"Neal."

"Peter." He smiled. "How are you?"

"How do you think?"

"It's been a while."

"Don't do this."

Neal cocked his head and his smile widened. "Do what?"

"Don't." He shook his head. "Don't pretend everything is normal."

"But it is. It finally is."

"This?" Peter was incredulous. And angry. "This is normal?"

"Peter," Neal said patiently, "this is inevitable."

"It didn't have to be. Godammit, Neal." His voice was shaking. Just a little, but there it was. "I gave you a chance."

"Ha!" The bark of laughter echoed in Peter's ears. It hurt. Neal's voice betrayed a coldness Peter didn't think he'd ever heard from the young man before. "No." A dark chuckle. Peter didn't think he'd ever heard that sound from Neal before, either. "No, I never had a chance. Not really." Was his voice a little lower now? A little softer? A little sad? Peter didn't have time to consider, to examine, to think. Because Neal stepped forward and the metal in his hand was flashing at his side.

Peter raised his own gun. At Neal. He was pointing his gun at Neal. The world no longer made any sense.

"Neal," Peter warned, "put it down."

Neal looked down at his own hand, at the silver weapon he held so casually. So naturally. So wrong. So, so wrong. "What happened to you?" Peter asked.

Peter thought he saw the smile falter. For a moment. Just for a moment. But maybe not, because now it was all crocodile teeth and steel blue eyes. "You know the answer to that. Agent Burke. You were there for most of it."

Not working. This is not working. Things were getting worse. He was losing Neal. Had lost Neal? No. Change the subject. Get him talking. He always loved to talk. "That supermodel in Prague was a bad move."

Neal lifted his brows. "Really? It felt pretty good." A smirk. It looked ugly. Marred the handsome man's clean features with an unnatural coarseness.

"It put me back on your trail."

Neal snorted. "I didn't know you were ever off it. I'm your obsession, Agent Burke." Reprobation? Disapproval? Again, there was no time. Again, Neal was moving forward. Raising his gun. "You really can't afford obsessions." Pointing it at Peter. Neal was pointing his gun at Peter. God, what was happening? What had happened? "You have to think of that lovely wife of yours."

Peter tightened his grip on the gun. He aimed more steadily. "You have no right to talk about her, Caffrey. Not anymore."

Regret? Was that regret in Neal's eyes? Maybe he was just imagining things. Seeing what I wish was there. But it's not. Can't be. Because the barrel of that gun is still aimed right between Peter's eyes.

"God, Caffrey. Neal. Just put it down. Talk to me."

"I won't be caged again, Agent Burke." Determination. Fear?

"We can talk about this. Put the gun down and we can talk about this."

"What, this?" Neal jiggled the weapon a little. "Does this worry you?"

"Of course it does, Caffrey. Neal. Put it down."

"Good."

"What?"

"It should worry you."

"This isn't you, Neal." Don't plead. Can't help it. "Come with me."

"You know this doesn't end well."

"It doesn't have to be this way."

"There's one exit. And it's behind you. Through you."

Peter's heart climbed further up his throat. God, no. Oh, God, no. "Neal…."

"And I won't be caged. Not again." Was his voice breaking? Imagination, just wishful thinking. Right? No time. "Never again." A shudder? No time. Neal was moving forward with purpose, now. Gun steady, safety off. Pointed at Peter. No time.

It was the loudest gunshot Peter Burke had ever heard. It shattered his eardrums as the bullet tore through his prey's chest. His former partner. Now bleeding, arms splayed, gun fallen out of reach. On the floor. Staring up at the ceiling and making no effort to rise. But Peter could still see his chest moving reluctantly up and down with each faltering breath.

He knelt at Neal Caffrey's side, one hand reaching tentatively toward the body as the other expertly dialed the cell phone.

The operator answered and Peter relayed his location, his emergency, all the vital information. But his eyes never left Neal. He felt numb. This wasn't happening. Couldn't be happening. He squeezed his eyes shut, opened them, saw Neal's lips move. Neal's eyes searching. They widened, a strained hoarse choke of an exhalation escaping Neal's stretched throat as Peter applied pressure to the wound. Bullet wound. I did this. I had to do this.

The convict was suddenly still and the agent's breath caught. But Neal was breathing. He was awake. "Agent Burke." The voice was level, controlled, almost normal. "I thought you were trained better. "

"Don't. Don't talk Neal. An ambulance—"

"You bastard."

"What?"

"One shot? That all I'm worth now?"

"What?"

"Three. Center mass. That's the training. That—" Peter could feel the pain spasm through Caffrey, but there was no sign of it on his face, just a sudden expulsion of air.

"What the hell happened? Neal? Why?"

Neal grinned, and it was ghastly. "I ran. Didn't you know that? I ran and ran and ran and you wouldn't find me."

"You idiot." But there was no heat in the accusation. How could there be when Neal was getting so cold? "It would have worked out. I told you not to do anything st— Neal?" Those blue eyes were glazing over. They refocused.

"Why wouldn't you find me?" Was his voice weaker? He was paling rapidly. Peter could feel the blood beginning to pool around his knees. Not like this, Neal. Caffrey turned his head away. "I ran, right? Is that…? I ran. Yes. You weren't there. The great Peter Burke in all the wrong places with all the wrong… all the wrong…." He shifted a little. Coughed. Winced. Smiled. It looked like relief. Peter's stomach rebelled. How did this happen?

There were sirens approaching and Peter saw the moment Neal heard them. Caffrey's eyes widened, snapping over to meet Burke's. "No," he rasped.

"An ambulance, Neal. You'll be okay. We'll stop the bleeding, we'll get you better, we'll figure this—"

"You wouldn't find me. You won't let me go." Neal's expression flickered too quickly for Peter to follow. Frustration? Fear? Desperation? Whatever wildness had been there settled into hard and cold and then time was moving too quickly again. "You should have let me go," Peter heard as he felt Neal's hand at his hip.

Even bleeding out, Neal was smooth and fast. Peter's gun was in Neal's hand so suddenly that Burke only had time to realize the con must have been opening the holster while they talked. When did I put it back? He reached for Caffrey's arm but he was in the wrong place. Because Caffrey wasn't bringing the weapon to bear on Peter. He was pulling it up to his own head.

Peter propelled himself at the gun, slamming it out of position just as it fired. Just as Neal fired. Another blow and the weapon skittered away from them both. Peter's eyes followed it across the concrete and then he was running his hands over Caffrey's head, looking for a wound. There was so much blood. It's transfer. From my hands. That's all.

"Okay," Burke panted. "Okay, okay, you're okay, you missed." He leaned back to address the continued bleeding from Neal's chest. The implications of Neal's actions took a moment to sink in, but they hit Peter like a sledgehammer and he suddenly saw red that had nothing to do with the fluid emptying too quickly from Neal's still form.

"Goddammit!" he raged. "God damn you Neal, what…?" He drew in a shaky breath, almost unable to say the word. "Suicide? How could…?" He couldn't finish the question and looked up at Neal's face, but Caffrey's eyes were ground shut, his head thrown back as though he were trying to push it through the floor, his face contorted in a rictus of pain that Peter didn't think had anything to do with the hole in his body.

"Ahh!" It was a gasp and a cry and probably much softer than Neal had intended. Losing him. He's losing strength. I'm losing him.

Peter leaned in closer. There were footsteps now, and Burke called out, "Here! Over here!" before returning his attention to Neal.

"Don't know," he was saying softly, the tension draining from him with consciousness and his eyes beginning to wander. "Don't know what you've done." Neal's eyes closed. "Shouldn't've…. I can't…." He made one last attempt to pull his eyes open and only half succeeded. "'ll pay. 'll pay."

It was like a movie after that, with Neal sinking into oblivion just as the paramedics arrived. There was shouting and there were questions and police and FBI and someone saying, "Secure the scene," and isn't that my line? But Burke responded automatically to everything asked of him while his mind replayed Caffrey's words, trying to rebuild them. Shouldn't have what? Can't what? Who's paying? Why?

"Yeah, yeah, hold on," he knew he was saying to… someone. It didn't matter. He had to get away, just for a moment. Just long enough to try to hear that weakening voice properly. You'll pay? I'll pay? A threat, a curse, a promise, a memory? Does it even mean anything?

"Boss?" Diana, thank God. "Boss, c'mon. Let's get you out of here."

"Caffrey?" he asked.

"Don't know yet, boss." She hesitated. "Hell of a thing."

"Yeah," he finally looked at her and actually saw her. Finally saw everything around him without that haze of disbelief and shock and this is too real that hardly ever slowed him down before. "If…" he swallowed, put his hands on his hips. "If he wakes up, he needs… needs a psych eval. Restraints."

Diana almost smiled and Peter could hear He's Caffrey, of course he'll need restraints. Not that they'll stop him going through her mind as plainly as if she'd said it aloud. But she didn't smile and she didn't speak, just nodded and waited for Peter to continue.

"He said something before he…," he blew out a breath, put his hand up to rub his forehead before he caught sight of the drying blood and lowered it again. He looked at where his hands had rested on his hips and realized he'd bloodied his clothes. Well… bloodied them more. Burke dropped his hands to his sides. "Before he blacked out he said something and I don't know what it means. If it means anything. It was…. He was fading."

He met Diana's gaze again, mind spinning and resolve firming. "Guards on Caffrey. Immediately. People we trust. Pull everything we've ever gathered on him. I need to look at it again. I missed something. I had to have missed something. What he's done, what he just did—tried…." He took a breath. "Tried to do. God. What he said. I don't know what just happened here. But I'm figuring it out."

"On it, boss."

"Diana?" She turned back to Peter. "You know—"

"I don't have to join you on this," she interrupted. "It might be dangerous, it might not be official, my career could be in trouble." She nodded. "You know my answer already. It's for you. It's Caffrey. I'm there. Besides," she smiled thinly, "Where Caffrey's been? Why? It's a helluva mystery."

She walked away and Peter watched her. There was no thrill in this chase, just betrayal, heartache, and frustration. He was drained. He was sticky with his former friend's blood. And finally catching up to Neal… it solved nothing. The darkness surrounding Neal's disappearance was deeper than ever and Peter knew in his gut that a danger approached unlike anything they'd yet seen.

Trepidation weighed his steps toward the sunlight and all Peter had were questions. What do you mean, Neal? What's going to happen? But most of all, what happened to you? What happened?