A/N: So happy to see all of your responses! Multi-chapter stories aren't usually my thing, so I am so encouraged by your reviews! Enjoy! =)


Back at his apartment, Neal found Mozzie already pouring two glasses of wine. Cheap dollar store streamers were strung around his kitchen and island themed music was playing in the background.

"Welcome to the celebration my friend," Mozzie greeted as he raised his glass, "'Freedom: to walk free and own no superior.' How does it feel?"

"Whitman… Nice," Neal said, "And, there's a lot less chaffing." Neal walked to his couch and threw his box down on the floor. Ignoring the glass of wine Mozzie was offering him, he sunk down into the leather sofa and laid his head back.

"What, no fine beverage to celebrate this glorious day in our history?" Mozzie probed, "You are done with your tether, right?"

Neal pulled up his Sy Devore pants leg to reveal an anklet free ankle.

"So, why haven't you taken the entire collection of fine gemstones from Tiffany's yet?" Mozzie asked in obvious confusion. Neal just looked at him, blue eyes piercing in a 'you don't get it' expression.

"Oh. Oh, no, no, no," Mozzie put his hands on his head in clear distress, "No, no, no, man. No. You miss the tether!"

"Well, I don't know about miss. It rubbed and it was hard to hide, I would settle for a more subt—" Neal started to explain

"You've become a Fed!" Mozzie hissed in response, sitting down at the table with his face in his hands, "Fed. Man, Neal, I don't believe it."

"Moz, really?" Neal asked, frustrated at his friend's reaction.

"Yes! Yes, really! Neal," Mozzie looked at the younger man, "Do you even hear yourself? We dreamed about this day! And you, man… They broke you."

"Moz!" Neal chastised, but the bald man just stood up.

"Maybe you need a night to shake it off. Maybe you just need to think about it, some time to plan your next con," Mozzie started to leave, "But I can't be here if you're entertaining thoughts of becoming an ankletless Fed."

"Hughes wouldn't give me the position, Moz," Neal said sorely. Mozzie looked at Neal and his demeanor softened. He had picked up in the hurt and disappointment in his friend's voice, and even if he didn't agree, he hated to see Neal this way.

Sitting back down, he asked softly, "Oh, so, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know, Moz. I don't know." A tense moment of silence ensued, and in a moment of uncontrolled emotion, Neal ripped a streamer off the wall that had been tickling his face. Mozzie startled at his friend's abrupt reaction, but said nothing.

"It's just," Neal strained to explain as the muscles in his neck twitched from his tense posture, "I don't… I don't belong here. I don't want to run anymore. I don't want to…" Mozzie waited for more but Neal's voice trailed off. The two friends sat in silence for the next hour or so, each totally lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Mozzie stood up, walked over to Neal, and gently squeezed his shoulder in an effort to give his friend some sort of comfort. He started to say something, but thought better of it and instead left quietly.

A few days passed before Mozzie heard from his friend again, and even so, he had to be the one to initiate. He also didn't appreciate the texts he received each day from the Suit asking if he knew how Neal was. Unwilling to have the conversation through text message, Moz told Peter to 'meet in the park covered with paper when the day is still grey from the early vapor'.

Peter, more than annoyed that Mozzie's only response was both a riddle and a poem, found himself sitting on the park bench pretending to read the sports section of the newspaper in the morning mist the next day before work.

"And so the light comes to meet the dark on behalf of the grey," Mozzie greeted Peter as he sat back to back with the agent on the other side of the bench.

"What does that even mean?" Peter spat back.

"I see you solved my riddle."

"I don't do riddles. Or poems."

"I assume you haven't come to gripe. What do you want?"

"How is he?"

"Who is he?" Mozzie made sure to draw out the words, emphasizing with his hands that he would not give any information unless Peter was specific.

Peter, his patience quickly dwindling, turned and faced Mozzie.

"Neal. How's Neal?"

"He's been happier."

"Is he planning something?"

"I don't know."

"Listen, I just want to make sure he doesn't mess up his life again," Peter said, "Once we are sure of that, you never have to talk to me again. Just tell me what he's up to."

"He's like Edgar Allen Poe in his dark place. Well, maybe not that bad. Poe was normally in a dark place, so I guess Neal's just in a Poe place…" Mozzie diverged.

"LISTEN. Tell me in plain English if Neal's alright," Peter said curtly, "I already don't have time to get my morning coffee because of you, and some of us have a job to get to."

"I don't know. I haven't really talked to him," Mozzie responded, annoyed, but finally sharing something of value with Peter, "He's depressed and he doesn't know what he is going to do. He needs some time."

"Fine. Don't throw that phone out when you leave, I want to make sure I can get in touch with you if I can't reach Neal for the next few days," Peter said, standing up, "I can get you a new one when we are through. Keep tabs on him."

"Hah!" Mozzie retorted, "You couldn't pay me to take your Fed phone, Suit. I'll get my own when this blows over."

With that, the two men departed, Peter going to work, and Mozzie walking through the park. Deep in thought about where to get breakfast this morning, he jumped a little when he felt his phone vibrate. He was even more surprised when he saw it was Neal.

"Hey pal," Moz answered.

"I have an idea," Neal said, his usual spark back in his voice.

"An idea?"

"Yeah, invite Peter and Elle to a private show at the Museum of Modern Art this Saturday."

"There's a private show at the Museum of Modern Art this Saturday?"

"Just do it, Moz. I'll see you soon."

"But Neal… Neal!" Mozzie tried to get his friend's attention again but he had already hung up. He sat down on the bench and called Peter. He was really going to need a new phone after this.

"This is Burke."

"Neal requests yours and Lady Suit's presence at a private art exhibit on Saturday afternoon at the Museum of Modern Art," Mozzie said.

"Did he say why?" Peter asked curiously.

"Nope," Mozzie answered. With that, he hung up the phone and threw it in a nearby trashcan. He continued on his way to breakfast as if nothing had happened, wondering what in the world a free Neal had devised that he wanted the Suit and his wife to be a part of.