Arrested

"I appreciate the irony," Mozzie grinned at him. "We're looking into them and they're looking into you."

Neal sat at his table and looked at the pile of files his friend had under his arm, while he thumped the photo of Kate and the man with the ring. There was also an irony in using the same type of files as the FBI, especially since Mozzie did his best to be far away from authorities. Yet he collected his findings in files.

"Tell me what you got."

"Okay. I checked into Peter's boss, Hughes." Moz placed the first file in front of him. "This guy's a legend. Been with the FBI for 25 years. They were forced to make him retire, found a loophole, brought him back."

"Skeletons?"

"Nada."

Mozzie moved on to the next file.

"And I checked that Agent Ruiz who handles organized crime. Lots of skeletons there, but I don't think he's smart enough."

No, probably not, Neal thought.

"Checked Jones." A third file landed in front of him. "Did you know his first name is Clinton?"

Yes, he had seen his colleague's business card. A fourth file.

"Checked into Lauren."

"You checked Lauren?"

"You said 'check everybody.'"

He had said that. But seriously? He could not see Lauren using Kate. Kate would eat her alive. And she did not have access to his tracking data either.

"Then there's this guy from OPR." And this time Mozzie sat down. He had saved the best for last. "Fowler." The fifth folder was opened and Neal recognized the face from the man in the conference room.

"What about him?"

"Used to work Violent Crimes for the Bureau. Wife was killed during a robbery and he took a year leave. Then he joined OPR and his files were sealed."

"Sealed? Interesting. He showed up fast after this went down."

"Have a ring?"

"No. No ring."

"Tan line?"

"No. That doesn't mean it's not him."

"I hope not," Moz sighed. "OPR is like this giant sucking black hole. Accountable only to the DOJ."

"Department of Justice?"

"Well, the DOJ is just a euphemism of course, for the military industrial complex."

"And big oil, right?" His friend's ideas about conspiracies always amazed Neal.

"Goes without saying."

Neal studied the file on Fowler.

"Um… By the way," Mozzie said, "That necklace…"

Neal sighed.

"Yeah?"

"Did you… ?"

"I didn't take it."

He saw on his face that his friend did not believe him.

"If you need a fence—"

"Moz."

"Oh, okay. Okay, got it. I get it."

There was a sigh from Moz as if he had hoped Neal had taken it. He ignored the friend's reaction but it did not take long before he popped another question:

"Why didn't you?"

"Moz!"

"Just asking."

"I haven't found Kate yet. I can't risk going back until I know she's safe."

No need to even try to explain the more complex reasons, like he was not sure if he ever wanted to continue where he left of. He liked Peter and his work. Right now he did not want to risk it. But Mozzie who had been who he was all his life, living outside all grids and laws, did not understand that. Until Neal was clear with his own feelings and goals with his life he did not want to discuss it with Mozzie. A simple explanation had to do.

"We have nothing that ties Tulane to the theft," Peter told Hughes and Neal in the conference room. "No fingerprints, nothing from the cameras. And he has an alibi that so far is waterproof."

Neal sat down in a chair and spun it slowly.

Peter was frustrated. He pulled off his jacket to cool. With OPR breathing down his neck with Neal as their prime suspect it would have been good to have something to show in return. Tulane's photos might very well be fakes, but the ticket had held. If they could prove he was not on the plane they had something legit.

"If we can't figure how he stole it, we can try grab him when he fences it," Neal suggested.

Peter stopped his pacing and looked at his presumed prime suspect.

"It's a unique piece. It's too hot for the market right now."

"Brunei is an interesting angle because the market—" The kid said more but Peter was distracted when Jones came in.

"OPR is here," he whispered into his ear. "Seems too happy."

Jones had barely time to finish before Fowler walked right into the conference room.

"Neal Caffrey. You're under arrest."

"What?" The kid stared at the man.

Peter closed his eyes. Had the kid done it after all? Please tell me what they have is nothing, Peter prayed to powers he had a hard time believing in.

Hughes had risen and had no time to say anything until Fowler placed a file on the table in front of the senior agent.

"We found that the signature NC microprinted on the fake diamond. It matches the signature on the counterfeit bonds he made. See?"

Peter looked at Neal. A signature? The kid leaned over to see for himself. Was he surprised they had found it, or surprised it was there?

"That's good work, Agent Burke."

What?

"Let's go," Fowler said but Peter came to his senses. Neal would not leave with this man.

"Stop."

He saw the glimmer of hope in Neal's eyes but this was a hook he could not take him off that easy.

"He's my responsibility." He pulled his cuffs from his pocket.

"Peter—" the kid was about to object but it was of no use. It was Peter's way or Fowler's way.

"Neal…"

He took the kid by his wrist and guided him to his feet. Neal did not resist.

"You have the right to remain silent," Peter said as he opened his cuffs. His pet convict stood there, calm, in a suit, and held out his hands to him. He met the kid's eyes.

"I didn't do this," Neal said to him, almost in a whisper.

Maybe. Maybe not. This was not the time and place to discuss it.

"Remain silent. Please."

Neal fell silent but kept looking at him as Peter locked the cuffs around his wrists. Was there blame in those eyes? Or was it a pleading for help?

"All right, let's go," Fowler said when the kid was restrained.

Neal may be under arrest but he was not about to parade him through the office or let OPR do it either. He had made Neal a promise and he was about to keep it. He knew the kid well enough to know his body language and eyes screamed that Neal was scared. He took his jacket and arranged it over the cuffs, covering them. When he grabbed Neal's arm he tried to send him an assuring look that Peter would take him and that Fowler could go to Hell.

Neal sat down in the chair opposite Hughes as Peter hung his jacket over the back of a chair and paced in the room.

He spun around in his chair, thinking. He was also waiting for Peter to ask him if he did it, again. None of the agents did. He considered it a good sign.

"If we can't figure how he stole it, we can try grab him when he fences it," he suggested.

Peter stopped.

"It's a unique piece," he said. "It's too hot for the market right now."

Well, there were other places than New York City or even the States where you could sell it.

"Brunei is an interesting angle because the market there is less rigid," he told the two agents. Then Jones came into the room and whispered something in Peter's ear. Though Neal was curious it was nothing he could bother himself with now.

"Language barrier can be a challenge though," he continued and send Hughes a smile, "because one time—"

"Neal Caffrey," a voice said. He turned towards the door and saw the OPR man Fowler walk in.

"You're under arrest."

"What?" Was it a joke? They could not have anything on him. He did not do it. If they could not bring in Tulane, they could not do it to him either.

Fowler dropped a folder in front of the senior agent who had risen from his chair at the intrusion.

"We found that the signature NC microprinted on the fake diamond. It matches the signature on the counterfeit bonds he made."

Neal leaned forward. There was an image of his signature on the bonds alright, that he had told Peter of. And an image of the diamond with the same signature. He had been set up.

"See?" Fowler asked and turned to Peter: "That's good work, Agent Burke."

What? Was Peter part of this? For a second he felt sheeted but Peter did not look as if he had any clue.

"Let's go," Fowler said but Peter held out his hand.

"Stop."

Neal smiled. Peter would know he did not do this.

"He's my responsibility," his handler said and Neal was flabbergasted.

"Peter—"

"Neal…"

His friend's hand closed around his wrist and he was gently pulled to his feet. Not that he resisted. What good would that do? He was inside the FBI's headquarters.

"You have the right to remain silent," Peter began as he opened his cuffs.

Neal held out his hands and searched eye contact and got it.

"I didn't do this," he told him in a low voice.

"Remain silent. Please."

What did he have to say if Peter did not believe him? He did as he was told and fell silent. Peter locked the cuffs around his wrists.

"All right, let's go," Fowler said.

Neal felt a rising terror. Would he leave with the man from OPR? Peter had promised him to take him in, but this was not his call. He was standing in cuffs in the White Collar's office, among his colleagues. This man Fowler would not hesitate to call the marshals and have them transport him to prison in leg-irons and belly chain. He would probably join the ride just see him humiliated.

Peter pulled his suit jacket off the chair and draped it over Neal's cuffs, hiding them. Everyone would know anyway, but still, it was a gesture of kindness that was so typical Peter. To his relief, it was his handler who grabbed his arm and led him away. He sent an evil glare at Fowler and remembered what Moz told him about a sealed file.

The second they were out of the conference room Peter let go of him. Neal walked along with him anyway. Peter did not want to humiliate him, and Neal, well, he wanted to leave with his head high, and show Peter and everyone else that he did so. He would have even if he had done this crime.

They went down the elevator all three of them in silence. Peter took his jacket back and put it on. Neal wanted to say thank you but kept his mouth since Fowler was still around. He made sure he kept is head high and his features under control. He would not give Fowler the pleasure of seeing him weak. But that was how he felt.

He kept on the straight and narrow and still he got arrested. It was so easy to put blame on him, the pet convict, the con man. Who would believe him if he said he was innocent. What did Peter believe? His handler had not sought eye-contact. He had treated him with respect but that did not tell what he thought of Neal's guilt.

When they stepped out of the elevator in the garage, Neal felt all color disappearing from his face. Peter must have noted him sway because he turned to him and then followed Neal's stare.

The marshals were waiting. Four men. And one of them had a set of chains. He hated what was about to happen. Hated to lose his dignity in front of Fowler. Hated to be treated as a high-risk felon. Still, he did not resist as Peter took him further into the garage.

"Stop," Peter said at once when the marshals approached. "You don't need those."

"Sir, Neal Caffrey is an inmate of a high-security facility and this is standard procedure," one of the marshal's said. "We have to restrain him."

"No, you don't. I am taking him back to prison. Myself."

Neal relaxed at once. Peter guided him towards one of the FBI cars, away from the Marshal's minibus.

"Sir! Neal Caffrey is our responsibility!"

"No. He's not. He' mine."

"Not when he's charged with a crime, he's not."

Peter did not seem to listen. No matter if Peter would win or not, Neal would love him forever for this.

Fowler placed himself in front of Peter.

"Agent Burke, don't be foolish."

"Like I'm the fool here," Peter said and pushed Fowler aside.

"We both know those cuffs are no restraints for him. If he escapes it's all on you."

"Fine," Peter agreed and opened the door to the backseat and made a gesture with his head for Neal to enter. He did so, after sending a wide grin to Fowler. When he felt Peter's hand on his head to keep him from banging it in the door frame he heard Fowler say:

"So you got him well trained, your pet. Do you really think it will keep him from escaping?"

"We'll see," Peter replied and closed the door. He rounded the car and entered the driver's seat.

They exchanged a look in the rear-view mirror. Neal thought he saw a hint of doubt in those eyes. Fowler had been provocative but Neal did not take that bait.

"I won't run, Peter."

"I know."

His handler started the car and he drove past Fowler and the marshals and up the ramp out on the streets of New York City.

"Thank you." He searched and found Peter's eyes in the mirror for a second before Peter's eyes returned to the street. He did not get any reply and did not expect any. He was a suspect again and there were rules and regulations about how to treat them. Neither was he a first-time offender. Peter had already done more than expected of him.

Now it was time to find out who framed him and why.

"Get yourself a lawyer, Neal," Peter said from the front seat.

Yeah, it was time for that.