This scene takes place after the ending of season 1.

The chaos had begun to settle. The burning plane was a pile of smoldering black leftovers. Peter did not want to think about the bodies in there somewhere. The pilots and Kate. He turned towards the office where he had seen the crises-person take Neal. The blinders were still down. He wished he could be there for Neal, but he had to face his own shock before he could handle others'. A professional, trained to take care of people in these situations was the best he could offer Neal right now. Another had talked to him for an hour while they put the fire out. But it was not his girlfriend who had been blown to pieces and his future that gone up in smoke.

Hughes turned up by his side.

"How are you, Peter?"

"I can manage."

"And Caffrey?" Peter nodded towards the office.

"Probably not as well."

"Peter, the Marshals are here to bring him back to prison."

"What?!" Hughes gave him a look as if he should have seen this coming. Peter took a deep breath and saw the situation from another point of view.

"Hughes, he wasn't running."

"Perhaps. And he may not have anything to do with the bomb on that plane either. But until we know…"

"We have to see him as a fleeing felon and a murder suspect," Peter finished with a sigh. Hughes nodded. It made sense. And yet not. Because he knew Neal and knew about the deal with Fowler. But he did not know Fowler and if he had fooled Neal or not. Or if Fowler, in turn, had been set up by someone else.

"As soon as he's ready for it, I'll take him back" Peter assured his boss, who shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Peter, but you're still under suspension, and in either case is Neal an inmate on a maximum security prison. You know what that means." Peter watched the group of marshals waiting. One of them held a set of cuffs and chains meant for transports of high-security felons.

"Reese…" Peter began, searching for words for a protest he knew would be in vain. He would not even need to put ordinary handcuffs on Neal. No one would need more than that as long as they treated him fair.

"They're not animals, Peter. They'll wait until he's ready to leave that room on his own two feet. But Peter, he needs to be told."

Peter nodded.

"I'll tell him." Had it been anyone but Neal, maybe he had been considered cruel by taking this task upon himself. Especially when he was not there to comfort him in his grief. Neal, however, had always respected his role as an FBI agent and been able to combine this with friendship. He figured Neal had succeeded better in this than Peter himself.

He walked to the office and knocked on the door. A woman's soft voice from within the room, and then the door opened just enough to face the crisis-person and keep Neal out of sight.

"How is he?"

She had seen them together, Peter keeping Neal from trying to save Kate, so she knew who he was.

"These things take time."

"I know. Can I see him?"

She frowned.

"It's okay Erica, let him in" he heard Neal's voice from inside the room, and she stepped aside. Peter slipped by her, and Erica closed the door behind him. Neal sat on the floor like a wet rag. His face was red and swollen from crying.

"Hi, Peter."

"Hi, Neal."

Peter turned to Erica.

"Can you leave us alone, please?"

Erica checked with Neal, who nodded.

"I'll be nearby if you need me."

Peter leaned against a desk, unwilling to make himself comfortable in the room. He felt Neal's eyes upon him and he realized he avoided to face him. He turned his head and met Neal's gaze.

"What aren't you telling me, Peter?" Observant as always.

"I wish this could be done differently" Peter started. "And I know, you would come with me if I told you to. But as it is, I don't have a badge."

"I'm going back to prison, aren't I?"

"While all this is investigated, yes. I'm sorry, Neal."

The kid nodded.

"They're waiting for me outside?"

"They are." Peter's eyes wandered away. "Neal... " He forced himself to meet the kid's eyes. "You're considered a high-risk transport."

"Leg-irons and black-box, I know the drill, Peter."

Neal's assurance sent a shiver through Peter. He had always seen them as something needed in extreme cases for violent people. Neal had faced them as standard procedure in prison without being violent.

"You can stay in here as long as you need to. If you want to talk some more with Erica, it's fine too. There's no one out there who wishes to drag you out of here in chains until you're capable of handling it."

"Could you put them on me?" Peter stared. "Please?" What was it with this guy?

"Why?"

"I'll be having them on for quite a while before I'm back in prison. Believe it or not, but those things aren't very comfortable in the first place. I know you wouldn't pull them tighter than need."

Peter sighed. Putting him in restraints of that kind was nothing he wanted to at any time but Neal would be far more uncomfortable than him, no matter who put them on.

"Alright, I'll talk to them, see what I can do. But it's not my call."

Neal nodded and got to his feet.

"I'm ready." Neal looked far from ready but there was little Peter could do about it.

"Are you sure?"

"A distraction would suit me fine right now. This will at least be familiar grounds. Yes, Peter, I'm ready." He even sent Peter an assuring smile.

"There's a bathroom in there if you want to freshen up."

Neal left the door open while he washed his face. He closed the door without locking while he did what he needed to do otherwise. Peter heard the toilet flush and Neal appeared in the door.

"Go ahead, Peter."

Peter returned out to the hangar and met the marshals right outside.

"He'll follow with you now, but he has one request."

"Which is?" asked the man Peter figured was the leader of the group.

"That I pat him down and put those restraints on."

The man's eyebrows went up in surprise.

"I've no problem with that, but you're a civilian at the moment, Agent Burke. I'll have to supervise it."

Peter nodded. He was not going to argue against it.

They walked inside the office, the marshal with a handful of chains in his hand. Neal stood as a composed wreck, leaning against a desk, exposed and harmless.

"Neal Caffrey, I'm U.S. Marshal Sam North. I'm going to supervise your transport back to Sing Sing. Agent Burke here tells me you want him to restrain you. Is that correct?"

Neal nodded. The marshal explained to Neal why he had to remain in the room. Neal nodded again and rose from the desk with a blank face, turned his back to them, and held out his arms.

Peter started with Neal's hair, dusty from the explosion. The collar, the sleeves. Peter did not expect to find anything, but he did it correctly. Neal did not expect him to do anything less.

The marshal handed him the restrains. Neal continued to hold his arms out until Peter had locked the belly-chain around his waist. The cuffs around the ankles were not uncomfortable in themselves at least. It was the chain that restricted the length of the step that constituted the restraint. Peter rose to lock the final cuffs around his friend's wrists. No matter how correct he was with this, it would be unpleasant for Neal.

Neal already stood with his hands in position. The cuffs were directly linked to the belly-chain which forced the hands and arms in a fixed position which in the long run could become painful. The black box on top of that removed every option to move the hands. Neal had not flinched once. Not even when Peter put that box on top of it all.

Peter remembered when he had cuffed Neal in the interview room for the transport to the detonation center four and a half years ago. Neal had tried not to flinch when the cuffs closed around his wrists. Peter had cuffed him front with ordinary cuffs. More of a psychological restraint. What he put on Neal now was the opposite, and his CI had not moved a muscle in his face. Prison-time had made its mark, and Peter was not sure if that system created better citizens. It felt healthier to flinch than be used to leg-irons and black boxes.

Neal was restrained, and there was nothing more for Peter to do. Still with his back to the marshal Neal blank face turned to one in grief.

"See you, Peter?"

A question? Did he have to ask?

"Any time, kiddo" he assured Neal. "And I'll do my best to get you out as soon as I can, alright."

Neal nodded.

"Ready to go?" the marshal asked. Peter watched Neal's face transform into one of smiles and playfulness. An imitation of his normal state. Neal turned to face the marshal.

"Can't wait" he replied with a grin.

Peter stepped aside, and the marshal took over. With a grip around Neal's upper arm, he led him out of the office in the pace the chains allowed.