"Neal, sit down," said Peter. Neal obeyed, his head still down. Peter tried to keep his voice gentle, because Neal looked like he needed that. He'd genuinely scared and intimidated Neal with his speech, which had been the intention. But not to wound him like this.

"Why is not running such an impossible thing to ask of you?" asked Peter. "It's simple. It's the basic tenet of the work release you asked for."

Neal kept his head low and didn't answer. "I'm not trying to set you up," said Peter. "Talk to me. Like a friend."

"It sounds simple to you." Neal managed to look Peter in the eye for a moment, and did seek him out as a friend. He looked so wounded, it hurt. Peter wondered if this was a ploy to manipulate his sympathies, and decided it wasn't. "If I just wanted to run, I'd break out again. I want to work with you. Badly."

"So?"

Neal looked down at his cuffed wrists, and tugged lightly on the chain. He'd been fidgeting against them for a few minutes now. "I can get out of these."

"Just like you could an anklet?"

Neal nodded and held up his right arm, looking decidedly proud of himself. An open handcuff was dangling from it, and his left wrist was free. He gave an uneasy glance at the guard outside with his back to the door and ratcheted them back on a little too quickly. And that was Neal Caffrey in a nutshell. Risking the wrath of an angry corrections officer merely to show off and illustrate a sentence.

Peter wondered if that too had been deliberate, saw Caffrey's serious face and the keen intelligence in his mesmerizing blue eyes, and knew it had been. This is who I am and I know it.

"I've spent four years in this place when I could've escaped," said Neal. "But too many things could make me break the anklet perimeter or cut it. They lose signal sometimes. I could get held up, blackmailed, kidnapped, hit by a car and medevacked. If someone says come with me now or we kill Kate, I do it."

Peter shivered. "You think I'm the sort of person who'd punish you for being kidnapped? Who'd send you to prison for life if you got hit by a car and flown to a hospital?"

"No. But I know criminal justice. It's too rigid, and too complicated. It doesn't matter in here why you did something, or if -" Neal's voice choked off, and he looked away. "Peter - I knew all of this when I asked. It's just - I know what a risk you're taking on me. It's - my life I'm risking."

"I promise you mercy," said Peter. "I meant what I said about the consequences of running. But if you stay, and you sincerely try to work with me and give this your best shot, I will be on your side. If you cut that anklet because you have to, and you don't run, you come back an' face me, the world isn't gonna fall down on your head."

Caffrey took a deep breath and braced himself. "Okay." Neal managed to meet his eyes squarely. "I won't run from you." Neal was still looking at him with a certain amount of worry, and Peter knew this was a high wire of power and pride and friendship and fear they'd be traversing for a long time.

"Okay," said Peter. "Caffrey, if we do this, it means I'm going to be trusting you to be in my office, in my car, in my life. I know you don't have a violent bone in your body, I'm not worried about that. But can I trust you to be a good and safe person around the things that are important to me?"

"Yes." Neal's voice was certain.

"My home and my family are off limits to you. You associate with half the criminals in New York. You don't come anywhere near my wife, my dog, or my house. You are part of my work life, not my home life. Got it?"

Caffrey nodded, and Peter studied him. "You're a talented pickpocket, I'm sure you could drug someone...I'm a Federal agent. I carry a gun. I'll probably have some sort of override for your anklet. I need to know with absolute certainty that you won't ever, ever lift my gun or keys or disable me, even harmlessly. I have to be able to trust you with my life even while I hold the keys to your freedom."

"I protect my friends," said Neal. "I'm not going to take your gun, and if we end up in a tight spot, I will have your back. I promise. I wouldn't dream of hurting you or letting you get hurt. And - I grew up around law enforcement. I know how violating and how dangerous for you it would be to drug or incapacitate you in any way. I absolutely will not."

"Okay."

Neal grinned at him. "Can I play with your handcuffs though? They weren't on the no-stealing list."

Peter had to laugh. "Only when you're not in them. And no attaching me to things."

"There you go, taking all the fun out of it."

"I've been up front with my concerns," said Peter. "Let's address yours,'cause you've been looking at me a bit like I've grown eye stalks and might be planning to eat you."

Neal looked at him hesitantly. "I don't know how this is going to work -" His voice was gentle in a way Peter recognized. It was his own voice for conveying to victims and confessing suspects that it was okay to tell him something painful, something that broke the social taboos for a civilized conversation. "But if I have to be strip searched, is there any way another agent could do it? Just so that - there isn't that between us?"

Peter stared. "I'm not strip searching you."

He planted his elbows on the table and hid his face in his hands. Prior to his rewriting it, the release directive had given him the authority to conduct strip searches. If Neal had read those...and he had - the enormity of the power Neal had been willing to let Peter have over him was staggering. That level of trust combined with the sheer, nearly victimized obedience that had been trained into him here was too jarring to contemplate.

You don't have what it takes to manage a high-security prisoner.

Thank heavens.

"You're - they do that a lot in here?" asked Peter.

"Yes."

"After I visit you?"

"Among many other things," said Neal. When Peter didn't raise his face from his hands, his voice softened. "Don't let it bother you. Nobody likes it. But it gets routine and, you know, cuts down on brutal murders."

Peter sighed and looked up, folding his hands on the table. "I know they do it and why, that isn't what's bothering me."

"So..." Neal looked confused and gave him a wry sideways smile. "I sort of liked the idea of you being bothered by it..."

"You thought this was a thing that I might do, which isn't exactly flattering," said Peter dryly. "Then, you were prepared to accept it. That's what bothers me - what you've had pounded into you."

"I'm throwing myself into a complete unknown here," said Neal. "You tell me I'm going to be a prisoner, and that this is gonna just be a prettier version of prison - can you blame me for being just a tiny bit uncertain about what you mean? And by the way? I resent 'pounded into me' on about five different levels."

Peter just sat for a while, thinking. The guy had lived for four years with his behavior, living conditions, and even what was done to his body under the strict control of other people. He'd be yanking Neal out of that and expecting him to transition back into normal life in an instant, with the further confusion of still being a prisoner in a world that looked free. Without the support of the friendships he'd formed in prison.

Neal could handle it. He had the intelligence, toughness, and adaptability to handle anything. Including a maximum security prison. But he was going to need a hell of a lot of emotional support while desperately trying to prove he didn't need any. This was going to be an uncertain dance indeed, for both of them.

"Neal - I know I've beaten you with a pretty big stick," said Peter. "I arrested you, and it lead to four years in this prison. But what I'm hearing behind the lines today is that you have no idea what else I might do, from shooting you to - what, stripping you down in the FBI office? Do you honestly think that's who I am?"

"No." Neal sounded fierce and deadly serious. There was intense affection reflected in his piercing blue eyes. "I'm in awe of the guy who caught me, made my arrest and interrogation a fond memory, held me and reassured me after I was convicted, sent me postcards and took my phone calls, and recaptured an escaped prisoner gently and kindly. You are everything that's good and right in law enforcement, and I'm painfully aware that's an image I've built up of a man I don't know. I'm bracing for reality, because no person is that good."

Peter blinked and cleared his throat, more emotional than he was comfortable with. "Well - reality is a dork with dead stuffed squirrels who gets really frustrated with you. I get tactless and irritable. I try to leave the murder and sexual assault to others. Anything else you're worried about?"

Neal looked down, twiddled his thumbs, and shifted position uncomfortably. "Pissing you off. If I'm in danger of being sent back, please tell me. I'd find it reassuring to know you won't send me back here if I say something impertinent, because I kind of do that constantly."

"You can be a snarky pain in the ass," said Peter. "I don't send people back to prison for having a personality."

That drew a broad smile out of him. "You may regret saying that."

"I'm absolutely certain I will," said Peter. "And while we're on the subject, I'm fairly certain I'm going to end up chewing you out and getting pissed at you, and I am going to be your boss. I don't want you afraid getting yelled at means going back to prison."

"If you promise you mean that, I can be totally comfortable with it," said Neal.

Peter eyed him with a spark of humor. "Can you at least be a little uncomfortable with it?"

"We'll have to work out just how afraid of you I'm supposed to be," said Neal, tossing his head. Peter grimaced.

"Never. Never be afraid of me," said Peter. "Please." Neal had told him at the aftermath of his sentencing that he didn't understand rules, and if that was true, Caffrey was facing this and any other form of authority in a very uneasy state.

Neal gave him a soft, almost adoring look. "And please don't ever be afraid of me. I know you're taking a risk, and that it's going to take a long time to earn your trust, but I'll never do anything to hurt you or the people you care about."

"I believe that," said Peter, touching one of Neal's cuffed hands.

And just like that, the young man was struggling desperately not to cry. Peter pulled his hand back, not wanting to break him down in front of cameras and prison guards.

"Look at me. Without erasing anything I said earlier, you need to know that sending you back here is gonna be an absolute last resort. I'm gonna protect you from that with all I've got."

Neal met his eyes and smiled. Not his beaming con-artist smile, but a true, small smile of relief and affection.

"It would mean everything to me, just to be given the chance," said Neal softly. He hesitated. "Actually the fact that you're even talking to me means the world. I would never betray you, and if you send me back, I promise not to resent it. I'll come back quietly and hope that one day you'll need my help again."

Peter looked down at the hideous table. The words were touching, and sounded heartfelt. But it was wrenching to hear Neal Caffrey sounding so submissive. He knew this meeting had been painful for Neal, and Peter was suddenly afraid he'd actually cowed him.

It was the memory of that gentle hand holding his in the cell that gave him the key to understanding it. Neal would push back against anyone and anything controlling him against his will, and that included Peter. But Neal had no qualms about offering respect and cooperation and even soft vulnerability when they were offered on his own volition, not taken.

"I'll do my best to be a good friend to you, Neal."

Neal looked away to hide the emotions on his face. "You already have been."

Peter slipped a legal-size manila envelope across the table to Neal. "Read these," he said in a gentle voice, wishing Caffrey could come with him right now. "Show them to your lawyer. If you agree to the terms, sign them and send them in. With any luck, I'll be picking you and your shiny new anklet up outside the gates soon."

Neal closed his eyes. "Thank you."

"Okay, Neal. Be good, and I'll see you soon."