Ice

It was perhaps the most undignified trip Neal had ever taken in a police cruiser. The first time, he'd been too happy that he'd found Kate to really care about anything else. The second time, after Peter had caught him again - the word again didn't even sting anymore, not now - he was too busy planning a way to get out on a work release to contemplate the time he'd have to spend in prison first. And during his short stay in jail for forging the diamond necklace - a crime he hadn't even committed - he was too indignant and shocked that Peter had turned on him so quickly, at the word of an FBI agent who'd just shown up out of nowhere with a clear bias against Neal, to think of anything else.

But this time, there was none of that keeping him inflated. He was cold - they'd taken his thick wool trench coat away at some point, probably to pat him down - and his clothes and skin were streaked with ashes and stank pungently of engine fuel. The smell turned his stomach, and he closed his eyes, trying not to think too much. His hands shook inexplicably, the metal cuffs around them clinking softly against each other.

"We'll get you out," Diana vowed from the front seat. "I promise." Peter had argued with the NYPD for what'd seemed like an hour to get them to allow Diana to be the one to take him in. At least, it'd seemed like an hour. But then again, time had weirdly slowed down, every second thick and painful and throbbing, so it was hard to tell.

"Okay." His voice cracked - it was hoarse from screaming and his throat was raw and burning from the sting of ashes he'd inhaled.

"They can't keep you in long. They've got nothing on you."

"Sure."

"You're shaking."

"I'm cold."

"You've got to have a better cover than that, Caffrey."

In a very small, posterior portion of Neal's mind, he appreciated the effort she was making to act like anything about this car ride was normal. But he was too exhausted to think about that while carefully not thinking about everything else, so he shrugged and stopped trying. "Whatever, Diana." Even to his own ears, it sounded unlike him.

"Neal." Her voice was sharp.

He opened his eyes and stared at her dully. She was stopped at a traffic light, watching him critically in the rear-view mirror. "What?" The question came out in a tired sigh.

"You didn't do this."

Neal blinked at her. Of course he hadn't, did she think he didn't know that? It was obvious. But somehow, what came out in response was, "I could have stopped it."

"Oh really? How? Forgive me if I don't believe that even Neal Caffrey is that good."

"I could have handed over the treasure when Kate asked me to." A pause, and he amended, "Any of the several times she begged me to."

"I thought you didn't have to music box."

"It might have changed things anyway, if he'd been able to see for himself that I didn't have it."

"It wouldn't have. Fowler'd have thought you were withholding it." Diana's voice was reassuringly firm, certain, as if this was any case and she was in the conference room, busily taking pleasure in poking loopholes through all of Neal's suggestions.

"I could have been smart enough to see the message Kate gave me in Morse code the day she left."

Diana scoffed at this. "So you're telling me that the word 'bottle' would've made you break out of prison any faster?"

Neal scowled in spite of himself. She was always so infuriatingly right about everything, and it was strangely therapeutic to work through the possible situations systematically, as if they really were just collaborating on a case. "Fine. So I could have not spread the rumor that I had the music box in the first place."

"You had no way of knowing that that would come back to bite you."

Her tone moved from calculating to sympathetic, and Neal couldn't hold back his fury with himself. "So I just watched Kate burn to death because I had no way of knowing? Like hell that's any consolation." The fire in his voice seemed to surprise even himself, and he snapped his mouth shut with an audible click before he could say anything else that would reveal how much he blamed himself.

Diana must not have sensed that he'd reached the limit of conversation that he could endure, because she didn't let up, saying, "She could have let you know what she needed less cryptically. She could have cooperated. She was playing a guessing game with you, it's no wonder that you couldn't catch up.

"Don't you dare pin this on her." Neal's voice was low and dangerous. "Kate didn't know any better. She didn't even want me to look for the music box in the first place. She broke up with me over it. She was the only innocent person - she's the last person who should have suffered because of this. I never taught her how to deal with people as dangerous as Fowler. She didn't know any better." Neal seemed to realize how much he'd said, and stopped talking, out of breath, as if he'd been running.

Diana looked up in surprise at him. "Okay," she agreed, and this time she had the sense to not push any further.

When they arrived at the prison, Neal allowed himself to be guided inside meekly enough, nodding or shaking his head in response to the few questions that were asked of him as he was passed off from the warden to the guard. He waited for Diana do most of the talking, and, thankfully, she did.

The guard leading Neal and Diana paused in front of a large holding cell with two prisoners already in it, and they looked up immediately, their interest clearly piqued by the new arrival.

"Jeff, look at what they brought in," one said loudly to his cell mate. "Looks like a fresh one, too."

On any other day, Neal would have laughed at them for being ignorant enough not to recognize Neal Caffrey when they saw him, and would have wasted no time in educating them on his many achievements. Now, though, he only stared back at them, realizing that he probably did look exactly like one of the first-timers.

The other prisoner - presumably Jeff - wrinkled his nose at the odor of engine fuel, still heavy in Neal's skin and hair despite his change of clothes into the traditional orange prison jumpsuit. "He smells, too. Must be street crime." Jeff glanced at the guard. "Why are you locking him up with the white collar section?"

Diana looked from Neal's crestfallen expression to the two men in the cell. "Maybe they're right," she said to the guard. "Could we have a single cell?"

The guard turned his bored, unyielding gaze to her. "Look, lady, this is a federal prison, not a five star hotel, so I don't know who you think you are asking-"

Diana cut him off by reaching into her pocket and flashing her badge in front of him. "I'm Agent Diana Barrigan, and I'm not asking, I'm requiring a single cell."

The guard opened and closed his mouth and finally turned curtly away, stalking down the corridor until they reached an empty cell. "Happy now?"

"Very." Diana smiled at him smugly, and on another day Neal might have laughed at the dumbstruck expression on the guard's face.

The guard unlocked the cell and let Neal enter. He'd relocked it and was staring expectantly at Diana, waiting for her to begin to leave, when she said abruptly, "I'd like to speak with my arrest." Neal raised his eyebrows slightly in surprise - hadn't she had plenty of time to say anything that she'd needed to while they were in the car?

"Go ahead."

"I wasn't asking permission." When the guard still didn't move, she smiled at him again, one that was far too wide, coming from Diana, to be genuine. "I can find the way out on my own."

Once the guard had left, she turned to Neal, who'd taken a seat on the cot against one side of the cell. "I'm going to get you out."

"You already said that," Neal reminded Diana.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but Neal could see that behind it, she was secretly relieved that enough of him still existed for him to be correcting her. He pretended not to be aware of it, and kept looking levelly at her.

"Well, I'm saying it again. I'll be back soon, okay?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I mean it." He raised his eyebrows at her, wondering how long she was going to have a conversation with herself and pretend that it was with him. "Be here when I get back, Caffrey."

He smiled at her and waited until her footsteps were no longer audible as they disappeared down the corridor before he buried his face hopelessly in his hands and let out a long, shuddering breath, and ran his fingers through his hair, not minding that the ashes on his palms got in his eyes and stung.

She didn't come back soon. In fact, she didn't come back at all. When someone finally appeared in front of Neal's cell, it was Peter. "Hey, Neal," he said when Neal didn't turn his head away from the crack in the floor that he'd been tracing and retracing with his eyes. "How're you holding up?"

Neal looked up at him and offered a brittle grin that looked like it was on verge of snapping in half. "I'm great. You know, familiar surroundings."

Peter looked like he was going to argue with that kind of an answer, but instead he cleared his throat and said, "Well, it looks like you're going to be in these surroundings a little longer than we expected. The NYPD seems to think that you might have been… involved… with the explosion. But don't worry, we're still going to get you out."

In the back of Neal's mind, he wondered if so many FBI agents had ever before promised a single criminal that they'd get him out of prison so many times in one day. Probably not. Out loud, he said hollowly, "I don't care."

Peter chuckled and let himself into the cell with a key that Neal hadn't noticed he'd been carrying. Peter waited until he had settled himself leaning comfortably against the wall opposite Neal before he said, "You know, that's what you said to me the second time I caught you."

"Really." Neal tried to sound as disinterested as possible, wishing that Peter would stop. The day he'd been caught for the second time was full of too many memories that he didn't want to have - ones so clear and vivid and cuttingly precise, ones that made him feel the recollection of it all as if it was happening again, just when what he wanted most was to feel nothing.

"Yeah," Peter was saying, an oddly nostalgic smile on his face. "You didn't mean it, though. You wouldn't have brought me back to ask for the work release if you had meant it."

"Well, I mean it now."

"I don't believe that."

"No offense, Peter," Neal laughed humorlessly, "but you not believing something I've said isn't exactly a surprise to me anymore."

"I'm sorry about Kate," Peter muttered irrelevantly, shuffling his feet uncomfortably and not quite meeting Neal's eyes.

Neal smiled in spite of himself at Peter's ineptness in delicate social situations and wondered idly how difficult it had been for Peter to work himself up to saying those simple words. "You don't have to do that," Neal told him, raising his eyes to look at Peter.

"Do what?" Peter's voice was gruff, and Neal almost laughed at it.

"The thing where you try to talk about how I feel."

"Oh, thank God," Peter said quickly, before he seemed to realize what he'd just said and start backtracking. "I mean, we can, if you want-"

"I don't want."

Peter nodded, relief evident on his face. "So. Bail." He moved to sit next to Neal on the cot, the rusting metal joints of it creaking under the weight of the two of them. "We can still get you out of here today if we petition for bail now. The FBI will pay it, I've taken care of that. But you'll have to testify if they're going to grant-"

"No."

"What? No, you don't understand-"

"I understand perfectly," Neal interrupted again, his voice level but uncompromising. "And I said no."

"They won't make you say much, it won't be like your trial. They're just going to ask you a couple questions, I'll be right there to vouch for you-"

"Peter, they're not going to grant bail. It won't take them that long to get to the part where I was fleeing the country."

"Well," Peter coughed nervously, "I may have left that out of the official FBI report."

"So how do you think I'm going to explain that I was out of my radius?"

"Technically, I was with you at the time of the- when it happened. So you weren't breaching any rules."

"I cut my anklet."

"You've done that for a job before, with my permission." Peter leaned around, trying unsuccessfully to look Neal in the eyes. "We can do this, Neal."

"We're not going to."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Give me a good reason. Tell me why."

Neal flinched visibly, and Peter realized that those words were the ones he'd said just hours ago at the hangar, right before the plane had exploded. Nevertheless, it was too risky to let Neal brood without knowing exactly what it was about - Peter had learned that quickly enough in their time together - so he pressed on after a moment's hesitation to allow Neal time to collect himself. "Why don't you want bail?"

"Kate's dead."

"I'm sorry," Peter said, clearly failing to see the connection.

"It's not her fault. It has to be somebody's fault."

"I know I delayed you," Peter cut in, obviously thinking that he'd understood. "I know you'd have been on the plane by then if I hadn't showed up. But I had to try to get you to stay. I know you think you should have been on the plane, and I know I didn't let you get to her after it exploded." Peter paused for a moment, both of them remembering that instant, the sudden flash of light and heat as the plane went up in flames, and the way Peter had started running towards him before Neal had even had time to move from the ground, the way he'd held him back through Neal's struggles and screams, until they'd both collapsed, drained, on the cold, damp tarmac. "So fine," Peter finally continued. "Go ahead and blame me. But don't let that be the reason you refuse bail, because you're smarter than that."

Peter took a deep breath as he finished, and Neal turned his head to look over at Peter. "That all you've got to say?"

Peter nodded after a moment's consideration.

"That was a very impressive speech, but that's not what I meant. I don't blame you." Before Peter could say anything positive, Neal pushed on in a hurry, continuing, "But someone has to be responsible. It should be Fowler, but he'll have disappeared by now. And it's not you, because you had good intentions. Kate shouldn't have been the one who died. So I have to stay here." Neal watched Peter expectantly, unsure what kind of response to anticipate.

"Let me get this straight." Peter's tone was incredulous. "You're punishing yourself for Kate's death."

Neal grimaced - it didn't sound the same as the way he felt about it when phrased like that - but he nodded anyway, figuring that the distinctions hardly mattered anymore.

"And you're choosing to do that by staying in prison," Peter clarified.

Neal shrugged.

"Please tell me that there is something more to your insane logic than what I just said, because that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Neal chuckled, shocked into laughter by such an unexpected ridicule. Peter had spent years studying him, chasing him, knowing everything about his life and the way he thought, down to his very shoe size. So why couldn't Peter see this? He had been going to have a life with Kate. A real one, one where they didn't have to run. One where he might even have been somebody more than a conman - an artist, maybe. But without Kate, any kind of life at all was hollow. Wrong. One that he didn't want to have, not without her.

Neal had rarely ever been held accountable for anything he did. There was no repercussion, no consequence. That side of him had always infuriated both Peter and Kate. So here was accountability. For Kate. For everything.

Neal realized that Peter was still waiting for an answer, so he finally looked over to say the one thing in their partnership that was concealing nothing. "Doesn't matter if it's stupid. I still don't care."

"You're going to change your mind," Peter said forcefully, as though if he believed it hard enough, he could will Neal to believe it, too. "You changed your mind last time."

"Last time I had someone to get out of prison for."

"Neal, for the last time, you have people on the outside besides Kate."

"If I change my mind, you'll be the first to know." Neal told himself that he was only saying it because it seemed to be the only way to get Peter to leave, but somehow, saying the words aloud - even as he was telling himself that they were just a con - made them a possibility. A way out. A way to live.

"Good," Peter said, rising to go and letting himself out of the cell. "I'll get out of your hair for now. The little guy said to tell you he won't drink your bottle of Screaming Eagle Cabernet but not to count on the rest of your collection being there when you get out."

Neal laughed under his breath. "Okay."

"I'll be back tomorrow." Peter paused, tapping his hand anxiously on the bar of the cell, as if there was more he wanted to say.

"Peter?"

Peter raised his eyebrows, his expression clearly relieved that the burden of a parting statement wasn't being left to him.

"Thanks."

Peter smiled and nodded and left, both men wondering just how far that one word of gratitude extended over everything that had happened between them.

A/N: Thank you all so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I loved each of the reviews and you guys inspired me to extend this into not just a two-part, but a four-chapter story. So I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter, and I'll write the next one as soon as I can. Please review, and thanks for reading!