Neal didn't actually get to his cell, his new, hopefully temporary, home, until later that day. He had just enough time to join the other prisoners for dinner, but he decided to ignore his hunger and stay in his cell for that day. He knew as soon as the other inmates saw him, he'd be in trouble, and he wanted to put off that moment for as long as possible. He'd take a hungry stomach over physical injuries for as long as he could.

The next morning, Neal awoke abruptly as the lights were turned on and the guards yelled. He was surprised he fell asleep at all, as he had lay in his cot the night before for hours, consumed with worry- both for himself and his friends on the outside.

Neal pulled on his bright orange shirt, already pining for Byron's nice suits he'd worn before. He stood up, waited for his cell to open, and put on his best con man's face to hide the sickening swoop going through his stomach, making him nauseous, especially in combination with the dull throb that still pulsed through his hurt ribs. In his life, he'd been able to mentally prepare himself for a lot. This was just not one of those times.

Neal was released into the general area for breakfast with all his fellow inmates. He looked straight ahead of him, now showing any fear, and avoiding eye contact.

After a poor excuse for eggs were dumped on his plate along with a hard piece of toast, Neal made his way over to an empty table. He would give anything for a cup of June's Italian Roast Coffee at that moment.

He had just raised a bite of food to his mouth when he felt two large bodies sit down next to him, slamming their trays on the table. They sat too close for comfort, their large forearms brushing against Neal's sides.

Across from him, a rather old man slid into the seat. Neal recognized him immediately, and he set his fork back down on his tray.

"Walker. Fancy seeing you here." Neal kept his voice upbeat as he looked at the man that had orchestrated three flawless bank robberies before Peter and Neal caught him.

"Neal Caffrey. It's been a while. I wanted to welcome you here. Although, I guess I'm really welcoming you back." Walker smiled slightly. "Your buddy Burke couldn't protect you this time?"

Walker had a talent for find people's buttons, that was for sure. But Neal kept his mouth shut.

Walker continued. "Going to prison was never part of my plan, Caffrey. But, when I got here, I decided to make the best of a bad situation. You know, carpe diem and all that. And it turns out, money means a lot in prison.

"When I was informed that last night Neal Caffrey was back in orange, I couldn't believe it! But I contacted some friends of mine, and we all agreed we'd like to see this for ourselves. I believe you know these men?" Walker gestured to the men sitting uncomfortably close to Neal on either side. Neal glanced at one of them, but he didn't recognize him. "No? Perhaps you know them through a mutual friend, Curtis Hagan?" Now that he mentioned it, Neal rememered the thug sitting next to him as one of the men who pulled him into the warehouse when he was taking pictures.

Neal turned his attention back to Walker. "Are you done yet? I'd like to enjoy my eggs, now," he said, his words sharp and full of hatred.

"Why, I think now that we all know one another, we should take a walk." He stood and the thugs followed suit. Neal knew he had to choice; he stood up and followed Walker, as one of the thugs followed closely right behind Neal.

Neal wondered where they were going. The inmates had not yet been dismissed from their meal and the guards lined the exits. There was no where to go.

Sure enough, as they approached an exit, two guards stopped them. "No prisoner is allowed to leave the meals early. There is a punishment. Now follow me, all of you."

Neal couldn't help but smile slightly. It was worth getting punished by the guards just to see Walker go down, too.

But as they were marched out of the eating area and into a completely empty, small room and the guards turned around and walked away, Neal realized they weren't getting punished at all. And then, with a sinking feeling, he realized Walker's comment about money wasn't random. He had all the guards in his pocket.

Neal swallowed. It was only going to get worse from there.

"You see, Caffrey, none of us want to be here. And it is thanks to you that we are."

As Walker spoke, he leaned casually against the wall, crossing his arms. One of the thugs stepped behind Neal, and the other stood in front.

"I'm going to enjoy this, Caffrey," Walker said.

Before Neal could even think about trying to run, the large man behind him grabbed his arms. Then the man in front started punching.

It was constant, and vicious. Over and over he swung. Pulling his massive fist back, then releasing it towards Neal.

His ribs.

His side.

His face.

Over and over and over again.

Neal fought against the man behind him, trying to free his arms, but it was no use. The man was too big, too strong, and Neal was still weak from his former beating.

Finally they stopped, the man in front of him stepping back.

Walker stepped up to him, a big smile on his face. "You know, this almost makes the jumpsuit worth it."

Neal lunged at him, fueled with an anger that made him blind with red, but the man behind him hadn't let go and he was pulled back from Walker. He heard a pop in his shoulder, coupled with a fresh surge of pain in that area.

Walker chuckled softly under his breath. "Still fighting, Caffrey? I think we can change that. Our next guest won't be happy if you make things challenging."

Walker stepped back from him, and the thug moved out of Neal's field of vision.

The man behind Neal let go of him, but his freedom only lasted for a split second, before his arms were grabbed again and held tightly behind him. The other guy stepped in front of Neal, a small smile on his face as he prepared to beat Neal.

Again and again his fists rained down. Neal felt his ribs crack, heard his teeth knock together as fist collided with jaw.

When it ended, and his arms were realsed, Neal staggered against the wall and slid down into a sitting position, his breathing ragged and far too loud.

Neal heard voices and footsteps outside, and realized breakfast was over. He wondered how long they'd been out there and he hadn't noticed. He wondered how many people had heard the sounds but didn't come in. He wondered if anyone would care if he died in that room.

"There's another person you should meet. He's longing to see you." Walker paused, smiling as he took in Neal's weak appearance. "I believe you know him as Mr. Black."

Neal swallowed, trying to ignore the pain that just wouldn't stop. If Mr. Black was coming, it could only being going from bad to worse.

Mr. Black was an assassin for hire, one that Neal had impersonated in order to find missing bonds in a case with Sara Ellis. His only interaction with the man himself was when he put a gun to Neal's head. Luckily, Sara had a gun to his. Then the FBI burst in, and that's how Mr. Black ended up here.

"Ah," Walker said, clearly pleased. "Here he comes now."

Mr. Black stode in the room, looking much more intimidating than the thugs, despite his smaller size. He held in his hand a sharp sliver of glass. Neal didn't know where he'd gotten it, but it wasn't that hard to guess how he was going to use it. And Neal knew the damage inflicted by it could be more painful than that from a knife.

Black approached Neal slowly, taking his time. He took a moment to study him, looking at his less-than-threatening position, slumped on the floor.

He started laughing, an eerie loud laugh that echoed throughout the otherwise silent room. "This is the man that impersonated me? You're the man they sent in place to be me? Well, this'll be easier than I thought."

He stopped laughing, and kicked Neal, hard, in the gut. "Stand up."

Neal groaned in pain, despite his attempts to not show his injuries, as he and straighted to stand. He hissed as his ribs uncurled.

"Whatever happens now, stay standing, until I'm through with you."

The tone of his voice was unmistakable and Neal knew if he didn't do as he said, he wouldn't see Peter or Mozzie or anyone else ever again.

Black got to work. He circled Neal, studying him, then swiftly attacked, jamming the makeshirt knife into Neal's shoulder and dragging it down his arm a new inches before releasing. Neal couldn't help it- he cried out in pain, as the rather dull blade pierced his skin and left a trail of blood in its wake.

Black was quick and brutal, plunging the shiv into Neal's body and releasing, then immediately striking again.

Neal was in pain all over his body, and it increased with every passing second. All he wanted was to pass out, give in to the blissful darkness that was threatening to overwhelm him. But he held out, gritting his teeth against the pain and hoping it would end soon. He didn't want Black to have a chance to do what he did best.

Finally, finally, it was over. Black stepped back, tossed the shred of glass into the corner where it shattered, taking away all traces of his fingerprints and creating a small pile of shards and blood, and walked out of the room without another word.

Walker, who had been watching the whole time, walked up to Neal, getting in his face. "I don't know who did this to you," he said, in the same fake, sweet tone of voice he had used when he thought he'd gotten away with another robbery. "But let's hope they catch him, before he can act again."

Neal got the message, and Walker left the room.

The thugs started to follow him, then one turned around and walked over to Neal. He brought his fist back, and Neal knew what was gong to happen a split second before it did, but he was too weak to move. The thug's fist came back at him, punching Neal squarely in the face. Neal crumped to the ground, unconscious.