A/N: Hello, again! So, the response to the first chapter was wonderful-thanks to all! I generally try to personally respond to each review, but I didn't do it all at once this time and then got confused as to who I had responded to and who I hadn't-sorry! If I skipped over you, my dearest apologies; I really do appreciate each and every review, and I take them all to heart. Anyway, this chapter is where the action starts, so I will delay you no longer. :D Enjoy.

..

"So what is he going to do?" Peter is all business now, but Neal doesn't seem to be quite as excited. He's sitting again, pinching the bridge of his nose. Peter gives him a slight frown, but says nothing.

"All we know right now is he's making a pattern. Maybe that's the only goal," Jones suggests, drumming his fingers on the table.

"This guy is creating a potentially demonic symbol. So the cults aren't real, but there are freaks out there. We might need to warn or even protect these families."

Both debaters fall silent, looking to the third party in the room, but he doesn't notice. He's preoccupied, rubbing his temples and wincing.

"Neal?" Peter asks, concern flavoring his tone. "You all right?"

Neal pulls his hand away from his face, and, realizing he's being stared at, straightens and smiles.

"Yeah. Fine. Sorry. Just-ah-just a headache. I didn't get much sleep last night." He shrugs. "So, uh, what were we talking about?"

Peter peers at him. "You're sure you're okay?"

"Peter, I'm good." He stands. "So we've basically been profiling the whole time, but if we wanna catch this guy, we need a lead, right? And now we have one." Here, Neal inserts a gesture to the map. "The first of the two final points is right here. We hold a stakeout… easy."

Peter thinks for a moment. "I'll need to check with Hughes. But otherwise, it sounds like a plan to me."

Neal half-smiles, and Peter heads out the door, huffing as the former manages to precede him out of the room anyway. The sound of exasperation turns to one of worry, though, as the consult stumbles, hand quickly going out to catch himself on the wall. The unoccupied arm goes back to his brow, kneading. Peter hurries over.

"Caffrey?"

Neal starts, turning to find Peter too close for his liking and stumbling back. "I'm good."

"Yeah, I can see that." Now that he's so close, Peter's noticing things he didn't before. Like the light shadows under Neal's eyes, and the shallow pain lines tightening his mouth. "You look horrible."

"Thanks, Peter. That's always what I want to hear."

"You know that's not what I meant. What's going on?"

Neal sags, back once again meeting the wall. "I'm fine, Peter. Just feeling a little run down."

"Maybe you should-"

"No." Neal cuts the request off before its even finished. "I'm not sitting this one out. You need me. It's important, which is exactly why I can't leave. This guy is complicated, Peter. He's unpredictable, and if I'm not there…" He falters. "Something might happen." The conclusion is shaky, at best.

"And I understand that, Neal, I really do. But if I have you there when you're like this-tired, unfocused, not feeling well-you're a liability."

As soon as the harsh words leave his mouth, Peter winces, knowing it's a low blow. Neal pales almost imperceptibly, then straightens up, mouth tightening angrily. With a sharp pivot, he's heading towards the door, steps brisk and quick.

"Neal," Peter starts, but his attempt is ignored, and before anything else can be said, Neal's gone. Peter sighs, running a hand through his hair.

He'll call later and settle things-when Neal calms down he'll be able to see sense-but right now there's no time. They're in the middle of an investigation.

With a final glance towards the doors, Peter stalks off to find his boss.

..

Neal strides down the stairs and out of the federal building, anger coloring his cheeks. He knows the hurt feeling is unjustified, but lets it flow anyway. Just when he'd gotten back his status with Peter…

Now that's a ridiculous thought, and mentally, Neal chastises himself. But he can't deny the truth of it, not really. He'd been starting to think Peter had finally been treating him as an equal again, and not some fragile lunatic, liable to fall apart at any moment. They'd finally been partners, and now… this. Some stupid little bug coming along to collapse his entire effort. Really, he's fine. Staying and working would probably be better than walking all the way home, right? Of course, Peter probably doesn't know he's walking. He could call June or hail a taxi… that's severely unlikely, as everyone knows.

But still, the agent didn't ask, didn't even seem like he cared. And there's that unjustified hurt again.

Neal's subdued self-pity session is interrupted by a quick cry, and immediately his bright blue eyes are up and roaming about, scanning for the danger. The previously unintelligible yell soon morphs into help, and he's off, sprinting down the sidewalk and into an empty building; a construction project long ago forgotten. His thoughts run a mile a minute. Mugging? Kidnapping? Worse? His steps momentarily falter; perhaps this is out of his league? But they quickly start up again. If he ignores this, he'll never live with the guilt.

All too soon, the darkened entryway is looming in Neal's vision, and he takes a cautious step in, pulse skyrocketing as the frantic cries stop. That's never good. His trained gaze takes in everything it can see, brain automatically filing it away for any needed reference. The escape routes-or rather, lack of them-are charted, and possible obstacles mentally plotted. This all happens in the space of a second, while he's still venturing in, straining to hear any hint of the supposed struggle of a minute ago. But nothing meets him. At least, not until he rounds a beam and comes face to face with another, much larger man.

"Clue," he says, completely baffling Neal. "Only you would come running after a 'help' in Manhattan." He pauses, peering down at the smaller man in front of him in a chillingly objective way. "I thought you'd be more fun to retrieve. It has been quite the little game, though. Oh, yes. He'll enjoy you."

Neal finally gets the command to his legs to run, but by now its too late. The man grabs his left arm in a giant, painfully hard grip, using the other to clap a foul-smelling rag over his mouth. The ex-felon's eyes widen as he realizes what's happening, and fights for all he's worth, even while going under.

It's all in vain, though. His struggles work against him, and soon he's sagging completely boneless in his captor's arms, dead to the world.

And Marcus only nods and takes off, knowing this is only the beginning.

...

A/N: Reviews are the armor to my van.