Laredo, Texas, Tuesday, 18:10, airport

The silence was deafening in the cabin. Finch and John had their eyes riveted on the countdown, Shaw watched them from the plane's door.

Neal, eyes closed, counted the seconds waiting for the explosion in his leg.

When he reached thirty five, he opened a tentative eye.

The guarded relief on John and Harold's faces was obvious despite their usually plain expressions. Apparently, the IT genius had once again proven his exceptional talent and stopped the process. The silence lingered while they all fully realized the close call.

John was the first to talk. "It's over, Finch?"

His employer took a few seconds before answering, only half confident.

"Yes. So far, he is safe. The transmitter is deactivated but I'll only feel totally reassured when Ms. Shaw or some doctor removes it from Mr. Caffrey's body."

Neal jumped from the seat, as if needing to get away from the place he had almost died on. But his shoulder complained at the sudden movement and his legs collapsed as he fell unconscious before anyone could get a hand to stop him.

Shaw immediately came to his side while John closed the Falcon's door and ordered the pilots to leave.

Neal woke up nearly an hour later. Someone was holding his wrist. He blinked and had to clear his throat before being able to talk.

"Shaw…"

"Hey! I was starting to think I'd need to kiss you awake…" the young woman joked.

John appeared at his side. "One more victim of your charm, Neal?"

Ignoring the vibe, Neal tried to rise but all of his muscles complained.

"Easy, your body has been through a lot," Shaw explained.

"No kidding." He nodded his thanks to John who had straightened his chair. "What happened?"

"You passed out."

Neal shot her an irritated look; he had gathered that much.

"I'd love to pick that thing apart. It's a real beauty. The power…" Shaw gushed. She stopped short when she saw Neal's dismayed face. "I thought that kind of technology was only experimental so far. Lobbies are doing everything they can to stop their development, arguing they violate human rights. But I guess that with the right financial means…"

"It will be my pleasure to give it to you once I get rid of it."

"Which I advise you do as soon as possible," Finch stepped in.

Three sets of eyes looked at him.

"I managed to destroy the transmitter sending out the signal, but the tracker in your leg is still active…"

"Hence being actionable again," John concluded.

Neal winced. He almost longed for the FBI's anklet. He gladly accepted the glass of water Shaw handed him.

He remained silent, lost in his own thoughts. How was he going to manage his return to New York? The whole FBI was after him…

Would Peter believe him when he explained he had been kidnapped by a megalomaniac to translate a 500 years old Aztec parchment? Actually, the story was crazy enough to sound true, maybe that would save him in the end. But having to go on serving his time for the FBI, with a new handler, was definitely not sitting right with him.

Maybe he could ask Finch to make a stopover before landing in New York…

The billionaire came to sit on the next chair.

"Would you like some tea, Mr. Caffrey?" Finch asked.

Neal raised his eyes and realized John had vanished. He was probably in the cockpit with Dirk. Those two were thick as thieves.

Neal smiled. Mozzie was the tea lover…

"John told me about your tailor," Neal answered, admiring the perfectly cut suit the man was wearing.

Finch raised a surprised eyebrow.

"Mr. Reese does not always seem to realize the importance of a proper suit cut."

Neal smiled in amusement.

"Take the way he treated your scarf," Finch pointed out.

"How do you know he made the sling?"

"You would have never ripped such a nice quality material," Finch explained as if it was obvious. "As for Mr. Reese, I suspect he cannot make the difference between silk and viscose."

"That's hard, Finch…" Neal reproached softly.

"On the other hand, he can recognize his grenade-launcher on blurry video surveillance images…" he mumbled.

"I don't think I would make the difference between a grenade-launcher and a missile launcher even if I had it in front of me," Neal shot back.

Neal had always thought Finch and Mozzie had a lot in common. But apparently, he also shared some traits with the IT genius.

"Tea would be nice, Harold."

"So Finch, you found anything interesting in Alvaredo's system?" Neal asked enjoying his tea.

"Quite a few. Still, I think we barely brushed the tip of the iceberg. The intricacies of the network are quite impressive."

"I have however other information that may be of interest to you," Finch informed him turning to his computer and willing to change the topic of the conversation.

"The FBI has a new anklet model?" Neal asked with a bored wince.

Finch sit up, surprised by the weariness of the young man usually so full of life.

"Mr. Alvaredo is linked to your release denial. We are working on the file and will hopefully have positive results very soon."

"So I won't be rotting too long in prison?"

"I may not have properly filled out the flight manifest, namely on the number of passengers…" Neal raised an interested eyebrow. "I thought you might want to keep under the radar for a few days. You can hide in a safe house where your safety will be ensured."

A light smile finally appeared on Neal's face. Maybe the world wasn't that black after all.

"Thank you," he answered softly.

When John came out of the cockpit, the two men were sitting enjoying a cup of green tea. Shaw appeared a few minutes later from the back of the plane where she had been having a shower.

"Finch turned you over to tea, Neal?" John asked as they were putting their cups down.

Finch pointed to John's pant which showed a tear in the fabric.

"What did I tell you," he said in a low voice to Neal.

John frowned and cast a glance to his leg pant. He had actually heard the rip but hadn't paid much attention.

"I was sharing with Neal your little interest in clothing."

"You're still mad at me because of your scarf?" John exclaimed looking at Neal with a smile.

Neal shook his head with an amused smile.

"How are you feeling, Neal?" It was clear he wasn't just asking about his health.

Neal opened his mouth to answer then sighed. "Honestly John, I don't know…"

Reese gave him a sympathizing wince and went to sit on one of the couches by the window.

Finch turned to Neal again.

"Mr. Caffrey, as you already know, Mr. Alvaredo had been observing you for quite some time. Mr. Reese told me about your research on the Mosconi codex and…"

His voice wavered. He knew the topic was a sensitive one.

"Rebecca," Neal supplied.

Finch nodded slowly.

"We are convinced she is the reason of Ms. Ellis' departure."

"Sara?"

"The FBI has found out that Ms. Turner was a former MI-5 agent selling confidential information to the highest bidder."

"Yes, Alvaredo admitted he had asked her to unlock the secret behind the Mosconi codex in order to find the pink diamond."

"Exactly. He's the one who provided her all the elements about your past and helped her create 'Rebecca'. Finally, in order for you to be available, they arranged for Ms. Ellis to go back to London."

Neal sighed deeply. He had never understood why Sara had left. She had disappeared without giving any information. He had already purchased the ring and organized the evening during which he was going to propose. His list of grievances at Alvaredo kept getting longer.

"What eludes me, however, is why Mr. Alvaredo isn't looking for the diamond anymore. I haven't found any indication that he would like to get it."

"And you won't find any," Neal explained. "Alvaredo prides himself in gathering mysterious and secret art. That diamond has attracted far too much attention to interest him anymore. The diamond is safe… As far as Alvaredo goes," Neal added. "It will still attract other thieves of course."

"That man is quite surprising," Finch whispered frowning.

The bespectacled man sighed, seemingly hesitating on how to proceed.

"You have more surprises? Shoot. There's no way I can move for the moment, so you're perfectly safe," Neal coaxed him in a tired voice.

"Neal, if you think you can touch one of Finch's hair before I stop you…" John shot from the other side of the cabin.

He was sprawled on an armchair, his eyes closed; Neal had thought he was sleeping. Apparently the ex-spy never rested.

"Don't worry, Neal. I will defend you," Shaw piped in.

The two agents sized each other up for a few seconds, a light amused smile on their lips. Neal watched them amazed. Every time he had been around them, they had serious matters on hand. They were sharp and fit like scalpels; their eyes cold and measuring, capable of killing in a single hand move. Seeing them actually joking was such a contrast, it was almost surrealistic.

Finch handed him a file.

"As I told you, Alvaredo was behind Miss Ellis' departure. These documents have been given to her a little under a year ago."

Neal took the file and started reading the documents. His face went blank.

The falsified documents implicated Neal in a quantity of murky deals, each as dark as the other. But where a less intelligent enemy would have piled charges, Alvaredo had done it with a level of subtlety worth praising. The facts were dire enough that Neal appeared as a horrible criminal, but just this side of believable to fit with his past and character. Sara knew about his shady past and had come to terms with it. Alvaredo had found the precise line that had made his girlfriend step back.

"That man was a real genius…" Neal gasped.

Under other circumstances, Neal would have probably admired him. Such a talent deserved credit.

Alvaredo had manipulated his life for almost a year. As Neal was ready to propose to Sara, she had left without a word of explanation. He glanced at the documents again. He really couldn't blame her for that; he would have probably acted the same way if the roles had been reversed. Then Rebecca had made an entrance, the perfect symbiosis of his female ideal… He felt his heart tighten, just like every time he thought about her. It would have been so much easier to just hate her.

He handed the file back to Finch.

"You can keep it," the billionaire offered.

"No, thanks. I'll probably end up regretting not having committed those crimes," Neal answered, his eyes lost in the weaving of the carpeting.

Finch rose, looking at John. Human relationships weren't his forte. Neal seemed deeply depressed, talking would probably help. Even if John wasn't necessarily the most happy soul right now after the horrendous weeks he had gone through recently.

Reese filled up two glasses with whisky and sat in the armchair Finch had just vacated. Neal didn't seem to notice him. He waved the glass in front of his face several times before the man reacted.

"Sorry. I guess I drifted," Neal apologized.

"Here, drink this," he told him handing him the glass. "I know you prefer wine, but good vintages do not travel well."

"Thanks," Neal answered taking a sip. He opened his eyes wide and sipped again. "Thank you," he repeated more earnestly, his eyes glowing in pleasure.

"Finch only gets the best," John whispered as if revealing a major secret.

They shared their drinks in companionable silence.

"What happened?" Neal asked.

"Sorry?" John asked, not understanding the question.

"You changed… since the last time I met you I mean." Neal watched him right in the eyes, tilting his head slightly as if reading his mind. "Something happened, something serious enough that it changed your vision of things."

John looked at Neal dumbfounded. He had already noticed the exceptional skills of the CI, but this level of perception was close to clearvoyance. He shook his head slowly.

"You're incredible…"

"Someone close?"

"More than I had realized before she passed…" John whispered.

"Happens more often than not. You realize the value of things when they're actually gone."

"Sara…"

"I keep losing Sara. That's probably a sign we're not meant to be…" Neal watched the bottom of his glass as if expecting to find an answer in it, then gulped the remaining liquid.

"I don't think so. That's why you're still in love with Rebecca."

"What?" That didn't make any sense.

"Alvaredo studied you very carefully. He knew how much you loved Sara. By making her disappear, he undermined your stability thus allowing Rebecca to step in. You think her hair color was pure coincidence? Finch found the documents. They crafted her as a gem. Creating a composite of all the women that shaped your love life…"

Neal winced. It felt like his past and relationships with women had been turned into a simple mathematical equation.

"That's exactly why I hate her!" Neal snarled.

"You hate her because she lied, but deep inside you still love her, which in turn only increases your hate. Actually, it's yourself you hate because you still love her though you think you shouldn't. Your brain screams 'hate', your heart 'love'. That's quite a conflicted situation…"

"Your advice, Dr. Freud?" Neal asked his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Give yourself time. Like any wound, it will heal."

"Faster than my shoulder?"

"Probably not…" John smiled, "but if you want something more serious, I'm quite good at kneecapping."

Neal couldn't help a laugh.

"I think I'll pass," he said shaking his head. He put a hand on John's arm, "thank you," he said seriously.

John accepted the thanks with a nod of his head and rose to go check with Finch.

Shaw came to him and took his wrist to check his pulse. She also checked his eyes from up close.

"Not dying yet, doctor?" he asked in a mocking tone.

"Not this time. It was a close call though."

Yeah, you can say that again, thought Neal.

"Try to get some sleep," she added, tilting the armchair.

She covered him with a blanket, John watching her in surprise at her concern. Apparently, even Shaw wasn't immune to Neal's undeniable charm.

"Finch, I'd like to keep the Falcon when we get to New York," John told his employer.

"Need some holidays?" the genius asked in a rare humor trait.

"Not really, little detour to London."

"Mr. Reese, if I don't give you enough work, that can be arranged."

"I was actually hoping to reduce it. I think Sara is the only person that can keep Neal in line. Open minded enough to let him have his way, yet loving him enough to be listened to."

"Quite a new set of skills, Mr. Reese..."

"Glad I can still surprise you, Finch."

New York, Tuesday 11:00 pm, Finch's safe house

Finch opened the door and stepped to the side to let Neal enter.

"Mr. Caffrey."

Neal glanced at the apartment. A few steps led to a living room. A huge clock hung on a wall. It was simple, elegant and functional.

"Make yourself at home. You are perfectly safe here. Windows are bullet proof, door's lock impossible to open without the proper key." He sighed when he saw the spark in Neal's eyes. "Please, do not make it a personal challenge. I have no doubts that you would be able to find a weakness, but if you could save me the trouble."

Neal had a sheepish smile. "Sorry, occupational hazard."

He crossed the room, checking the place, watching through the window.

"I would recommend staying inside, Mr. Caffrey. You are of course totally free, but in light of your current situation, I would advise some discretion. I will make sure you have everything you need."

Finch went to the kitchen and checked the fridge.

"My instructions have been followed. You have food for a few days. Let me know if you need anything else.

"Thank you, Finch. I will make myself scarce."

"Do not worry about the neighbors."

They turned when they heard Shaw snort behind them.

"You should see the neighbors' names; a real birdhouse…"

"I see you keep investigating, Ms. Shaw," Finch replied in a dry tone.

"You know I do not have a social life, Finch. A girl's got to keep busy," she answered totally remorseless.

Finch pinched his lips but kept silent. He knew the ex-agent would get the final word.

Neal was fighting with the jacket he had put in the plane when he had felt cold. Shaw approached him.

"Let me have a look," she said, her face serious.

Neal tensed. He had refrained from complaining, but his shoulder was painful. Shaw had given him some painkillers found in the plane, but they had long worn off. He really didn't want anybody to touch him right now.

Against all odds, Shaw's hands were incredibly tender. She nodded when she was done.

"Everything looks fine, there shouldn't be any consequences. You should take something for the pain though."

You bet, Neal thought.

"You will find a small pharmacy in the bathroom," Finch indicated. "Prescriptions are in the boxes. Help yourself to what you need," he suggested.

Neal jumped when Shaw put her hands to his belt.

"Shaw!" he yelled, stopping her.

"Relax, sweetheart. I only want to check you thigh," she answered watching him straight in the eyes while pulling his pants down. "Sit."

"Nice scar," she said trailing her finger over an old injury.

"Little souvenir from Cape Verde," Neal explained with a wince.

"Yeah, got a few of those myself."

Only a tiny scar showed where the transmitter had been inserted. Shaw probed the leg, studying where it was located. Neal winced when she pressed her thumb against the bone in his leg. She frowned.

"You'll definitely need surgery. Finch knows the right people." She stepped back, "and I remind you that I want that transmitter."

As Finch was giving her a slightly worried glance, she added in a low voice, "John and I need to be able to track Harold…"

The billionaire decided to ignore the vibe and turned to Neal.

"Mr. Caffrey, I thought you might find days a bit long sitting a safe house."

"You have a swimming pool in one of the rooms?" Neal joked.

"Not in here…"

Taken aback by the answer –a swimming pool in an apartment?–, Neal watched Finch go down the hall. The short man turned when he realized he was alone.

"Mr. Caffrey?"

Neal caught up and followed him. Finch opened a room turned into a painting studio. A huge bay window allowed for natural light in the work space. Neal went straight to the painting supplies as if drawn by a magnet.

He was awe struck by the products. Clearly Finch hadn't skimped on the merchandise. He had bought the best the market could offer. Even Alvaredo hadn't reached such a high quality. He let his fingers glide slowly over the soft paintbrushes; using these products was going to be almost orgasmic.

His mind was already swirling with ideas; he couldn't wait to tackle a new canvas…

"Thank you, Finch, this is…" He stopped when he realized he was alone.

He went back to the living room. Shaw was sitting on the couch, cleaning a weapon.

"Done painting?"

Neal frowned and watched the clock on the wall. He had been daydreaming for almost twenty minutes.

"Only in my head."

He observed Shaw handling her weapon with the same secure moves she had used to check his shoulder. She had approximately the same look, as if both had the same importance.

Efficient, he thought.

He thought back to the attention she had been paying to him in the plane, then here in the apartment. He was sure no feelings were involved. She was just making sure everything was fine.

"For God's sake, Neal! Just ask. I'm not going to shoot you!" Shaw suddenly exclaimed.

"Are you really a doctor?"

She raised a questioning eyebrow and Neal made a half shrug. He found it hard to imagine the beautiful woman in a white blouse taking care of a patient. Yet her experience and qualifications were obvious; she had taken care of him with unquestionable professionalism.

"You're finding it hard to imagine a scalpel in my hand instead of a gun…"

"I'll admit…" Neal wasn't so sure he was being very bright for prying. If Shaw decided to rip his head off he probably wouldn't even notice.

"You're not the only one with multiple interests…"

"Including how my transmitter works…"

"As I told you, I would really like to see how it is built. So much energy and technology in such a small object seems almost impossible."

"You want to take care of the surgery?" Neal suggested.

"I don't have the necessary tools," Shaw grumbled. Then she had a slightly devious smile, "unless of course you don't really care for anesthesia."

Neal laughed. "No, thanks. I think I'll wait for Finch's doctors."

TBC