Alternate Ending to Episode 9 "Gloves Off" in Season 4: Peter chases Neal to Sam's apartment and the two fight. The place, however, isn't as empty as Peter thought and Neal ends up in a hostage situation.

Peter's car screeched to a halt in front of Sam's house. Peter jumped out of the driver's side the moment the wheels stopped.

"Hey!" He called to Neal, who didn't even glance of him, instead continuing his fast pace towards the stairs to Sam's place. The car door slammed shut and Peter raced to catch up with him. "Stop."

"What'd you do? Run him through the database?" Neal called over his shoulder, too angry to stop moving for even a second. He had a good feeling that if he did then Peter would use that paternal tone on him and he'd find himself seated in the passenger seat of his car on his way back to June's before he knew what was happening. He wouldn't let Peter use their friendship to get what he wanted again. Not this time.

"Neal, stop!" The other man ran up behind him to fall in line with Neal's brisk speed.

"You met with him, the one thing he didn't want." Neal accused. He was more than a little annoyed that the older man wouldn't just leave him alone. He didn't want to have this argument outside for the whole street to witness.

"Give me a break." Peter cut in front of him, effectively forcing Neal to stop. "All bets were off once you showed him the tape."

"I never showed him the tape."

Peter shook his head, like at some level he was annoyed that he'd jumped to the wrong conclusion and was called out on it. But Neal could still see that the FBI agent in him wasn't going to let it go. "The point is you said you weren't going to meet with him."

"No, no. I said I wouldn't show him the tape. I met with him because he's the only person who had a connection to Ellen. He knew her. He knew my father." He let his hands fall open in a silent plea for Peter to just believe him for once.

Peter sighed. "You should have told me."

"I don't have to report to you every move I make."

"Yes, you do."

Why couldn't Peter understand that he might be a ward of the state, but he wasn't a child? Peter might act like his father, but that didn't give him the right to dictate what Neal did on his off hours.

"No." Neal snapped, his patience with this treatment wearing thin. "I get to have a private life."

Peter simply shook his head. "Not about this. You don't."

Neal stared at him. He thought he knew the man in front of him. Thought that he had gained his trust and acceptance after working alongside him for so long, but it was times likes these when Neal realized Peter was never going to change. Peter never stopped thinking like an FBI agent and no matter what he considered Neal, friend or otherwise, he was always going to be a criminal in his eyes.

"Well, that's the heart of our problem isn't it? You don't trust me. You still don't trust me."

As far as Neal was concerned, this conversation was over. He stepped around Peter's stationary form, his anger from before resurfacing. Neal took the steps up to Sam's place two at a time, aware of Peter's presence at his heels. He rolled his eyes mentally, of course Peter wouldn't trust him enough to leave him alone.

Peter caught his sleeve at the top of the stairs. "The door's open. Stay here."

A part of Neal wanted to shout at Peter to go away and let him handle it on his own, that this was all his fault for treating Neal like a child, but he knew that would do nothing to help his case at the moment. Instead, Neal settled for jerking his arm out of Peter's grip and watched as he pulled his gun from his holster, stepping into the building with it raise in front of him

Neal watched Peter advance down the hallway through the opened door for a moment before sighing to himself in annoyance and walking in after the agent. If Neal didn't want to be treated like a child, he had to stop letting Peter order him around. Inside, the apartment was a mess, paintings hanging off the wall and drawers spilling their contents onto the floor. Glass cracked under Neal's foot and Peter glanced behind him at Neal, an exasperated look on his face that Neal ignored.

As Peter did a quick sweep of the adjoining rooms in the apartment, Neal turning in a circle, taking in the full extent of the damage. The entire place was ransacked, but whatever they were looking for they hadn't found it. Neal recalled Sam's phone call to him from earlier, thankful that the man had left before whoever did this caught up with him.

"He's gone, Peter." Neal called towards the kitchen where Peter had disappeared into, gun still pointed out in front of him. Peter emerged from the kitchen a moment later, sliding his gun back into it's holster at his hip.

"I'll call it in." said Peter.

Neal threw his hands up in the air.

Peter spared him a sympathetic glance. "We'll find Sam."

"This is exactly why Sam didn't want you running his name."

Peter sighed and turned around to face the wall, his hands coming up to run through his hair. He looked angry with himself. Good, Neal thought, he should be. "They found him because of you. They found Ellen because of you."

Neal watched as Peter slipped his phone out of his pocket.

"Neal— look, I'm sorry. Just let me call it in and we can—"

There was the sudden sound of footsteps behind him and Neal turned, thinking Diana and Jones must have followed them from the gym. He only caught a glimpse of a man that was certainly not Jones, before a thick arm snaked itself around his neck and pulled him tight against the man's chest. Something cold and hard pressed up under Neal's chin, forcing his head back.

"Peter—" Neal struggled, trying to twist out of the hold, his hands tugging at the arm holding him hostage. Peter turned at once at the panic that must have been laced in Neal's voice, his gun drawn and held in front of him.

"FBI! Let him go now!" Peter shouted.

"I can't do that," The man responded, his voice deep and loud spoken next to Neal's ear through the ski mask that covered his face. "If I let him go then you're going to make that call. I won't make it more than a couple of blocks before the FBI catches up with me."

Neal adjusted his grip on his attacker's wrist, dropping one of his arms down to his side. There was the chance he might be able to injure the man enough to break free of his grip. At this angle his best shot was to grab the man by the balls and twist sharply. It would hurt like hell, but there was no guarantee the man wouldn't pull the trigger by accident. Neal made eyes with Peter, signalling his intent, but Peter gave the barest shake of his head.

Peter released his hold on his gun with one hand, showing where his phone had been previously pressed to the grip of the gun. "Here's my phone. You can have it."

Peter tossed the phone at the man's feet, who instantly kicked it sideways into another room.

Peter's hand joined his other back on the grip of his gun, loosely this time, his fingers pointed out in a calming gesture. "Okay? I can't call anyone now. Let's keep this civil, alright? You let go my C.I. and make your escape. I promise no one will chase you."

Neal's kidnapper shifted back a step, Neal stumbling backwards with him as the pressure on his throat increased. Neal grunted at the restricting feeling, he tugged at the arm that felt like a band of metal across his neck for all the give it offered. He arched his neck, gasping quietly as a little more air entered his lungs. The gun was readjusted so it was back under his chin. Neal could feel the cool metal sliding along his skin, jabbing him in the jaw every once in awhile when his kidnapper's hand shook.

"You're C.I., what's that?"

"Criminal informant," Neal panted, his throat working against the arm pressing into it. "I work with the FBI on their art crime cases— museum heists, bond forgeries… you get the picture."

"And he's a valuable asset to my team, so I'd appreciate it if you left him unharmed."

Neal tried not to let Peter's words stoke his previous anger, this wasn't the time for it afterall. Still, asset? Was that what Peter considered him? Something owned by the FBI to be lended out to any agent? He thought bitterly that he might not be in this situation if the FBI thought of him as more of an agent than a piece of property— gave him a gun or a bulletproof vest instead of a tracking anklet.

"Alright, since he's so valuable, you're going to put your gun on the floor and toss me your handcuffs and car keys. Neal is coming with me for a ride. You can have him back after I've had a talk with him about Sam Phelps."

Neal shared a nervous glance with Peter. Peter gave an audacious laugh full of false bravado. "Well that's not going to happen. Besides what use will Neal be concerning Sam? Do you think we would be here right now if we knew where Sam?"

Peter's acting was good, but apparently not good enough.

"Cut the crap!" the man snarled, gun moving from Neal's chin to his thigh, pressing into the muscle below his hip, hard enough to leave a bruise. "I heard you talking outside. I know he's been in contact with Phelps and he's going to help me contact him again. Now, gun on the floor or I put a bullet in your C. I.'s leg. He doesn't need that to talk."

"Okay, okay!" Peter raised his hands, and crouched slowly until he could place the gun on the floor. He stood and kicked it sideways. Neal's attacker turned his gun on Peter and jerked it towards his belt.

"Handcuffs and car keys. Pass them to your friend."

The gun stayed trained on Peter as he crept forward and placed the cuffs and keys into Neal's outstretched hand. Neal contemplated chucking them as far as possible to throw off the man's plans, but knew that'd probably only get the both of them shot. Instead he gripped them awkwardly in one hand as he was dragged backwards towards the door and down the front steps, Peter creeping along after them like he was afraid of taking his eyes off of Neal.

His feet hit the sidewalk and then all at once Neal heard the startled cries of bystanders. Neal was jerked wildly in a half-circle as the man swiveled the gun, shouting "Everyone to the other side of the street. Now!"

Peter came scrambling down the steps, his badge held up in an attempt to control the situation. "I'm Agent Burke with the FBI. Everyone remain calm and do as he says."

Neal caught sight of a few people running the other way as he was dragged backwards towards the passenger side of Peter's car and shoved roughly against the side of the car.

The gun was pressed to the back of his head. The handcuffs were snatched out of his hand. "Hands behind your back. Don't try anything stupid."

Neal did as he was told. As the cuffs were being snapped onto his wrists he tried to steal a glance over the top of the car at Peter. His friend stood motionless, looking completely uncomfortable with where this situation was heading. Neal couldn't blame him. He supposed he was lucky the man hadn't realized he was wearing a tracking anklet, at least the FBI would be able to find them when they started moving.

The man took Peter's keys from Neal's fingers and unlocked the passenger side door. Neal was grabbed roughly by his sweatshirt and shoved in. As soon as Neal's butt hit the seat he wiggled around until his hands were in the cupholder, knowing Peter liked to keep paper clips in there. He seized one with his fingertips and hid it in his fist right as the driver's door opened and the man climbed in, gun pointed at Neal's head.

"Stop moving around," he grunted at him. "lean against the door."

Neal did as he was told, turning until his back was pressed against the door, his body shielding his movements from view.

As skilled as he was with picking locks, especially handcuffs, it was still a slow process sitting without a seatbelt in a moving car in New York City traffic. Neal tried to plant one of his feet to keep himself from being thrown sideways every time the car merged into a new lane and continued with a new burst of speed passed the slower cars. Neal gritted his teeth and hissed a curse as the paperclip slipped out of the keyhole in the cuffs for the third time.

Neal leaned his head back against the window, ignoring the jostling his skull took against the glass in order to sneak a peek behind them. No sign of the flashing red and blue lights yet. "Taking your time calling for backup there, Peter." Neal muttered under his breath.

"What are you saying?" Neal nearly went crossed eyed as the gun was shoved into his face.

"Nothing," replied Neal. The gun retreated a bit and Neal breathed a little easier at that. The handcuffs unlocked with a subtle click. Neal's sigh of relief was drowned by the accelerating engine as they turned down a side street. The car jerked to a stop with a curse from the driver. A garbage truck block the street. Neal's abductor wailed on the horn impatiently.

"What were you looking for in Sam's place, anyway?"

The gun was back under Neal's nose with only half a glance spared in his direction. "You don't get to ask the questions."

"Fair enough."

The man blared the horn in quick blasts again, only for the garbage collectors to start hollering and flashing him the finger. Still, they made no notion of hurrying their pace like they were going this slow just to spite Neal's abductor. Neal rolled his eyes, you gotta love New Yorkers.

Neal caught movement behind them out of the corner of his eye. He shifted a bit until he could peek through the side mirror where he could see a black sedan had pulled up behind them. Neal grinned, he could spot one of those crappy undercover FBI vehicles anywhere, even if Diana and Peter weren't sitting in the front. Neal glances quickly back at the man next to him, but as far as he could tell he hadn't noticed anything was amiss.

Neal's eyes crept back towards the mirror. Peter had opened the side door and was standing with one foot out the car door. Neal figured this was the only chance he was going to get. Before he could psych himself out, Neal lunged for the center console and shoved the gear stick into park. The car doors unlocked with a click and Neal threw his body back towards the passenger door with all his strength. His kidnapper yelled something unintelligible and grabbed for Neal's legs. Neal's fingers found the door handle, he tugged harshly and fell forward out of the car.

"Clear the street! Get down!" Diana was yelling to the workers parked in front of them.

Neal tried to army crawl the rest of the way out of the car, but his ankle was caught in the man's vice grip and tugged back harshly. Neal twisted his upper body until he could look back into the car interior. His stomach lurched up into this throat when he found himself with a gun aimed at his head. He wrapped his arms around his head and rolled to the side, the first two shot ricocheting off the asphalt by his shoulder.

"Peter!" Neal screamed.

The battery of gunfire that erupted a second later was so loud Neal was pretty sure it drowned out his own frantic inner thoughts for a second. The passenger side window shattered and rained glass down onto Neal's prone body. Bullets pinged off the sides of the car and through his squinted eyes Neal could see muzzle flashes from inside Peter's car. Neal turned his head to see Peter waving his arm at him, pointing off to the side. Through the din Neal could just make out the word Run! being yelled at him and it was only them that Neal realized his leg had been released.

He scrambled across the pavement towards the black sedan, head kept low to avoid any bullets flying around. Broken glass cut into his bare palms, leaving them bloody but the burning sting felt like nothing with the adrenaline coursing through Neal's system. When he was within reach Peter grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him against the side of the car behind the opened car door. Peter's hand was like iron, pressing against his collarbone and pinning him to the car.

Diana yelled something and all at once the gunfire ceased.

Neal's ears were still ringing and he didn't notice Peter was calling his name until the older man was crouched in front of him, worried face looming in front of his own. Neal opened his mouth to speak but couldn't get any words to leave his mouth with his heart still pounding like a drum in his chest. He closed his eyes tightly and let his head fall back against the car, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down.

Rough hands pressed against his forehead and tugged at his clothes looking for injuries. As the ringing faded from his ears Neal was aware of Peter's continuous stream of words being directed at him. "Can you hear me? Neal, are you hurt anywhere?"

Peter tapped his cheek lightly. It roused Neal enough for him to open his eyes.

"Diana called an ambulance, it'll be here any minute now. I need you to answer me, Neal. Can you hear me?"

Peter's hand moved to tap his face again, but Neal grasped his wrist before he could.

"M'okay, Peter." he groaned. He had a feeling Peter didn't miss the shakiness of his fingers.

Peter sighed with relief and slumped back until he was sitting on the ground. "Thank God."

Neal could hear the distant wail of an ambulance siren approaching them.

"Hey, Peter?"

"Yeah, what is it, Neal?" asked Peter.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I know you were just looking out for me. Thanks for following me."

Peter smiled and ruffled Neal's already rumpled hair. "Don't mention it."