He waited until the young woman sat beside him. She was perfect for this, a well-respected journalist for the Washington Post but young enough… idealistic enough to take on the FBI in the name of justice. She frowned at him as he downed his wine quickly.

"This had better be good, mister…" she paused, letting it hang as a question.

"My name isn't important. My story is."

"So you said when you called me at four am." She toyed with the cocktail napkin nervously "So I'm here. Let's hear it."

"I have a friend." Mozzie hesitated before slipping a picture of Neal out of the file on the table in front of him. He hoped Neal would forgive him for this. He pushed the photo toward the young woman "I'd rather you keep his picture out of this if you can. You understand." She looked up from Neal's smile and nodded. He sighed and pushed another picture her way. "This is how he looks now." When she gasped he knew he had her.

"What happened to him?"

"My friend is a brilliant man… and talented. He was convicted of bond forgery a few years ago…"

"He's a criminal?" the small man didn't miss the disappointment in her tone.

"He's a good man." He snapped "The kind of man who sees people the way they are… and cares about them anyway. The kind of man who has put his life on the line for strangers time and again. Yes, he may have broken the law a few times, but he is as good a man… as good a friend as anyone could ask for. He doesn't deserve this."

"Ok. Alright. I'm sorry." She was placating him, Mozzie knew it, but that meant she was hooked.

"Two years ago he made a deal with the FBI… with the…" He forced himself to say it with a straight face "agent who arrested him"

"What sort of deal?"

"He agreed to work for him… consulting on his cases. He even does field work… just like their agents. The reason I asked you to keep his picture to yourself is they use him undercover, if you can believe that." He fought to keep the distaste out of his voice, most people didn't see things the way he did and hostility would alienate them.

"I see." The woman smiled "You don't like him doing that." Apparently he wasn't hiding it that well.

"I wasn't thrilled. No." Mozzie sighed because what he was about to say went against every fiber of his being to admit, but it was true. "But the original deal wasn't the nightmare I thought it would be. He and the original agent, in New York, did … well… together, became friends. My friend enjoyed working with him for almost two years… he was talking about going straight, about continuing his education, about working for them after his release."

"Something changed?" the woman broke in.

"Yes." He frowned and refilled his drink "An agent from the DC area decided that my friend and his handler were to close. That the agent in charge of him wasn't strict enough or something."

"Alright?"

"He took my friend away from New York and brought him here… and in just three and half months… his negligence ended here." He touched the second photo lightly.

"I see." She frowned "how?"

"There was an altercation during an arrest… my friend was hurt… broken and bruised ribs and a cut on his right arm. A few stitches, a round of antibiotics and some rest he should have been fine. He was given none of them." Her darkening expression told him she was ready to fight. "that isn't all."

"It's not?"

"He was given seven hundred and fifty dollars a month on which to live. Which I'm sure you know is impossible in this city. He was without heat in his apartment and… he was…starving" his voice shattered over the last word. The thought of his friend going hungry and afraid calling him for help would get them both in trouble made his blood boil. The young woman stared at him in horror for a long moment before she spoke.

"I'll need full names, to follow up on this." She said breathlessly, like a hound she scented a good story. Mozzie bit his lip.

"My friend is Neal Caffrey though like his picture it would be best to keep that out of your story." He said reluctantly. "His current 'handler' is Philip Kramer with the Art Crimes division" He gave the agent up much easier. Wordlessly he passed her the rest of the file and stood up and walked away. It was done… and almost too easy.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

He blinked slowly… staring at the white expanse of ceiling above him. Something seemed wrong about it, but Neal couldn't place what… except it looked cleaner than he remembered. His mind drifted away from the problem when he tried to focus on it. He was warm… really warm for the first time in… in a long time, he thought distantly, and he didn't hurt. That thought startled him, bringing up vague memories of being in pain, cold and alone.

A soft sound drew his attention. Breathing… someone was breathing beside him. Neal tried to push himself up, but he barely managed to shift his left arm. The slow steady breathing caught and something wrapped softly around his wrist.

"Neal?" the young man blinked… he knew that voice. "It's ok, you're alright…" he knew the voice, but the tone was all wrong, to gentle and… almost timid. The face that moved into his line of sight was wrong too. Peter's frown looked frightened and the lines around his eyes etched far too deeply into his skin.

"Hey Peter." Neal blinked again, he could barely hear his own voice.

"Are you really with me this time?" Peter seemed stunned.

"Think… I'm dreaming… actually." He whispered, surprised by how much energy it took to speak.

"No." the older man smiled sadly "You're not dreaming." Neal smiled, it really was a nice dream, not being alone. His eyes closed and he almost drifted away on the pleasant sensation of having a friend here with him.

"Missed… you." He told the frightened apparition of his friend.

"Me too." Peter's voice broke. Neal snapped his eyes opened.

"You're… really here… aren't you?" he asked as realization dawned and tears suddenly threatened.

"Yeah I'm really here." Peter lay his hand on Neal's head quickly "and your temperature is down a lot."

"What are you doing here?" He paused gasping when he got the sentence out.

"Hoping you don't…" Peter swallowed hard "don't leave us." Neal frowned at what his friend was trying not to say. He wasn't going to die from a cold… Peter always worried too much.

"It's just… a cold." Though if that was true why was it so hard to breathe? Why did his muscles burn as though he had run a marathon? His friend laughed, a choked humorless sound.

"Yeah that's why you're in the hospital." Neal blinked quickly, letting his eyes dart around the unfamiliar room… realizing it really wasn't his apartment...

"Oh?"

"You're going to be alright, you got that." Peter looked disturbingly close to tears "We're going to make things right. You have friends, Neal. You aren't alone." The older man sank back down into the bedside chair and oddly enough took his hand.

"What… happened?"

Several seconds passed and Neal was starting to doze when his friend asked "Do you remember how you got hurt?"

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

"His fever is down." Peter informed the doctor "And he woke up for a few minutes."

"That's good. Though I think at this point the lower temperature is due more to the medication than an actual improvement in his condition just yet." He listened to his patient's lungs thoughtfully. "His lungs are still extremely congested. We may need to drain them again."

"Again?" Peter swallowed hard, he'd been witness to the procedure when it was deemed necessary around two that morning. "That will be three times."

"I know." The doctor frowned "It would help if he was able to cough effectively, but between the pain and constriction from the rib injuries, a slight stiffening in his chest muscles from the tetanus and his overall weakened condition…"

"Yeah." He studied his friend for a moment "Is he responding to the treatment?"

"It's still too soon to tell. It will take at least twenty-four hours to see a notable improvement if he is."

"Oh." Peter considered for a long moment. "Is it possible for me to get a copy of a summary of his records?"

"Why?"

"I'm filing a complaint against his current handler for negligence… his condition was mostly preventable."

"Well I'll agree with that." The doctor frowned "I'll see if I can get you those notes."

"Thanks." His jaw flexed at the thought of what he needed to do next "Doctor I have to go into the office to file the complaint… I hate leaving him alone, but…"

"We'll take good care of him."

"And call me if anything changes?"

"Of course."

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

June's heart ached as she called her lawyer's number. The visit from the young FBI agent in the early morning brought news her motherly heart never wanted to hear. Neal, her Neal, hurt, sick and alone. The thought that he had been going hungry made her want to murder someone. The young agent advised her to call her lawyer and file a law suit, but as her youthful form retreated to her car June seriously considered making an entirely different kind of call. Byron had many connections from the old days… many of whom owed him favors they never had the chance to repay before his death. A single call could have made the life of that arrogant agent a living h***… or sent him to the real one for that matter.

It was a call from Mozzie that gave her pause. As much as she'd like to see the man robbed blind, or locked in a cell with a three hundred pound psychopath named Bubba, bringing Neal home to New York so she could take care of him was more important… so she called her lawyer. She apologized for waking the man before explaining the urgent need for him to file the suit as soon as the courts were open.

Then she sat in her parlor sipping her tea thoughtfully, nursing her aching heart. She thought of the care packages she sent her boarder. She wondered if he got them… wondered if they helped. She hoped the treats she sent raised his spirits, gave him hope.

Her own pain dealt with, June considered her next move. She had to go to the attorney's office at nine to sign the papers, but after that… she packed a bag and prepared to take a quick trip down to Washington. Her boy needed her there to watch over him while he recovered.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

Diana was furious, Jones noted, as the woman stalked passed him and into the breakroom without even hesitating. He followed her curiously.

"What's up, Diana?" he asked. She answered with a scowl as she poured a cup of coffee and gulped it straight. "You look ready to commit murder this morning. Your coffee maker break down?" he asked, because she was literally chugging the hot beverage. "Aren't you still supposed to be in DC?" he frowned at her expression. She didn't just look explosively angry, she looked exhausted and… pensive.

"We are the good guys right, Jones?" she finally asked.

"Well yeah…" he lay his hand on her arm at his own peril "What happened, Diana?"

To his immense surprise she started talking, by the time she had finished describing their former consultant's apartment he was angry. When she finished explaining the young man's condition Jones' thoughts were shifting from settling the score to making things right.

"What happens to him when he gets out of the hospital?"

"Hughes is working on bringing him home." Diana said firmly.

"Well yeah," he said worriedly "But things like that take time… two or three months, maybe longer… he'll have to go back to that cold room and… everything." He finished a bit lamely because the thought of his friend going hungry was just too much.

"Yeah, I suppose… maybe they will lift the freeze on his accounts."

"Maybe." He scowled. Yes, criminals deserved to be punished and Neal definitely fell into the criminal category, but this… this was inhumane. A plan began to form in his mind… a tiny thought that quickly bloomed into a really crazy idea. A scheme worthy of the man it would benefit, Jones thought as he began to smile.

He moved around the office, speaking quietly with several members of their team… putting his plot into action.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

"Sir" Peter addressed Kramer's superior with cool reserve. "I am filing a complaint against Agent Philip Kramer for neglect of his duties bordering on criminal."

"For what reason?"

"On a recent operation he and his team endangered the life of a consultant assigned to their office."

"Are we referring to Mr. Caffrey?" the older man broke in "Because as I understand it he was removed from your office due to your loss of objectivity."

"That is the story. Yes." Peter bit his lip to contain the sharp retort "However that has no bearing on the current situation. Mr. Caffrey," he had to force himself not to call him Neal "suffered minor injuries in the course of a recent case."

"That is a risk of the job." The man observed blandly.

"It is, but… sir, those minor injuries… several bruised and one broken rib and a sizable laceration went untreated, even though he was visibly bleeding."

"Now that is more concerning."

"Yes sir, it is." He straightened his spine more firmly "Mr. Caffrey reported to work on Thursday and Friday in noticeable pain as observed by three subordinate members of the team. On Monday he was visibly ill. By last night he was in the ICU with severe pneumonia, a Staph infection and Tetanus. He is in critical condition because of their neglect."

"He did not receive any medical care until last night?"

"None, sir."

"Why didn't he seek treatment on his own?"

Peter sighed and pushed the folder of evidence he had collected across the desk.

"He was not provided by this office with means to heat his home or properly feed himself never mind the cost of medical care. His contract says he is to receive medical coverage for on the job injuries and illness… but the paperwork never reached the insurance company. Neal said he filled it out and returned it so…"

"It was theoretically lost here in the division." He frowned deeply "Are you accusing Agent Kramer of willful abuse of power? Of intentionally causing harm to a Bureau asset?"

"No sir, I don't believe the damage was intentional, but serious damage was done… because he and his agents simply didn't care about the welfare of the man in their custody."

"I see."

Peter's phone rang into the sudden silence. Glancing at the screen, he flinched as he saw the hospital's number.

"Excuse me sir," he stood quickly "Neal's doctor told me he would call if anything changed." He hastily exited the room pressing the device to his ear."

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

Elizabeth exited the train and hurried from the platform. There was no need to stop for luggage as she only brought an oversized purse that held a single change of clothes. She walked briskly to the exit doors and flagged down the first cab she saw.

"Fairfax hospital" she told the driver breathlessly before she pulled out her cell. One voice mail from her husband. She listened to the message. Tears formed in her eyes as she listened again. Biting her lip she leaned forward and addressed the driver "Can you get me there quickly?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Elizabeth sank back in the seat and tried not to lose control in the back of a cab. Neal was supposed to be invincible. She had come to take it for granted that he would always come through unscathed, no matter the circumstances… but not this time, apparently. A tear got away from her and slid down her cheek.