Work Text:
Peter entered the Italian consulate, fiddling with his tie. He always felt uncomfortable on formal occasions, and though he could pass muster when the job required it, this time he wasn't on duty.
"Hey, Hon."
El appeared at his elbow, two waiters at her heels. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "I'll be with you in just a minute," she half-asked, half-announced, before rushing off.
"Take your time." Peter wondered why he ever agreed to come in.
Taking a glass of something bubbly off a passing tray - holding something was always preferable to standing around and twiddling your thumbs - he surveyed the reception hall. The glass froze halfway to his lips. In the center of the room stood the last person he expected, or more precisely 'wanted', to see here.
Neal Caffrey. In the flesh. Right there in front of him. Wearing a tailored suit and speaking animatedly to some unsuspecting, completely enamored, victim.
Before Peter could decide what to do, Neal glanced in his direction. Peter hoped against hope he hadn't been recognized, had blended into the crowd. But with an easy smile the con-man raised his glass in greeting. Damn.
Neal's response was quite similar, but he kept it to himself. Burke was going to derail the plan, but he had no choice now but to play this out. Excusing himself, he sauntered over to the FBI agent. "Peter! I didn't take you to be the consulate reception kind of guy."
"I'm not. My wife's catering the event." Peter automatically looked in El's direction.
Neal followed Peter's line of sight. "*That's* your wife?"
"Yes. Why?"
Peter assumed that wasn't a compliment. He also didn't like the way Caffrey was looking at his wife.
Neal seemed oblivious. "Your wife has an amazing-"
Peter clamped a hand on Neal's shoulder, practically dragging him away.
"-catering business..."
Neal's smile didn't waver. "Peter, I didn't come here to rob the consulate."
Peter could feel the beginning of a headache making its way to his temples. "So why did you come here?"
"A friend of mine donated a Fancelli to the Italians. Got me an invite."
"Really?"
Neal nodded into his glass.
"I'd like to meet him."
"Yeah."
"Sure." Neal made a show of looking around. "He was here a minute ago. Maybe he left early," he added apologetically, "he mentioned something about a cold."
"I suggest you do the same."
"You're throwing me out?" Neal sounded incredulous. "We're on Italian soil, Peter. Piccolo Italia."
"A crime I was acquitted of in a court of law." Neal chided him with a careless smile. "You were there, Peter. Remember?"
"Yes, I was. So was the Italian consul, if I remember correctly. And he wasn't very happy with the American justice system." Peter waved with his glass towards the crowd. "Want to see how the Italians react when they learn the infamous Neal Caffrey is right here, on Italian soil? You might find yourself in real Italia by morning."
Neal's smile disappeared. "You wouldn't."
"Try me. Maybe in exchange they'll also be happy to share some info on this friend of yours."
"Good. I'll see you out." Peter let Neal lead the way.
It was going to be a long night.
============
Mozzie's park of choice for their after-heist meeting was small, and at this late hour, deserted. Neal couldn't see why this was any better than any random street in New York. With his suit, he hardly blended in, and he was sure the others wouldn't look any less conspicuous.
It was a long, long wait before Mozzie finally showed up. "What happened?"
"Peter was there and he saw me, there was nothing I could do." Mozzie didn't look like he was buying it. "What did you want me to do?"
"Something!"
"We wouldn't *be* in this situation if somebody would have done their research."
"Oh." Mozzie threw up his hands. "Blame the waiter now."
"Moz.."
But before he could get any further, Mozzie shushed him. "Here she comes."
Alex's voice carried across the park. "I just spent the most boring evening ever.. for what? So you can waltz out in the middle?"
"I didn't have a choice." Neal said once she got close enough for a normal conversation. Not that he expected this to be one. Alex looked even angrier than she sounded.
"Neal got spotted by his suit friend." Mozzie added helpfully.
Neal shot him a glance full of daggers. "Moz, That's not helping."
Alex disregarded both of them. "I don't care about your little fling with the FBI, Neal."
"My- what?"
"I had to call in some serious favors to get us this far. And you went and blew it."
"I'll find another way. We'll get the music box, OK?"
"You better."
Neal smiled disarmingly. "Third time's the charm, eh?"
Alex didn't seem amused. Or disarmed. "You owe me, Caffrey." And with that she turned around and stalked off.
Neal watched her receding back until she was out of earshot. "Fling? What was that supposed to mean?"
"There's some speculation on the street that you.. " Mozzie hesitated, then cleared his throat. "Might-be-working-with-the-Feds."
"That's ridiculous." Neal dismissed the idea.
"Is it?"
Something in Mozzie's tone caused Neal to turn his attention to his friend. "Yes. It is. Totally ridiculous. The Feds got me locked up for the past four years, Moz, there's no way I'd ever cooperate with them."
Mozzie nodded. "Except for that Met job."
"Which was a con."
"As far as our street cred is concerned, a very unsuccessful one."
"It did get Peter off my back for the past couple of months."
"Which just proves you're in bed with the Feds."
A catch-22 if he ever heard of one. "E tu? Look, Moz, one successful job and you won't hear another peep from the street."
"OK." Neal wasn't sure if Mozzie really accepted his words, or whether he just wanted to drop the discussion. In any case, he changed the subject. "By the way, I heard Keller's in town. He's looking for a crew."
"So?"
"Just saying."
Neal gave him a wry look before walking off. "I'd rather be in bed with the FBI."