Neal throat tightens around another denial. He tilts his head back, focuses his gaze skyward, gets tears under control.

What if I'm not?

He's Neal Caffrey, forger, con artist, thief. He can't forge a decent piece like this, a decent anything. A hand tremor is recognizable, distracting, disturbing--not ideal for a con man. And how the hell is he supposed to pick a delicate lock or get around a well-made electronic security system if she can't keep his hands steady? Yeah, he's an FBI consultant, yeah, he still has what he knows, but how long until that knowledge becomes obsolete and he can't practice his particular arts on something new?

He closes his eyes. "I don't know if that's true."

Forgery is what gave him freedom as a kid. Sharking at a pool hall taught him to manipulate. Sleight of hand is what led him to Mozzie, their first big con, through that to Kate. His crimes eventually led him to Peter and a life he might still lose.

Neal takes a deep breath. Exhales quietly. Rolls his head on his shoulders and starts walking again like he didn't snap at Doc at all. "Do you know what it is? Or was, I guess? Your memory?"

It's not an elegant segue in the least, but Neal is too tired to care.