Archive of Our Own

"You got any plans for the weekend?"

The question sounded innocent enough, but FBI consultant Neal Caffrey hadn't come this far into his work-release deal without applying a heavy dose of suspicion to every innocuous question his handler, Peter Burke, batted his way.

"You know, the usual." Neal kept his voice light, his gaze fixed on the lunchtime rush hour on the streets outside the passenger window. What Peter didn't know was that his current 'usual' weekend activities included searching for the music box with Moz.

Peter threw him a wry smile across the car space, as he waited for the red light to change. "It's not a trick question, Neal."

Neal stopped folding the piece of paper in his lap, he'd only just started on his latest origami shape, the rest sitting in a pile in the foot well. For some reason the FBI agent kept swatting them off the dash. "Elizabeth away?"

Peter narrowed his eyes suspiciously "How did you. Never mind."

The light turned green and Peter pointed the town car towards Lower East Side. "I just wondered if you wanted to head over, I've got Pizza and some of that wine you like."

Neal buried a smile, that wine he liked was most definitely not up to his usual standards but if Peter had indeed stocked his kitchen with more than just beer then he needed something from his CI, badly. "Oh, I've just remembered I do have something on."

He was watching for the flash of disappointment so he didn't miss the look that the FBI agent threw at the passing cars. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, Moz and I have been thinking of checking out the Van Gogh exhibition over at the Met, we're thinking of stealing the Wheat field-"

"Neal." His name spoken like a command, it never got old.

Neal sank back down in the leather seat and turned to look at his handler properly. "What do you need help with?"

Peter's brow furrowed as he wrestled with the tricky lane-changing whilst trying to keep up with the conversation. "I don't know what-"

"Peter." Neal parroted the older man's tone right back at him. "Never con a con."

"I'm not trying to-" The agent's indignant sputtering stopped at a single raised brow from the passenger side. "Fine, I need some help to redecorate."

"You have hands right?"

The withering look sent his way would have most people cowering, but Neal was immune to Peter's glares, mostly.

"Come on Peter, spit it out."

The agent's lips pressed together into a hard line, the stress in his shoulders inordinate to the usual traffic-induced posture. "I promised Elizabeth to ask you about doing a mural for us on the wall in the dining room, well she got all the supplies, made the designs, made plans to be out of town and..."

"And, you forgot to ask me." Neal surmised, the thought that Elizabeth liked his art enough to have it on her walls was quite the compliment. The warm feeling spread through his chest.

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I just couldn't seem to find the right time, and now I'm running out of time and-"

Neal decided to take pity on his friend. "I'll come over Saturday morning, and bring an overnight bag."

The stunned silence filled the car, broken only by the beeping of horns in the distance. They had made it through the worst of the traffic finally.

"You mean, you'll?"

"Help you paint a mural in your home, yes."

The relieved smile threatening to spread over Peter's face did something to Neal, it wasn't often he was the cause of such unfiltered joy. "Oh, thank god."

Neal snorted. "I do have one condition."

Peter didn't even have the energy to look wary, clearly in his mind at least, Neal Caffrey had saved his bacon. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but go on."

"No pizza, I want a real hot meal after slaving away all day. Takeout's fine but nothing that'll arrive in cardboard boxes."

"Done, you got it." Peter barked a laugh, slapping the steering wheel with a delighted grin. "Oh and of course we'll pay you for your work, rates are negotiable."

Neal's easy smile slipped, feeling a little stunned himself. "Peter, that's really not necessary. I don't mind-"

"Hey, I said the rates are negotiable not the payment itself." At another light, Peter glanced his way. "You're giving up your weekend and I don't take that or your skills for granted."

Neal knew how stubborn the agent could be, so he wisely didn't push the point. He'd be lying to himself if he said that the gesture wasn't touching, he'd been prepared to help out a friend for the small price of some takeaway but trust Peter to be honourable.

As with any time when things got a little too emotionally heavy between the men, Neal deflected. "So, what kind of style has Elizabeth picked out?"

Peter did that wide-eyed thing he did when somebody asked him about art, he waved his hands vaguely into the air as he pulled onto the next street and started to look for a spot to park. "You know, some kind of garden mural."

Neal thought about the styles Elizabeth mostly leaned towards, excited about the possibilities ahead. "So are we talking realism like Redoute's botanical illustrations, or loose impressionalism, or maybe more patterned work like nature art nouveua?"

He realised he was waffling but deigned not to care, art had held a sway over Neal Caffrey for decades, and it never failed to excite him. Peter on the other hand, looked as about excited as that time they'd spent half the morning going over Neal's excessive expense reports.

Finally, Peter found a car-parking space and smoothly slid the town car against the asphalt. "The pictures she showed me had plants and flowers."

The excitement Neal was feeling was sucked out of the car faster than champagne at a charity gala.

"Plants and flowers." Neal dead-panned. It honestly baffled him how someone as cultured as Elizabeth could fall for someone like, well like Peter. "I'll just phone, Elizabeth." He didn't want to be responsible for painting something completely off-brief, especially if he was being paid for the job.

The agent in question turned off the engine and seemed to notice the judgmental looks his CI was throwing him. "What?"

Neal shook his head, he was genuinely baffled at the gaps in the agent's knowledge sometimes. "You work in art crimes."

Peter snorted, dismissive as he moved to get out of the car. "Look, we have experts for the technical details." He waited, hands on the roof of the car as Neal also got out. "My crime-fighting skills are just fine thank you very much."

"As you say, Butch."

Peter ignored the nickname and started to stroll towards the building that their latest case had led them to. The building in question was a narrow two-story brick structure, darkened by decades of city grime. To the left was a closed garage door, large enough for delivery vans to back into for loading and unloading. A few oil-stained pallets and empty parts boxes sat along the sidewalk next to the roller doors.

Neal followed the agent's lead and fell into his usual place besides the older man, mind shifting gears back to the problem at hand.

The case had landed on their desk two days earlier, a string of break-downs and mechanical failures had plagued Manhattans' luxury car owners, of which there were many. Initial investigations led to the discovery of counterfeit components. Each car had recently been taken in for routine servicing, car parts had been swapped and all of a sudden the streets were littered with broken down and dangerously unsafe sedans and SUV's.

The most obvious answer was fraud, by the speciality garages that carried out the work on the cars, but was it really likely that several independent garages were all trying to pull the same scam? Peter had discounted that line of thinking pretty quickly, and after some digging the pair had found that the garages had all carried out legitimate repairs with seemingly legitimate parts. Their records showed correct ordering procedures for the factories in Europe, all the paperwork was in place and the certification documents in order. That was until Neal got his hands on one of them.

They were forgeries, good but not excellent.

The devil was in the details and whilst the certification documents passed a glancing inspection, it had stood no chance against the CI's discernible eyes.

Someone had been buying in parts cheaply manufactured overseas, dressed them up as legitimate luxury car parts and then sold them on as the real deal. Each speciality garage had lists of dealers worldwide which provided them parts, but only one company had been used recently by all three - Apex Performance Supply. The company name was generic which didn't help track it down, nor did it help that it ended up being a shell company of a shell company of another company, but the team followed the numbers and eventually found a real address hidden deep down in the paperwork.

A small independent dealer on the Lower East Side, trading under the name Orchard Street Auto Supply. And so, here they were on Orchard Street and digging for a lead that could blow open this impressive scam, before any of the accidents turned fatal.

Peter pressed the buzzer next to a narrow glass door and made a beeline to the cluttered reception desk when the entrance opened with a clunk. "We're with the FBI." A quick flip of the agent's badge. "Are the owners around? We'd like a quick word."

"That shouldn't be a problem, Frankie and Danny are both in the back office."

Whilst Peter handled the receptionist, Neal was happy to stand back and do what he did best, observe. There weren't many furnishings but what few there were painted a picture; a luxury car calendar on the back wall flipped open to September last year, several out of date car-themed magazines displayed on a turn-stile stand, a severely neglected palm lingered in the corner and a couple of rows of empty chairs lined against the windows. It felt empty, unfinished.

A door leading to what looked like a large garage space opened, admitting a tired looking mechanic. The man was in his mid-thirties, lean and wiry, slightly tense posture indicating he spent a lot of time on his feet. His dark hair was cropped short. There was a faint scar across the bridge of his nose, most likely an old injury that never quite set correctly.

"Danny, these FBI agents wanted to speak with you."

Danny Russo, the youngest of the brothers had stopped in the open doorway, coming to terms with two supposed feds in his mist. Neal remembered reading in the files on the way over that Danny had done time, so his reaction upon seeing law enforcement officials wasn't surprising.

"FBI agent Peter Burke." Peter strode across the room, hand outstretched in greeting. "And this is my consultant, Neal Caffrey."

Neal tamped down a smirk, Peter would never let his erroneous introduction as an FBI agent go uncorrected, no matter how many times it happened.

Danny seemed to snap out of whatever headspace he had gone to, and stuck out his hand to greet Peter. "FBI, wow. How can I help you?"

Neal kept one part of his attention on the conversation and the other on observing their suspect. Danny's eyes were moving constantly, not exactly nervously but more measured. Danny scanned his surroundings like he was constantly assessing the danger, or for problems. Perhaps a consequence of spending the majority of his youth locked away in the system.

"We'd like to have a look at some of your records, have you got an office we could go to?"

"Uh sure." Danny turned to lead the way back into the garage, before he turned to the receptionist. "Sarah, feel free to head off for the day. I'll lock up."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, course. See you Monday."

Sarah didn't need telling twice, she was packed up and heading out the door even as Peter and Neal were being led into the garage area. Peter led out in front with Danny, whilst Neal lingered in the pair's wake hoping to slip away unnoticed. On the surface this was a perfectly normal garage, but he needed a closer look to see if Peter and he were following a dead end. That had been the plan before Danny Russo stopped, looked back to see that Neal wasn't keeping up and then spent the rest of the journey to the back office keeping his eye firmly on the conman.

Peter shot him a conspiratorial glance, Danny didn't want them poking around. Neal also took that glance to mean, 'do whatever you need to do to get a look around down there, partner'. Neal intended to do just that. He subtly set up an alarm on his phone for 5 minutes time.

The trio climbed a flight of stairs at the back of the garage, entered into a back office and came face to face with the elder Russo - Frankie. Where Danny was scrawny and wiry, his elder brother was the opposite. Broad shoulders, thick forearms, the dark-haired man had the kind of build that filled a room without even trying. In another contrast to his younger brother, Frankie didn't appear put out by their visit in the slightest.

"Special Agent Peter Burke," Peter leaned across the desk to shake the elder brother's hand. "And this is my consultant Neal Caffrey."

Neal waved a hello but remained out of reach for a handshake, he could see the grease covered hands from here.

"What can I help you gentlemen with?" Frankie, offered them both a seat opposite the paper-strewn desk. Clearly, paperwork was not the brother's strong-suit. Peter pulled up a chair and indicated for Neal to take the other with a silent look. As soon as Neal took a seat Danny walked around the other side of the desk and leaned against the wall, passing over control of the conversation to his older brother.

"I was just explaining to your brother that we're investigating counterfeit car parts, checking out local dealers to get a bit of a picture of the supply chain. That sort of thing."

Frankie leaned back in his well-worn chair, the legs creaking under the weight. "I didn't realise Feds investigated car parts, thought you guys were all big time stuff."

Peter noticed the deflection just as Neal had, he gave the brothers a tight smile. "We investigate fraud, and the people in hospital would probably argue that their accidents were indeed 'the big stuff'."

Neal's pre-arranged timer went off, sounding just like a ringtone, although Peter would know better. He quickly grabbed it, made a show of checking the display and got to his feet. "Sorry, sorry. I've got to take this. Be right back."

And before anybody could stop him he slipped out of the room and back onto the concrete stairs. Better to ask forgiveness than permission after all. Neal made a show of answering the phone, conducting a one-sided conversation for 30 seconds before he made a move down the stairs, letting his words trail away. He'd probably only get 5 minutes before one of the brothers came down to check on him so he got straight to work.

Neal quickened his step and strolled into the garage. Fluorescents lights hummed above the space, casting a cold light across the stained concrete floor. At first glance everything appeared ordinary, car parts nearly stacked on shelves, boxed components stacking all the way to the ceiling. But Neal didn't get brought in by the FBI to look at the obvious, he looked at the details.

Near the back wall was a long metal workbench, most of it cluttered with debris - oiled rags, wrenches, a battered impact driver, but one section was out of place and strangely neat. Spread out there were precision tools that Neal Caffrey was very familiar with; magnifying glasses, sharp blades, a digital calliper. You didn't need micrometer measurements to move ordinary auto parts.

Sensing he was onto something, Neal moved closer to the bench and spotted a stack of flattened cardboard boxes waiting to be recycled. Neal picked one at random and checked it out in more detail, the Mercedes box looked legitimate on first pass, the brand logos, serial number sticker all in place, but the cardboard felt thinner than it should be, and the serial number was lacking the pressure marks a factory would make. This had been printed locally.

He replaced the empty box and started poking around underneath the work-bench. It didn't take much searching to find exactly what he and Peter were looking for. Tucked in the corner was a small industrial printer and a roll of security hologram stickers, the kind used to authenticate the high-end luxury car parts. The printer wasn't a mechanic's tool, it was a forger's press.

"I thought you had a phone call."

Neal whacked his head on the bottom of the workbench on his way up, shocked that he hadn't heard the approaching footsteps. He rubbed at his sore head and tried not to shrink away under Danny's glowering face.

"Oh yeah, I just finished up." He shot the forger his most disarming smile. "Shall we head back up?"

Danny just looked at him like he'd suggested they go for a swim in the Hudson River. Neal's careful smile slipped just a little, he shrugged as nonchalantly as he could and decided he would go back up to Peter on his own accord. These were their guys. Another case cracked-

"Don't move."

Neal was halfway back to the stairs when he heard the command, something in the tone warning that part of his brain which usually shouted at him to run, run, run.

He turned back and was dismayed to find Danny Russo holding a gun in his hand, a gun that was pointed directly at his chest. Neal opened and shut his mouth a few times, feeling the usual dread begin to build at facing down the barrel of a weapon. The fact that he could identify such a feeling so easily was a real cause for concern, but not his most pressing one.

Danny strode over to him, shortening the distance whilst the gun remained steady and aimed at his centre mass. "Put your hands up, now."

"I thought you said don't move."

Smart ass. Peter's warning coming entirely from within his own head.

"Now!" Danny yelled, his face an equal mix of incredulity and anger.

Neal put his hands in the air in record time, his feet itching to move, to run as he faced the danger. But there was no-where to run to, no cover and Danny was almost in touching distance.

"Neal?"

Peter, thank god, Peter was on his way everything was going to be alright. Except, if Danny had a gun then what about Frankie. And Neal still had the very real problem of the gun pointed at him which was now pressed right up against his chest.

Peter's voice had come from around the stack of boxes, he was nearby. "Neal, whatever you're-"

Neal had turned sideways as his partner's voice carried around the stack of boxes, he saw Peter the same moment that the FBI agent saw him. The older man's shocked gaze flicked to the gun in Danny Russo's hand, saw that said gun was pressed against his partner's chest and then panic flooded his face.

Neal's attention was ripped away from those panicked brown eyes when manic hands grabbed at him. The next few moments were a blur, but Neal soon found himself pressed tightly against Danny Russo's chest, the criminal's gun squeezed against his neck, and his partner's gun pointed their way.

Neal really hated guns.

Peter glanced at his watch and made a decision. Usually he would let Neal snoop for a little longer and run interference, but Danny Russo had left so shortly after Neal with his own excuse that there hadn't been anything the FBI agent could do about it. The longer the pair were missing the more his gut churned, Danny was far too suspicious and leaving Neal out there any longer was irresponsible.

"I'm just gonna go check on my partner, see what's taking him so long." Peter explained himself to the elder Russo, who honestly didn't appear too fazed by the excuse.

"Sure, let me know where I can send those records, Agent Burke."

So far, Frankie Russo had been nothing short of forthcoming and if it weren't for the youngest Russo's edginess Peter would have declared this a complete dead end.

"I'll get someone to contact you when we're back in the office." Peter promised, walked briskly out of the office, down the stairs and towards the garage bay. He'd hoped to run into his missing CI or Danny on the way down, but there was no sign.

The FBI agent heard a yell from further into the room, half muffled by the hum of an industrial air purifier. Dammit, Neal.

"Neal?"

He quickened his pace, navigated past rows of floor-to-ceiling auto-part boxes, side-stepped a forklift and tried calling out again. "Neal, whatever you're-"

The words died in his throat as he rounded the corner. The FBI agent had got his wish, he'd found his wayward CI. The only problem was Danny had also found him, and the youngest Russo brother was armed. Peter met Neal's eyes and in that split-second saw the fear there, warring with the urge to run.

The FBI agent reacted a second too slow, the other man's gun not even a piece on the board. Danny Russo didn't have a gun licence, had no history of serious violence. This wasn't how the script was supposed to go.

"FBI!" Peter yelled, reaching into his jacket for his own gun. "Drop your weapon!"

Danny moved quickly, faster than Neal could react. The younger brother had his partner in a restraining hold before Peter had cleared his holster and the gun pressed against the young conman's neck at the same time Peter levelled his weapon. Except, he couldn't get a clean shot, not with the way Danny was holding Neal.

Dammit.

"Russo, don't make this any worse than it already is, drop the gun now." The words flew from his lips automatically, falling back on the field manual distracted him from having to look into Neal's frightened eyes.

Backup, they needed backup.

Peter's hand drifted to his belt, where he kept his phone clipped. Danny saw the movement, eyes widened in realisation and he exploded. "Don't touch that, you do, and he's dead!"

Danny had taken a couple of steps forwards, pushing Neal with him like a rag doll. The gun moved to press tightly against his partner's head.

Peter snatched his hand away from the phone as though burned, "Easy, easy." he took a controlling breath and adjusted the grip on his own gun.

Think, Burke. Caffrey's relying on you.

"It doesn't have to be this way Danny, whatever you've got going on with these car parts-"

"Don't pretend this is about the car parts." Danny interrupted hotly.

"I don't know what-"

"You're in their pocket, aren't you? Carelli sent you!"

Carelli, as in the mob? Peter was confused but tried not to let the situation spiral any more out of control.

"I don't know any Carelli, Danny. My partner and I here are just investigating car parts. Fraud, that's it."

"He's right Danny, we're just looking for counterfeits." Neal helpfully added, his voice only a little shaky which was a miracle considering how tightly the pistol was being pressed to his temple.

"Bullshit." Danny Russo was practically vibrating, and he was jostling Neal with him. Peter was starting to wonder if this kid had taken something that was making him so paranoid, so volatile.

"Danny, I swear-"

"What the hell, Danny?"

Frankie.

Peter took a step to the left, letting himself keep an eye on both Danny, Neal and Frankie. The older brother had stepped round the corner and was taking in the situation with wide staring eyes. He didn't appear armed, but Peter wasn't taking any chances. "Frankie, stay where you are, keep your hands where I can see them."

Frankie to his credit kept his hands away from his body palms up, and stayed exactly where he was.

Peter couldn't cover them both with his gun, not with Neal in immediate danger so he kept a wary eye on the elder brother but focussed the majority of his attention on Danny. "Danny, you need to put down that gun, and then we can all talk about this."

Danny ignored him completely and answered his brother instead. "Carelli sent them."

"That's not true." Neal pleaded, Danny lifted the weapon and whacked the conman's head with it, causing Neal to spit out a curse.

Peter stepped forwards, an automatic reaction to hearing Neal in pain but stopped short at warning a glare from Danny. The weapon was already back, pressing into Neal's temple.

"Danny, they say they're here for car parts. You have any idea what you're doing? Pulling a gun on Feds?"

Peter usually wouldn't let a family member be a part of negotiations, but it wasn't like he had a way to get to Frankie to leave, and anyway the guy was trying to talk sense to his younger brother, so Peter didn't interrupt.

"It ain't a coincidence, Frank." Danny's grip on Neal's jacket was tightening. "I can't take the chance, he'd kill me if he found out."

"Nobody's killing anyone." Peter forced as much authority into his voice as he could muster. "This is all just a big misunderstanding, Danny just put the gun down."

"No way." Danny's gun hand was beginning to tremble, but Peter still couldn't see an opening and Neal was still looking at him with such trust in those eyes.

"Danny, what if you're wrong man. You ready to blow up all of our lives?"

Peter didn't voice the truth that they were already blown up, deeming it unhelpful. Regardless of whether Danny surrendered, he would have a team of agents tearing this place apart by nightfall. Clearly the brothers were into something dodgy, and if Danny had crossed the mob then this could get messy fast.

"But what if I'm right, Frank."

Peter was busy watching Danny and Neal, looking for an opening. As Frankie had been a voice of reason thus far, the FBI agent had classed him as the least dangerous of the brothers to his and Neal's safety. Oh boy, was he wrong.

The first indication something had changed was Neal's face morphing into horror, the last scraps of calm melting quicker than snow in the rain. The second was the instruction from Frankie.

"Agent, drop your weapon."

Peter glanced right and was stunned to see a Colt 45 in the hands of Frankie, steadily aimed at his mid-section. He felt what little control he had slip away, dread beginning to take its place.

"Frankie, this is not-"

"I'm not letting you shoot my brother, Agent Burke." A sorry shrug. "Now drop it."

Peter glanced between the two brothers, noted that Danny was standing taller now that he had backup, and that Neal was shrinking in on himself. Peter had failed to keep him safe from this, but holding onto his weapon would only endanger them both further.

Regretting every moment, Peter lowered his service weapon to the floor and slowly placed it on the stained concrete. He rose back upright, keeping both hands in plain view and surrender.

"Kick it back, over here."

Peter kept his gaze locked onto his partner as he kicked the gun out of reach and towards Frankie, their last protection gone. Neal's hands were trembling, this wasn't fair dammit. Caffrey was a civilian, he wasn't supposed to be in this situation.

Then somehow it got worse. Danny removed the restraining arm from the front of Neal's jacket, hefted the gun and pistol-whipped the CI with a massive crack. Neal's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he went down hard.

"Neal!" Peter yelled, surging forwards to his partner who hit the ground with a sickening thud.

"Don't move!" Danny yelled at him, the gun pointed squarely at him now.

With two weapons pointed at him, Peter had nowhere to go. He stopped moving, his shoes squeaking against the hard-worn floor. "You didn't have to do that." He muttered through gritted teeth, trying to keep his anger at bay. "He was co-operating."

"Means we can focus on you, Agent." Danny closed the distance between them but kept out of hand-to-hand range, his pistol tracked upwards to point at Peter's head. "Frankie, you wanna frisk him?"

Peter heard the sound of footsteps approach. "I don't want to be doing any of this, Danny."

"But we've got to now." Danny reasoned.

"Look, it's still not too late to come back from this." Peter tried, but Danny put stop to that thought with a threat.

"Hold still whilst my brother frisks you. Move, and I'll blow a hole in your head."

Peter gritted his teeth but remained completely still as Frankie reached him and started to check his pockets. His spare clip, phone and handcuffs were removed, followed by his wallet, keys and an origami frog.

Neal must have slipped it into his pocket on the walk over.

Oh god, Neal.

Predictably, his handcuffs were used on him. Frankie grabbed one of his arms, attached a cuff and brought the other down to the small of his back. The restraints clicked into place, not overly tight but no where loose enough for him to get free.

Peter was not happy about being restrained by his own cuffs by any stretch of the imagination, but he had more important things to worry about, like the fact that Neal hadn't stirred. Peter could still hear the crack of Neal's head, Danny had hit him so damn hard.

Once he had been restrained, Peter was forced onto his knees and Frankie kept him covered whilst his brother checked over Neal's body. Any hopes Peter had that his partner was playing up his injuries vanished when he saw the limp limbs, and the pool of blood that was adding a new stain to the concrete floor.

"Hey," Peter yelled out. "Easy with him."

He hated seeing the criminal's hands on Neal, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Danny just scoffed and continued his search. Neal didn't carry all that much on him, just a phone, wallet and lock picks, but it was his leg accessory that had the brothers freaked.

"What the hell is this?"

"A tracking anklet, he's a criminal consultant."

Danny's worried face looked to his brother for reassurance, Frankie moved closer to Neal to take a look for himself. It wasn't like Peter was going anywhere. "Like a parole thing?"

"Sort of." Peter explained. "It just lets us keep track of his whereabouts."

"That's gonna be a problem." Danny, who had been started to calm down was heading down a one-way street to crazy town again. "Should we shoot it off?"

"No!" Peter shouted desperately what in the hell was wrong with this kid. "It's not dangerous to you."

Peter wasn't going to tell the brothers that they had the key to deactivate the anklet in their hands, not unless there was no other choice. Right now it was their lifeline to the marshals and by extension FBI.

Frankie thankfully was a little more open to Peter's explanation. "So, it's no different to a phone GPS?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much it." Peter was relieved that one of the brother's wasn't completely reckless. "We use it to make sure he stays in a radius when off the clock."

Frankie walked back over to the kneeling FBI agent, his weapon held loosely in his hand. "But it will still show he's been here."

"So will our phones. People from my office know where we came, and who we came to speak to."

The underlying message was pretty clear, kill us and the FBI will know where to come knocking.

Frankie understood, he rubbed a tired hand over his face. He really didn't want to be doing this. Peter tried one more time - "Look, I meant what I said. We can still-"

"No, not until we know if Carelli sent them." Danny put an end to the conversation before it even began.

Frankie looked wearily at his little brother, before glancing between the prisoners. "Yeah okay, let's make sure they don't go anywhere whilst we make some calls."

Peter did not like the sound of that, not one bit.

Neal felt the heat of the explosion, the blast knocking him off balance and down onto the rough asphalt.

"Neal."

Arms crowded him from behind, pressed him close as he wrestled fiercely against their hold. Kate, Kate! He yelled into the darkness, because that was all that remained, a black, cold empty hole.

"Neal, wake up."

Kate!

Neal came to suddenly, waking with a gasp. He opened his eyes, but the light was blinding, the fire too bright, too close. The smell of fuel in the air. He heard a pitiful sound, and it took him a moment to realise that sound had come from him.

"Neal!"

His breathing was short and panicked, his skin clammy and warm. The asphalt hard beneath- Wait a minute. No, this was wrong.

He wasn't laying on asphalt, the surface was too smooth. His face wasn't warm, it was wet. Neal tried to wipe away whatever was on the side of his face, then panic began anew when he realised he couldn't move his arms. They were stuck above him, someone must be keeping him from getting to the plane, to Kate.

"Neal, snap out of it!"

And suddenly Neal knew where he was, Peter's voice carrying him out of the dark and into the light, the too-light fluorescent bulbs of the garage.

Neal groaned as the world made itself known, this time he tried opening his eyes a little at a time to let them adjust. He had no idea why but his head was killing him, it was like someone with a drum had taken residence in his mind. Blurry shapes began to come together, and soon enough he was looking into the very worried brown eyes of his partner.

"You with us?"

Neal winced as his eyes continued to adjust to the brightness, the beating drum sending flares of pain each second. "What-"

Neal knew Peter wouldn't need him to finish his sentences, which was a good thing because everything felt like a chore right now.

"Neal, do you know where you are?"

Neal fought through fragmented memory's, the car-ride over, the receptionist, the garage, then Danny Russo and a gun. He managed a nod, regretting that the action set off more alarms in his head than a smoke machine in a high-rise. "Orchard Street garage."

Neal opened his eyes enough to see that news land, and a weight lift off his friend's chest. Why was he so concerned about Neal knowing where they were? And why in the hell did his head hurt so damn much.

"What happened? Feel like I'm missing some time."

"Danny knocked you out, hit you real hard." An uncharacteristic waver in the agent's voice. "You were starting to worry me, kid."

He was starting to worry himself, his brain was never usually this sluggish. He'd not been this bad after an all night booze session with Mozzie. Neal forced himself to focus on Peter's face, then frowned when he saw that the man was sat on the floor. Come to mention it, Neal was also sat on the floor. A quick glance saw that the restraining tugging on his arms came from above, his wrists had been taped to a sturdy bar attached to one of the workbenches. He tugged at the material, but annoyingly it didn't shift an inch, he felt about as strong as a house of cards right about now.

"Neal, you doing okay there bud?"

Neal's attention had wavered, that wasn't like him. Peter had said he'd been knocked out though, that would explain why his head felt like it was about to split open.

"My head's killing me..." He groaned, shifting as best he could in the restrained position. He then noticed his legs were tied together at the ankles with yet more duct tape, did these people have no respect for a devoré?

"I'm not surprised, anything else hurt?"

Neal tried to do an inventory but the all-encompassing pain from his head over-rode anything else. He looked at Peter and managed to shake his head in the negative. His eyes travelled upwards, and it was then he noticed that his handler was restrained similarly, except they had used the agent's handcuffs.

"I wish they'd used the cuffs on me." Neal blurted out without really thinking, cuffs he could pick. Duct tape, was more tricky. Especially with his arms held so high above his head.

Peter snorted, some of the lines on his forehead smoothed out. "I was kind of hoping you'd have a trick to get out of tape too."

Neal glanced up at the offending material, it was multiple layers and felt like industrial strength. The solvent would be playing havoc with his cotton shirt sleeves. "Yeah, me too."

A door slammed somewhere up above, the two prisoners snapped to the sound but when no-one appeared they settled back. Neal managed to take his first proper look at their surroundings, thankful that Ringo seemed to be winding down the tempo. He and Peter had been restrained to two of the workbenches at the back of the garage, out of sight of the street and roller doors. Neal could see that Peter's side of the bench had been cleared of tools, and he imagined his side had had the same treatment.

"How long have I been out?"

"About 20 minutes." Peter slumped back against his own workbench, the chains rattling on the handcuffs holding the agent's arms above his head. "Danny and Frankie are making calls."

Neal thought back through the tense hostage situation. "Peter, who the hell is Carelli?"

The FBI agent sighed. "Carelli is a mob boss, and for some reason Danny thinks we're under Carelli's thumb."

Neal felt his brain kick into another gear, the nasty throbbing in his head shoved way down at the presentation of a puzzle.

"Danny's been stealing from a mob boss?"

"It sounds like it yeah, Danny must be involved in something much more than just forged car parts." Peter furrowed his brow. "What did you find down here anyway?"

Neal thought back to the minutes before it all went to hell, he hadn't had to look hard to find evidence of the counterfeiting operation. "Fake part boxes, industrial printer, security hologram stickers..."

Peter nodded, "So these are our guys." The usual satisfied smile missing from the picture.

"I was about to head up to let you know when Danny showed up, you know the rest."

Peter swallowed before speaking. "I'm sorry, Neal."

Neal stopped his searching of their prison and frowned at Peter. "What have you got to be sorry for?"

The FBI agent squirmed as much as he was able in his restrained condition, for the first time in a long time he was struggling to meet Neal's gaze. "You're a civilian, Neal. You should never have got hurt, and it's happened on my watch."

"Come on, Peter. How could you know they had problems with the mob, that they had guns?"

"It's my job to know, and now we're-"

"Stuck." Neal finished off the thought grimly. He studied the tense lines of Peter's shoulders. "How much trouble are we in here?"

Peter blew out a breath. "Let's just say you might want to discover those tape-picking skills sooner rather than later."

Oh wow, that much.

Sometimes it sucked that the pair had that pesky rule not to lie to one another, Neal could have really done with some better news. Still, he'd been in tighter spots than this. If only he'd been in the handcuffs, he had a needle stitched into his shirt cuffs. It would have taken a little while to work loose, but then they would have been out of here. If only they could work out a way to get it to Peter's hands, he might be able to talk the agent through lock-picking.

"Hey, what you thinking over there?"

It would be betraying an emergency backup pick, but there was little else for it. "I've got a pin sewed into my cuff, I should be able to get it out even with my hands like this but getting it over to you..."

Peter's eyes widened in surprise, then the gears started rolling behind the mind that enjoyed a puzzle as much as Neal did. The two men looked around their limited options, but unless Peter had improved his flexibility to match an Olympic gymnast there was no way that was happening. The FBI agent came to the same conclusion. "Keep it for now and-"

A door opened, and footsteps began to descend the stairs. Neal leaned forward as much as the restraints would allow. "What's our play?" He whispered.

"Let me do the talking." Peter muttered, keeping an eye on the stack of boxes that the brothers would stroll around any second.

"But Peter-"

"No, Danny's already taken a dislike to you. Let me handle this."

Neal spluttered, blowing out a noisy breath lest he voice some of the thoughts in his head. How in the hell was it his fault that Danny had used him as a piñata?

Quietly fuming, Neal kept his lips pressed tightly together as the two brothers rounded the corner, guns in plain-view. The men strode over to their prisoners, checked over the bindings and once happy that there hadn't been any escape attempts they began their rounds of questioning. Neal, did as instructed, and let Peter handle things. He quietly sulked and went about trying to get more range in his wrists whilst the brothers were focussed on the FBI agent. He soon deducted that he and Peter weren't going anywhere anytime soon.

"I've told you, we don't know a Carelli. Frankie, this is all just one big misunderstanding."

Danny took that moment to jump in, waving his gun near Peter's face. "Misunderstanding? At this point it doesn't matter if you know Carelli or not. I'm not doing hard time."

Peter moved his head as far away from the wandering pistol as he could get, if it was just Frankie he were dealing with he might have been more optimistic about talking him down, but Danny was all over the place.

"Danny, will you quit waving that around." Frankie snapped, he was sat in a chair with his gun on the work-bench in easy reach. "They're not going anywhere."

Danny huffed, and pouted like any kid who got ordered around by an older sibling. He kept hold of the gun, but crossed his arms and held it loosely there. An improvement on the erratic behaviour.

"Obviously we're in a bit of a bind here, Agent Burke." Frankie's broad shoulders were hunched, his chin lowered to his chest.

You're not the only ones pal.

"Why don't you let me help you with that." The cuffs were beginning to really bite into his wrists the way his arms were hanging.

"We can't listen to anyth-"

"Shut up, Danny!" Frankie exploded from the chair, his bulky frame taking up a lot of space in the small workshop segment. "You got us into this mess, now let me get us out of it."

Danny sat down on his own chair, quietly fuming in the corner. Peter adjusted his arms and tried to relax his frame as best he could, this situation required cool heads. Impulsive recklessness would only make matters worse. Frankie watched his brother furtively as he retook his seat, breathing audibly through his nose.

"Can you offer us a deal?"

"I can." Peter began carefully, ignoring the scoff from the younger Russo. "But you'll have to give me something big if you want no hard jail time."

He'd built up a reputation as a straight shooter, if word got out that he promised something he couldn't deliver then his word amongst the criminal underworld would be meaningless.

Frankie rubbed a hand over his face wearily. "You mean Carelli?"

Peter nodded.

"But we'd still have to do some time?"

Peter indicated to his and Neal's predicaments. "You're both facing pretty serious charges, the prosecutor might offer full immunity, but I can't promise that will happen."

"So, reduced sentence, possible early release?"

"That's a promise I can keep-"

"No, no, no." Danny kicked his chair away, grabbed his gun and pointed it right at the FBI agent's head. "If we roll on Carelli, they'll kill us."

Peter sucked in a breath and backed up as far as the chains would allow him, the reappearance of the wild-card throwing him off balance. He took a steadying breath and didn't think about the shaky barrel pressing against his head.

"We can protect you inside."

The gun pressed harder against his skull, Peter closed his eyes.

"Danny. We can't off two feds."

"What other choice do we have, Frankie? You know what happened to Vinnie and Joe inside, they were meant to be in protective custody, but Carelli got to them anyway."

Peter could feel the negotiation spinning out of control, he tried to grasp at it with slick fingers.

"We won't let that happ-"

"Shut it!" Danny hissed, right next to his ear. "We can't trust him, we can't-"

"Can I offer you guys a third option?"

Peter couldn't believe what he was hearing, he opened his eyes to stare across at his partner who looked as calm as could be. He'd told Neal to let him handle things, what in the hell was he thinking?

"What?" Danny was so shocked at the outburst that he lost interest in pressing the gun against Peter's head.

Neal leaned back against the worktop in a way that suggested it was his idea to be on the floor in the first place, every part of him oozing confidence.

"You could run." Neal offered like it was the simplest solution in the world, to him, it probably was. "Take some cash, get some fake passports and just go. No-one would find you."

Danny stalked over to Neal, wary like he had just seen the man for the first time. Peter wished that Caffrey would just shut up, he really didn't want him getting hurt again for running his mouth off.

"How in the hell would we get fake passports and enough cash to disappear, smart guy?"

Neal flashed his most brilliant smile, the one which usually made Peter groan and prepare for his latest Caffrey-induced headache.

Even with blood dripping down his face he was every inch the charming conman. "I know a guy."

"You know a guy?" Danny crossed his arms and deliberately lowered his head to stare at the conman.

"I'm not wearing this tracking anklet for fashion, I'm a criminal."

"Neal, what the hell-"

"Sorry, Agent Burke." He made direct eye contact with his partner and willed Peter to play along, he never called the agent by his last name. "I don't really fancy getting killed for a work-release program."

Trust me.

Neal watched Peter's brain mind work through the play, he could tell by the set of his partner's shoulders that he wasn't exactly happy with it, but a subtle nod let him know to go ahead. He would back him up.

"I've been planning on skipping this thing for a while, you guys may have just given me the opening I've been waiting for."

"Oh really?" Frankie got to his feet to confront the conman, two varying levels of suspicion radiated from both brothers. Neal knew that Frankie would be harder to fool.

The elder Russo had been close to accepting Peter's deal, but Neal had seen what the FBI agent hadn't when he had been accosted by Danny's pistol. As much as Frankie didn't want to harm them, he would. He would do anything to protect his little brother.

"For god’s sake, Caffrey we had a deal. I trusted you!" Peter's tone held a bite to it that the brother's had yet to experience, the performance tipped the favour back towards Neal.

Neal shrugged. "A deal I made under duress, hardly binding in my mind."

The FBI agent scoffed, practically wrinkling his nose at the conman in disgust.

If the stakes weren't, so high Neal might actually be enjoying this, Peter really was a good actor when the time called for it.

Danny looked between the two men, considering the change in course. "Why would you want to run? You're on probation right?"

"Probation? Is that what he told you?" Neal laughed. "I was released into the custody of the FBI. I've got a radius of 2 miles from some dingy little motel, have to answer every beck and call, snitch on my friends, give up holidays, weekends without complaint for years. And if they don't like the work I do on a case they'll send me straight back inside. That's not freedom, that's just a different kind of prison."

The best cons are based on a modicum truth, Neal knew that, hell Peter knew that but that still didn't stop the stab of guilt at seeing genuine hurt flash through his friends eyes albeit ever so briefly.

"Why haven't you then?"

Neal shrugged as best he could have given the restraints. "It takes time to get an exit plan together, procure passports, steal and fence the art for cash. I needed enough to finance my getaway, also" Neal tapped his foot against the floor. "I have this little problem. The feds never take it off for anything and Burke keeps the key close, but now?"

"Now, you could get a pretty decent head start." Danny finished for him, glancing backwards to his elder brother. "But why would we help you run?"

Good, Danny was moving from suspicion at a quicker rate than Neal could have hoped for.

"Because I can help you guys run." Now the hook. "Unless you have a friend who can make impeccable forged passports in 2 hours, and have 10 million dollars lying around?"

Danny's head jerked back, his eyes widening comically.

Frankie was not so easily fooled. "You have 10 million dollars lying around, how?"

Peter played his part perfectly, helpfully supplying the means. "I knew you stole the Rembrandt! Dammit Neal, you swore to me that you had nothing to do with that."

"Nothing personal, Agent Burke. It's who I am."

"Yeah, I guess it is."

Ouch. That reaction had felt a little too real.

Neal swept off the sting, too practised to let it show to the brothers.

Time to pile on the pressure. He made a show of impatiently looking at the watch on his wrist, even with the awkward positioning.

"Look guys, every minute we sit here is another lost that could be spent running. We have a head start against the feds for now, but that isn't going to last all night." He leaned towards the brothers. "You help me, I help you. A simple business transaction."

Danny turned to his brother, his foot jittered against the workshop floor. "Frank, maybe we could-"

"You trust criminals too easily, Danny." Frankie interrupted, tall frame towering over Neal.

Damn, Danny was biting, but Frankie needed an extra push, he needed-

"5 years."

He needed the federal agent in the room to completely cut his CI loose, which was exactly what Peter did.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm going to put you in super max for another 5 years for pulling this little stunt, Caffrey." Peter snapped, his teeth bared.

Neal watched Frankie's expression change, and suddenly it was the three criminals on one side of the aisle and the federal agent on the other. Lines clearly drawn in the sand.

Good job, buddy.

Danny surged forward, his pistol wielded like a bat. "Shut it Fed." The gun collided with the side of Peter's head with a smack and the agent grunted under the force of the blow, face pressing against his arm to shield himself from further assault.

It turned out, Peter had done too good of a job.

Neal's mouth went dry, the conman avoided eye contact with the others in the room lest he give away how much seeing Peter brained like that hurt him. He fixated on the wall opposite, willing his expression to remain blank as he heard his friend's pained pants.

He watched in his periphery a trickle of blood drip down from Peter's brow.

The whole point of this con was to get him and Peter out of this mess unharmed, some confidence man he was.

"Danny, leave him be." Frankie sounded tired of just about everything. He glanced from Peter's harsh breathing to the eerily calm conman and made a decision. "Go and grab Caffrey's phone, we'll see if this passport contact is real."

Danny glared fiercely at Peter before rushing off into the garage, shoes squeaking against the floor. Frankie, finally retrieved his weapon from the workbench and held it loosely by his side. He frowned as he glanced between the men, grimaced and shook his head at the ceiling.

Frankie still wasn't completely convinced. Well, Neal hoped after this phone call he would be otherwise he and Peter were in real trouble.

Neal shifted his eyes to look at Peter, surprised to find the older man looking at him already with cold hard eyes. The angry picture completed by the pulsing forehead vein which only made an appearance when his partner was really mad.

It's just an act.

Maybe if he repeated that enough his mind would believe it.

The agent's face looked paler than normal, perhaps that was just due to the contrast against the bright crimson cut along his brow. Neal wanted to wince on his friend's behalf, seeing the blood reminded him of his own injury he'd been trying very hard to ignore. The pounding in the back of his head had been shoved way down for the performance, but now in the silence it reared its ugly head and pounded along with his elevated heart.

Neal knew he shouldn't risk it, but he needed to know Peter was okay, him getting assaulted hadn't been part of the plan. He subtly drew the older man's attention to his fingers and tapped out a brief message.

Dash-dash-dash dash-dot-dash

Morse code for OK.

Peter's eyes tracked the movement, and after checking that Frankie's attention was elsewhere he let his glare slip, brown eyes softening in an instant. An imperceptible nod before the enraged mask was back in place, a blink-or-you-miss-it kind of moment.

Neal breathed out tension he hadn't known he'd been holding.

Just an act.

It was the worst kept secret that Peter liked to be in charge in an investigation. His White Collar colleagues had been known to, on occasion, label him a 'control freak'. So, letting Neal take the lead and run his con on the brothers wasn't easy by any stretch of the imagination, but if there was any one person he would trust to pull this off? Neal.

Peter Burke trusted Neal. Not with the small things, his wallet - absolutely not, loose diamonds - nope, but his life? Yeah, Peter trusted Neal with that without hesitation. Elizabeth's father would get a real kick out of such an oxymoron.

Oh, El...

Peter squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden thought, he had been pretty successfully keeping his wife's smiling face out of his head until now but in the quiet his thoughts had drifted. To home, to safety, to hoping he would see his wife's smile again.

Cowboy up.

Neal was acting his ass off to save both of theirs, Peter had to get his head back in the game - be the villain to Caffrey's hero. Danny had fallen for Neal's play first, but Frankie still needed some convincing. Neal's call to his 'contact' was slowly bringing the older brother round.

In spite of the odds Neal's plan was working, and aside from a few little hitches - namely his head being used for batting practise, things were starting to look up.

"Hey Mozzie, I need 3 passports, expedited and delivered in person this afternoon."

Frankie was holding Neal's phone near his face, had the cell on speaker and his pistol loosely threatening the conman. Danny had relished the idea to hold his gun to the FBI agent's head, one fact that Peter was steadily trying to ignore as he outwardly exuded great annoyance towards his partner.

"Three?" Mozzie's quizzical tone echoed around the small space. To outward appearances Neal looked as calm as could be, but Peter had seen enough of the kid's false smiles to know he was worried. Their lives depended on Mozzie going along with Neal's play.

"Yeah, one for myself and two for some new friends." Neal's relaxed slouch against the workbench was still holding up. "I can send over the photos to the usual email."

A silent moment that seemed to stretch forever, both partners willed Mozzie to catch on.

"Sure, I can get three made up by this afternoon. Expedited service will cost extra you know."

Despite the gun pressed against his head, Peter felt a sudden lightness take hold. Logically he knew that if Neal ever ran, Mozzie would be who he called, but the little guy had to know that he would never do it like this.

"Money won't be a problem." Neal promised, and at Frankie's urging, Neal asked for the other agreed upon part of the deal. "We could also use an extraction."

"What kind?" There was no hesitation to Mozzie's answer this time, proving just how many times he and Neal had improvised like this.

"Out of the country."

Mozzie whistled. "Okay, yeah that is going to cost, but I know you're good for it, Caffrey."

"You're the best, Moz." Neal was biting his lip to keep from smiling too hard.

"Where do you want the passports and transport delivered?"

Peter watched Frankie shake his head at Neal, clearly not trusting everything to the CI immediately.

Caffrey huffed quietly, throwing the older brother a shrug. "I'll email the address later."

"Sure, no problem."

"Hey Moz, any chance I could have a better name than Jones this time?"

Neal had delivered the hidden message flawlessly. No matter how many times the agent watched his partner work it would never get old.

"Ha!" Mozzie tittered. "Definitions belong to the definers, not the defined."

Neal's answering smile was genuine. As much as the little guy annoyed the hell out of Peter, he would never let Neal down. Dependable thieves were rare, and trusting thieves even rarer, somehow Neal and Mozzie had found each other in the rough seas.

The bubble popped when Frankie made an impatient gesture with the cell, and Danny pushed his gun into Peter's head so hard he feared he'd be left with a permanent imprint.

"I'll get those photos emailed over ASAP."

Frankie flipped the cell phone closed and looked back and forth between handler and CI, the big man rubbed the back of his neck, uncertain.

Neal had done his job well and successfully delivered an S.O.S to Mozzie, the little guy couldn't have missed the giant warnings so it stood to reason Jones would soon be receiving a call that Neal was in trouble. The FBI would check Caffrey's anklet, track the pair here and save the day. But all of that would take time, so they had to stall, they had to keep Neal's story alive and for the moment Frankie wasn't 100% on board.

That was Peter's cue.

"You can run again, Caffrey, but I'll track you down like a dog." He growled.

Neal's eyes widened ever so briefly, a quick flash of panic and then a blinding pain. Peter groaned and snapped his head sideways, or more accurately Danny and his pistol snapped his head sideways. It wasn't as hard of a hit as last time, but the jolt only compounded the earlier injury. Maybe he should tone down the act, just a little.

"No-one told you to speak, Fed." Danny spat at him, levelling his gun to point at the agent's head again.

"Danny, will you quit that." Frankie complained wearily, sounding more like a brother asking his sibling to quit switching the channel, rather than asking him to stop assaulting a federal agent.

Danny was not to be mollified, not this time. "Why should I if this guy keeps running his damn mouth?"

"Then gag him." Frankie grabbed the duct-tape roll from the workshop side and tossed it to Danny. "Then he won't be stupid and run his mouth, and you won't be stupid and keep hitting a fed."

Shit.

Danny barely reacted in time to catch the tape, he looked back at his brother like he'd just suggested selling their fake parts to a cop.

If Peter's voice was taken then he had very little he could do to back-up Neal's play, he would be helpless just sitting here.

"Wait a minute-"

His words unlocked Danny's stupor, he slammed his pistol down out of reach and tore at the tape. "Nah, you had your chance. Now is quiet time."

Peter felt panic claw at his chest. He tried one last time to plead with the youngest Russo, but that plea was muffled by the tape that had just been slapped across his mouth. As he panicked, Peter automatically sought his partner who wasn't even looking at him. Peter swallowed the automatic hurt. Of course, he had to stay in character completely - the indifferent conman. Neal was now on his own in this one-sided play.

Danny tossed the tape aside and slapped at Peter's face, "That's better." The slap was enough to send a flare of pain through his head, but he fought off the answering groan. Peter didn't want to make this any more difficult for Neal than it already had to be.

Frankie just shook his head at his brother's behaviour, he rounded on Neal. "What do we need to take these photos?"

"A camera, professional if you've got one, but we can make a normal one work, a blank wall, some good lighting." Neal flexed his hands. "And, this off."

Frankie said nothing he kept looming over Neal, teetering on the edge of the decision, whether to trust Caffrey with his brother's future. Peter couldn't do a damn thing to help.

Fortunately for them, Neal was Neal.

Caffrey flashed one of his most brilliant smiles. "I'm going to need somewhere to wash up this blood too, my guy's good at passports, but he's not a miracle worker."

A beat, then the tally of people Neal had conned increased by 1.

"Alright Danny, cut him loose."

Danny flipped open a switch-blade and began to saw at the heavy-duty tape around Neal's ankles. Peter's eyes flipped upwards and was surprised to see Neal looking openly at him, unnaturally quiet and still. The indifference of before gone, and in its place a dangerous slip of the mask. Peter couldn't risk a signal, not with Frankie hovering so instead he willed Neal to understand that this wasn't his fault. El sometimes joked that they could communicate without words, he hoped to hell Neal was hearing him.

Danny moved from Caffrey's ankles to his wrists, snapping Neal back into the moment. "Careful there buddy, do you have any idea how much a devoré costs?"

Smart ass.

Peter would have rolled his eyes if the situation weren't so drastic. Neal may have earned the brother's trust, but he still had a tight-rope to walk to keep this con alive until the FBI arrived. Neal dusted himself off and walked away with his new partners in crime, leaving Peter chained up and alone; he knew he should have been more worried about himself. The truth was, since he'd rounded the corner to see Danny holding a gun on his partner, this was the calmest he had felt.

He didn't trust Neal with the small things, but his life? Their lives? In that, Neal had his complete trust.

"Here, it's the best I can do."

Neal spun around in the rolling chair, and accepted the offered first aid kit from Frankie. "Thanks."

He opened the contents of the green box onto the workshop countertop, hoping for a cold compress for his head. He was pleasantly surprised to find one. Neal activated the ice-pack with a crack, and held it against the back of his head. The thumping misery had been getting worse, so Neal had decided to play the sympathy card to garner more good will with the brothers, but truthfully it hadn't required much acting.

His head really bloody hurt.

Now, if he could just stop the gnawing guilt at using the pain relief when his partner was also injured. That would be swell.

"Do you want me to clean it up?"

Neal shook his head, "Nah it's good, I got it. This won't be the first time I've patched myself up."

Neal had already washed all the blood off the side of his face, enough to take the passport photos, but there was still some dried blood mixed in with his hair.

Frankie hummed, took the seat opposite Neal and gestured to the conman. "You're not going to hold that against, Danny are you?"

As Danny heard his name being mentioned he swivelled in his own seat further along the bench, opposite Peter. He had assigned himself as guard duty, thankfully there had been no further disagreements between criminal and federal agent, partly because Neal had suggested the brothers start getting their affairs in order and partly because Peter still couldn't talk.

Neal felt pretty guilty about that evolution in his con.

"I've got a hard head," Neal waved off both brother's concerns. "Besides we're business partners now."

The tapping of keys resumed. The rash counterfeiter had the company's laptop and was busy closing accounts and tying up loose ends before they went on the run. Clearly the brother's had no idea about running from the law, what Danny was doing was quite possibly the worst thing they could do. No, if you really needed to run, you had to just go. No goodbyes, no endings. Just dissipate like smoke.

Danny's actions should be sending red flags up and down the White Collar division, just in case Moz hadn't got the message to Jones, not that Neal doubted his friend, but it was always best to have a backup plan.

"Right, business partners." Frankie pressed his lips into a fine line, his fingers tapping restlessly against the workbench. "Speaking of, we should probably discuss our cut."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't play dumb." Frankie climbed to his feet and towered over Neal, challenging. "You said passports and cash, this is part of the deal of us helping you run."

The unspoken threat sat heavily between them, he and Danny both had guns whilst Neal was flying by the seat of his pants.

"I did say that." Neal crossed his arms over his chest, outwardly projecting that it was an annoyance to hand over any part of his rainy day money. Truth was he'd give up everything he owned if it meant Peter walking out of here and getting home safe to Elizabeth.

"Alright, 10%."

Frankie scoffed, standing tall and allowing his large frame to take up space. "No way, we should get even cuts. A 1/3 each, that's fair."

Neal really didn't give a damn how much money he gave away, but the brother's expected him to. "Fair, fair?!"

Neal shot out of the chair, ice pack forgotten and launched into an impassioned argument. "I don't remember either of you two crawling through miles of ventilation shafts, deactivating the laser grids, pressure-sensitive mounts, dodging the security for hours or being dragged into work the next day to be interrogated on just a couple of hour's sleep."

He took the opportunity to throw Peter a scowl when he mentioned his fictional interrogation. Peter was still playing his silent part; he was, outwardly at least, furious.

Neal threw his shoulders back, thrust his chin out and matched Frankie's intense eye contact. "So no, an even 1/3rd would not be fair."

After a moment of tense posturing, Frankie conceded to Neal. "I get it, you did the hard work, but we can't accept 10%. There's two of us and one of you."

"What about 50/50?" Neal worried at his bottom lip. "The two of you could start a whole new business with that kind of money."

Frankie pondered like any good businessman did, weighing up the positives and negatives, the offer and counter-offers. Neal knew he had him when Frankie glanced to Danny for his thoughts.

Danny was grinning from ear to ear, "It's more money than I've ever seen. I'm happy with it."

Neal stood waiting with his arms crossed, Frankie smiled and offered his hand to seal the deal. "Okay 50/50. But I want proof this money exists."

And just like that Neal's heart dropped. He was hoping to not have to reveal this in front of Peter, but it wasn't like he had any choice. He'd asked his partner to trust him, now was the moment for him to honour that.

"It's in an offshore account."

"Good, proof should be pretty easy then."

Neal sighed wearily, peeked a glance at Peter who looked more curious than angry. "I'm going to need the laptop, and my phone."

Danny snapped the laptop closed, slid it along the bench and Frankie produced his phone from a back pocket.

Neal dug up the old details from his phone, he'd not had use of this account for quite some time. He typed all the security details into the laptop, wary that Danny had taken an interest over his shoulder. With his toes crossed, Neal entered the final password and hoped to hell that the money was still safe and sound.

Danny whistled when he saw the bank balance.

$11,983,000

It was the only account that the feds, Peter, hadn't found, and now it was being used to save his life. The irony was real.

Neal flipped the laptop screen round to show Frankie, whose eyes bulged when he saw the number of zeroes. Those wide eyes flicked to Neal. "There's $11,983,000 here."

Neal shrugged. "$10 million had a better ring to it, but more money is hardly bad news. Our deal still stands, you'll get your half."

Neal felt that laser-like gaze on the back of his neck, Peter would be doing the math. The archaeologist never stopped digging, and he would soon figure out that $11,983,000 was about what one would expect after leaving 10 million dollars in an account for the past 5 years after adjusting for compound interest. This was an original Neal Caffrey account that the FBI had missed, that Peter Burke had missed.

Frankie accepted the alteration with a genuine smile, he opened a notepad on the laptop and typed out a set of account numbers. "Send the money here, and we're good."

Neal spun the laptop back towards him, shaking his head. "Do you think I was born yesterday? I send you that money you have no need for me."

Frankie's smile slipped. "You don't trust us?"

"You don't trust me." Neal countered, eyeing the pistol which sat in Frankie's waistband.

Danny surprised everyone by being the voice of reason, suggesting the very thing Neal had been about to. "How about half now, half later."

Neal pretended to ponder the offer, then folded. "Fine, I'll send you half now and the other half when we get out of the country."

Frankie's answering grunt was the only assurance he was going to get. Neal took control of the laptop, and set up a wire transfer. He only paused for half a second before hitting enter on the keyboard, almost $3 million gone for good. It didn't sting as much as he thought it would.

"Happy?" Neal shut the laptop lid with an audible snap, having already logged out of his offshore trading account.

Frankie's phone chimed, a notification. Whatever he read had him beaming. "I thought it was all talk, Caffrey, but there it is."

Whilst the brothers were in a good mood, Neal put another plan in motion, one which would hopefully remove one of them from the playing board. "Speaking of money, we could really use some cash to get us going. You guys have at least enough on hand for our escape."

"How do you figure that?"

"Please, you forget I've seen all the FBI's files on your little scam."

"We may have a few nest eggs." Frankie leaned away from the conman, suddenly reluctant, cautious.

Neal held his arms wide, his eyes dancing. "I showed you mine."

Frankie scoffed. "Danny, go and grab the cash from the offices. Take Caffrey with you."

Neal tried not to let the disappointment show, he had been hoping the cash would be stashed away outside the garage, hence removing one of the bad guys from play.

Neal followed Danny towards the stairs, glancing at Peter once more before he left. Peter whose wrists were red from the metal cuffs, Peter who had blood stuck to the side of his face and a pretty impressive shiner forming on his eye. Peter who was looking at him with such open trust. Neal put his mask back in place and focussed the full charm offensive on Danny Russo, joining in the casual chatter.

"Hey Caffrey, who's Steve Tabernacle?"

And damn it, now Peter knew the account name. Oh well, it was a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things.

"An old alias." Neal grinned at the younger man. "Steve's a great guy."

Peter was good at sitting still, unlike Neal he actually enjoyed long stakeouts, listening to the game, waiting for the perp to make a move, but after almost two hours of sitting on the cold floor, and he was about ready to hand in his notice. His wrists were throbbing, shoulders pushed beyond their ability to hold his arms up, his head was a constant throb and to top off the misery he had a cramp building in his thigh which he couldn't stretch out or massage.

He couldn't help the muffled groan escaping.

The sound of shuffling papers stopped and when Peter looked up to where he had last seen his jailer, he saw grey eyes staring back at him. The FBI agent averted his gaze, he didn't want to draw further attention to himself and add to his impressive tally of hurts.

The universe didn't seem to agree.

Frankie pushed off his chair with a squeak and crossed the space over to the restrained FBI agent. When he got close Peter gave up on trying to ignore the hulking fellow, if he was going to get further ill-treatment he would rather see it coming.

Jailer crouched down to be on the same level as prisoner, Peter watched warily unsure what to think. So far Frankie had been the reasonable brother, had admonished Danny for his violent outbursts. Had he read this man wrong?

Peter flinched when Frankie's hand reached for his head. The big man's eyes widened, his hand hovering just a hairs-width away from the agent's bleeding brow. "Easy."

He didn't have much choice but to hold still as Frankie gripped his head, turning it from side to side with a certain gentleness that belied the rough hands. Just as soon as the inspection had started it was over, Frankie climbed to his feet and headed off in the opposite direction.

What the hell?

The older brother's intentions became clearer as he returned moments later with the first aid box that Neal had used earlier. Peter watched warily as Frankie pulled up a chair and set himself up next to the captive agent. Frankie Russo was going to play nurse? That had not been on Peter's bingo card.

"It looks like your head's stopped bleeding, if you like I can clean up the area. There's gauze in here."

Peter wouldn't have known what to say even if he wasn't gagged. In the face of such unexpected kindness he did the only thing he could do and nodded. Having the itchy dried blood wiped off his face would be one thing less miserable thing to sit through.

Peter watched silently as the criminal unwrapped the gauze and fished out a few antibacterial wipes. The agent was prepared for the sting when the wipe hit his brow, but he still hissed and closed his eyes to keep them from watering. Frankie was quick with the painful part, and soon he was cutting a gauze pad to size and unrolling the surgical tape.

The criminal pressed the gauze pad against the agent's head, taping it in place with practised hands "Don't worry, I've done this a few times."

Peter had already got that impression.

"After Danny came home after another fight, I figured it would just be easier to go on a couple of first aid causes." Frankie finished securing the pad, and tidied the pieces back into the kit. His fingers paused as he touched the ice pack. "Do you want me to ice it for a bit? Might help with the swelling."

Peter made an affirmative noise, what he wouldn't give for some relief right about now. Frankie cracked the pack to activate it and held it against the agent's head, Peter wasn't embarrassed to admit that he leaned into the criminal's hand. He closed his eyes and exhaled a deep breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, some of the tension around his shoulders eased as he felt the ice numb his face.

"He's not a bad guy you know."

Peter couldn't respond, but he could convey a lot of scepticism with a look well-honed over the years as an agent.

Frankie flashed a wry smile. "I know the evidence doesn't make him look good, but Danny's just got an impulsive streak a mile-wide."

There's impulsive-ness and then there's aggravated assault and battery.

"I've always looked out for him, ever since we were small, and he was taking on the bullies in the playground at school, always punching above his weight." A sombre chuckle shook the big man's shoulders.

Frankie adjusted the ice pack against Peter's head. "I know it doesn't really make any difference, but I don't want you thinking he did this just because he's some kind of psychopath or something. My brother doesn't make it a habit to beat up on helpless folks."

Peter didn't know why Frankie was pleading his brother's case either, it would hardly change the fact that he had violently assaulted both Peter and Neal. You don't need to be a psychopath to throw your weight around.

"You just had to go and remind him of Phelps."

Peter gazed at Frankie with a sudden focus, curiosity getting the better of him.

Frankie obviously saw the question in the agent's face, he laughed darkly. "Who's Phelps you ask? Well parole officer Phelps was in charge of Danny's case when he got out. Now, I've never seriously considered killing somebody before but that bastard..."

Frankie ran a hand through his short hair, blew out a frustrated sigh. "Let's just say he didn't treat Danny fairly, when I saw the bruises I was ready to go over there, but Danny said it would just make it worse. I told him we should go to the police, but he wouldn't, who would believe a convicted criminal over an officer of the law?"

Frankie's chin dipped to his chest and his posture slumped, the ice pack slipped down Peter's face a few inches. Frankie evidently felt a lot of guilt about not being able to protect his brother.

"Danny was so scared he'd end up back inside he put up with Phelps for 6 months, and Phelps rode him hard. He treated him like he was less than-"

Frankie stopped himself, choking off an emotion Peter would rather not name. It was no wonder Danny had fallen for Neal's con so fast, he saw himself in the kid, being abused by somebody in authority. Peter knew it happened, thankfully it was rare but where there were positions of power there was the chance of somebody abusing that power. When he got out of this, Agent Burke would be paying parole officer Phelps a few visits.

But Frankie didn't know that, how could he when the FBI agent and Neal had put on a display of him abusing his own power?

Frankie pulled himself together, reigning in and restraining that source of anger, pressing the ice pack back on Peter's brow a little too forcefully. "I'm not saying you're abusing Caffrey the same way, but the way you treat him triggered something for Danny, he never got to take any of it out on Phelps..."

So he took it out on the power-tripping federal agent. Peter could almost sympathise with Danny, except he'd watched the kid pistol-whip Neal without so much as a second thought. Danny may have had some compelling reasons to do what he had done, but he'd still made the decision to do them.

Frankie's teeth ground together, free hand clenching into a fist. "You gotta understand, it's just been me and him for so long. Before Danny was out of diapers, Dad got life for hitting someone so hard he killed him, and mom overdosed when he was just 13. I was just old enough that the state let me be his guardian. I've been protecting him for as long as I remember, it's the only thing I know how to do."

An echoing clang startled the pair, they both glanced up towards the direction of the mezzanine overlooking the garage. Peter couldn't see anything from his position on the floor, but he could hear the faint chatter drifting down from Neal and Danny.

"You want to know a secret, Agent Burke?" Frankie shrunk in on himself, looking smaller and more exhausted than he had all day, his usual booming voice reduced to a whisper. "I'm scared. I'm scared that Danny's finally got himself in too big, scared that he's gone too far, that he's done something I can't fix."

"I mean Carelli? The FBI? I can't fix that." He closed his eyes, brows gathering in. "I wish you'd never walked through that door today."

Me too, but here we are.

After a moment Frankie's grey eyes meet his, he glanced at the ice-pack pressed against the agent's head, remembering suddenly what he was doing. "Don't want to keep that on there too long."

The pack was swiftly removed, Peter immediately missed the coolness, but it had done its job; the thumping pain had decreased significantly.

Frankie got to his feet, shook some feeling back into his hands. He looked down at Peter, less imposing all of a sudden. "I guess I just wanted you to know why." The big man shrugged. "I know it probably won't matter; not to you, but he's my brother."

Frankie floundered for words, struggling to string the sentences together.

"I can't just sit back and let one dumb decision ruin his life."

And with that Frankie walked away, head bowed and shoulders slumped.

Peter watched the big man go back to shredding evidence, and considered what his jailer had said. Whilst the FBI agent didn't condone Danny's actions, he could at least understand them more now. The kid had been scared, made some dumb decisions and here they were. Did he deserve to die for that, have Carelli kill him for that? No. Did he deserve to walk? Also, no. Did Peter blame Frankie for protecting his little brother? No.

The last answer surprised him.

Danny was impulsive, a convicted criminal and had got Frankie into some serious trouble, but the older man was refusing to let the rest of Danny's life be decided on one stupid decision. Peter found that on principle he really couldn't fault that, after all wasn't that exactly what he had done for Neal in the Howser clinic?

It's not the same.

Even he didn't fully believe that lie.

Lifting Danny's cell from his pocket was child's play for Neal, he had the phone in his hand before they cleared the top step to the offices. He then spent the next 10 minutes surreptitiously texting Diana's phone, with details about his and Peter's situation.

Two bad guys, both armed with handguns - NC

It had been over an hour since contacting Mozzie, so Neal was assuming that the FBI had already mobilised, but were waiting to breach until they could get eyes or ears into the garage.

How do I know this is actually you? - DB

Neal stifled a smile, he thought for a moment before typing out a reply.

You once called me a flight risk with good manners, less true these days. - NC

It was pretty easy to keep Danny from seeing him texting as the man currently had his head in an air vent.

Are you or Peter hurt? - DB

Diana didn't need to know that each time he moved too fast the room spun on its axis.

Nothing serious, he's tied up with one of the gunman on the ground floor. I'm with the other on the upper floor. - NC

Neal deftly slipped the phone into his pocket when Danny popped his head out of the vent, a triumphant smile on his face. He dragged a cobweb-infested gym bag down and passed it to Neal, before hopping down from the desk. Neal grunted under the weight of the bag, there had to be at least a couple of hundred thousand dollars in the duffel.

"Come on, we've got another one stashed in the end office." Danny left Neal to carry the cash whilst he led the way out onto the mezzanine.

Neal took the brief opportunity to check for messages, he wasn't going to have many more to get information out.

Mozzie seems to think they trust you. Can you get out of there? - DB

Neal frowned at the phone in his hands, did she really expect him to just leave his partner? Neal wasn't an agent, but he had been around the FBI long enough to know how storming into a stand-off with hostages was a last resort, too many could things could go wrong and Peter would be a sitting duck down there.

There was a time when he wouldn't even consider telling Diana to back his play, she could chew him out later when they got the brothers to walk out of the front door.

I'm not leaving Peter. They do trust me, stick to the passport play. They never leave Peter unguarded. - NC

"Hey Caffrey." Neal just about managed to slip the phone up his sleeve before Danny looked back over his shoulder. "What were you inside for?"

"Bond forgery." He hastily supplied, "I got 4 years in Sing-Sing."

Danny whistled. "Federal, damn that's tough."

It had been, getting sent to a maximum security prison had not been part of his life plan, truthfully he had wondered if he'd deserved such a harsh prison security. Mozzie believed the judge had been sending other flight-risk convicts a message.

"You get much trouble inside?"

Neal knew Danny had done time, only another convict could ask such a question and actually know what he was asking. He reminded himself that he was playing a part here, building trust.

"The usual," Neal spoke through a strained smile, "spent a couple of nights in the infirmary once, but I managed to talk my way round a lot of trouble."

Danny looked like he understood, his forehead scrunching. "I wish I could have talked my way out of trouble."

"You get hurt?"

Danny looked over the mezzanine, a little furtive. He lifted his shirt, showing a nasty scar under his ribs. "Got shivved a month into a 2-year sentence."

Neal hissed, took an involuntary step forward. The scar tissue was pocked and had healed poorly. Prison medicine didn't have the best reputation for a reason.

"That's rough, Danny."

Danny shrugged. "It happens all the time. I don't need to tell you that though." He gave Neal an odd look, before finally unlocking the door to the last office.

Neal realised that Danny was coming to the wrong conclusion about his own stay in prison, in truth Neal's stay had been pretty uneventful. After the stay in the infirmary, he'd identified the shot callers, lent his services and brought his own protection. He knew others often weren't as lucky, Danny had clearly been one of the unfortunate ones.

"Yeah, but what can you do about it?" He followed Danny into the dark room, eyes downcast.

"System's broken, you're slaving away for the feds and Burke wants you back in." Danny chuckled darkly. "They don't know what it's like."

Neal was starting to suspect that Danny had had a much harder time in prison than his file suggested. As much as Neal wanted to connect with the brothers and become one of them, he didn't want Danny redirecting his little authority problem at Peter again. "It's the game though, he's on their side, we're on ours."

Danny huffed angrily. "It ain't just a game, Caffrey. They abuse their power, all of them."

Neal couldn't exactly contradict his own story so he just grunted an acknowledgement, looking anywhere but the criminal. He really needed to check the phone up his sleeve, and get it back to Danny before he looked for it.

Neal finally thought Danny was done when he asked him to help shift a desk over to the air con vent in the room, but he was far from it. "Does Burke ever hit you?"

The idea was so shocking that Neal actually stumbled. It was starting to become a really fine line between feeding Danny enough to make them on the same side, without feeding Peter to the sharks. "I'm sure he'd like to but no, he's never hurt me."

Neal stared at Danny with sudden focus, tilting forwards on the balls of his feet. "Why do you ask?"

Danny's face flushed, he glanced about as though looking for an escape and climbed up on top of the desk. "No reason." The lie was as unconvincing as a knock off Rolex in a Geneva boutique.

Neal was seriously beginning to worry that Danny had been abused by somebody in a position of authority. And what had Neal done? He'd wound up the bull, and dressed Peter all in red and waved him like a flag. If what Neal suspected was true then their little play earlier couldn't have been any more triggering for Danny if they'd tried, no wonder it had worked so quickly.

The only good thing to come from Danny's embarrassment was that he made quick time getting into the air vent, meaning Neal could finally check the phone for messages.

Understood. We'll play it your way but will breach if we hear shots. Stay safe. - DB

Neal breathed a sigh of relief, Diana was on board with the plan. He could still make it work, even if Danny's revelation complicated matters. He'd just have to keep the attention off of the FBI agent, keep the brothers focussed on the fantasy of their new life.

Will do, p.s. don't text this number again, deleting texts - NC

He fired off the last text, deleted all evidence of his conversation with Diana and slipped the phone back into his sleeve. When Danny got down from the desk he would stumble into him, and drop the phone into the man's pocket. Child's play.

The relief from Frankie's ice pack had long since worn off by the time Neal and Danny returned, dragging a couple of heavy-laden gym bags between them. Peter caught the tail end of a conversation as the pair made their way down the stairs.

"So you just took the jewels, right under their noses?"

"Allegedly." Neal's signature amendment made the FBI agent roll his eyes.

"How did you get out of the country?"

By this point the men had reached the large workbench and dumped the bags with a heavy thud, Peter had his first look at Neal since his partner had disappeared upstairs. His gait was a little slower than normal, his posture cowed and tense, but otherwise Neal appeared to be steady on his feet for somebody most definitely suffering from a concussion.

Impressive.

Neal always had been a good actor.

"Hypothetically the thief would take the jewels and stash them somewhere safe, he would then stay in the city, stir up fake suspects and escape routes. He would blend in, become a different man than the one's chasing him are looking for. When the entire police force and several federal agencies expect you to run, sometimes it's best to stay put."

Peter watched as Neal confidently spun his tale, leaning back on the table with his arms crossed and legs stretched outwards. A familiar gleam in his eye. Danny was enraptured, even Frankie had abandoned his evidence destruction and was listening in on the tale.

"So you just stayed in the city, with everyone looking for you and just waited?"

Neal grinned, right at Peter. "The thief stayed for months, he was never found nor were the jewels."

Rome, 2006.

Peter groaned inwardly, outwardly he glared back at the cocky thief. He thought the story had sounded familiar, another instance when Caffrey had slipped through his fingers.

Danny noticed the looks between handler and conman, a delighted grin spread over his face. "You had them chasing their tails for months." He clapped Neal on the shoulder, like they were buddies. "You've got balls, Caffrey."

Neal did humble about as well as a masterpiece under perfect lighting, he stood a little taller, a satisfied smile in place. Peter had to give the conman his dues, he'd gone from a prisoner to Danny's new best friend in just under 2 hours. He really was damn impressive.

"Nice story." Frankie popped the jovial atmosphere, he glanced between his brother and the conman with a little more than mild trepidation. "I need to head up to the office to sort some things before we go, can you two handle sorting the cash and watching him?"

The last part of the request was slung over the big man's shoulder, all three criminals stared down at him making the FBI agent feel vulnerable for the first time in a while. Frankie was level-headed, Danny on the other hand, he was looking at him with bright-eyes, left foot jittering against the floor.

Frankie crowded in to Danny's space, grabbed his upper arm until the younger brother snapped his attention away from Peter. "Watch him Danny, that's all."

"What if he-"

Frankie barked a dark laugh. "Stop, we both know what this is really about. I gotta be able to trust you to keep your head from now on."

Danny was rendered silent, all his attention on his brother. Peter suddenly felt like he was intruding on an intimate moment, he glanced away and saw Neal do the same. They managed a brief look, whilst the brothers were occupied, an honest glance where two partners who were worried sick about the other were allowed to simply be, before the roles they'd been assigned took back over.

"Danny, he ain't Phelps." Frankie grasped the back of his little brother's neck and crushed them both together until their foreheads were practically touching. "Don't go down the same road Dad did."

Silence stretched, Danny blinking rapidly.

"Okay." Danny eventually managed, voice shaky and alien.

Some of the tension released from Danny's shoulders, and his frame crumpled in on itself. Frankie pulled his brother into a wordless hug before making his exit, taking the stairs two at a time. This left the garage area so quiet that all Peter could hear was the whine of the industrial air unit overhead.

Neal cleared his throat, attempting to clear the awkwardness that had descended. "We better get on with sorting this cash, Mozzie won't be much longer with the passports."

Danny didn't start violently, his coming back was almost gentle. The younger Russo was quiet as he moved to Neal's side and started sorting out the money in the bags into piles. He hadn't looked at Peter since Frankie had departed, something which Peter was very grateful for. He'd rather not add to the collection of hurts on his face.

The silence was broken by a ping, an email. Peter and Neal shared a look, the con was almost over. Danny flipped the laptop open and read the screen.

"Wow, those look real."

Neal moved around to see what Danny had, Peter assumed they were image attachments of the fake passports for the trio. Neal clapped the younger Russo on the shoulder, grinning. "See, I told you he was good. Now we just need to give him the address, and they'll be here with our transport in no time."

Danny squinted at the e-mail and rounded on Neal. "This says your guy's sending Derek with the passports, who the hell is Derek?"

The practised lie fell effortlessly from Neal's lips. "Mozzie is a great passport guy, but he can't fly a plane. Derek's a good guy, don't worry."

Despite Neal's assurances, the crease in Danny's forehead remained, increasing in size when he spots Peter staring intently at the two.

Damn.

Peter quickly looked away, but the damage was done. Neal clocked the suspicious look; he moved to stand between the two men, cutting off direct eye contact.

"Now he knows we're flying out of the country." Danny hissed, arms articulating wildly.

"So?" Neal was all calm on the outside, but Peter spotted the tension in Caffrey's neck, his quick mind working double-time to take the heat off of Peter, again. "By the time he's free of this place we'll be over an ocean somewhere, besides there's only so many modes of transport out of the country."

Danny was still shooting suspicious looks Peter's way, he could see them in his periphery Neal turned and looked down at Peter, put his arm around Danny's shoulders and laughed. "He's even made it easier for us."

Danny aborted his step forward and turned all his attention to the conman. "What, how?"

"He requisitioned me for stakeouts this evening, that was the plan after interviews. Burke is a workaholic, never finishes a stakeout before midnight and god help the junior FBI agent who interrupts the boss' stakeout. His agents won't expect to see or hear from him until at least 9am tomorrow morning."

Neal finished the explanation with a grin, hoping Danny would catch on. Neal's smile was contagious, and eventually Danny was smiling too. He allowed the young conman to steer him back to the laptop.

"So let's just send Mozzie the address, and we can get the hell out of dodge."

Danny didn't hesitate this time, he penned the quick reply and shot it off to Mozzie. Peter wondered who they would send in as Derek, his money would be on Jones.

Peter breathed out a tense breath and let his tense shoulders relax, Neal had talked his way out of trouble, again. The tenseness returned when 5 minutes later, Neal stumbled and just caught the side of the table before he toppled over. Danny dropped the cash he had been sorting and gripped the conman's arm.

"Hey man, you okay?"

Neal got his feet back under him, grabbed at the back of his head and managed a nod. "Yeah it's fine, just my damn head."

Danny paled, pulling his hand away as though burned. "Sorry."

"It's fine, I could just really do with some painkillers."

"I've got some Vicodin in my locker, least I can do."

Neal made a show of sitting in one of the seats, looking so miserable that Peter was beginning to worry that he'd pushed himself too far.

"That would be great, could I trouble you for some water too?"

Danny got up, took one look at the heavily restrained FBI agent then took off. Clearly Peter was not considered a threat any more, neither was Caffrey. Not that anyone who looked as pitiful as him could-

Neal's head shot up when the sound of a door swinging open and shut reached them, his eyes clear and pain-free. Well, mostly.

The conman scurried over to Peter, silent on his feet in only a way Neal Caffrey could be. Peter's eyes widened, and he shook his head firmly, this break in cover wasn't worth the risk. The brother's could be back any moment.

"Yeah I know, I know." Neal whispered, coming to a crouch next to Peter. Examining his cuts with gentle hands. "I just wanted you to know the FBI are all setup outside, Diana's on board with the passport play."

Peter's confusion must have shown on his face, because Neal smiled, rocking back on his heels. "Danny's phone."

The conman's smile dropped as he took in the red marks around Peter's wrists. "I'm sorry about all this, Peter. Just stay down and keep quiet, this will all be over soon."

Peter's eyes narrowed at Caffrey's not-so subtle dig. Neal's eyes widened as he realised what he'd just said. "I did not mean it like that I swear."

A clang in the distance, the distant sound of a tap running. They didn't have long. Peter tried to tell Neal that but all that emerged past the tape on his lips was muffled noise.

Neal gripped his hands and Peter felt something small and sharp being pushed into his palm. It took him a moment to realise that this must be the emergency pick Neal had sewn into his cuff.

"Stay safe, Partner." Neal muttered, then he was skipping back over to his previous position.

Peter watched amazed as the animated man disappeared and the pale, sick invalid took his place. Danny said nothing as he returned, just glanced at the FBI agent and after seeing him in the same place gave Neal the pills and water.

It was damn impressive watching Neal work.

Neal watched the clock tick down on the far wall, hands idly tossing the disconnected tracking anklet up and down as the trio waited. Just a few more minutes and 'Derek' would be here, then they could walk the brothers out of the front door into the waiting arms of the FBI. Peter would be safe, and they-

"What do we do about the Fed?"

Neal caught the tracking anklet, swivelled his feet off of the workbench and looked at the younger Russo brother with a frown. Didn't this kid ever quit?

"He's not going anywhere, we talk-"

"I mean when the pilot gets here." Danny interrupted him again, preaching to both Neal and his brother. "I assume he isn't going to want to be identified by a Fed."

Neal opened, then closed his mouth. He didn't have an immediate answer, an honest oversight on his part, but he could hardly tell the brothers not to worry about Peter catching sight of one of his own agents.

Danny took the silence as a prompt and got to his feet, snatching his pistol from the waistband of his pants. "It's cool, I can just knock him out."

Neal's stomach dropped, why hadn't he had an answer ready?

Thankfully, Frankie came to the FBI agent's rescue. He grabbed Danny's arm and pulled him back with a groan. "Danny, we just talked about this."

"Yeah, but this is necessary." Danny pointed over at their helpless prisoner.

Neal may not have had the answer before, but he did now.

"We could just blindfold him."

The lesser of 2 evils by far.

The brothers looked at him with two differing reactions, Frankie letting out a breath of relief and Danny's pinched expression. Neal wasn't letting a loose-cannon like Danny anywhere near Peter, not if he could help it.

Neal stripped his own tie off and took the initiative to head over. "I'll do it."

He was waiting for Danny to stop him, but luckily Frankie had a firm hand on his brother's arm, Neal was allowed to pass unchallenged. He reached Peter in no time, Peter who flinched when he put his hands on either side of his head. Neal was glad that he was facing away from the brothers because that fearful reaction from his partner had hurt, and he'd let it show on his face. Peter was playing the part, time to do his.

"Hold still." He ordered and efficiently tied his tie around the FBI agent's head, trying very hard to ignore the pained breaths when the tie pressed against Peter's head wound. He'd been inadvertently responsible for Peter losing his voice, but taking away his partner's sight? That was all him.

To make matters worse, Neal could see that Peter was making little headway with his cuffs. His hands too unwieldy after being restrained for so long. If all went to plan it wouldn't matter too much longer.

Neal got back to his feet, ruthlessly squashing down the dizziness such a move caused, and headed back towards the bags of money with a satisfied smile in place. "There, all sorted."

Danny was glaring down at Peter, Frankie still had his hand on his brothers arm and looked tired of everything.

Neal's eyes flicked to the clock and right on time, the front door buzzed. The brothers snapped to the noise, FBI agent forgotten. Frankie glanced at the two of them, then after concealing his colt under his shirt he went to let 'Derek' into the reception.

Neal positioned himself so that he was closest to Peter, he noticed that Danny still had his gun out.

30 seconds later the door from reception buzzed opened, two sets of boots strolled across the garage and FBI Agent Clinton Jones followed Danny around the giant stack of boxes and into view. The FBI agent was dressed in casual clothes, chinos and a polo shirt with aviator glasses hung from the collar; a messenger bag was swung over one shoulder.

Neal had never been more happy to see the agent. He watched as Jones scanned the surroundings with a practised gaze, meeting Neal's gaze for a second before moving onto the rest of the room. A slight tightness in the man's shoulders was the only visual cue that he had spotted Peter's predicament.

The two men came to a stop near the worktop table. Jones surprised him by addressing Neal first. "Do I even want to know, Caffrey?" He indicated to Peter over Neal's shoulder.

Neal grinned. "No, you don't Derek."

Frankie placed his hands on his hips. "Come on, let's get this moving on."

Jones raised a brow and glanced between the two brothers. He zeroed in on the firearm held loosely in Danny's hand. "Not before that's away."

Danny put the gun back in his waistband at a nod from his elder brother. Jones flipped open the messenger bag on the table and retrieved the passports. He handed each one to their respective owners. Neal glanced at his and was surprised at the detail that had gone into the document, it really was good. Mozzie had only had 2 hours, but this work was genuinely good enough to fool most border agencies.

"Mozzie confirms payment has all been received." Jones levelled a brief look at Neal, probably wondering where in the hell he'd got access to half a million dollars. Just think how surprised he would be when he learned about the rest.

"I've got a van outside to take us to the airfield, we're all set." Jones beamed at the criminals. "Who's ready to start their new lives?"

Their new lives behind bars.

Frankie had been diligently checking his passport, the fact that he pocketed the document indicated he was happy with the work. The elder Russo glanced around the garage one last time. "Let's get out of here."

Frankie moved to leave, Danny filed in behind him. Neal stayed close to Peter, this was where everything could collapse around them like a house of cards. Jones' instruction halted the brothers in their tracks. "You'll have to leave the guns here."

Danny reacted first, he put a hand on his pistol protectively. "No way."

"Even if I let you take them, airport security would never let you onto the airfield with them." Jones pointed out casually. Neal had played poker with Jones and knew his tells, he was worried.

Silence stretched and just when Neal was going to lend Jones' argument a hand, Frankie sighed and pulled his weapon out. "Come on, Danny. Let's leave them and get out of here."

The big man placed his weapon on the workbench and waited for his brother to do the same, Danny hesitated a moment longer but eventually slammed the pistol down before following his brother around the stack of boxes. Neal blew out a breath and followed them. His plan couldn't have gone any better, they were leaving Peter here relatively unharmed, Jones had got the pair to voluntarily leave behind their weapons, and now they were all going to walk into the waiting arms of a SWAT team.

It was perfect, until it wasn't.

"We've got a short ride to the airfield and then-"

Jones' causal chat was interrupted by a loud clang, coming from the direction of the offices. The four men froze, just a few meters from the door leading to the reception and to safety.

"What the hell-" Frankie muttered, glaring up at the office. Danny didn't wait. He sprinted back around the boxes, towards the weapons. Towards Peter.

Neal felt frozen in place, he didn't know what Jones wanted him to do. Jones who was looking at him with wide-eyes, his hand already reaching for a concealed weapon. The operation was falling apart.

"Frankie!" Danny's voice sailed from the other side of the car parts. "Cops!"

"Caffrey, down!" Jones ordered as he pulled his service weapon, rounding it on Frankie who was already charging at the FBI agent.

Neal didn't get down, he turned heel and ran to his partner, his blinded helpless partner as chaos erupted around him.

Peter swore when the lock pick slipped out of the cuff again. His CI made picking cuffs look too easy, Peter's only solace was that he'd had the difficulty turned right up. His arms were aching, his fingers numb and unwieldy and the being blind thing really didn't help, especially as he was trying to pick the cuffs without anyone noticing.

When Peter heard Jones voice he felt a certain lightheadedness take hold. This really was coming to an end, Neal had run an almost flawless con. That lightheadedness lasted for all of a few minutes. Peter wasn't sure what had gone wrong, being blind to the world as he was, but he suddenly heard running and then Danny was shouting something that turned his blood to ice.

Cops.

The bust was rumbled, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. Peter tensed as he heard footsteps race towards him, he debated kicking out with his legs but quickly put that thought to bed when he heard the chilling sound of a gun being cocked.

He flinched, for real this time, when fingers gripped Neal's tie and yanked. The sudden brightness sent a flare of pain through his head, but that was the least of his worries. Danny gripped the edge of the tape and ripped, causing Peter to gasp at the suddenness of the burn.

The tendons on Danny's neck stood out, his eyes blinked rapidly, and suddenly the only thing Peter had any attention for was the barrel of the gun aimed at his face.

"Tell them to stand down!" Danny yelled, the gun shaking dangerously.

In the distance a fierce struggle was underway, shouts of FBI echoing through the colossal space and the rattle of roller doors opening.

Peter's voice was a little hoarse after no use for 2 hours. "Danny, I can't-"

The pistol was shoved closer to his head, Danny flinching at each and every background noise. "No, you can! You're the boss they'll listen to-"

Whatever Danny was going to say was lost as a blur of black bundled him away from Peter.

Peter stared at the spot where the gun had been and then turned to the struggling noise on the right, his jaw dropped open when he saw that Neal was busy grappling with the armed man on the floor.

Panic flooded his veins. "Neal!"

What the hell had he been thinking?

Peter shoved the pick into his cuffs, and watched in horror as Neal and Danny rolled around on the floor, the gun held between them as they grappled for control. His own safety hadn't been enough to focus him, but Neal's did. The pick slipped effortlessly into the slot, and with shaking hands Peter got the tension just right for the handcuffs to loosen.

Neal got a lucky hit in and the gun went skidding away, towards Peter, but he paid for it with a punch to his kidneys. Peter slipped the handcuff off his right wrist, utilised every ounce of adrenaline pulsing through his veins and dove for the discarded weapon. He got fumbling fingers around the pistol, but by the time he looked up again Danny was slamming Neal's head into the unforgiving concrete.

Neal's scream shattered something.

"Danny!" Peter yelled, adjusting his aim to target Danny's centre-mass. "Step back!"

Danny looked back, clocked the gun in Peter's grip, and he stepped off of Neal.

"Get on your knees!"

Peter didn't have the strength or manoeuvrability to sit himself up so he stayed laying on the floor, blood trickling slowly down his face as he fought to keep his vision from blurring. Danny didn't get on his knees. The youngest Russo glanced fearfully at the sounds of SWAT officers taking down his brother, and he made a decision, one which Peter wished he hadn't made.

Danny reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocket-knife, he flipped it open.

"Danny, don't." Peter warned, voice tight. He knew how this would end, he'd seen the signs.

Danny's jaw set, pushed his shoulders back and started his suicide run.

I can't just sit back and let one dumb decision ruin his life.

Peter shifted his aim from centre-mass at the last moment and fired, the shot hit Danny's shoulder and the criminal stumbled back under the blow, nerveless fingers dropping the knife.

"Danny!" A grieved howl, followed by the SWAT team.

"FBI, drop your weapons!"

Peter let the gun fall from his fingers and brought his hands up with a jingle of the handcuffs, the heavy boots of field agents vibrating the ground beneath him. Suddenly their little corner of the garage was all action. Weapons were secured, Danny was cuffed and in all the chaos Peter couldn't see Neal.

"Neal!" He yelled out and attempted to push himself up from the floor.

Strong hands caught him. "Easy, boss."

Peter looked at the face holding him up, Diana. He still couldn't see Neal past the mass of uniforms, he needed to know that his partner was okay.

"Neal."

Diana pursed her lips, understanding his request but not happy about leaving his side. Diana followed orders though, and she pressed through the throng of black bodies, past a struggling Danny and then returned a few seconds later with a wobbly, but alive, Neal Caffrey.

Peter remembered how to breathe.

Diana helped Neal down to the floor beside Peter, their backs leaning against the workbench. Peter didn't even care that this was where he'd spent the past 2 hours sitting. He gripped Neal's head and saw that there was fresh blood seeping through the gauze, his partner hissed at his ministrations.

"You two okay?"

Peter and Neal both answered in the affirmative, which was good enough for Diana. She mentioned grabbing the paramedics and set off, Danny was hustled off not long after. Moaning and bleeding but alive.

Peter glanced down when he felt hands on his, and suddenly the other handcuff sprung free. He glanced at his partner, Neal already looking at him with a puzzled expression. "You pulled your shot."

They heard a relieved sob echo in the distance and Peter knew he'd made the right decision. Frankie hadn't lost the only family he had left, everyone was safe.

"I didn't feel like helping his 'suicide by cop' attempt."

Neal hummed, then he started to tear through the tape still trapping Peter's ankles together, giving Peter another fresh look at his partner's head wound.

Peter gripped Neal's arm, forced him to look at him. "What the hell were you thinking tackling Danny?"

Neal's blue eyes flashed angrily "I was thinking that I didn't want to stand by and watch my partner get executed."

Peter hadn't thought how it must have looked to Neal, coming round the corner to that scene. The fight left him, and he released his crushing grip on Neal's arm.

"Thank you."

Neal's anger evaporated like smoke. "You're welcome."

The conman made short work of the tape and soon the pair were standing and stretching out aches and pains. If Peter had to help steady Neal, neither of them mentioned it.

"Do you think Diana-"

"Neal." Peter interrupted, rubbing a weary hand over his face. "Whatever you're about to ask, don't."

Neal snapped his mouth shut. The pair settled on the edge of the workbench, shoulder's touching and legs swinging as the chaos swirled around them.

"You had to mention the dingy motel, really?"

Neal laughed.

"Neal George Caffrey, get down from that chair before you fall down."

Neal smiled bashfully, turning carefully from his high perch to see Elizabeth Burke standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Her crossed arms, tapping foot and raised brow showcasing just how quickly Neal had annoyed Peter's wife.

"I'm fine, Elizabeth." He gestured back to the wall he'd begun sketching on. "I just wanted to start planning-"

"Neal!" Elizabeth interrupted hotly, blue eyes flashing. "You have a grade 2 concussion, I was there when the Doctor instructed you to take it easy."

"Art calms me." He muttered lamely, the pencil feeling a little heavier in his hand than normal. Elizabeth was not buying this, was she?

"Neal." Peter's voice drifted up from the couch, overlapping the muted cheers of a baseball game re-run. "Best quit whilst you're ahead, you aren't going to win this one."

Neal sighed dramatically and climbed down from the chair, his vision blurred at the last moment, and before he could hide it he gasped and clutched at the dining room table for support, pencil falling from lax fingers to roll away.

"Oh Neal." Elizabeth was there, holding on to his shoulders as the wave of dizziness and pain subsided.

There was movement from the couch, a sound of covers rustling. Then two sets of hands were supporting his arms and steering him towards the sounds of the game, ignoring his attempts to wave them off.

"Come on, partner."

The pain in his head spiked with each step, and he focussed all of his energy on not letting the gasps slip past his lips.

Neal didn't risk opening his eyes until he was settled amongst the mound of pillows and blankets on the Burke's couch. "I'm okay." He managed, the greying edges of his sight receded as though listening to his declaration.

"Oh honey." Elizabeth rubbed his arm, blue eyes wide and watering. "I told you to take it easy, the mural planning can wait."

"I told him." Peter added unhelpfully, earning a whack to his arm from his wife.

Neal snorted as Peter clutched at his arm dramatically and was impressively manhandled back under the bundle of covers next to Neal. Before long the pair of them were tucked in, and Elizabeth surveyed her work with hands on hips.

"Stay." She commanded.

Neal felt his partner bristle next to him, but Peter had wised up and deigned not to upset his wife further. Their still-healing injuries only earned them so much good-will.

Elizabeth's lips quirked upwards. "Good boys."

Peter scoffed. "Hon, we really are fine. There's no need-"

Neal stayed well out of the way when El's finger wagged into her husband's face. "You're both supposed to be resting, not climbing chairs."

"I wasn't even-"

"You were supposed to be watching him!" El hissed, and that was enough weirdness for Neal.

"Mom, Dad." He drawled, stopping the married couple in their tracks. "I'm okay. No harm done."

Elizabeth's annoyance faded and amusement replaced it, she shared a wry smile with Peter who still looked shocked at being called Dad.

"I'm going to go and finish lunch, and you two are going to stay put. Am I clear?"

Only after Neal and Peter grumbled an affirmative did Elizabeth sweep out of the room, heading back into the kitchen where some truly wonderful smells were wafting from. Ever since they'd been cleared by the hospital the day before, El had doted on both Neal and Peter. Neal hadn't been this well-fed in quite some time.

For a few minutes the boys just sat where El had put them, vaguely watching the game on the tv in the background. Eventually Peter broke the silence. "She worries." The FBI agent waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the closed kitchen door.

Why wouldn't she? She loved Peter and yesterday had been a close one, too close. Besides, it was kind of nice being fussed over. Neal could count on one hand how many people had cared for him when he was hurt or injured.

"It's fine."

Peter grunted and turned his attention back to the game, a game that was going to send Neal to sleep if he wasn't careful.

"Can we please put a film on or something, I don't even care what you pick."

The FBI agent barked a laugh, eyes twinkling as he pushed the remote a little further out of reach. "My tv, my pick."

"Come on, Peter that's not fair." He put on his best wounded voice. "Can't a dying man have one final request?"

Peter snorted, nudging him in the ribs. "You're not dying, Caffrey." Then he cocked his head, akin to how Satchmo would when dinner was up. "Tell you what, you answer me something, and you can pick a film."

The change of tone put Neal on edge, their familiar game of cat and mouse emerging. Peter willingly allowing Neal to change the baseball game? This wasn't going to just be any question.

"You'd really swindle a sick man?"

"Hey, let's not forget who swindles who here." The FBI agent looked at him, piercing gaze disabused by his CI's feeble attempts at garnering sympathy. "Where did the money go?"

"Money?"

"Steve's money."

"Steve's money?"

"You're not a parrot. Don't play stupid, Neal it doesn't suit you."

Neal felt the familiar warnings in his gut, this wasn't Peter asking these questions. This was FBI Agent Peter Burke, the man who never stopped digging. He knew this conversation had been coming, he just wished it wasn't when he felt so miserable.

"What are you asking me, Peter?" He didn't even have to fake the weariness in his tone.

Peter didn't give anything away in his expression, it was completely neutral. "Jones called, filled me in on what's been happening on the case today."

"What would El say-"

"Quiet." Peter smirked. "The tech boys were looking at the Russo's bank accounts, they tried tracing the 3 million dollars to Steve Tabernacle's offshore account. Imagine my surprise when Jones told me the account is completely empty, no sign of the other 9 million dollars. It's a real mystery."

A mystery that Peter Burke could figure out if he had the motivation to do so, and that was the real question, wasn't it?

Neal fought for calm, kept his tone conversational, like he had no care in the world. "What'll happen to the 3 million dollars?"

The spotlight of Peter's intense stare dimmed, the agent shrugged. "That depends. If Steve Tabernacle comes forward and can prove the legitimacy of the funds..."

"Steve was never good with receipts."

They both danced around the dangerous truth, that if the FBI went digging they could most probably put Neal back inside for dozens of past crimes.

"Frankie's accounts will get frozen, and eventually the money will make its way through the system, most likely flagged as stolen."

Neal hummed, he still couldn't get a read on Peter.

"You knew you would never see that money again." There was that classic head-tilt, when the FBI agent just couldn't get his head around something.

"I know the system."

He'd known the second he'd had to reveal his secret funds that they would be forfeit, and that they would be on the FBI's radar. Did he regret it?

No, not for one moment.

Peter's hand landed on his knee. "You gave up 3 million dollars, for me. Thank you."

Neal's did a double take, the swift change of direction in the conversation catching him off guard.
"It wasn't really mine anyway."

Peter shot him an incredulous stare.

Neal quickly amended "It was under the name Steve right? Well I'm not Steve. Steve's just a very good friend."

Peter's hackles dropped, part of his attention returning to some big activity Neal didn't understand on the game. Now the most pressing question which was causing his head to pound, how much cleaning up he and Mozzie had to do. "So, the FBI are looking for Steve's accounts?"

Was Peter going to go digging into the past?

Peter watched the screen silently for a moment, lips pursed. "Nah, I convinced Hughes that it would be a colossal waste of time and resources. Chasing ghosts." He shrugged, and after noticing Neal's wide-eyes added, "Even the FBI have to deal with budget cuts."

Neal's tentative smile built as the surprise sunk in. Peter hadn't been handing him the rope to tie his own noose, they'd been playing their usual game. He would burn Steve's alias a thousand times over to keep Peter alive, but it was nice to not have to, well not completely. Mozzie would still insist on doing a full scrub of accounts and-

"Hey," Neal suddenly remembered the deal. "Pass the remote, I get to pick a film."

Peter tossed the remote over after no small amount of grumbling. Neal, triumphant, flicked through the options on the Burke's cable and grinned when he found a perfect film. Peter just groaned.

"Come on, Peter." Neal grinned as Paul Newman and Robert Redford rode onto the screen. "It's a classic."

Finis