The next morning at half past 8, it was obvious that Caffrey wouldn't show up. Burke has called him several times leaving increasingly enraged comments on the mailbox. Another 15 minutes later, they called the operation off.

The agents were miffed about all the time they had spent in vain to set up the operation. Now, they could only hope that the suspect hasn't been spooked but would agree to reschedule the meeting. The team headed back to the office while Burke was re-checking the missing consultant's tracking data, cursing under his breath.

He had checked the GPS signal before. It was reassuring to know that the CI was still at home. He had probably overslept as a result of too much wine. That wasn't good per se, though much better as if the consultant would have done a disappearing act.

Staring at the tracking history, the agent noticed a glitch in the curve. At 5 a.m., the GPS signal suddenly had jumped from the bathroom to the bedroom within a split second. This was suspicious, and he decided to drive over. He hoped the unreliable ex-criminal hadn't done something stupid. Not now, when things at the Bureau haven't calmed down completely yet.

Truth be told, there was a bit of guilty conscience involved in the decision making as well. When Neal had called him last night, he hadn't found a sympathetic ear.

Looking back, the agent was aware that he should have allowed the younger man to plead his cause instead of threatening him with prison; or so Elizabeth has thought. She had made no bones about it. Irresponsible, shameful, miserable moron was one of the friendlier names she had called him.

So, when Peter entered the apartment, he wasn't sure what to expect. He checked the bedroom first; then he went on to the bathroom. Seeing his partner sprawled over the floor, scared him out of his wits. "Neal? What's wrong?"

The agent kneeled next to the unconscious man on the floor. Burke noticed Neal's high temperature, the sweat on his skin, and the stale smell of vomit. The agent concluded that his consultant must suffer from a bad go of flu.

So, he carried the younger man over to the bed, made him take a sip of water and put a wet cloth on his forehead.

Afterwards, he had a close look at the apartment. It took him only moments to put one and one together. The duffel bag together with the false passport made a clear statement. Neal had wanted to run; if he hadn't fallen sick, he probably would've been sitting on a remote beach right now drinking a fancy cocktail.

That bastard! Guilty people do guilty things...

Peter slumped into the chair in the kitchen. Thinking about the the necessary next steps to take, he scanned the things on the tabletop absentmindedly. Crayons, sheets of paper, and a painting or rather a storyboard. The latter aroused his interest enough to examine it more closely.

There were lots of small sketches showing mostly himself with Neal in different situations. There was no chronological order given; the scenes were arranged rather randomly. The agent remembered all those meaningful moments, starting years back when Neal had given him the candy in front of a bank long before both of them had become partners.

But from all the impressive snapshots, one stood out by size, attention to detail, and closeness to reality. It portrayed himself yelling at Neal right here in this apartment a few weeks ago, 'Shame on me for expecting anything else'. Seeing the distinctive look of disdain and disappointment on his own face made Peter wince.

He recognized that look, remembered it so well. Only, he has never expected to find it plastered on his own face. He had come to loathe that look on his father's face when he was growing up.

Peter's father has loved his son dearly, he still did in fact, but he has been unable to understand his offspring's attitude to life or comprehend the decisions he has made to shape his life.

The teenager had been greeted that look when he had told his dad proudly about his college plans – whereas, his dad had expected him to pursue a profession in the construction industry.

The disappointment he had shown after had Peter ended his baseball career had been even greater. Later on, Burke senior couldn't understand at all why someone, graduating from college summa cum laude, would pursue a career at the FBI instead of earning big bucks on Wall Street - wasting all the time and money he had invested in his education.

The agent remembered very vividly how much this look had hurt him; the frustration it had caused him. He has loved his father and knew his father has loved him, too. Even so, the hurt wasn't lessened by that knowledge.

Nowadays, when Peter spent time with his old man, he tried to concentrate on the few things they had in common, like baseball. It was easier when El was around; furthermore, he had learned over the years to evade critical topics.

But still, that look was like a stab in the heart. And to this day, he was yearning for his father's recognition or a bit of praise.

How could that look have possibly found its way on his own face? He'd never wanted to be like that. Never ever.

Thereupon, he started to read the scribbles on the sheet.

I need to get away
I've got to find a place to be myself
I've had enough of this
I want to find a place where people care for me or at least don't put me down when I need them
I thought you said that we were like family - and I thought so, too
Sorry to disappoint you over and over again
It seems I'm just a criminal, unable and unwilling to change
It might sound silly, but you're the cause of this
I wouldn't have worked for Hagen if it hadn't been for you
Trading in my integrity for your freedom might not be a choice you approve, though the only one I had
I must admit I liked working with you, being your friend, sharing your live, having fun, take up the challenge
But that's all over now
It's time to run before I start to see myself as a failure.

This might not have been Shakespearean language. However, the simplicity and bluntness didn't fail to have the desired effect.

Neal's handler suddenly realized how self-righteous and arrogant he had been. Letting down a friend who had tried to help him. Caffrey has gone the long road of good intentions; the road that finally has led him back to crime and deception. But his only purpose on this way has been to save Peter Burke's neck; he had even risked his own freedom along the way.

Dispite Peter's lack of faith in his CI, named CI has gone out his way to save him; no-one has ever done more for him.

Granted, Burke had been disappointed that the ex-criminal has gone back to this trade. But frankly, that hypocritical accusation has been a smoke screen for another disappointment.

It had been his own choice to work with Neal, his choice to make friends with him, his choice to help him clear James Bennett's name, his choice to wear the anklet in the Empire State Building and draw outside the lines.

If someone has to be blamed that his career went south and he even got arrested, that someone would have been Peter Burke, apart from James Bennett, of course.

The no-nonsense agent has been disappointed that it hadn't been his own impeccability or law-abiding mastermind that got him off the hook; instead the con skills of an ex-criminal were needed.

Thinking about the pride he had felt being announced as ASAC, he deserved it, didn't he? Come on, he must not delude himself. To reach the high success rate in clearing cases, Burke had used Caffrey to find loop holes, work around the law, not breaking it yet using the grey areas. But what was Caffrey's benefit from the deal, apart from a nice view, a closet full of elegant suits and a two mile radius?

Oh damn it, not a very nice self-portrait if you were willing to look at it this way.

Peter sighed, folded the sheet and pocketed it as well as the passport. He wouldn't turn Neal in. They had to find a way out of this dilemma somehow.

Just when Burke had started calling his wife to ask for advice on flu treatment, Neal had a seizure. His body was shaking rapidly and uncontrollably. This was downright frightening.

His handler rushed over to the bed trying to prevent the unconscious patient from biting his tongue.

Concentrating on the convulsing man, Peter was unaware of everything else going on. So he didn't notice the door to the apartment sliding open. He startled up when someone yelled at him and grabbed his shoulder. "Suit, what are you doing to him? Trying to kill him finally?"

"Mozzie, I have no idea what's wrong with him. Help me! I certainly don't try to kill him." The FBI agent was annoyed at the mere thought.

It didn't take Mozzie long to recognize the symptoms as signs of malaria.

Right now, he was glad that he hasn't taken the plane as he had intended to. At the very last minute, he had decided Mexico could wait and left the airport. At the time, Moz had been still boiling over with rage and had not been in a mood to visit that turncoat of a friend.

But after a while, the criminal has had second thoughts regarding Neal's call at night just like his arch rival, the FBI agent, has had.

Peter was surprised to learn Caffrey had a malaria attack. "Malaria? Seriously? We're in New York, it's springtime. I've never heard of anyone catching malaria in Manhattan."

Mozzie sorted things out. "No, it's a recurring disease. He gets those attacks every now and then. Although, the last one has been years ago, so we thought it's over and done. He needs medication. Fortunately, I know there are some exquisitely forged prescriptions hidden here in the room. We only have to find them, fill in the date and pick them up. In a couple of days Neal should be fine."

The agent was completely taken aback. Looking at the pale, sweating man, who has just had a seizure and was still not responsive, was enough to know this suggestion was ridiculous.

"Wait, I won't ask why I don't know anything about this disease, or where he has caught it. Probably better for my night's sleep if I don't know the story behind it. However, you can't expect me to feed an unconscious man with a pill cocktail based on a homemade prescription. This man needs to see a doctor who's specialized in tropical diseases. And we don't have any time to waste. Let's call an ambulance to get him to the Presbyterian Hospital."

Burke called the ambulance first and then the Marshall's to adjust the radius. While they were waiting for the paramedics, he was holding his friend, cooling his head with a wet cloth, brushing the damp hair out of his face. He didn't know much about malaria, but hoped fervently that his partner would recover.

Whereas Mozzie disposed of the duffel bag and tried to hide the macuahuitl. He had no idea whether the suit intended to arrest Neal. Since the agent was no fool, he was probably aware that his charge has planned to run. Though, sometimes the agent surprised him. Just in case he might be willing to turn a blind eye, they'd rather leave no evidence behind.

AN:
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