Walking toward the elevators, Peter fought the urge to glance behind him, back to his office, to see what Neal was doing. The look on the younger man's face had been such a mix of emotions – anger, frustration, sadness – that it had taken every ounce of will power he still possessed after such a long day not to reach out and comfort him somehow. To take back the brutally honest words and hard realities of the situation and what he would do if Neal insisted on once again ignoring the consequences staring him in the face, or make a joke or something – anything – to relieve the pressure in the room. Taking the pressure off Neal was something he simply couldn't do at this moment – it was too critical a juncture.

The elevator dinged and under the pretense of stepping in, he gave in and glanced up at his office for a quick glimpse of the younger man and saw nothing – the office was empty. Swearing, he stepped inside and rode the empty car down to the lobby, not wanting to make the call and find out the news on official property where he's be forced to act. Walking across the street feeling the dread grow in his stomach, he was on the phone to the Marshal's Tracking Unit. The fact that Neal had not put on the tracking unit and joined him at the elevators, making a joke about being a good Indian and once again on the Reservation or bummed a ride back uptown to June's did not bode well for what the Marshals would tell him.

"US Marshal Tracking," a female voice answered on the second ring.

"Yes, this is Peter Burke, FBI Badge number 489765, I need the location of Tracking Unit 9305 Alpha please," he said tersely, not wanting to have his fears confirmed. If the unit was still in his office, still in the FBI Building and not moving, his long day was going to be made even longer and drag into the night. Neal would be running – again – and the clock would be ticking to catch him.

The female voice returned to the line after a brief pause, "Yes Sir, I have him located at 26 Federal Plaza, New York."

Peter swore, recognizing the address. "Can you tell if the unit is moving or stationary?"

"The Unit appears to have not moved from its location since activation 90 minutes ago," the woman said.

Snapping shut the phone, Peter swore again as he stalked back toward the building, knowing what he had to do as much as he hated it. He had activated the new unit while waiting for the younger man to appear in his office and the unit was still there, probably sitting on the pile of papers on his desk, right where he had laid it in front of Neal. The main office area was empty as he walked back through – less than ten minutes after he departed and five minutes more than Neal needed to have a significant advantage in their latest game of cat and mouse. Shaking his head as he mounted the steps toward his dark and empty office, Peter mentally rehearsed how he'd tell Elizabeth.

As he flipped on the light, he sensed the presence in the office before he spied the feet and outstretched legs visible from behind his desk. Freezing, it took him just a moment to recognize Neal's shoes and slacks before another step brought him around the desk and in full view of the other man now sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, his head back and eyes closed.

"Can you turn the light back off?" Neal asked, lifting his head slightly to peer at Peter for a moment before closing his eyes again and resuming his slumped position against the wall.

"Why?" Peter asked automatically, not moving toward the light switch. "And what are you doing in here and why exactly are you sitting on my floor?"

Opening his eyes again, Neal looked at him for a moment before giving a lazy smile and shrug. "You're always questioning me, Peter. Don't you trust me? Oh, no – never mind since we both know the answer to that one."

"Have you given me a lot of reasons to trust you?" Peter asked back, his voice calm but firm. "Considering the fact that this," he continued, tapping the tracking unit still sitting on the desk, "belongs here." Nudging the other man's ankle with his own foot, he stared down at him. "Put this back on and then we can talk about trust."

Neal glanced away, studying the wall next to him before looking back at Peter, not moving.

The other man nudged him again, "Come on, Neal. It's been a long day and I want nothing more than to go home to Elizabeth, take a hot shower and get something to eat before I have to be back here in ten hours." Eying him, he added, "Before we're both expected back here in ten hours."

"Then go," Neal shot back, leaning back against the wall. "Why did you even come back? Forget something? Or did you decide that your little pep talk wasn't enough and wanted to check up on me?" Closing his eyes, he waved a dismissive hand in the other man's direction. "Go away, Peter. I got the message loud and clear earlier."

"And yet the anklet is still sitting on my desk and you're now sitting on my floor," he said absently as he began to study the other man more closely.

Giving a shrug, Neal didn't open his eyes and just continued to lean against the wall. "It wasn't planned - that's just where I ended up," he said before adding softly. "It's been a really long couple of days for me, too."

Peter eyed him for a long moment, mentally debating his next move. Bending slightly, he held out his hand, "Come on, get up. I'm not going to continue this conversation staring at my floor. It's just weird."

"You could sit on the floor with me," Neal said even as he took the offered hand and stiffly got up.

"That's even weirder," Peter said, pulling over the desk chair for Neal to sit in. Settling on the desk, he reached over and grasped the younger man's chin and moved it more into the light. "When did you get this?" he asked, eyeing the bruise forming down the side of Neal's face.

Neal shrugged irritably, trying to pull away. "I don't know, either one of the two times I was tazered and knocked out or maybe when one of Wertz's men threw me onto the floor." He shrugged again, successfully pulling away finally, "Or it could have been when they shoved me into the van. Like I said, long couple of days." He smiled wryly, "But that's OK, us tools can't really complain. We're just meant to be used and then discarded when we're not useful any more."

"She's an idiot," Peter said firmly. "She has no idea how useful you can be." He shook his head, "Which is why you have this chance, Neal -"

"Yeah, I know," Neal said, cutting him off even as he glanced away for a moment.

Picking up the anklet off the desk, Peter held it out. "Then what's the hold up? Let's go – put it back on and let's end this."

He leaned back in the chair slightly, eyeing the device and making no move to pick it up.

"Neal …"

"You know when you walked out a few minutes ago," the other man said, interrupting. "You said it was my choice?"

"Yeah," Peter said, "It is your choice. It's always been your choice. You have this great opportunity to do something good. You just have to decide to do it."

Neal nodded, still eying the anklet. "So when you walked out, I knew I would put it back on." He smiled slightly at the memory, "It felt really good to see the girl safely back with her father, to know that Wertz was going to be off the streets."

"Because of you," the older man said softly.

Neal shrugged, "I sat down to clip it back on and I just .. couldn't. My hands started shaking and I felt sick to my stomach so I stood up to go to the bathroom and then my legs just sort of gave out. That's how I ended up on your floor. Just sitting there, staring at it, wanting to reach up and grab it and being totally unable to do anything." He glanced up at the other man and smiled slightly. "First time in my life I haven't been able to just take what I wanted."

"But do you really want it?" Peter asked, turning the device over in his hands.

The other man smiled wryly and gave another half shrug.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," the agent said, dropping it back on his desk. Crossing his arms, he said, "So … what do you want to do? Should I just put it back on you and forget this whole discussion? Or maybe I should just drive you back to prison tonight since you clearly broke the rules this afternoon when you left the crime scene, not to mention the whole issue of you and Alex which is clearly against your parole? Or maybe you think I should walk back out of here, go home and hope - pray - that you get some sense into your head and do the right thing or …"

"I don't know, Peter!" Neal said angrily, pushing back in the chair until it hit the wall behind the desk. "Just do what you want, I don't care." He shook his head, "It doesn't matter anyway."

The older man looked at him, "Of course it matters and I think you'd care a lot if I drove you back to prison. This is your choice, Neal. You can keep screwing around and dancing on the lines and sooner or later you're going to go too far and end up in prison and there won't be a damn thing I'll be able to do about it. Or, you can hold on to the feeling you had this afternoon and keep working at it. You're doing great work here and you can keep doing it if you choose to." Reaching out, he tapped the other man's knee, adding, "Come on, you never disappointed me in the past, don't start now."

Giving a derisive snort, Neal shook his head.

"What?" Peter shot back, his annoyance at the situation growing.

Meeting the other man's eyes, Neal gave a small, bemused smile. "I'm just surprised, considering how often you've pointed out that my life choices have been less than ideal in the past."

"OK," he said with a small smile, "I'll agree that some of your life choices have been less than ideal but you, Neal Caffrey, personally have never been a disappointment. You've come through every time and done great work here. I knew you could do it, I knew you wouldn't let me down and that's why I was willing to stick my neck out for you." Glancing deliberately at the anklet and then back toward the other man, he said, "So, come on, it's your choice."

Dropping his gaze, Neal said quietly, "Maybe this time I don't want it to be my choice?" He shook his head again as he stood up suddenly and strolled to the window, looking out into the lights. "Maybe I don't trust myself to make the right decision. And even if I do, I don't trust myself to keep making the right decision time after time after time," he said softly to his own reflection. "I don't think I can keep it up and this will just end in a huge disappointment. Maybe I'm tired of fighting against something that I know will just end up happening anyway."

Peter watched the emotions play across Neal's face in the window reflection for a long moment before standing up. "Do not move from this office," he ordered firmly. "I'll be right back and I'd better find you in here." Not waiting for an answer, his gut telling him that the other man wasn't going anywhere, he stepped out of the room and headed down the stairs into the deserted main office. Picking up the phone at Neal's desk, he quickly dialed his home number.

. . . . .

"It's late," Neal said as the other man reentered the office several minutes later. "You should go home, see Elizabeth. I'm fine."

Ignoring him, Peter picked up the anklet and slid it into his coat pocket. "Let's go. Get your coat," he ordered even as he glanced around the room for it.

Neal slowly turned from the window and smiled, "Would you believe that I was in such a rush to get over here once I realized I had forgotten my anklet that I forgot it at June's?"

"No."

He shrugged. "It is at June's though."

"We're heading over there anyway to get you a bag so we'll pick it up," Peter said evenly, moving toward the door. Motioning with his hand, he repeated, "Let's go."

Hesitating for a long beat, he said as he slowly walked across the office, "Where are we going after that?"

Peter glanced at him before flipping off the office light and heading toward the stairs. "I didn't think you cared what happened." His voice was sharp and out of the corner of his eye, he could see the younger man hesitate before following him. Part of him wanted to reach out, pull him close and tell him it was going to be OK, that they'd get through this together. But, like earlier, a bigger part of him knew that he needed to stay firm. Neal responded better to firmness and not having full control of a situation.

Not speaking as they rode the elevator down to the parking garage, Neal glanced warily at the other man. "Peter …"

He held up a hand, silencing the younger man, "No, I'm tired of talking. You had your chance, you said you didn't care – several times in fact – so don't start now. We're going to June's, we're going to get a bag for you and your coat. That's all you need to know." As the door pinged open into the parking garage, he motioned for Neal to step out and then followed him. Softening a bit, he casually rested a hand on the other man's shoulder, giving it the briefest of squeezes before dropping to his back for a moment. "Trust me, Neal," he said quietly, not looking at him. Stepping away, he unlocked the car as they approached.

Neal glanced over the car's roof, meeting Peter's eyes for a moment before looking away.

The ride uptown was silent, the radio off and Peter concentrating, or at least pretending to concentrate, on the traffic. In reality, half of his attention was focused on Neal who was resolutely staring out the window. From time to time, the light and timing would match exactly right and he would get a quick glance of the younger man's face reflected in the glass, eyes staring out, seemingly as lost as they had been in the office.

. . . . .

Glancing at Peter as he parked the car, Neal asked quietly, "How long ….?" His voice faltered for a second before he caught himself and shifted in his seat. Sitting up straighter, he swallowed and gave the smallest of smiles. "Since you're the man with the plan, what do you want me to pack?" His voice was carefree and easy, a hint of charm and light that made the question seem as casual as a weather inquiry.

Not fooled, the older man opened his door, "Don't worry, I'm going up with you. We'll figure it out once we're there."

"You don't have to …" Neal started before catching Peter's eye and giving another smile. "I look forward to your opinion on what I should wear," he said, getting out of the car. "You know how much I appreciate your own daily choices."

"Exactly," he said, exiting the car and heading toward the house, not waiting to see if Neal would follow, knowing he would.

Opening the door to the upstairs studio a minute later, Peter said, "Where's a suitcase or duffle bag?"

The other man eyed him cautiously as he stepped around the agent. "Depends on what I'm packing …" he said carefully, hoping the silence would encourage Peter to fill in the space. When that didn't happen, he continued, "If I'm packing clothes, a suit, there's a bag hanging up in the far closet … if I'm just packing books …"

"You're packing whatever you need to stay with El and me for a couple of days," Peter said firmly, heading toward the far closet Neal had indicated.

Neal gave a short laugh and then quickly stopped, seeing the glare on Peter's face. "You're not kidding." Holding up his hands, he said, smiling in his charming way, "You know, I appreciate the gesture, but I'm fine. And really, I think you should check with Elizabeth before you start making offers …"

Glancing at him over his shoulder, Peter said, "I did check with her and the way I see it – it's either this or the FBI holding cells." Pulling a small black suitcase from the closet, he continued, "The choice is yours, Neal, but those are your only two choices." Walking back over, he held up the bag. "So which is it? Are you putting clothes and your shaving kit in here or just books?"

The other man glanced out the darkened glass doors for a second before turning back to Peter. "Why don't I just put the anklet back on and you can go home to Elizabeth? No need for all this drama; things will be much better after a good night's sleep." He smiled. "Seriously. I'm fine."

"Too late," Peter said. "It's either home with me or a holding cell. It's been a long day, I'm sick of the games. You had your chance – you had several of them in fact – and decided to screw around instead of seeing what was right in front of your face." He shook his head in disbelief and let out a long breath. "I'm not going to let you mess up your life like this if I can prevent it. Or take down my career, which is what would happen if you bolt right now and require me to catch you all over again – which you know I would – and throw your ass back in prison –which you also know I would. Not to mention what El would say to me about that disaster. So, in order to save you from yourself and me a lot of hassle, I'm putting you some place where you're protected from yourself."

Neal bristled at the words, his face hardening. "I don't need a lecture, Peter, and I certainly don't need to be protected. I did good work today, I was threatened, tazered, beaten up, managed to rob a known killer without making him mad – a huge feat in and of itself – and still managed to save the girl – literally."

Putting the suitcase in front of the other man, Peter looked at him. "Pack – what you pack is your last choice tonight."

Neal folded his arms in front of him, ignoring the suitcase. "What makes you think if you drag me home, I won't just bolt from there? Your house isn't exactly Ft. Knox."

Stepping closer to the other man, Peter smiled slightly. "You and I both know that locks and bars mean very little when it comes to what you want. You may not trust yourself to make the right decision all the time, but I'm trusting you. Don't worry about doing it all the time, just focus on making the right decision tonight, that's all you have to do right now. That's enough." Meeting the younger man's eyes, he waited silently.

Unable to hold the other man's gaze long, Neal glanced out the glass toward the sparkling skyline view and then finally unfolded his arms and quickly picked up the suitcase. A moment later, he began filling it with clothes.

Knowing better than to push his luck or call attention to Neal's compliance, Peter was content to take a seat on the small sofa and casually flip through one of the magazines on the coffee table. Idly flipping through the pages, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Neal crossed from the wardrobe to the bed several times before walking to the bathroom, returning a long moment later with a leather bag that also disappeared into the black case. Looking up only at the sound of the zipper, he asked casually, "Done?"

Neal nodded once, not looking at the other man, as he picked up the suitcase off the bed with a small sigh and wince as strained and tired muscles protested the extra weight.

Seeing the pain ghost across his face, Peter held out a hand as Neal crossed in front of him. "Wait, here, look at me." Once again grasping the other man's chin in his hand, he tilted it gently toward the light, revealing the growing bruise. "Go get something cold to put on your face for the car. Elizabeth is going to have a enough of a fit when she sees you, neither one of us need this getting any worse."

Neal looked as if he were gearing for another round but good sense or the late hour, Peter wasn't actually sure which, won out and he reluctantly did as he was told, wrapping a cold pack in a kitchen towel and following his suitcase, now carried by Peter, out the door.

. . . . .

"I wasn't going to run, you know," Neal said softly in the darkness of the car twenty minutes later.

Peter glanced at him, surprised at the sudden words. Neal had been so quiet since they left June's, he had half thought his partner had fallen sleep. "I didn't know that in the office earlier."

"Do you know that now?"

Peter thought for a moment, weighing his words carefully before saying in a firm voice, "I trust you to make the right decision tonight. And the right decision is not to run even though you could. Your anklet is off and as you pointed out, my house can't hold you." Glancing at him again, meeting Neal's eyes in the darkness, he continued, "But yes, I know you're not going to run."

"Do I still have to go home with you?" Neal asked, his voice a bit stronger than the previous question, the charm coming through a bit clearer.

Peter laughed. "Yes." Nodding toward the towel in the other man's hand, he continued, "So put that back on your face and save us both a lot of grief from my wife."

Neal gave a small chuckle, once again propping his elbow on the window and holding the cold pack to the bruise. "You know it's not going to work, right?" he said softly a minute later, the tiredness and emptiness once again creeping into his voice.

Peter was ninety percent sure Neal wasn't talking about the cold pack and bruise and glanced at him, seeing him once again staring out the window into the darkness. "It's the best plan I've got right now and we're going to make it work," he said firmly, putting a slight emphasis on 'we'.

Next to him, the other man made a non-committal noise.