And I'm back! I think that this chapter came out pretty well. I'm satisfied with it, finally. I hope you enjoy it!

With an uncomfortable and invasive physical exam - that wasn't even necessary - and even more uncomfortable and mostly silent car ride with Peter out of the way, Neal was dropped off at June's house with an awkward goodbye from Peter and a promise to the agent that he'd be at work tomorrow, even though Peter had said that he could have taken a few days to get settled in. Neal just wanted things to go back to the way they were before he had been kidnapped, even though he knew that wasn't even in the realm of possibilities.

After a wonderful and slightly tearful reunion with June, who somehow knew that he just needed some time alone to get his unstable emotions back in order and his fragile masks back in place, Neal retired to the safety of his apartment, a place that he never thought he'd be able to go back to.

It was strange to be back after all this time, Neal realized as he looked around the apartment he'd once thought of as home. He wasn't sure where he belonged anymore. Nothing had changed, though, just him.

Pushing the memories, good and bad, that everything he glanced at brought up aside for later, Neal strode to the far side of his bed to a piece of flooring that someone couldn't tell could be lifted up unless they were looking for it. Underneath the panel was a small hidden compartment that held a few things that he hadn't acquired completely legally as well as a burner phone that he had gotten after he got out of prison the first time, so long ago.

Mozzie knew not to get rid of the phone that this phone would only ever call. Dialing those numbers he had long ago memorized, Neal put the cell to his ear and hoped that he'd be able to reach his long-time friend.

Someone answered barely after the first ring. There were noises in the background, people talking, cars honking. After a minute of only the hustle and bustle of a faraway city, there was a hesitant voice. "Is that you, Neal?"

Hearing Mozzie's voice after so long was like breathing in a wonderful scent that held so many memories you'd almost forgotten but were now flooding back. It was like coming home. Neal smiled for the first time in what seemed like forever. "Yeah, Moz, it's me."

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After a long and complicated conversation with Mozzie that involved a lot of explanations and a few tears that threatened to but never actually fell, Neal went to shower, which felt amazing and so refreshing. After only showering every few days for so long, being able to shower everyday was a blessing he soon wouldn't forget.

After throwing on a black turtleneck and dark slacks that were much larger on him than they had been the last time he had worn them, Neal made his way back to the main room of his apartment, his mind now racing.

Thoughts of everything that had happened with Peter - what Peter had said, the lies and truths that were somehow so hard to differentiate now - and what was to come when he went back to work and saw everyone that had thought he had run away from them and the life he had been unknowingly building were fighting for the spotlight in his head. He didn't know which one would win, or even which one he wanted to win.

The anklet felt like such a foreign and strange weight on Neal's ankle, possibly even more so than the first time it had been strapped to him. Handcuffs or something else around his wrists felt much more familiar to Neal at this point, yet another testament to how far he'd fallen.

Neal started considering going to his wine rack and finding something to slow down his racing mind when a shadow near the French doors that led to the balcony stopped him dead in his tracks.

The shadow took a step forward until a face worn down from many harsh years appeared. Neal knew that the man's graying hair and wrinkled face was more the result of stress and years of smoking than old age. "Hello, American," a deeply accented voice greeted, his tone a cheap imitation of friendly.

"Dmitry," Neal greeted back, playing along with the man's feigned politeness even as he felt his heart start to pound harder and harder in his chest. This man was not supposed to ever come into this safe haven that Neal had finally found his way back to. It was so wrong, such a violation to the goodness that this place represented.

Neal glanced toward the door to his apartment, suddenly afraid for June's safety. What if he had already killed her? The thought felt like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach, so heavy and too painful to even begin to imagine.

Dmitry noticed where Neal's gaze had wandered to and smiled. "Do not worry about your landlady, American. She has not been harmed. Yet," he said with a pointed look. Translation: she will be if you don't do what I want you to do.

"What do you want?" Neal asked coldly, dropping the nice act. He just wanted Dmitry gone as quick as possible. If the man hadn't had so many connections and ways to hurt his friends, then Neal would have done everything he could have to get him arrested way before now, way before things had gotten this far. But this man was a disease that he could not get rid of and there were some things that were more important than to have one disease eradicated, just for two more to take its place, like impossible to kill weeds.

It was something that Neal had decided on and wouldn't change his mind just because Peter thought it was the right thing to do. Peter hadn't said that much yet, but Neal knew where he stood when it came to justice. But it was far past time to listen to Peter's every word like a devoted dog. Peter didn't see him as devoted or trustworthy anyway, so what was even the point?

Dmitry started casually walking around the large wooden table in the middle of the room and Neal followed his steps on the opposite side, always keeping the table between them as a pseudo barrier that wouldn't stop Dmitry from putting a bullet in him if he so pleased. The man didn't have a gun out, but Neal knew that he often carried, even when in a country foreign to himself. It was one of the many reasons Neal had turned on him the first time they had met, years before the anklet and months after Kate took off.

"As you probably already know, my plan did not end up working as well as I had initially hoped," Dmitry started, under-exaggerating. Dmitry's murderous plan had been completely ruined by Neal. "I don't know if you had something to do with that, but I'm not here for revenge since I have other ways to impress my father that will work out just fine."

That made Neal breathe a little easier. Dmitry showing up here to kill Neal had been the ex-conman's first assumption when he had seen the face from a past that he constantly wished would stop coming back to haunt him. But if Dmitry wasn't here to kill him, then why was he here?

Neal and Dmitry still continued their slow parody of a dance, both men staying on opposite sides of the table. "As for what I want, well, that's a simple one. All I want is for you to keep quiet about who I am. Now that you are no longer facing death, you might think to snitch to your FBI friend. I do not recommend that, not if you want to keep your so-called loved ones alive."

Neal allowed his expression to show the disgust and anger he felt towards the man in from of him, but pretended to direct it towards those that he'd die for. "I've seen how they really see me as - nothing more than a criminal and a tool to use and discard when no longer needed, just like you said. I have no loyalties to them anymore." Neal knew that it was risky to lie like this, but if he wanted this man out of his life, then he'd have to take a chance.

Dmitry looked unimpressed, which made Neal wonder how rusty he had become. "What if I think you're lying? Would you, a noble hero underneath that confident exterior, be able to even bear to see anyone, even someone that saw you as nothing more than a tool at their disposal, be killed because of you?"

Stay on the offensive. Call his bluff. "I know that you won't kill someone without reason and you have none since I have more incentive to listen to you if I'm not pissed off at you for killing someone, even someone that doesn't truly care for me," Neal said confidently, not confident at all. That truly had been one of his biggest cons - tricking people into thinking that he was the smartest and cockiest man in the room when the opposite was true.

Dmitry listened with interest, seeming to be quite fascinated by what Neal had to say. He nodded after a minute. "You know what, American? You are correct. I will not kill anyone unless I think that you will rat, and I do not think you will. Do you want to know why?"

"Humor me," Neal prompted flatly as relief flooded through him.

"Back when I was trying to find your weakness and you resisted every other one of my methods, the moment I threatened someone else, you caved. It is not your life you treasure, of which I will never understand, but others around you. You are a selfless, foolish man," Dmitry said with confusion lacing his voice, sounding like a man who never truly loved or cared for another individual, which was probably true.

"And you are a psychopath and a terrorist," Neal shot back, knowing that it would flatter Dmitry more than insult.

Predictably, Dmitry smiled widely. "You are too kind," he said graciously, then added almost as an after thought, "Also, killing someone is quite messy and takes time that I do not want to spend on you or your friends at the moment."

"It's nice to know I'm not inconveniencing you," Neal retorted, relieved that he, as well as everyone else, dodged another bullet from a gun that never would have been pointed their way if not for him.

Dmitry smiled, then stopped circling the table, Neal coming to a stop as well on the opposite side. Neal stiffened as Dmitry reached into his coat, thinking for a moment that he really was here to kill him after all and just wanted to play mind games with him first.

"I brought you a souvenir from my country. You never got the chance to enjoy the wonderful delicacies that one of my many enterprises creates, so I thought that I'd bring you a taste," Dmitry said as he pulled a white paper-wrapped package with Russian words covering it out of his pocket and placed it on the table between them.

Neal knew exactly what was inside of that package, knew the symbol that it bore from seeing it many times while being held by Dmitry. It would have made him shutter if he hadn't been controlling his outward tells of fear so well.

Dmitry smiled, almost as if he could see every emotion Neal wasn't showing. "I'll be watching, American," he promised, and with that, Dmitry left out the French doors and disappeared into the shadows of the night, leaving Neal to his racing thoughts that no amount of alcohol could slow down.

Even if Dmitry said that he wouldn't hurt someone he loved, no one was safe from him if he saw that Neal was still close to Peter and everyone else. They'd never would be safe, not unless Neal changed something.

He had to cut ties with everyone he could, distance himself from the ones he'd do anything for. It was the only way to keep them safe. He didn't even know if they truly wanted him back anyway, didn't even know if he could even look Peter in the eye again.

Distancing himself meant that he had to go back to that cheap hole-in-the-wall motel Peter had brought him to when they had first started their unconventional deal, but it would be worth it if it made June safe. He had brought this danger into her life and she didn't deserve that, not after everything she had done for him when he didn't even deserve it.

He'd tell June that he was leaving tomorrow. It might have been selfish of him, but he just wanted to stay one night at the first place he considered home in so long, possibly ever, if he was honest with himself, something that he wasn't sure he was anymore. He wanted to feel safe again, just for one night.

Even if the disgust and disappointment Peter had felt when he had said those cruel words right before he had left him in prison had been from false information, it still stuck with Neal. What he had said to Neal before all of this had even happened never left him alone either.

"Because you're a criminal, and you can't help yourself. Shame on me for expecting anything else."

Neal knew that was still how Peter felt about him. Once the guilt died down, he'd realized what Neal was once again and they'd go back to their dance of mistrust and half-truths. Maybe at that point he'd be able to be transferred to another division, to another handler. Peter would be safe then, and Elizabeth, by extension.

Mozzie would be much harder to push out of his life. Out of everyone in Neal's life, Mozzie had been his friend the longest. A couple of vague reasons littered with half-truths wouldn't do for the conspiracy theorist. Fortunately, Neal had a little more time until Mozzie was back in the country to come up with a plan. No matter what the plan ended up being, it would hurt them both, but Mozzie would be safe and that was what truly mattered.

After realizing what he could lose, Neal had made the tough choice to not tell Peter, or anyone, who Dmitry was. It came with the arduous weight of letting someone as terrible as Dmitry continue to do whatever he wanted, and it was a heavy burden to carry. He had done it for the right reasons, but that wasn't good enough for Peter. Nothing he did ever was, and never would be, good enough for Peter. It hurt, it hurt so deeply and irrevocably, to force himself to face that truth, but there was no point in denying it anymore.

Neal suddenly felt as if there wasn't enough air in the room and got the sudden urge to get away from the constricting walls around him. He stumbled a little unsteadily out to the balcony where he knew Dmitry wouldn't still be and to the balustrade he had often leaned against to gaze at the city, always searching for answers he usually never found.

The sun was setting now, frozen in that perfect few minutes when one could safely gaze at the sun and before it disappeared past the horizon. It calmed Neal to see such natural and untainted beauty.

Neal sucked in a long, slow breath of fresh air as he gazed at the caramel-colored sunset sky behind the tall skyscrapers. It was a sunset he never thought he'd see in a place he never thought he'd be again, and it was beautiful beyond words. He had admired many sunsets in his time, painted quite a few as well, but this one had to have been the most breathtaking. It took him away from his hopeless situation for a moment and that was blissful.

A chilly winter breeze swept over Neal and tousled his dark, wavy hair that probably needed cut. He was immediately cold and the dream-like moment was ruined just like that. He quickly retreated inside and closed the French doors behind him, locking them securely. Cold was not something that Neal liked to be anymore. Memories he'd much rather forget were brought far too close to the surface when he felt a chill and he really wasn't in the mood to remanence about those days.

Despite being inside the warm apartment now, the bone-deep chill never left Neal, even after he tossed a couch blanket over his shoulders. He tried to rub his hands together, tried not to think of the cold and what it always brought, but it still didn't work.

Neal shivered uncontrollably as he unwillingly let the memory of one of his lowest moments in the last three months, quite possibly his whole life, consume him.

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Rows and rows of beef carcasses that hung on large metal hooks lined the vast walk-in freezer within the meat packing plant. Dmitry walked with his two most trusted men bracketing him until he reached the young American that hung limply by his wrists from a closed hook that he couldn't escape from, no matter how many times he had tried. The top of his bare feet touched the cold metal floor as his bent knees that were protected only by a thin layer of denim touched the floor as well. Nothing protected his bruised upper body from the freezing air around them.

As Dmitry stopped in front of the chained-up man, the man lifted his heavy head to glower tiredly at the man that had him imprisoned.

Dmitry crouched in front of the man and leaned in close. "Are you ready to give up this senseless bravado yet?" Dmitry asked, his voice a whispered taunt.

"Go to hell," the American said, his voice just an angry whisper. He then spat on Dmitry's handmade leather shoes, making Dmitry curl his mouth up in disgust when he saw the blood that was mixed with the spit on his expensive footwear.

The man's body might actually give in before his will did, Dmitry realized as he watched him shiver violently despite his attempt to stop. It was time to try something different, something Dmitry didn't think he'd have to do.

Dmitry grabbed the American's filthy hair and tugged until pained blue eyes glared weakly at his cold grey ones. "I know of your friends back in New York, American, and I can have my men do much worse than what's been done to you to them. They will die a slow, painful death right before your very eyes unless you help me," he said menacingly, then let go and leaned back a little, knowing what was to come next. It definitely wasn't the first time he had been in this situation and knew what to expect.

Predictably, the American's glare increased tenfold as he lunged at Dmitry, but the chain around his wrists stopped him from getting anywhere. "Don't you dare touch them, you bastard!" he spat, as if he had some sort of control over the situation, displaying the most anger Dmitry had ever seen from the man.

Dmitry grinned triumphantly as he glanced back at one of his men, who also had a smile on his face. "Oh, I think we've found your weak spot, American. So you're one of those noble hero types, then? Which one do you want me to start with?"

When the American growled, a low, almost feral sound from deep within his throat, Dmitry knew that he had him. That didn't stop him from having a little more fun.

"Would you help me if I got your keeper and made an example of him? Maybe his lovely wife? How about that old lady that graciously brought you in when you had nothing? Perhaps that little partner of yours? We sent that one on a, how do you Americans say it? Wild goose chase? Yes, we had to give him a few false leads to get him to stop looking for you in the right places. He's a loyal one, you know...But are you? Would you be able to stand idly by while the life was slowly drained from any one of them?"

"Shut up!" the American screamed, his teeth bared as if he could somehow intimate Dmitry in any way while chained up, beaten and at his mercy. He once again tried to fight against his bindings to attack Dmitry. It was a pathetic attempt, his body far too weak to do anything other than tire him out farther.

After the rage-fueled attempt to attack drained him of his last remaining energy, he gave up and let his wrists take all of his weight while his head came to rest on his bare chest, his breaths coming in short, gasping pants that fogged up when his warm breath met the cold air around them. His shook his head, eyes that were partially covered by dark bangs closed in exhaustion. "Don't touch them...please...They didn't do anything." It was the first time he had said please to Dmitry, even when Dmitry could see in his pained blue eyes that he wanted more than almost anything for the agony to just stop for a little bit.

"I won't touch them so as long as you help me," Dmitry said, his voice an imitation of soft and comforting now.

The American fisted his bound hands as he fought for an outlet for the anger boiling in his stomach. "I'll help you," he whispered brokenly, sounding like a man with no hope. Dmitry had never seen him so defeated. It was quite interesting to see that this - threatening the ones he foolishly thought of as family - was what broke him. "Just...don't touch them."

The American probably didn't know it, but he had lasted three weeks and two days against Dmitry's brutal methods. Dmitry had only seen men trained to endure torture last that long. This man was not trained for such a thing, so it baffled Dmitry to see that he was so resilient, except when someone else's life was threatened. That was definitely strange and not something Dmitry had even seen before.

Dmitry knew from the first time they crossed paths that this man was not like others, but he did not know the level of loyalty he had for his friends until now. To forfeit the lives of thousands of strangers to save the lives of a few individuals that he knew was either very noble or very selfish. Dmitry did not know which one it was and probably would never know. But that did not matter, he had the American's help now an he was going to make his father proud, something he had aspired to do his whole life, but had never accomplished, until now.

"I swear on my father's name that I will not hurt any one of them if you cooperate," Dmitry said in all seriousness. He was no sadist. He was not a man to pointlessly hurt someone, just when he needed something from them or a friend of theirs.

The American lifted his heavy head to glare tiredly at Dmitry. "Your father is as much of a bastard as you are," he said, trying to insult Dmitry, but the Russian just smiled brightly at his words.

"It is an honor for you to put me on the same level as my father. Thank you, American," Dmitry said, truly honored. His father was well known for his ruthlessness and lack of empathy and Dmitry had always aspired to be as feared and respected as him one day. It was the reason that he was putting the man in front of him through this painful ordeal. That and justified revenge that was a long time coming.

"You're sick," the American said as he shook his head in disgust.

"I think we all are, at least a little," Dmitry said, not insulted in the least. He stood up and gazed down at the man that would help him become a man that his father would truly be proud of. "I'm glad you finally agree with me. We'll make a great team."

The American closed his eyes in what might have been despair, then opened them a minute later and met Dmitry's eyes with a new intensity of hatred. Dmitry was not afraid of any man but his father, but that pure loathing burning in the American's eyes showed of a danger that he did not think was capable of coming from the man in front of him. But as long as the threat of pain and death of his loved ones remained over his head, Dmitry knew that he wouldn't make good on what he clearly wanted to do to him.

Satisfied that he finally got through to the American, Dmitry turned to his men. "Take him to be cleaned up and give him a proper meal. He has a lot of work to do," he said, then left his men to take care of the American. His plan was finally advancing to the next level. It was a good day.

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