Author's Note: The inspiration for this story came from a discussion I had while betaing the epilogue to swanpride's excellent ConCurrent. It was about Neal having been in a SuperMax, and how that didn't make sense, and how what they've shown us isn't what a SuperMax is supposed to be like. My conclusion was the show had just gotten it wrong. Unless ... fanfiction to the rescue.

Many thanks to swanpride for betaing this for me.

Reviews are eagerly awaited.

SuperMax

"So, are you going to threaten to send me back to the SuperMax again?"

Neal and Peter were in Peter's Taurus, headed back to the Bureau offices. Neal had once again obtained a clue using less-than-strictly-legal methods.

"You know, that was mildly amusing the first few times, but now it's just annoying." Peter slammed on the brakes and shook his fist at the offending cabbie.

"What is? You threatening to send me back to prison?"

"No, calling it the SuperMax. New York doesn't even have a maximum-security federal pen. And the only federal SuperMax is in Colorado. You were in a medium-security block."

"I'm a non-violent, white-collar first offender. Everyone knows they always get sent to minimum-security facilities."

"First offender would be pushing it. First conviction, I'll give you that."

"OK, if you want to get all technical about it. So why did the judge decide to sentence me to medium-security?"

"I'm sure she had her reasons."

Neal gave Peter a long look before continuing. "So when I get there, it's not even a regular medium-security cellblock. No, I'm put into the cellblock which once used to be maximum-security. Tiny, individual cells. The guards apparently all get briefed about all newcomers, so they knew my record, and knew my cell assignment. I felt like they were all staring at me, wondering what horrible thing I'd done that they hadn't heard about." Neal paused, and gazed out the passenger window.

Peter held his breath, and kept his eyes on the road. Apart from superficialities, like orange not being his color, Neal had never talked about his time in prison.

Very quietly, and still looking out his window, Neal continued. "I was terrified. The first few days are a blur. I mean, everyone knows the kinds of things that happen to people in prison. And look at me; I'm this skinny kid, desperately trying to charm my way into everyone's good graces, feeling like there's this target on my back from before I even got there.

"So the first night, when that cell door clanged shut behind me, all I could think about was how alone and lonely I was, and all the nightmare things which could happen to me the next day, my first full day in prison.

"And then it was the next day, and none of those things happened. And when I was locked in that second night, I relaxed enough to realize that having an individual cell was a very good thing, that I might still have to worry about getting through the days, and I was still lonely and alone, but I didn't need to fear the nights.

"I began to meet the other guys in my cell block, and every single one of them were non-violent offenders, and every single one of them were guys I could be friendly with. Guys I didn't need to be afraid of. Wouldn't trust a single one of them in a poker game, mind you."

Neal glanced over at Peter, who had a small smirk on his face. "Yes, I know; you don't need to say it. They were all like me. In any case, the guards weren't afraid of us, either. So most of them were friendly, and treated us pretty well.

"About the fourth night, I started thinking, 'I'm going to survive this.' After about a week, I was totally surprised to find myself thinking 'I feel safe here.'"

Their eyes met briefly. Neal shrugged and raised his eyebrows. "Doesn't mean I liked it any better. But the fear was gone. So I was able to start processing what was going on. Those guards that I thought were staring at me the first day?"

Peter glanced over and nodded inquisitively.

"Turns out they were looking out for me. Evidently, being assigned to that cellblock meant that you had someone looking out for you. Someone associated with the system, an insider with some clout, who thought you weren't dangerous, and wanted you kept safe.

"Someone like you, Peter."

Peter glanced over, but didn't say a word.

"Why, Peter?

"Why what?"

"Peter, I am the master of misdirection, and you aren't even trying. I was just another perp…."

"No. No, you weren't. You were different from the first time I met you." Peter snorted out a laugh. "You were different even before I met you."

"How's that?"

"After you got onto our radar, we started bringing your name up to our CIs when we were investigating the type of case that we thought you might be involved in. Those few that acknowledged knowing you at all seemed reluctant to talk about you. That, in itself, wasn't unusual; CIs often don't want to talk about some perps. But before, it had always been out of fear. But I wasn't reading any fear from any of them when we'd talk about you. Took me a while to figure it out, because it had never happened before, but they didn't want to inform on you because they liked you. Not that any of them ever had any usable information about you, in any case."

Neal smirked at him. Peter rolled his eyes.

"And as soon as I'd bring up any case that involved any violence, or anyone getting hurt, they'd immediately, vehemently, dismiss the possibility that you could have been involved. That was quite a reputation to build up so quickly."

"Yeah, I had to abruptly dissolve some partnerships. Word got around, I guess."

"So when I finally met you, I thought I had some idea of what you'd be like. And in a lot of ways I was right – charming, intelligent, manipulative, educated; I would never have guessed then that all the diplomas were fake. But you still managed to surprise me."

"In what way?"

"Well, first off, and most obviously, was how very young you were. I mean, I knew your age on paper, but the reality was still shocking. Second, you didn't scare me."

Neal looked at him sharply.

"We don't talk about it much, but most LEOs live in constant fear of getting shot. White Collar is generally safer, but there's still that doubt. With you, I never felt threatened. Even the first time we spoke, you told me you didn't like guns, and I believed you. That may have been foolish of me, O Master of Misdirection, but you already had that reputation, so I trusted my gut. Turned out to be right … until recently."

Neal had the grace to look ashamed; the incident with Fowler was still pretty fresh.

"But what made you really different was the way you treated me."

Peter gave Neal a long look; it was a very good thing that they were stopped at a red light. Neal resisted the impulse to rush him. Finally, as the light turned green and cars almost immediately started honking, Peter continued, "I guess the most concise way of putting it is that you treated me humanely. Not just me, all my agents."

Neal looked at him quizzically.

"OK, most perps treat me and my team like we're The Law, purely adversarial, just cogs in The System that's out to get them."

Neal sighed. "Echoes of Mozzie. I get it. Suit."

Peter smiled. "Exactly. You never did. From the very beginning, you treated us like fellow human beings. People that needed creature comforts, like coffee during a long, cold stakeout. People with families, and lives, and birthdays, even. By the way, 'Birthday Greetings From the SuperMax; Wish You Were Here' was priceless. Anyway, we actually were out to get you, but you didn't take it personally. It might have been pure manipulation, but it sure didn't feel like it. And it definitely made you stand out."

"So you went out of your way for me when I was convicted."

"Actually, all it took was a short letter to the judge. All the New York agents and judges know about that cellblock, and the judges tend to accommodate our requests, as long as they're not too frequent."

"So how many times have you…?"

Peter looked Neal in the eyes. "Once."

Neal sat back. "Oh. Wow."

The conversation paused as they reached the FBI building and Peter parked. They made no move to leave the car. Finally, Peter broke the silence.

"Yeah, well…. Neal, you can't go back. It's not going to be enough much longer. I mean, the last times you were sent back, it was too soon for any of the perps you've help me catch to get through the court system; they're all still in remand or out on bail. But that's going to change in the near future. You won't be safe there."

"I know."

"This is in your hands, Neal. I've let you get away with too much, and every time I do, you try to get away with more. I can't protect you from everything. I shouldn't have to protect you as much as I do." A long pause. "Neal, if you'd shot Fowler, I couldn't have protected you … and I don't know if I would have wanted to."

"I understand, Peter. I'm sorry…."

"That's not enough any more. No more illegal acts. None, Neal. Letter and spirit of the law. And no more lies or misdirections directed at me or anyone at the FBI. Or El. Or there will be consequences."

"What sorts of consequences?"

"I'm sure we can come up with a list of things that would matter to you. For instance, for that little stunt you pulled back there, mortgage fraud for the rest of the week."

"Ouch. You really are serious about this." A long pause. "Thank you, Peter."

"Just trying to keep you safe."

"As usual."

"As usual."