Peter actually found himself feeling ambivalent. Moz was dead, or supposedly dead. He supposed that he should be grieving. He should be sad. He should be angry. He wasn't. He had meant it when he had stood in the penthouse and said he didn't trust Mozzie. He frankly was praising what was left in his faith that it hadn't been Neal. He knew Neal would want revenge. He'd have been more worried about his young friend if he hadn't. It would have confirmed the worst suspicions he would harbor back before he knew who Neal really was. If someone had killed Elizabeth that way, there would be no force in heaven or on earth that would prevent him from killing all those responsible. Revenge was a base emotion, he knew it, but it was a human emotion when you loved someone – even people who didn't deserve your love. He felt the gun in his pocket. He'd kill for Neal too. No way in hell was Neal ever going back to prison. The three of them would disappear if need be, he had connections to insure they would never be found.
He pulled up the blankets. Neal was totally sedated, again. He hadn't wanted to do it but he needed to get Neal safe. He brushed back some of the dark curls off of his head feeling a slight warmth. He could hear Diana rummaging around. This was one of the most obscure safe houses. In fact, Peter was the only one that had known of it. It had been one of Neals which Peter had left off of the official proceedings as it had definite advantages. He hated to admit that with Neal's life so directly in danger, he even doubted Diana. He felt Neal fidget. He knew the dreams were back and darker than before. For Neal's sake he was sad to see Moz gone, but he couldn't shake a nagging set of doubts that he had. Fowler knew way too much about Neal. He knew all of Neal's friends, associates, habits, patterns, and every little chink in his armor. He heard a moan. The devil was stirring in the other room. He didn't think Fowler was going to be impressed with his new set of accommodations.
Peter wasn't ready to leave Neal yet. He'd been through so much in his life, and that was just the bits Peter knew about. He'd lost Kate and now Moz in under a year. He took another look at the sleeping innocence on the bed. Neal, all shields dropped, was younger than anyone supposed. Peter had deduced it from the clues Neal had begun dropping. Why else would you fake a diploma when GEDs were easy to obtain? Simple, you have no diploma because you never graduated and you were too young to legally get a GED so flip flop, add a few, bingo, instant adult with no questions asked. Neal was handsome and Peter could easily believe Neal being 15 and passing for a young twenty year old. Neal also was a chameleon, easily absorbing and reflecting parts of the people around him, a human sponge always learning and absorbing – both the good and the bad.
Thinking of it made him even more puzzled and all roads lead back to one person – Moz, if that had even been his name. How had Moz ended up with a boy like Neal? How long had they been together? Why cons and crime? Why had Moz lied about Alex? Why had Moz not told Neal she was in town? Why the meetings? Why trust a woman who would have happily twice left Neal to hang? Peter shook his head. He didn't want to let his mind go there. If it did, there would be no way he could fake being supportive of Neal grieving Moz. He would try to keep his mind of Moz simply being a harmless eccentric with conspiracy theories – a lovable little nerd. He really didn't though. There had been too many close shaves lately for Peter to be comfortable with, too many of them had Moz right in the thick of things. Peter knew who subtly called the shots and pulled the strings between the pair. Moz was the Svengali, much as Peter was. They were fated to play an eternal game of chess for Neal's soul. Supposedly the game was at a standstill, but Peter didn't believe things would end this easy. He forced himself to come back to the present. He had a personal interrogation to conduct.