Prove It: Chapter 3 (Weekend)

The last chapter ended with Peter and Neal talking over at June's place. The tension was beginning to diffuse.

Peter stood up and mentally cringed. He hated what was he was about to do, but there was no way around it. "Neal, if you want me to give you the benefit of the doubt, there's something I have to do."

Neal tensed. It didn't sound like he was going to arrest him, but what could he mean? Was there going to be some new rule? Extra monitoring of his movements?

"And that would be?" Neal probed tersely

"I know that I said I didn't bring a search warrant," Neal's brows went up at hearing Peter's words. "But I'm going to need to search the apartment and storage unit."

"And if I say no?" Neal asked, standing to his feet.

"If you say no, then you aren't coming back to the office on Monday, and I think we know where that leads" Peter said, his voice growing harder again. "Anyways, I don't actually need the warrant."

Neal's eyebrows knit themselves together in consternation. "Excuse me," he blinked in disbelief.

"I haven't used it up until this point, but I actually have the right legal right to search your place at any point." Neal continued to stare and Peter continued, "Case law states that warden's rights apply to every inmate regardless of their housing and living situation. You aren't a parole case Neal. It means…"

"I know what it means," replied Neal tersely. It meant that Peter could invoke a shakedown, a cell search, at any time; that he was still a prisoner who couldn't be trusted. His housing had changed but apparently nothing else.

"The small key opens the cupboards; the copper one goes to the storage shed," Neal brusquely tossing a key ring to Peter. "Anything else, or may I have your permission to leave?"

Peter nodded once, "Go," and Neal stalked out, the door slamming unnecessarily loudly. Peter was actually glad Neal didn't want to stick around. He would feel less awkward searching his friend's apartment without Neal staring shooting irate glances his way. He sighed and looked around. The room was elegantly decorated, and held no immediate clues to the whereabouts of a Nazi treasure. A quick search would be enough to find anything of that such size. Clues and hints would be harder to find, though Peter already knew some of Neal's hiding places - the panel behind which he had slid the Sterling and Bosch tape of Kate and the hole in the wall that at one point had contained a key that opened a storage unit from which the team had got the money to "pay" for Diana's "hotel services."

When Neal had stalked out, he didn't have a destination. He just had to get out. His thoughts whirred back to his time in prison, something he usually tried to avoid. Shakedowns could happen at anytime. Neal remembered lying on his cot reading, and a guard would announce he needed to exit and stand by. Or another time, he came back from the yard to find all of his meager possession had been pawed through and rearranged. Anything considered remotely dangerous was removed, and even the smallest infraction resulted in some draconian punishment. (I mean really, who cared if he had lead based paint. He wasn't using it to get high but to paint).

After pounding the streets for a bit, Neal's stomach started growling. He had set down his French toast when Peter showed up; perhaps now would be a good time to have brunch with Mozzie. He needed to talk to him anyway.

They met at the Ciao Bella Gellato at the lowest level of the dining concourse in Grand Central Station. The place was best known as a bright little shop that served the most amazing Gellato. However, their crepes were magnificent as well and Neal ordered a ham, egg, and cheese one, while Moz ordered banana pancakes.

"Mmmmh, 'What a horror it is for a whole nation to be developing without the sense of beauty, and eating bananas for breakfast'," Mozzie proclaimed.

"Hmmm, I can't place that one. Mexican artist, Diego Rivera?" Neal mused.

"Nope, Edith Wharton, American Novelist. Though Diego had a great one about art, "'Every good composition is above all a work of abstraction. All good painters know this. But the painter cannot dispense with subjects altogether without his work suffering impoverishment.' Ahh, the beautiful blurring of reality, and one's view of life," Mozzie ruminated.

"'How about, 'Intellectual property has the shelf life of a banana,'" Neal returned.

"Bill Gates, gotta respect that man, and that is also why I avoid stealing intellectual property. The value is gone in so little time, and to make a profit, you have to give yourself out to the public," Mozzie shuddered at this last line and dug his fork into his pancake.

Neal smiled at his friend's secretive ways, but then his mouth dropped for a second. "Speaking of property, blurred lines, and art," he started, "I received a valuable note yesterday."

"Ah, yes, the ever elusive and valuable note," Mozzie nodded sagely, and then broke into a grin. "So, what do you think!"

"Heavenly, I was in the fields of Elysium."

Despite his friend's references to the Greek Paradise, Mozzie wondered that his friend wasn't telling the whole truth. He was smiling too hard and not blinking enough, something only a fellow con would notice.

"What's wrong?" Mozzie asked, "Alex and I got it away clean, there's no way it can be traced."

"When the container exploded, the pieces didn't all burn. A piece of my Chrysler building got caught up by the wind, and Peter found it," Neal recounted wrapping his hands around the espresso he had ordered.

"Oh, no. That's bad, real bad. But wait, can't the Suit check your tracker? You weren't anywhere near the docks," Mozzie said trying to calm himself, his banana pancakes momentarily forgotten.

"No, it was off for the case. But I was at Peter's house for dinner that night, and he's searching my house right now."

"Did you have time to move the stuff," Mozzie worried.

"Yeah, the note and key are in my wallet, and I had moved my fake IDs from the drawer by the fireplace, and some other documents to secret panel in the floor that I doubt even Peter will find. It's not the first time I've been prepared to beat a search. I just wish that Peter…" Neal didn't get to around to saying what he wished, because at that moment, Alex Hunter sauntered in.

It would have been awkward enough expressing his mixed feeling of guilt and betrayal regarding Peter to Mozzie, there was no way he was letting Alex see him "going soft." He quickly slipped back into his confident and cool self. He smiled at Alex, stood up, pulled a chair over for her, and pronounced, "Well, if isn't the cat that ate the canary," as he pushed in the chair.

They sat around talking, being careful that no one was close enough to listen in. Neal explained the situation to her but strayed away from bringing up his worries. Soon they drawn into a grand debate about a few of the pieces. Neal was sure that there had been a Monet in a box, but Alex, who had spent more time with the treasure was convinced that it wasn't. At one point, Mozzie tried to convince the other two that a handwritten book they had encountered was a Russian diary that would lead not only to the discovery of the true Anastasia, but also to the soul of Rasputin, which had been trapped for some 95 years now. "Trust me, you hang around with enough Russian "surplus" "suppliers," and you know about these things," Mozzie intoned.

Finally, Mozzie looked at his cell and declared that he had to get over to a Save the Orca rally. Alex and Neal decided to walk back to June's place.

As they walked, Alex took another look at Neal. So, she had declared him an elusive fantasy just like the treasure, but she had the treasure didn't she? So what if Sarah hung around for a bit. There was no way it would last. After the initial thrill of dating the "bad boy," Sarah would realize that Neal was a criminal, and she caught criminals for a living. It would never last. And in the mean time, Alex didn't mind sharing. Part of the con game meant not even trying to trust your partner. Neal might not always believe that, but it had saved her life more than once. Sure it wasn't always her favorite, but Alex had toughened up long ago.

"So, I was thinking we should have a celebratory dinner," Alex began. "You could come over to my place; maybe we could go swimming afterward.' She looked at him with a gleam in her eye, as she thought back to the day they had to steal the music box from the Italian embassy. Clothing of any kind had been conspicuously absent. They were in the entryway to Neal's apartment.

Neal shook his head,"I'd better not be at your place; Peter's sure to be keeping tabs on my anklet, and it probably won't look good for me to show up at your place."

Alex was tempted to pursue the subject, but Neal's eyes were unusually clouded. She couldn't tell if his worry actually stemmed from concern over his movements being tracked, the offer she had made, or something else. But for the moment she decided to let it drop.

"Alright, well, I'll see you around." She brushed her fingers along his shoulder, turned, and left.

Neal sighed, turned to grab a wine glass from the rack, and heard a knock at the door. Had Alex forgotten to tell him something? He pushed open the door to be greeted, not by Alex, but by a red-head in a dark green blouse and black slacks. Sarah had come to claim that lunch date.

Well that was more difficult than I expected. I'm sorry I'm such a slow poster.

The idea for Peter searching Neal's place has been in my head for a while. Based on his legal situation, it seems almost natural that Peter would have that right, but I haven't seen it used much in other fics. What do you think? Sarah or Alex? I've basically made my decision, but I'm interested to see what you think.