jobs, Neal had to admit that. The guy they were working for was the worst kind of scumbag. Not necessarily because he was a counterfeiter; Neal could respect a classy artist when he met one even if they were on the wrong side of the law. It was just that this guy wasn't classy or an artist. He was a sadist with a nasty habit of knocking around his girlfriends and tormenting stray dogs. Neal could put up with that, because they were going to sic Burke on him and put him away, but then Kate came back to the motel one evening looking pale and shaken and showed him a bruise on her wrist where someone had grabbed her.
"Did he -- ?" Neal asked, rage rising up inside him, making him incoherent. Kate was his partner. Nobody hurt his partner.
"Not yet," Kate said. "But he's going to try. If he does I'm going to have to kick his ass, and that'll blow the whole job."
"We're moving the schedule up," he told her. "I'm tipping off Burke tomorrow morning."
"I think that's a really good idea," Kate said, and Neal hugged her and tried not to think about how slowly, ever so slowly, he was crossing fraternization lines that the FBI had put in place for a very good reason.
The next morning, Neal made a "stupid mistake" which drew the hawklike glare of Peter Burke and brought down the wrath of the FBI. That afternoon, Neal and Kate watched from a distance as Burke's people raided the abandoned house where the work was being done. The man who had grabbed Kate was led away roughly in handcuffs. Burke emerged from the house carrying a terrified-looking puppy against his chest, minding its right front leg with care. They listened in as he called the Bureau and launched into a furious speech about how he hated humanity and also Caffrey got away again.
"I like him," Neal said. "He's a decent human being."
Kate grinned. "You're not so bad yourself." Her shoulder jostled against his, reassuring, and he was conscious of her all the way up and down his body.
Kate was smart, and beautiful, and a little bit wild like him, but she was also his partner and there were rules about partners, number one being that you didn't sleep with them. Neal told himself firmly that Kate was a colleague. Sometimes they posed as boyfriend and girlfriend, yeah, but sometimes they posed as brother and sister. He didn't even know her real name.
"Home?" she said, which was a pay-per-week room with a dingy kitchenette. Neal hated Houston.
"No, I think I need a drink," he said. "I'll catch up with you."
She punched him in the shoulder. "I was just thinking I could use a drink."
They found a seedy little bar just outside of town and sat and debriefed. They talked about the job, and the next one maybe coming, and about how Peter Burke was like their own personal puppy, all enthusiastic crimestopper in a bland suit.
"No," Kate said, three whiskeys for her and two strong vodka tonics for him into the discussion. "He's like a cat. You know."
"A cat?" Neal asked.
"Yeah. He catches our spiders for us."
"What?"
"Cats. They catch bugs in the house," she said, as if it should be obvious.
"I never had a cat," Neal replied sulkily.
"Well, now we've got a big FBI-issue cat to catch our spiders for us," she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. Neal grasped at the shreds of his self-control.
"He's a decent fucking human being, is what Burke is," he said. "Cat or dog or whatever."
It occurred to him he might be a little drunk. Kate had given him one of her whiskeys to finish, on top of the vodka tonics. Kate sighed against his shoulder.
"I'll get another letter of commendation for this," she said, and then giggled into his arm. "One more page in the file nobody's ever going to see."
He meant to say, We won't be undercover forever. Instead, what came out was, "I think I'm falling for you."
"Hm?" she asked, lifting her head.
"I want you," he said, stumbling over his words. "All the time. I'm tired of flipping to see who gets the bed and who gets the couch, I want to be in the bed, with you, every job. I don't want to pretend to be your boyfriend. I want to be your boyfriend and your hand is on my thigh and Kate that's really not helping -- "
Which was when she kissed him, and Neal dropped down into the kiss like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. They were kissing and kissing, her tongue in his mouth, her hand on his chest now, and it felt so good and real...
"Hey, take it outside," the bartender called. Neal broke away, embarrassed, heart racing like it always did when they drew too much attention. Kate patted his chest once and took his hand.
"You don't want a free show, that's your problem," she told the bartender, pulling Neal along, out of the bar. She called a cab from the payphone outside while Neal wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her ear. In the cab they made out for what felt like hours until they reached the motel and the cabbie braked hard, hard enough to send Kate tumbling if Neal hadn't had an arm around her waist.
"I charge extra for having to clean the seats," the guy told them, and Neal just tossed him a fifty and bundled Kate out of the car.
"There are so many rules against this," she said, once they were in the little motel room, but she didn't try to stop him walking her back towards the bed.
"Don't care," he mumbled into her mouth.
"Me neither," she agreed, and Neal laughed and pulled her down on top of him, deliriously happy in the cheap filthy motel in Houston, sparing just a second to wonder if Peter Burke had a woman to go home to as clever and good and beautiful as his Homeland Security Kate.
---
Peter went to every day of Neal Caffrey's brief but memorable trial. The kid was quiet, didn't testify on his own behalf, and let his court-appointed lawyer make a total mess of his case. It was a little confusing: Caffrey had enough money, he was sure, to hire a top-flight team, and he was slick enough when it came to the law to tell them how to go about defending him. But he just sat there, listening to the testimony, doing his own courtroom sketches on a legal pad with a ballpoint pen. Like he'd been tamed. Like he'd been broken.
("I was just bored," Elliot said. "Remember, that sentence wasn't going to actually matter. Four years was pretty good, considering how badly my public defender messed it up.")
("I'm sorry I wasted any time being sorry for you," Peter said.)
("Aw, you were sorry for me? Peter, I'm touched.")
When the sentence was handed down, Caffrey's expression didn't change, but a few seconds later he turned and shot Kate Moreau a yearning, desperate look.
"It'll be okay," Peter heard her say, and for the first time in his career he felt a twinge of guilt for putting someone away. "I'll be waiting for you, Neal."
"You better come visit me," he said, and a bailiff stopped him from leaning across to give her a kiss.
"Every week," she answered. "Promise."
("Yeah," Elliot told him. "She was my outside contact when I went in. I used to pass documents and reports to her to get back to Hughes. There was a place I was investigating in Pennsylvania that gave us conjugal visits; that was good times.")
When Kate had gone and they were putting Neal's shackles on, Peter walked up to the defense table. Caffrey gave him a sly look.
"Congratulations, Agent Burke," he said, cool and collected. "You got your man."
"Keep your nose clean in prison, Caffrey," Peter replied.
"You know me," Caffrey said. "I stay out of trouble."
Peter shook his head. "I don't get you, kid. You could have done anything. Why not do honest work? This kind of bullshit never pays."
Caffrey just kept his smile in place, but it deepened a little. "You have your work, Burke, and I have mine."
("You smug fuck," Peter said.)
("No, I admired you," Elliot protested. "Not many people in your position would even give that a shot. I told Hughes you were a decent guy. I've always thought you were.")
They led Caffrey away, shuffling in the ankle restraints, and Peter didn't see him again for three and a half years, give or take.
---
When Neal opened the door to find Reese Hughes on the landing, he carefully didn't smile.
"AD Hughes," he said politely.
"Caffrey," Hughes answered.
"Come in," Neal said, and stood aside, and then when the door was shut the two men grinned at each other.
"C'mere, kid," Reese said, and pulled him into a hug, smacking him on the back. He held Neal at arm's length. "You look pretty good for someone Burke's been roughing up for a week."
"Nah, Peter's great," Neal answered, pouring out a glass of wine. "Want some?"
"No, thank you. So, nice digs," Reese remarked.
"Yeah, I do all right. Did you meet June? She's a real class act," Neal said.
"Haven't had the pleasure. Officially I'm here to turn over your copy of the release paperwork, not to make social calls," Reese said.
"And unofficially?" Neal asked.
"I thought we could have a heart to heart, maybe braid each others' hair," Reese said drily. Neal laughed.
"I give great manicures," he said, leaning against his dining-room table. "Reese, I gotta say, this tracker is a pain in my ass."
"Less of a pain in your ass than prison," Reese pointed out. "And it keeps you safe. If someone does make you or you get into a jam, we can find you."
"Yeah, okay. Might have been nice to have had one of these during the Interpol gig in Amsterdam." Neal sipped his wine. "This is about Kate, isn't it?"
"I know you're trying to find her," Reese said. "I'm not going to stop you, but I can't help you. Homeland Security is stonewalling us. They won't give me her file. They won't even give me her real name."
"She'll keep cover," Neal said confidently. "She'll keep cover as long as she can and if she breaks it she knows to come to the FBI."
"She know you're here?"
"Maybe? I don't know. I've been trying to make contact through our usual channels, but I'm getting static." Neal swallowed. "I'm worried about her, Reese."
"We'll do what we can. For now, the best thing you can do is play nice with Peter and keep your eyes open."
"It's not hard. It's great to finally get to work with him face to face. I never felt good about sending him after me blind," Neal said. "I still think we should tell him."
"It's better for both of you if he doesn't know. How's the work?"
"It's amazing. I love it. It's all...new to me, it's like being back at Quantico again. I get a real kick out of it, Reese, I honestly do."
"That's AD Hughes to you, when we're in the office," Hughes corrected.
"Yeah, yeah." Neal waved a hand. "I'm on it."
"See that you stay on it," Hughes said. "We shouldn't talk too much, so you're on your own unless you get in a jam. Keep your focus."
"Cross my heart," Neal told him, grinning. "Good to see you again face to face, sir."
"You too, kid. See you at the office," Hughes said, and Neal saw him to the door.
---
"It's a ten year FBI pin," Peter said, that day at his house when Neal was so sure, so sure, that he'd finally found the man who had Kate. He set the ring down on the table in front of Neal, looking not angry so much as...frustrated.
It would have been a huge betrayal, an immense injury to Neal's trust in someone he thought was a good man, if Peter had been the one who had Kate. Possibly salvageable, because at least Peter was FBI and could be turned in, which meant maybe finding where Kate was. But it would have destroyed Neal, literally as an alias and figuratively as a man, to have to do that.
So when he heard Peter explain what it was -- "Put in ten years, you get one. Most of us have them made into a ring." -- his first thought was relief, relief and reassurance. Peter was still a good agent, Peter was still safe and would protect Neal Caffrey as much as he could.
Second was the thought, Why didn't I know?
He was an FBI agent, if a little less orthodox than most. He should have known about the ten-year pin.
"I've never seen you wear it," he said.
"It's a fraternity thing," Peter told him, and in his face Neal saw a brief and fascinating glimpse into the world he'd given up for years of deep cover.
"Come with us to the next Bureau commendation dinner. You'll see hundreds of them," Elizabeth was saying, but Neal was doing careful math. He'd left Quantico in early '01, and it was late fall of 2009...in just a little over a year, he'd qualify for one of these.
"Will I get one?" he asked, before he thought about it, fascinated by the idea of a little bit of gold that could mark ten years of this life. He panicked almost as soon as he said it, because that was a bad slip, but he could talk his way out of this if he had to --
And then Peter said, "No," and grinned at him, like he knew Neal was making a joke. Neal was the kind of guy who would make that joke, too. Later, it occurred to him that Peter had taken it as a sign that Neal wouldn't run.
Somewhere under the layers of cover, inside the comfortable skin of Neal Caffrey, Elliot Donnelly eyed the ring with covetous envy, and with expectation.
---
The only major con he ever pulled that wasn't approved by the FBI was the con to get the music box.
By now it felt natural; he'd run enough of these in his time, though he didn't have Reese on the phone to him telling him where Burke was or what the FBI knew. He had Peter for that, not that Peter knew it. It hurt him to lie to Peter, to watch Peter's trust in him fade, to watch both Peter and Elizabeth scrambling desperately to preserve both their own lives and his. But he had to. It was Kate. She wasn't just the woman he loved, she was a sister in arms, she was a good agent and Homeland Security was fucking her over.
She'd kept her cover. She'd delivered up the location of a cache they both knew didn't exist, and in those first days when he made contact again, her message was clear: don't break cover. They had to follow the trail. Someone in the FBI was crooked and Neal had to find out who. He'd never really had much contact with his fellow Bureau agents once he'd gone under, but the loyalty was still there. He had to find out who was betraying the badge. Kate must have felt it too, or she wouldn't have run the risk.
When Fowler gave Neal the Project Mentor papers, it was so hard not to laugh. Sure, Fowler, we'll take your new identities and fly off to some legal life somewhere and the moment I land, you piece of shit, I'm on the phone to Hughes telling him everything I know. I'll be back at the Bureau inside of a week, and you'll be toast. Shove that in your music box and play it.
So what he felt, that day on the tarmac, wasn't grief at leaving the Bureau. It was elation; there was Kate, and there was the plane, and Fowler was fucked and didn't even know it yet. It was the same thrill he'd had every time he'd stepped aside so that Peter Burke could come barreling in and knock down the baddies Neal had set up.
But then Peter came to the hangar and tried to stop him, and it hurt Neal to look at his face, hurt Neal to be unable to tell him the truth. It's all right, Peter. I'll come back, I promise. You'll love Kate. I'll come back and be a good agent for you and everything will be okay.
Peter would have loved Kate, no-nonsense kick-ass Kate, the real Kate he never got to see.
It was the single best and worst act of Elliot Donnelly's career that when the plane blew up, he didn't break cover. Even when they took him into custody. He could have said the word and Reese would have got him out and burned his cover, but he didn't. All he could think about was the implicit message Kate had left him: follow the trail, follow it, follow it. She'd died to follow the trail, so he had to keep following. To do that, he had to stay Neal.
Fowler was a dirty fed, and Neal thought he'd killed the woman Neal loved, and so he gave himself a pass on almost shooting the man in the head, later that year. Peter didn't give him a pass, but Peter wasn't in possession of all of the facts, and at least Peter didn't have him thrown back in supermax. Peter might not always play by the rulebook, but he was a good man, and Elliot was an FBI agent, not a snitch.
The lines were blurring; grief for Kate and fear for his own life made everything brittle. The barrier between Neal and Elliot thinned by the day. It began to crack the day they found out who had killed Kate and it cracked further the day he and Peter put the bastard away for life and from then on Elliot was clinging to Neal by his fingertips.
And then one day, the line broke, and Elliot asked if he could burn Neal, and Hughes said yes.
---
It was four in the afternoon when Peter showed up at the offices of Burke Premiere Events with Elizabeth's favorite ex-convict in tow. She was in the back office, but she saw through the open door as Peter smiled at Yvonne and Cassie, and Neal doffed his hat to them and kissed Yvonne's hand, both women giggling. Cassie pointed to the office, and Elizabeth gave Peter a wave. He looked tired, but a smile lit up his face when he saw her.
"Hi, hon," he said, kissing her on the cheek as she came out to say hello.
"Hey, babe. Early day? Hi Neal," she added, and Neal gave her a grin that wasn't quite as bright as Peter's.
"Took the afternoon off to handle some stuff," Peter said, which was a little vague, for him. "Feel like cutting out early? I'll be your excuse."
"Sure, it's pretty quiet. Yvonne?" she called.
"I'll handle things," Yvonne said, but her eyes were glued to Neal's ass as if she was planning on handling something else entirely. Not that Neal's ass wasn't worth a second look.
There was a park near her office, small but pretty, and she held Peter's hand as they walked, Neal a few paces ahead, smiling at afternoon joggers and kids out of school. He eventually settled on a park bench, hat on one knee, turned so that when she sat down (Peter guiding her to sit between them, a little strange) she was mostly facing him.
"Neal has something to tell you," Peter said, and she glanced back at her husband. "Don't you, Neal?"
Neal nodded. Elizabeth had sudden visions of Neal confessing to stealing from them, or this being some kind of dramatic goodbye before he was sent back to prison for something. Neal just toyed with the brim of his hat, then looked up and gave her a reassuring smile.
"My name is Elliot Donnelly," he said. "I'm an FBI agent working deep cover. I've been with the Bureau for ten years, and while Peter was chasing me I was throwing him cases as part of the work I did."
Elizabeth frowned, glancing between the two men. "I'm sorry, is this...are you testing cover stories on me?" she asked.
"No," Peter said. "This is the truth. Neal Caffrey was the cover story. Apparently."
She turned to Neal -- to Elliot -- and said, "Oh. Okay."
Elliot frowned. "Okay?"
"Well, I mean, you're still you, right? You're not secretly a totally different personality?" she asked. She heard Peter chuckle.
"Yeah, I'm still me," Neal -- Elliot -- said. "Just a little more Federal than I look."
"So what's the problem? Ohhh, did Peter find out? Did he blow your cover?"
"El!" Peter said, annoyed.
"Well, sweetie, sometimes you don't think before you talk," she told him, patting his hand where it rested on her leg.
"Peter didn't blow my cover," Elliot said. "Though he did call me a lying son of a -- "
Peter coughed. Elliot shut his mouth.
"What about...all the..." Elizabeth felt a little bit at sea. "The crime? And...Kate?"
"Kate Moreau was a Homeland Security agent, apparently," Peter said. "They were working together."
"Well." Elliot's smile twisted unhappily. "More than that, but it wasn't exactly regulation."
"Oh -- " Elizabeth put her hand to her mouth. "And when she died you couldn't even -- oh, Ne -- Elliot, come here," she said, and stood up, pulling him up after her and into a hug.
Neal usually hugged her carefully, like he thought Peter might get mad. Elliot, on the other hand, held tight, the little edge of his tie bar pressing into her ribcage.
"This is a lot cooler than Peter's reaction," he said in her ear, and she laughed and let him go.
"Well, I'm cooler than Peter," she said, over Peter's outraged "Hey!" She sat down again, patting the bench, and Elliot looked a little easier now when he sat. "So what happens now?" she asked.
"A ton of paperwork," Peter said.
"A lot more conversations like this," Elliot said. "Then, hopefully soon, I get declassified and the tracker comes off. I really hate this thing," he added, over her shoulder, to Peter.
"Hey, I'm not the one who decided to pose as a convict," Peter said.
"But after that?" Elizabeth asked. "I mean, do you have to do Witness Protection or something?"
"No." Elliot ducked his head, but he also gave her the first real, brilliant smile she'd seen from him that day. "Peter's taking me on as his partner."
"Probie," Peter corrected. Elizabeth elbowed him. "Ow!"
"You're coming over for dinner tonight," she said to Elliot, who was still trying not to laugh at Peter. "And you can tell me all about how you pulled a decade-long fast one on my husband."
"I'm never going to live this down," Peter muttered, but Elliot's grin was blinding.
---
Jones and Diana still slipped up, in those first transitional days when he was officially Neal Caffrey but relearning how to be Elliot Donnelly. Once in a while one of them would call him Caffrey, and either look apologetic or not notice they'd done it. In the office, Peter scrupulously called him Elliot, or Donnelly if he was annoyed with him; when they were out in the field he just as scrupulously introduced him as Neal Caffrey to everyone they met.
Mozzie, who at any given moment was either yelling at him or not speaking to him, told him that Agent Liar was the just and proper title he deserved and he'd have to earn the right to be called Suit.
"But I can earn it, right?" Elliot asked, while Mozzie paced and shouted at him for the ninth or tenth evening running. Mozzie glared at him, then slumped down in the seat across from his, looking tired.
"I trusted you," Mozzie said.
"I'm sorry," Elliot said. "I know you did. You taught me a lot, Moz. But you have to think about the fact that I protected you. I deserved that trust. You know how many times I kept you off the records?"
"Oh, I should be thankful you were lying to me and about me?" Mozzie snapped.
"Well, normally you like liars," Elliot pointed out.
"Not when they lie to me!"
It was going to be a process.
June was the best, though. From the minute he told her, she called him Elliot unfailingly. She told him he was welcome to stay in her home, and he quietly raised his rent by a significant amount when his work-release living allowance was stopped and he started paying her himself every month (Elliot Donnelly had a pretty hefty savings amassed; hazard pay plus a salary he hadn't often had to touch). When he was home in the evenings she sat with him and helped him drill for his requalification. Peter drilled him too, though Peter's rigorous exams held in the car on the way to work or over lunch could be tiring. He'd kept current on local and federal law, a habit drummed into him in law school, but he was rusty about the old FBI regs and had sometimes missed updates on new ones.
"It's not going to be easy," he told Peter, passing him a coffee and tipping a grin at the barista as they walked away. "There's a lot of stuff I could do as Neal Caffrey, criminal, that could get Special Agent Donnelly fired."
"Most of which gives me a headache," Peter pointed out. "So I'm okay if you stop risking your neck and your freedom when you don't have to."
"Aw, but I liked it," Elliot said, grinning. "The thrill of the con. The glory of a clean job well done. I had it good, you know? I liked the work I did, on both sides of the law."
"Just don't forget which side you're on now," Peter warned.
"Special Agent Elliot Donnelly," Elliot said, still finding it a little bit awkward to say after ten years of Neal Caffrey. "What kind of guy do you think he is?"
"If he's anything like Neal? A pain in my ass," Peter replied. "But...probably a pretty good man, underneath."
"You think so?"
"Guess we'll find out. Come on, requisitions wants to get you fitted for a holster."
"They're going to ruin the line of my suits," Elliot complained.
"Cry me a river," Peter told him unsympathetically. "Trust me, they have their perks."
"Being able to shoot back? Yeah," Elliot sighed.
"Hey, women dig the holster," Peter said.
"Really?" Elliot asked.
"I don't get it, I don't want to get it, but something about a shoulder holster..." Peter shrugged. "You think Elizabeth went out with me because of my brilliant conversational skills and the charming fact that I stalked her with the FBI?"
"You are a dog," Elliot said, sincerely impressed.
"Yeah, and you're still a puppy, so keep up," Peter told him, but he smiled when he said it.
---
Elliot wore his FBI ten-year ring everywhere. Oh, he slipped it off sometimes, if he had to go undercover on a moment's notice, and if he was doing a long job he'd keep it in the lock box by his bed with his Glock and his ID. Otherwise, it never came off the ring finger of his right hand. It was amazing, the instant change it wrought: agents who didn't know him treated him like one of them, and those who did know him no longer treated him like a criminal who should be chained up when not in use.
Elizabeth had once told him he should come to an awards dinner and he'd see hundreds of rings; his first opportunity came when he was a month out of Neal Caffrey, still half-unsure of his footing in the FBI, newly requalified and getting used to being called Elliot again.
Still, nothing like jumping into the deep end to get the adrenaline flowing.
When he showed up on their doorstep in a tux and his ring, he was rewarded with the sight of Elizabeth in a beautiful gold cocktail dress at the door and Peter coming down the stairs, fussing with his bow tie.
"Aw, my boys," Elizabeth said affectionately, as Elliot stepped up to bat Peter's hands away and straighten his tie. He held up his right hand, ring glinting in the light; Peter rolled his eyes but showed his own hand, ten-year ring snug on his little finger.
"You know this is going to be incredibly boring, right?" Peter said, as they walked to the car. "It'll be a handful of speeches we've all heard a million times, and then an hour and a half of socializing with people whose names you can't remember."
"I haven't heard the speeches," Elliot pointed out.
"Trust me, you'll get the gist quickly," Peter replied.
Elliot thrived in large crowds full of strangers; he might be an FBI agent but he'd been a con man first, from the time he was a child, and he enjoyed working a room. He left Peter and Elizabeth at their table and went to get drinks, then bumped into one of the guys from the Civil Rights division who had guests in from DC. He barely took the time to drop off the drinks before running back to talk to the DC people and introduce them around to the New York people, making new friends.
He caught Peter watching him, once in a while, but it wasn't until the lights began to dim and the waiters came out with plates of food that he ran back across and slid into his seat next to Elizabeth just in time for Hughes to introduce the first speaker.
"This is fun," he whispered to her.
"Don't tell Peter," she said, winking at him. "He's been keeping an eye on you."
"I haven't picked a single pocket! Well, one, but just to show how it was done," Elliot said.
"Do you two think I can't hear you?" Peter asked, leaning over Elizabeth's shoulder. "Sh. Respect."
"Right. Respect," Elliot nodded somberly and turned to face the stage, the picture of an upstanding fed.
Peter was right; the speeches were pretty similar, and after a while Elliot's attention drifted. There were any number of petty cons he could pull in this room alone. Picking the pockets of his fellow agents was good for a laugh, but --
Elizabeth's hand touched his gently, thumb rolling back and forth across his ring. It was a good reminder, conscious or not: he was an FBI agent, with a reputation and the weight of justice to uphold, and the undercover games and the mysteries and adventures could wait until work on Monday.
He relaxed a little, let out a small happy sigh, and stretched his legs out under the table, twisting his ankle around just to feel the freedom there, no tracker weighing him down. Elizabeth's hand tightened on his and she gave him a smile. Peter glanced over, shot him an approving look, and turned back to face the stage.
After the awards and the dessert there was mingling, and dancing too -- Elliot watched in astonishment as Peter took Elizabeth onto the dance floor, because the last thing he'd expected was that Peter Burke could dance. But he could, and he wasn't doing too badly. They looked good together. Then again, they always did.
"So this is what normal FBI agents do," he said to Hughes, when he saw him approaching. "I could get used to this."
"I hope so," Hughes answered, smiling. "Come on, there are people you need to meet."
People He Needed To Meet turned out to be two other ADs from the New York office whom he knew mostly by reputation, plus a reintroduction to Bancroft and an introduction to Bancroft's wife.
"So you're telling me," Bancroft said, "That you were under as a criminal for years, and then a convicted felon, when this whole time you've been one of us?"
"Bet it paints my work on the Vogler case in a whole new light, huh?" Elliot asked.
"But you were in prison for years," AD Bolington pointed out.
"They moved me around a lot. It's not like I just sat in supermax. Mostly it was prisoner abuse investigations, a couple of security evaluations. Nothing too tough," Elliot shrugged. "The food was bad, but the work was interesting. You want to know anything about prison security or terrible powdered eggs, I'm your guy."
Bancroft laughed. "You're a piece of work, Donnelly."
"I hope to be a credit to the badge," Elliot replied. "And -- excuse me, there's a woman over there I need to steal from her husband," he said, as he saw Peter and Elizabeth coming off the dance floor. He tapped Elizabeth on the shoulder and gave her his most winning smile when she turned.
"Run away with me," he said. "Leave your husband and let me sweep you off your feet."
"Hm," she answered, pretending to ponder it. "What kind of health benefits do you offer?"
"Not much, if he's not careful," Peter said, giving Elliot a warning look.
"Okay, then how about a dance?" Elliot offered. Elizabeth took his hand and let him lead her back into the thick of things. "I didn't know Peter could dance," he said in her ear, as they moved.
"He likes to dance. He doesn't get a whole lot of opportunity," she replied, squeezing his shoulder. "I didn't know you could dance."
"What kind of perfect charmer would I be if I couldn't dance?" Elliot asked, and then relented under her skepticism and admitted, "Kate taught me."
"She must have been an exceptional woman," Elizabeth said.
"She was. She spoke five languages, pulled flawless cons, and once she stopped someone from blowing up San Francisco."
"Do you miss her?"
"Every day," he said, and felt her squeeze his shoulder again. "But it gets better. And...I've got friends, and the work."
"Good," she said, sliding her hand up his shoulder a little. "And you have Peter and me."
"I'm grateful for that," he said quietly, nodding. "I'm glad you understand why I did what I did."
"Peter's incredibly proud of you, you know," she said. "He won't say it, but he's over there right now bragging about you."
Elliot glanced up quickly and saw Peter talking to a woman in a red dress and a man in the ubiquitous tuxedo. Both of the other agents were looking their way occasionally.
"I think he's wrong about one thing," Elliot told her.
"Oh?" she asked.
"This is definitely not boring," he said with a grin.
She laughed. "So you wouldn't go back to being Neal Caffrey, if you could?" she asked. "All those rules you have to follow now must make you a little claustrophobic."
"I liked Neal," Elliot said. "I had fun. But -- no. I wouldn't be Neal again if I could. I'm Elliot. That's who I am."
"Good," she said, and the music stopped, and she led him back to where Peter was waiting for them.
