Neal's shout of "No!" into the otherwise silent room was the tipping point for Peter to give in to his reflex to get out of bed and react.

Peter's own sleep had been slightly restless that night, mind mulling over a variety of topics, mostly related to Neal and the case. This included revisiting his earlier decision that he would likely need to have Neal discuss the last seventy-two unaccounted for hours in more detail the next day. After the course of the evening—with Neal's silent, head down approach to investing his time in the case files— Peter wanted to be careful in the way he eased Neal back into the investigative side of the case versus simply having him recuperate and transition back from his undercover role. Peter was feeling particularly cautious about that, especially before he was even able to learn more about what had actually taken place during that role.

Peter did manage to eventually fall into a light sleep despite the heavy thoughts, concerns, and pending decisions that were nagging him. But as he and El always joked, it was a combination of his career and his personality that made him sleep 'with one eye open,' as she put it. Always on watch. So it wasn't surprising to him that Neal himself had a restless night, nor that he would notice.

The first time Neal inadvertently woke him, it was to gasping breaths as he sat up in a startled reaction to something, presumably a dream. The noise, even though muted, had Peter immediately open his eyes in detection of some disturbance. When he realized it was coming from Neal, Peter simply watched undetected at that point, eyes open in the darkened room just wide enough to get a view of the other bed but remaining quiet and still. He saw the shadowed silhouette of Neal, still panting a bit, though increasingly more softly as a few beats passed. After a moment of sitting up in bed quietly, Neal was then shifting himself towards the edge of the mattress, a sound of rustling blankets and softer breathing as he turned his legs out towards the floor in order to get out of bed.

As he watched him rise from the bed with stiff movement, Peter opened his mouth to speak but then resisted. He wanted to ask if he was okay, and to ask what he needed. He was still uncomfortable with Neal walking around on his feet in their current shape if it could be avoided. But as worried as he was, a voice in his head told him to wait. It went back to his earlier thought that evening when deciding to walk away from Neal and his insistence to look the case files. There were things Neal had to process for himself. If he intruded, there was a strong chance of Neal being defensive rather than the offered support being constructive.

So he silenced a sigh and instead of interfering, watched in the darkness with half closed eyes while Neal 'processed' things. His movement pointed to restlessness and unbridled anxiety, unmasked in his moment of thinking no one was watching. Pacing a bit. Eating a piece of pizza. Pacing a little bit more. Running his hands through his hair. Pacing again. And then after that silent display of disquiet, ultimately returning to bed slowly and silently. Peter skillfully closed his eyes further to remain unnoticed.

Once Neal was back in bed, and stayed there quietly for long enough, breathing turning deeper and more rhythmic, Peter found himself drifting back to sleep.

He didn't know how much time had passed before Neal was abruptly awake again, this time with the loud exclamation of "No!" accompanying the forceful upright movement to sit up.

That exclamation caused Peter to sit up himself. No to what? he wondered in concern. Regardless of what 'it' was, this time he couldn't just sit back and let Neal attempt to self-soothe. This time the breathing was more erratic, and the outburst had been more distressed. So without thinking twice, Peter found himself swiftly sliding out of bed, closing the gap to Neal's side, and reaching out for his shoulder.

"Neal," he started, noting the spooked look on the younger man's face even in the darkness. "Hey."

"Hey," Neal responded, though it sounded more like a primitive echo than a calculated response, like he hadn't truly registered the statement. Neal turned his head slightly to view the hand on his shoulder. His face was shadowed, tilted down, but Peter could easily make out the furrowed brow and concerned expression as Neal's chest continued to rise up and down with deep breaths. Next Neal spoke. "I think I have something I need to tell you," he stated, with a tone somewhat devoid of emotion.

Peter paused. Something to tell? "About the case?" he asked. There was a lot they hadn't talked about. Seventy-two hours worth, give or take. He squeezed Neal's shoulder and found himself instinctually moving to sit on the edge of his bed, suddenly feeling no fatigue despite the absence of uninterrupted sleep so far that night and another abrupt awakening. "Did you have a bad dream, Neal?" he persisted, thinking back to Neal's response to that at the hospital. He'd replied abstractedly to the question then that he'd had an 'alternate reality.'

"No," Neal said slowly. He then retracted the response with, "I mean yes. But…" He paused. "It's not that." His breathing had slowed slightly, but the breaths were still deep, in and out. "It's not the dream." He stared ahead, into the darkness of the room, still appearing agitated. He raised a hand to rub at his forehead distractedly. "I think I ruined everything."

Peter frowned at those words, not understanding. Neal's tone had been somewhat emotionless, but now seemed laced with a sadness, or maybe it was the sound of regret. "Ruined what, Neal?" he asked curiously, keeping his voice calm. He watched the younger man shaking his head slowly, and started to hypothesize what this could be about. He hadn't ruined anything. What the hell had Jason done to him? Peter felt the same angry surge of protectiveness come back to him. At the same time, he searched his mind, quickly scanning through the discussions with Neal over the past day since they'd reconnected in the morning. The majority of the words they'd exchanged hadn't carried much substance.

Suddenly, a comment Neal made at the hospital hastily came back to him, and Peter frowned at the recollection. "I lost us three days," Neal had said, intent to get back on the case regardless of his physical state. Peter went out on a limb that this could possibly be related. "You know you didn't lose us any time on the case, Neal," he asserted firmly. "You realize that, right?" He paused, but there was no response. So he continued, "Neal, think about it… You're the only reason we have any of the evidence we now do. What they got today is substantial. If we were back in New York, it would nearly be a cold case now."

"Like Adam," Neal said, a little distantly.

Damn that case file, Peter thought to himself. "Is this about Adam?" he asked carefully, stifling his exasperation and making a mental note to keep any additional details surrounding that aspect of the investigation out of Neal's reach. He briefly glanced over to the desk in the room where that specific folder was currently comingled with the others. "I know that picture must have been jarring, Neal, but—"

"No," Neal answered. "No, Peter. It's not that." His breathing was calm now, but he looked conflicted. Peter considered what to ask next, given Neal was currently offering very little to go on, despite the initial waking claim he had something to tell. What would El do in this scenario? was Peter's next thought. El would offer to talk and would provide tea or something hot to drink, and would coax it out of him. And she'd do it with ease. There were limited options for that approach in this hotel room, but something told him tea wasn't going to be a solution anyway. And 'coaxing' for Peter usually entailed force, and he wasn't about to use that method tonight.

"Well, I can assure you that you haven't ruined anything, Neal," Peter persisted, going for logic and reason as a tactic instead.

Neal swallowed, shaking his head a bit then. He worked his jaw a bit before answering. "You can't say that, Peter. You don't know that. You don't know what I did."

Peter coached himself to find the right wording. "Neal, we all have dreams," he said slowly, slipping his hand to Neal's side, resting his palm against his hip gently. "And after the last three days… of course you would. We haven't talked about everything that happened. We've probably only skimmed the surface. I only haven't asked because I wasn't sure you wanted to yet. But if you want to talk about it… I'm all ears."

There was no response to that. Neal simply leaned back into the pillows behind him, reclining almost resignedly. His face contorted briefly at the movement before the mask returned.

"Neal," Peter persisted. "It's up to you. But clearly something woke you up."

Neal swallowed again, frowning now at the far wall in the dark room. He didn't speak at first, and Peter didn't push as a few beats passed. Then before he could try again, Neal responded abruptly with, "You're being too nice." He sounded almost resentful.

Too nice, Peter repeated in his head. What the hell did that even mean? "You don't want me to be nice?" he asked quizzically. He shifted the hand that was on Neal's hip a few inches to gently slide under the t-shirt towards his back, making contact with his hot skin. He could feel the dampness of sweat. "Why not?"

Neal shrugged, and started to toy with the edge of the comforter that was bunched up beside him, where he had pushed it off of himself upon wakening. The movement seemed agitated.

"Well, if I'm too nice, then it's only fair I point out that you're being far too quiet," Peter told him in response. "You said you had to tell me something. What is it?"

Neal, in the meantime, was battling his thoughts. His heartbeat had calmed and he no longer felt the panic he had felt upon waking from the series of vivid dreams, but the feeling was instead replaced with a surge of anxiety that he couldn't deter. He felt guilt and desolation, and in his mind he kept hearing Peter say his name in that way with a gun pointed at him, flanked by police that were all focused on him. That tone, that intonation, all implied one thing: things were ruined from this point on. Game over.

After he'd blurted out that he needed to tell Peter something, he immediately felt a rush of dread and regret. Why would he say that? Why would he put himself in that sort of situation? He wasn't ready yet. You never act without preparation. Without rationale. What was he going to say now? Now Peter knew there was something that was unsaid. It was the 'absence of truth' and all that jargon that was fodder for many past lectures. And this wasn't the absence of just anything…

He'd promised Peter that he wouldn't do it. They talked about temptation. They talked about being off anklet and being miles away on his own for the first time in years. Neal had been open about it, and had openly admitted to the likeliness of thinking about freedom. But then he'd easily committed that he wouldn't actually act on it. He had promised. And Peter had looked at him with trust and acknowledgement, like he actually thought that it could all be true.

The conversation flooded back to him.

It had started out innocuously enough, with a simple question in Peter's office about when Neal had last been out of the city and how he felt about leaving now to go with Jason, questions that Neal immediately took to imply distrust.

"Let me guess," Neal had replied accusingly. "You think I'm going to take off or something once I'm upstate with Jason? Is that where you're going with this?"

Peter had insisted it was more about safety. It was more about them being able to have an ability to interfere if needed. He used the logic that they wouldn't even be considering taking him off anklet if that's what they thought could happen.

"I'm not going to use the case as a reason to run, Peter. I wouldn't do that." Neal had said those exact words. He'd gone so far as to even tease about what a negative headline it would cause. FBI untethers their CI and loses him to the wind…"I think of lots of things that I wouldn't actually do," Neal had pointed out in full transparency. "Doesn't everyone? I can't turn my mind off." And they both acknowledged that. Thoughts were thoughts. Implying thoughts meant action wasn't necessarily fair.

And after the back and forth on this, with what he thought was genuine honesty from himself, he remembered the discussion ending with Peter confirming he trusted him. "I do," Peter had confirmed. "So long as you don't give me a reason not to."

He'd now given him a reason not to. A big one.

Now he was struggling with what words to use, to not make this even worse. When he stated he'd never do anything to run during this case, he thought that was true. He broke his trust in himself as well. He'd lied to both of them.

His mind started to rework the logic. Ultimately this wasn't a lie about running, because in the end he hadn't run, even if he had started to. Thinking about it, sure; they had both known that would happen. Making an initial effort and having a moment of intent to run? Did that make his original promise a lie if he hadn't actually followed through?

Stop it, Neal, he told himself. Peter won't think about it that way. He knew that. Thinking about it that way, rationalizing it that way, would only make it worse because that was the exact type of logic manipulation that always made Peter furious.

Besides, this wasn't just running. There were other crimes committed.

So he had to think, and think good, before admitting to this. If admitting to this. It was weighing him down as a secret, but the fear of releasing it was growing. Because this time, the response wouldn't just be a slap on the wrist. This wasn't a lapse in judgment from years ago, from before Peter had taught him to have a conscious and how to think through consequences. This was this morning. Just hours ago. When he had broken the law.

And that made him genuinely afraid. Peter had used the threat of locking him up, and sometimes seemed to mean it, for much less serious transgressions and waywardness. And part of him wondered if being locked up was actually better than dealing with Peter himself once he found out.

Peter had been talking to him now, but he was barely listening. His racing thoughts were volumes louder than Peter. But the man was sitting close to him, had offered a steady hand of contact; he was talking calmly, was asking how he was, tone hinting at obvious concern, and wasn't even being forceful to get answers.

It made Neal feel worse, because he really didn't deserve that treatment. Peter had no idea what he had done. If had any idea, composure would go out the door.

So he didn't know how to respond, and certainly did not want to tell him any of this now, despite his imprudent statement earlier. He couldn't, not before he figured out how, so he frowned instead, heart heavy with guilt, and then simply told him with a hint of contriteness, "You're being too nice."

Peter seemed a little taken aback by that, but then simply responded, "You don't want me to be nice?" in a way that sounded a bit puzzled. "Why not?"

Neal shrugged, not responding as he felt Peter's hand slip to his bare skin. He shivered slightly at the human touch, resisting the instinct he felt to lean closer to the man. He knew Peter would allow it. He wanted that and to be told it would all be alright. But to do that wouldn't be genuine, and he didn't deserve it. So he resisted, and started to fidget with the edge of the comforter beside him instead.

"Well, if I'm too nice, then it's only fair I point out that you're being far too quiet," Peter told him next. "You said you had to tell me something. What is it?"

Neal couldn't decide on what to say, so he went with a thought that had been nagging at him since he made the statement earlier about the pen being the initial domino in this whole chain of events. "You should have taken me off the case," he said resolutely. He could feel Peter's hand stiffen slightly at that comment. Neal continued, "You wanted to, and you were right. You should've."

"Neal, what are you talking about? Didn't you hear what I said before? You're the whole reason we even have closure in sight on this case," Peter replied slowly. "Besides, if I'd taken you off the case, something tells me you would've involved yourself anyway, and then we'd be in an entirely different situation."

Neal considered that, frowning. Peter was right. Had Peter told him he was off the case, he likely would have done anything to get back on it, even if it meant implicating himself in a way that would force Peter's hand to involve him, later consequences be damed. The whole reason he waited so long to admit he knew Jason was because he didn't want anything to risk his involvement in the case. "You don't know that," he objected anyway. "If I wasn't on this case, and if I was in New York, then all of this could have been avoided." He paused. "None of this would have happened.

"Neal…" Peter's voice came with a sigh. "I'm sorry you got hurt. You have no idea how sorry I am. I'm going to make sure that they—"

"No, Peter. No. It's not about that," Neal interjected. He felt further guilt at Peter's misinterpretation of his statement .He tugged forcefully at the comforter next to him, feeling the need to display the emotion he felt somewhere as he kept his face expressionless. "I don't really care about that."

"Well, I do," Peter answered, a little stiffly. "I didn't agree to your deal with us to put you in harm's way, Neal. You better know that."

Neal wondered if the 'deal' Peter referred to meant his overall arrangement with the Bureau, certainly soon to be short-lived, or this undercover assignment. "I put myself in harm's way," he objected, assuming it to be a valid response regardless of which one it was. Wasn't that always the case? Peter constantly berated him for putting himself in dangerous positions. But this wasn't about that.

"This time, no, you didn't." Peter remained adamant. "You're supposed to offer your intellect, Neal. Not be in the line of fire."

"Well, it's not about that anyway," Neal insisted. He ached and hurt, but why shouldn't he after all this. He deserved it.

"Then what?" Peter asked, slightly exasperated. "What did you want to tell me?"

Neal paused, feeling his heart start to speed up again. He felt Peter's fingers move slightly against his skin. Moving away.

Peter withdrew his hand, running both of his palms over his own face now, tiredly. "Neal, maybe you should go to sleep. What do you think? It's the middle of the night, and –"

Neal felt a hint of cold at the absence of Peter's touch and took a deep breath. "I lied." There. He said it. Coldness soon permeated his entire body.

Peter didn't seem to react much as he uncovered his face, hands dropping to his lap, expression unconcerned. In fact it moreso conveyed tired exasperation. "You've been undercover, Neal… And you had to maintain your alias," Peter said matter-of-factly. "You know you can lie while undercover."

"No. Not to you," Neal responded.

An uncomfortable brief silence passed between them.

"Me?" Peter filled the gap, and now seemed confounded. "What did you lie about to me?" His tone was surprised.

Neal now froze, a little baffled himself as to why he'd admitted that initial overarching detail so abruptly. One part of his mind was not communicating to the other. He had just gone through the internal deliberations and decided telling Peter this now wasn't a good idea. Now once again he wasn't sure what to say as a follow-up. Despite knowing he shouldn't think of ways to manipulate the optics what he'd done, he was still caught up in the logic behind it. Was the actual lie the conversation from the office that day about not running? Was it the events of this morning? Was it not admitting to it yet? Was it all of it?

"Hey," Peter said, tone still gentle. "Neal. What'd you supposedly lie to me about?"

Supposedly. Neal parted his lips slightly and then closed them again, remaining uncharacteristically speechless. He prayed silently that Peter wouldn't ask him to look at him. Eye contact would surely do him in. Peter was within inches of him, and if he was going to tell him anything about that morning, he wanted to make sure he was no where within arm's reach. This was the danger zone. And he had to have a better story about what had happened, and what he'd been thinking. Now was not the time.

"Neal…" Peter persisted, tone inquisitive but growing warning at the same time. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure," Neal replied, voice slightly strained. If Peter had just taken him off the case, then they wouldn't be here, and he wouldn't be in this position. Now he had ruined everything, and if he told Peter, then it was over. The longer he waited, the longer he could postpone that ending. How many counts of criminal activity was it anyway? Concealed firearm, petty theft, burglary, hotwiring a vehicle. They'd probably throw in some endangerment charges, and there had been kids involved. He counted slowly through the offenses. "Five," he mumbled slowly under his breath, barely audible. He wondered if he would've been better off just running, despite his dreams alluding to otherwise.

Peter felt a mix of exasperation, frustration, and sympathy as he tried to lure any sort of comprehensive response from Neal. The younger man still looked conflicted, and clearly something was bothering him, or was at least weighing heavily on his mind. His expression was somewhat muted, but the tightness of his jaw and the furrowed brow gave him away. Peter wasn't sure if it was the dreams or something else. It had been a long seventy-two hours, and just thinking back to the morning felt like he was trying to recall details from a week ago. He didn't expect Neal to be as articulate and talkative as usual, but had been hopeful when he'd admitted to having something to tell that he would actually open up.

And now this convoluted statement of having lied. What was that? Being undercover was just that – a fabrication. Peter had no idea how Neal could have possibly lied to him while he wasn't even able to make contact with him. And since making contact, everything he'd said was undeniably factual other than trying to persuade them he wasn't in as much pain as he was.

When Neal responded that he now, "wasn't sure," Peter felt conflicted himself. Neal had seemed more himself that evening, but this talk was almost reminding him of being back at the hospital. Perhaps it was just fatigue. It was dark and it was late. Then he noticed it appeared Neal was going to say something else. His mouth moved, but there was no sound. It almost looked like he was counting.

"What?" Peter asked with slight exasperation. Then without waiting for a real response, he made an executive decision and just shook his head. "Okay, Neal, we're not doing this tonight, okay?" He rubbed at his own face again. "If you don't want to finish this discussion, then we'll pick it up tomorrow. You're tired. I'm tired. You just had a bad dream. We don't have to talk about it unless you want to. I think all signs are pointing to you needing sleep."

Neal looked unconvinced at that, frown lines deep, lips pressed together tightly, as though not willing himself to say another word. But then he spoke earnestly, replying softly, "I don't know if I can sleep. I've had three bad dreams so far."

Looking at him, Peter felt his heart clench at the honest admission, which was paired with a somewhat lost look on the younger man's face. Three? He'd been awakened by two of them. Neal must have been quieter during the first. He suddenly regretted not asking the hospital to give them something for him to take to sleep. That had been an unfortunate oversight. He tried to think of the right response. What was the right next step.

"Hey," Peter finally said. Then he lowered his voice slightly, just above a whisper. "You want to watch some TV with me?"

Neal looked uncertain at that at first, frown deepening briefly, before his brow unfurrowed and he simply nodded. "Yes."

Peter pushed himself off the bed to go retrieve the remote controller.

TV it was… At – he glanced at his watch – three o'clock in the morning.

Diana yawned tiredly as she knocked on the hotel room door the next morning, her arm weighed down slightly by the large plastic bag looped over her arm. A cardboard cup-holder tray was in her other hand, balancing three coffees.

The sound of the door opening followed a long moment after, just as she was considering knocking again. The jangling sound of the chain being displaced from within made her lower her fist from the initiation of a knock, and was followed by the door easing open slowly.

"Morning," Neal greeted with a smile from inside the room.

"Morning," she responded as she gave him a brief once over, profiling him slightly. The smile he greeted with was clearly faked. While he wore the same clothes as the day before, and he did actually look quite cleaned up, the attire itself and the tousled somewhat unruly hair, implied he wasn't quite himself yet. He still looked a bit pale and not as animated as usual, and as he moved away from the door she noted his gait was a bit stiffer and slower than usual. "You look like you're feeling better," she commented regardless.

"Peachy," Neal answered, sinking down to sit on the edge of the far bed, attention turning back to the television, where it looked like a local newscast was airing.

"That's good," Diana responded as she followed his gaze to the screen. His interest in local news seemed unlike him, but she ignored it. She moved into the room, letting the door close behind her. "I have a few things for you… Where's the boss?"

Neal nodded his head towards the bathroom. "He'll be out in a minute." At the mention of something for him, his attention diverted temporarily from the newscast and back to her. "What do you have? Coffee?" he observed the items she held. "Thanks."

Diana nodded, moving towards the desk to set down the cardboard cup-holder, pushing the case files out of the way to do so. "Coffee, yes. But today I'm even more than a caterer."

Neal gave her a bright smile. "You're always more than a caterer to me, Diana."

"Real cute," she retorted dryly. She took a couple steps toward him, offering the plastic bag that she slid off her arm. "I was told to deliver this to you."

"It's Christmas already?" Neal joked as he accepted it. Despite the lighthearted response, he peered in the bag somewhat warily.

She at the same time watched him wearily.

Neal withdrew a pair of sneakers first, holding them in front of himself in scrutiny.

She couldn't gauge his reaction and said, "Those better be yours."

"They are, thank you," Neal confirmed, voice a bit softer. "I didn't know if I'd get them back, and I was wondering how I was going to walk out of here." Next he pulled out the jacket he'd been wearing when he arrived at the house. He frowned at it and then put it aside. The only other things left in the bag were the opened package of socks from the car, and then the watch and the cell phone that had been recovered from the post office. Neal was extracting these items from the bag just as Peter was emerging from the bathroom, wiping his damp hands on the front of his slacks.

"Hey, Diana," Peter greeted. "You were pretty quick to get over there and back."

"It's not far." She shrugged. "Coffee?" She nodded to the cups on the desk.

"I don't want this. This isn't mine," Neal asserted as he held up the watch. He examined it briefly, flipping it over in his hand, before then turning his head and with a smooth flick of his wrist, tossing it up in the air towards Peter. "It's his."

Peter captured the watch with a grunt as it flew towards him through the air, initially a little caught off-guard by the unexpected flying object but reacting in reflex. He gripped it in his hand as he lowered his arm and shot Neal an admonishing look. "You mean it's the Bureau's," he corrected stiffly. "So don't play with it."

"You're the Bureau…" Neal muttered in response distractedly. He had turned his attention to his phone, flipping it open, and was holding down the power button uneventfully. The screen remained dark. He tried again to no avail, frowning at the device. "It's dead."

"You can charge it at the precinct," Peter responded. He walked over to the desk, passing Diana, and dropped the watch gently on top of the case files. Next he reached for one of the coffees. "Thank you, Diana. As always."

"No problem," she answered, observing the older man. He looked just as tired as she had noted that morning when she had stopped by to once again borrow the car keys while Neal had still been sleeping. She wondered now, as she had then but not asked, how their night had really been. She was getting the sense that despite the somewhat early evening, it hadn't been too restful. She kept her curiosity to herself and instead reached into her pocket to extract the car keys, offering them back. Peter took them without comment, and she added slowly, "I've also got some other news, Boss."

"What's that?" Peter asked, after taking a long sip of the hot liquid.

"That's it?" Neal asked at the same time, discarding the plastic bag beside him on the bed. "There was nothing else?"

Diana frowned at him. "That's it?" she echoed. "What else were you expecting? I thought you'd be glad to have the shoes."

"I am. But I also had a backpack," Neal responded, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and frowning at her. "How'd they find this and not the backpack?"

"It might be at the house then," she said slowly with a shrug. "They turned the place upside down, Neal. Your shoes and jacket were in the kitchen, kind of out of place, and given they were a different size than Messier or Jason, I made an assumption. A backpack I don't recall seeing. Why, what's in it?"

Neal shrugged. "Clothes," he said. He then forlornly added, "And lockpicks."

"Lockpicks," Peter echoed, a little incredulously. "Jesus," he muttered. He regarded Neal for a moment and then raised his eyebrows at Diana. "What's the other news?"

Diana turned her eyes back towards her boss. "It's Jason…" she said as she walked over to the desk and took her own coffee.

Peter's eyes went back towards Neal briefly, but found he was now focused back on the television.

Neal heard Jason's name spoken by Diana, but couldn't move his eyes from the television screen, his hands toying with his lifeless cell phone restlessly. He listened to their conversation, but found himself tied visually to the output of the broadcast.

He wouldn't normally care about a small town's local news. In fact, when he first woke that morning, finding Peter already up and moving about the room with the television on, already set to this channel, he barely thought twice. His initial focus upon awakening, other than the pain of barely day-old injuries, was the previous night. He'd had no further dreams that night—good, bad, or otherwise – which was mostly thanks to Peter. But he was uneasily anticipating the follow-up, where Peter would surely want to continue the conversation and fill in the unanswered questions. And that had filled him with a quiet dread.

But Peter hadn't done that, nor had he even alluded to the night yet, other than asking him if he slept okay once he noticed he was awake. Neal had simply nodded and there was no follow-up question. Peter seemed otherwise more occupied with getting ready.

Neal couldn't decide if that was something to feel respite over, or simply a foreboding signal for something yet to come. Peter rarely left questions unanswered, and he absolutely didn't expect him to start now.

It was while he was troubling over this, stomach anxiously churning, that he found himself briefly watching the news as he crawled uncomfortably out of the bed. His initial glance was fleeting until he caught the headline going into the commercial.

"And coming up, we'll cover a rising trend in the area," came the newscaster's voice, a petite woman sitting behind a desk on the screen, her voice carrying the typical intonation of someone telling the news. "Car theft, notably on the rise in the region over the last two months, including a surprising incident that occurred in our own backyard here in Burlington yesterday. We'll report on this, and what you need to know to make sure you're not a victim. Coming up next."

The television scene had then flashed to a commercial for paper towels, but Neal froze and felt like he had just been punched in the gut.

And since that moment, he'd been locked on the news, waiting for that update. Waiting to hear about the incident and what details they had. Would it be an older, dark blue Honda Civic? Would they have any sort of clues? Any surveillance? He felt a heightened sense of anticipation that he couldn't stop. It mixed with the guilt and trepidation already there like an undesirable stew. Just like he couldn't tear his eyes from the television.

Even now when they were discussing the case. The case he wanted to close. So he split his attention.

"What about Jason?" Peter was asking, with what sounded like slight uneasiness.

"It's sounding like he wants a deal," Diana started slowly.

"A deal…" Peter repeated, sound a little surprised. His tone then grew a little bitter. "Is he out of his mind?"

"He's willing to provide any information we need," Diana continued. "He's willing to turn on Messier."

Peter let out an audible sigh. Neal glanced over at him briefly, and watching Peter's hands typically go to his hips, then turned back to the TV.

"Did he say anything that's of any use besides that?" Peter asked.

"Not yet."

Neal couldn't blink. The commercials had ended and the newscaster was back. But the current story was touching upon a fire at an old commercial building. No sign of the update that had been promised. He sighed himself.

He didn't know what to expect. If it was the Honda Civic, that was one thing. It then depended on what they knew. He hadn't been at full capacity then. He could have messed up. There had been no one around, that he was sure of, but what about security cameras? He hadn't adequately surveyed the surrounding houses close enough to be certain of that. So what if it was on camera? The whole thing? Certainly they'd have a sketch of him. And he had been nothing short of unique looking that morning.

Fingerprints, he suddenly thought.

Had he wiped down the steering wheel? The door handle?

His mind was suddenly blank of that part. He had no recollection.

And if they had all that and the sketch that would undeniably look like him, then it was really all over and completely out of his control as to when. Worse, if Peter found this out from the news before he ever even had a chance to explain, then he was really in for it.

Now the news was covering a new fast food restaurant that had opened.

His throat suddenly felt dry, and he swallowed.

And when they did finally provide this update on the news, was he going to find out the identity of the owner of the car? He recoiled at that thought. He already had a face to the victims from the gas station. He'd prefer the owner of the car stay inanimate and anonymous. He didn't want details. What if it was someone elderly or someone who depended on their car? What if he'd caused someone to miss something?

His mind raced through these thoughts as the news moved onto a car accident that had shut down one of the town's main roads for an hour despite no injuries.

Come on, he thought to himself impatiently

He startled just slightly as a hand suddenly came under his jaw, two fingers forcefully tilting his chin up to raise his viewpoint. Peter.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" Peter asked, tone more skeptical than annoyed. He kept the hand in place for a moment. "Didn't you hear me?"

Neal looked up at him for a moment, meeting his eye and said, "Sorry," as earnestly as he could before his eyes then flitted back to the TV. Where was the update?

"You tired?" Peter asked.

Neal nodded. Tired was always a good excuse. Whenever El said 'he's tired, Peter; leave him alone' it always worked.

"We're leaving for the local field office now, Neal," Peter told him matter-of-factly, tapping his cheek softly before dropping his hand to his side. "Since you obviously didn't hear it the first time. Do you think your feet will be okay with just socks and sneakers?"

"Yes, it's fine," Neal replied as he watched another newscaster on screen now, talking about the weather. He glanced back at the room and noticed Diana had left. Without waiting to be told directly, he reached for a pair of socks from the bag. He started to shift himself back a bit onto the bed while still watching the television, wincing at the movement as his ribs painfully objected to any shifting of any kind. But this way he'd be able to address socks and sneakers by pulling up a leg at time with a bent knee, versus leaning down to reach his feet, which he knew would be excruciating.

"You think you want to talk to them today about what happened at the house?" Peter asked. "I know it's soon, Neal, and you don't have to, but—"

"Yeah, it's fine," Neal responded distractedly. The house. He could talk about the house with no problem. That once nightmare, which still made him feel sick, had been temporarily downgraded for more pressing problems.

He'd just gotten one sock on, and was pulling on his shoe slowly, realizing just from what he felt in doing so that walking wasn't going to be that pleasant, when he glanced up in time to see the television screen turn dark.

"Hey," Neal protested in concern as he immediately turned his head, viewing Peter a few feet behind him at the head of the beds, putting down the remote control on the table between the mattresses without any sense of the implication of what he had just done.

"Hey what?" Peter responded, again a look of puzzlement.

Regretting his voiced objection, Neal turned again to view the blank screen of the television and while he was deeply troubled by it, anxiety piquing, he also knew he had to play it cool. "Do you think we can go home today?" He forced out the first question he could fabricate to recover. He couldn't ask for Peter to turn the television back on despite yearning to. He wouldn't have a good reason why. But staring at the blank screen, he couldn't help but wonder if on air right now was the Honda Civic. It filled him with frustration and fear.

Peter paused for a moment, and then said, "Maybe, Neal. I hope so. But we can't if you don't hurry up."

Neal frowned, tying the first sneaker distractedly, and dropping that leg down. He pulled up the second and repeated the motions, trying to move faster this time.

Peter was collecting the case files from the desk, putting the watch aside to sit on the surface of the desk on its own. He tucked the files under his arm, holding his coffee in hand, and watched Neal a little apprehensively as he finished tying his second shoe and then pushed himself up from the bed. It was clear Neal was still very much distracted by something. Something he would have preferred not to rekindle before heading into the bureau filed office unless it was necessary.

Neal cast another look at the TV as he gingerly tested his shoes, brow furrowed, shifting his weight a little. Then he paused.

"What's the matter?" Peter asked him.

Neal looked up, meeting his handler's eye and raising his eyebrows. "What?" Then he shook his head. "Nothing."

"Something's on your mind… Is it last night?" Peter persisted. "You want to talk about it now?"

Neal swallowed, lowering his gaze to stare at his feet. "No." He continued shaking his head. Peter offering 'now' implied a definite alternative of 'later' that Neal dreaded, though he knew it was inevitable, and necessary if he was going to tell Peter before the news or other authorities did. "No, it's not that. It's…" He thought hard. "It's the first time I've had shoes since four days ago, Peter." Factual, harmless, safe. He pushed himself to get it together. To help do so, he walked towards the desk and reached past Peter for the coffee that was left for him. "It's weird."

"Well… You need to stay off your feet when you can."

"I'm fine. I'm ready to go."

"You sure?" Peter asked. "And you're ready to talk about the last few days?"

Most of it, Neal thought as he nodded. The house. He flashed Peter a tight smile. "Might as well before I forget the details, right?"

He was pretty sure he wasn't going to forget the details even if he wanted to.

"Alright," Peter gave him a dubious look but nodded. "Then let's go." He walked towards the door. With his back to Neal as he walked, he added, "And you can drop the fake smile, Neal. You don't have to talk right now, but don't try to pull an act either."

Neal's smile dropped, replaced with a brooding stare at the dark television screen. He hesitated just briefly before forcing himself to follow Peter, the unknown of the rest of the day weighing on his conscious with a heaviness that tried to crush him.