A/N: WARNING: Spoilers for 3.10 Countdown

Beta Credit: Thanks to Mam711 for the quick (as usual) beta read!

I don't own White Collar and all mistakes are my own.

HTMW

"He took my wife," Peter just barely managed to choke out.

Neal wanted to hide. He couldn't deal with this. He wanted to find a hole and just come back out and find it all to have been a bad dream: everything! All of it: the art, Keller, Mozzie's duplicity, Sara, and Elizabeth. Elizabeth!

Neal sighed and squared his shoulders. No more lying, no more avoiding prison and no more hiding from Peter's wrath. "Come on," he said. "Let's get the treasure. Afterwards you can throw me in prison, or kill me ... whatever you want, Peter. But let's get your wife back."

The room went still. Diana and the other agents all stared at Neal in shock. Only Peter had ever really believed with a one-hundred percent conviction that Neal had stolen the treasure.

Only Peter seemed to realize Neal's words. He nodded. Glared the tears back into submission and started forward; there was plenty of time later to break down. "Where is it?"

He took Neal's arm in a vise-like grip and pulled him to the door.

Neal let him. He was done pretending he didn't deserve to be treated like a two-bit con artist.

Elizabeth had been kidnapped by a maniac after his treasure. Neal should have known Keller deserved a higher ranking in priority over recovering a Degas.

"Moz is taking off with it as we speak," he told Peter. They were heading to Peter's car, but were stopped as a figure stepped in their path.

It was Diana. "I'll drive."

By the time Diana had pulled up outside the storage facility that housed the treasure, following Neal's directions, it had been over twenty minutes, even with the siren being used. Neal knew how quickly Mozzie could move when he decided to. He only hoped they weren't too late.

They weren't. Neal thanked all the gods in existence.

Moz had spluttered at first in clear shock that Neal had turned up with two agents. But with cool crisp words from the Lady Suit, understanding emblazoned in his mind and straight away, Mozzie thought, 'forget the contract. I'll use my own hands.'

Everyone present now only had one clear goal—to get Elizabeth Burke back where she belonged: in Peter's scared, protective and loving arms.

Within twenty-four hours, Matthew Keller was dead.

They met up with Elizabeth. "He's dead? He actually expected me to wait around and be rescued!"

While Peter and Elizabeth recovered from the shock of being torn apart, Neal and Moz slipped away.

When he realized they were alone, anger ripped though Peter. How dare they run from the consequences?

Then, he found, he didn't care. Let them run. Let someone else catch them. Let them rot in prison.

But then he got a call.

"Neal insists that you be left alone," Diana informed him. "He says he'll still be waiting for you to either kill him or process him come Monday morning anyway."

Peter repeated her earlier words, "He signed himself into the Bureau lock-up?"

"Yeah," Diana sighed. "He's resigned himself to the consequences, boss. How's Elizabeth?"

Peter didn't answer straight away. He looked down at Elizabeth who was sleeping, worn out, in his lap.

"She's with me."

Diana understood.

Peter didn't end up returning until Wednesday.

A simple look had Diana answering his query before he'd voiced it.

"Still in the lock-up, boss." She put down the files she was carrying. "He won't accept visitors. Says anything and everything he does has to be run past you first. He's barely eating and sleeping."

Peter pursed his lips.

Peter put it off all day.

But finally, after his current case was closed by Jones, Peter looked at the clock. It was after six.

He told his team to head off home.

He called Elizabeth again for the eighth time that day. She insisted that she wasn't alone; Yvonne was with her.

Then he wandered down to the lock-up.

The night guard waved him through then continued reading his magazine.

Neal was sitting on the floor across from the bed.

Peter looked the cell over. The bed looked untouched; still bare—the sheets still folded in a perfect square at the base.

Neal's head was back, against the wall. He was staring vaguely into the wall above the bed. He didn't even notice as Peter sat down on the other side of the bars and leaned against the hallway wall.

Neal was the only prisoner in lock-up so Peter and Neal were alone.

Minutes passed, engulfed in a wearily-heavy silence.

"I'm sorry, Peter," Neal whispered.

Peter looked up at Neal. Neal was looking down at the ground in front of Peter, slightly turned but still leaning tiredly against the wall. Peter wondered when Neal had noticed him.

Peter remained silent for ages. And Neal let him.

Finally, Peter spoke softly with no hint of anger or resentfulness. Just cold, hard fact.

"There was a line in front of Elizabeth, Neal."

Neal looked up to stare in Peter's eyes. But Peter was looking somewhere else.

Peter sighed. "And it was crossed."

Neal dipped his chin gravely.

"You're not going back to prison," Peter told him. "Not because you don't deserve it—you do. But because I know you made your decision to stay. That means you have a potential to reform, Neal. I'm not prepared to let you rot in prison while knowing that."

"Even after all this?" Neal croaked.

"You're my friend," Peter stated. "And someday, this will all be a memory."

Neal turned away. He couldn't understand Peter's words. He regarded Peter as a friend, but he couldn't understand why Peter would do the same with him.

"You're going to have to stay here, though, Neal," Peter told him with heavy resignation. "When we're not working cases."

Neal almost sighed with relief.

"We gave you a two-mile leash in New York," Peter whispered. "And you hung yourself with it, a thousand times over."

"I understand," Neal replied quietly. "Go home to Elizabeth, Peter."