Neal felt strange. He had apparently been sleeping on a cot of some sort and groaned as he tried to sit up. The nerves of his body lit up with even the slightest movement and his head ached. He recognized the feeling. A moment after his groan a light flipped on and seared into his eyes. Even after he shut them he felt the need to shield them from the brightness as his pupils were slow to adjust to the light.

Neal heard someone rushing toward him and blindly back pedaled away from the invisible onslaught.

"Neal, Neal!" A young female voice called from the direction of the unseen attacker. "It's just me, Ariel! It's okay. You're safe now! We've rescued you!"

Neal tried to force his eyes open to see the face that went with the voice but all he could manage was rapid blinking.

"Ari-elly?" He queried. "Who's we? Who tazed me? I hate being tazed."

Neal could almost hear the youngster biting her lip. He automatically wondered how many times he'd tried to break her of the habit. Only project confidence when you're unsure. I don't ever want to see you biting your lip unless you're deliberately projecting insecurity to a mark.

"Stop biting your lip, Elly." He found himself scolding and heard a familiar tittering laugh that was quickly followed by a hug made disconcerting for the fact that he couldn't see it coming.

"Oh Neal! I missed you!"

"Looks like she's still sweet on you, Caffrey." A gruff voice chuckled. From the direction and echoes of the room, Neal guessed he was about 8 feet away and standing near an open door.

"Donaghey? Is that you?" Neal asked.

"Yep, we decided it was time to bust you loose, son."

Neal was finally able to keep his eyes open though they were annoyingly watery.

"What do you mean cut me loose? I…" Then Neal stopped abruptly and reached for his ankle. "Oh, no."

"Look at him."

Neal followed the disgusted voice to the owner.

"Sam?"

A tall, thin, and balding man stood in the doorway. He shook his head scornfully. "Look at you, Neal. It's pathetic."

"What they've done to me? What've you done to me? You tazed me! You CUT MY ANKLET!" Neal angrily started to stand but the room tilted to one side and he sat back down abruptly.

"Listen to yourself, Neal." Donaghey's rough voice pleaded as the large bearded man walked toward the cot. "You're angry at your friends to setting you loose. You're mind's not right. They've got you twisted."

"Yeah, Neal. We're here to help you." Elly pleaded.

Neal looked at her and for a moment was taken aback. When last he'd seen Ariel she'd been a skinny 13 year old with freckles and potential and not much more. The girl staring at him now could have been a model. Make up dimmed the freckles, her hair was styled fashionably and, well, there had been two new additions.

"Elly?" Neal felt unsure suddenly.

The girl smiled. "You were in prison, Neal. A really lame prison and we got you out. You should be grateful."

"Um, okay. If you're doing me such a great favor, why was I tazed?" Neal's voice was ice cold. "Wouldn't a, 'Hi, Neal, we're here to spring you' have been more appropriate?"

"We had to do it this way, Neal. Donaghey said you wouldn't come with us. He said they brain washed you."

"No one brain washed me, Elly. I'm fine. Or I WAS fine until you cut my anklet." Neal shook his head angrily. "I'm gonna have a great time explaining this to Peter."

"See, that's the problem, Neal." Donaghey said and, sitting next to him on the cot put his arm around Neal's shoulders. "They've got your mind twisted around thinking you're one of them. You're not, boy. You're one of us." He patted Neal's back warmly. "We've got to get your head straight as to who your friends are."

"Peter is my friend." Neal barked.

Donaghey laughed and laboriously got up from the cot. "C'mon Elly, Sam. Let's give him a minute to cool off."

The girl bit her lip and hesitated. The balding man was already out the door.

"Elly." Donaghey's previously good natured voice dropped a register, suddenly becoming menacing. "I said leave him."

Elly flashed an apologetic glance at Neal before hurrying out the door.

Neal became desperate. "Donaghey, I'm sorry. You were trying to help me out. I get that and thanks, man. Really, thanks, but you don't seem to get it. I have a job. I have a team. The FBI are my team and I respect them and" he paused and stood up, trying to make clear eye contact with his old mentor "and they respect me. I don't need rescuing so you can just, you can just let me go. I can square this with Peter, I know I can. It'll be like it never happened."

Donaghey stood in the entry with the doorknob in his hand and shook his head sadly. "You really believe that. That's the sad part."

He moved forward and put his hand on Neal's shoulder.

"Neal, the FBI aren't your friends. They aren't your team and they never will be. To them, you will always be 'Neal Caffrey, the convict'. They don't really trust you. They don't really care about you. You're only good to them as long as you're useful and when they're done with you, they'll leave you to the wolves."

Neal tried to protest but Donaghey's voice lowered menacingly again.

"You think no one has noticed that you're working with the FBI, Neal? You think people don't like rats, wait to you see how they feel about criminals who change sides!"

Neal paused. He honestly had never considered the fact that he was quietly but quickly amassing a laundry list of enemies.

"It's all well and good for an FBI agent to do his job and go after criminals." Donaghey said, "They're protected by the Bureau. No one in their right mind would go after an agent but you? You're free game."

Neal felt as though he'd swallowed a paperweight.

"You think your FBI friends care about that? I've been watching you, son. They send you into harm's way every other week and when all's said and done they won't trust you farther than two miles."

"Donaghey, the anklet is a requirement." Neal protested. "Peter trusts me. I know he does and I trust him."

Neal looked hopefully for understanding in Donaghey's face but found only sadness.

"Neal," he paused and seemed to be regrouping, "Neal, Burke is an agent. You're an asset, a tool. He uses you. At the end of the day, you're just another criminal to him. He doesn't care about you and, Neal, listen to me boy, he does not trust you."

Neal started to protest again but Donaghey held up his hand.

"I can see this is gonna take some time for you to accept." He shrugged, "That's okay. I prepared for it." He made his way back to the door. "We're just gonna keep you here for a while so you don't do anything stupid like run back to the guy who hounded you for three years and put you in prison for another four."

Donaghey smiled and as he closed the heavy door said, "This is for your own good, Neal. You'll thank me for this one day."

Neal ran to the door and tried to pull at the knob but heard the click as the lock snapped into place. "Donaghey?" Neal called and banged futilely on the door but there was no answer.

He looked at his surroundings. There were no windows, no natural light at all. No wonder his eyes had taken so long to adjust. His pupils must have been the size of Frisbees when he'd woken up. The doorknob on his side was smooth. No possibility of picking it and Neal had distinctly heard the click of a padlock on the other side so slipping the lock wouldn't work.

Neal realized suddenly that his friends, in trying to free him, had ironically placed him in a confinement much more secure than any prison in which he'd ever spent time.

Neal meticulously went through the room and made a mental catalogue of every single item that was or could be at his disposal then sat on the cot and tried to reason through escape scenarios.

He had a difficult time because an annoyingly persistent thought kept interrupting his ruminations. Was Donaghey right? If Neal did manage to escape, would Peter really trust him?