They took him to the place where it had all begun: the White Collar Division in New York. Neal couldn't see out of the blacked out windows as they sped through the streets of the sluggish city, but he could tell from the tilt of the car and the jolt of potholes in the road exactly where they were.

He didn't speak throughout the entire journey. Alex's betrayal still stung.

"Come on Caffrey, we're here." Jones yanked the door of the police car open and waited as Neal climbed awkwardly outside. He stood on the pavement, blinking owlishly, and breathed in the fresh air.

"Good," he said. Then, "What's going to happen to me?" Jones didn't answer the question, which struck Neal as ominous. He had always known that this wasn't going to be good. By getting himself arrested for stealing a painting, he had set off a series of events that would detonate like a time bomb, ticking towards a grand finale. This was the end game, the final countdown, the big finish. One way or another, his relationship with the Burkes as their teenage son was coming to a close.

He was led into a lift and taken up five floors to the central hub of White Collar, an open plan office bubbling with strong work ethic and fresh-faced new agents. The air always smelt like coffee in the White Collar Division offices. It was something Neal always picked up on whenever he had reason to visit the FBI.

He watched steadily as Diana Berrigan hurried by, a stack of files clutched in both hands. She stopped when she saw the SWAT team idling in the hallway.

"Jones?"

"We've got Caffrey." Jones rattled off officiously, not meeting Neal's eye, "He was trying to fence the Raphael to Matthew Keller in the library downtown, but we nabbed him before money could change hands-"

Everything about what Jones was saying was wrong, but Neal didn't have the energy to correct him. He felt like he had been on a fast moving train his entire life, tearing through the present towards a brighter future. Only now, his five star bullet train with the dining car and sauna was starting to edge off the rails. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"I see," Diana was looking at him, her lips pursed. "Take him through. Holding Cell Two, I should think. Peter will be down to see him shortly. Oh, and Neal? Are you ok?"

For some reason, the question made him want to chuckle darkly. As if Diana cared about his wellbeing! He had messed up, flipped sides, regressed back into a criminal from the ranks of the reformed. As if she gave a damn. He raised his eyebrows at her and stayed quiet. Diana shook her head and gestured for the SWAT team to escort him through the office towards the holding cells. Agent Berrigan was a difficult person to read, but it didn't take a genius to tell that she was disappointed.

Peter Burke returned to White Collar half an hour after Neal had been arrested and taken in. He had been too hurt and angry to come back straight away and confront his foster son. Instead of storming in to Holding Cell Two and saying something he would later regret, he had decided to visit El at work and mull things over with her. After everything Neal had done, he was content to let the kid simmer.

He was feeling a lot calmer when he stepped out of the lift and strolled towards the holding cells, a cup of bureau coffee clasped in one hand. El had shed some light on the subject for him, as she often did whenever he was faced with a conundrum. She had told him to listen to what Neal had to say ("surely there's a reason for what he did, hon,") and he was willing to give it a go. He was going to give Neal five minutes to explain himself before he carted him off to prison.

Peter shivered at the thought of his son in prison and continued down the passageway to Holding Cell Two. He braced himself for what he was about to see when he peered through the one way glass. Neal: handcuffs picked and discarded, leaning moodily against the wall, most probably. Or Neal, again with his hands magically free, sitting with his feet on the desk and idly dismantling the microphone.

But when he entered the viewing area of the cell and gazed in through the one way glass, he found himself jolted out of his hurt state and plunged into one of surprise. The cell was empty.

Neal was gone.

Neal stood on the rooftop of the White Collar Division, gazing out across the city skyline with his hands in his pockets. The city looked half asleep from this lofty height: sunk deep as it was into the famous four o'clock stupor when everyone was either at work or at home, wishing they could stop for the day.

"Neal?"

He turned around slowly at the mention of his name. Peter was standing behind him, arms folded, face set in a stern crease.

"Hey, Peter. Are you here as my father or as my handler?" Peter sighed and strolled over to him. Without discussing it, they both sat down on an air conditioning unit.

"Am I allowed to say both?"

"No."

"Then I suppose I'm here as your father. I haven't called security, if that's what you're asking."

"Oh." Neal was surprised to hear that. He had fully expected Peter to call in the rest of the feds when he had found Holding Cell Two empty with the lock picked and the camera rewired. "Why didn't you?"

"Two reasons." Peter leaned his head back against a metal funnel and closed his eyes. He looked exhausted. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and his hair seemed a little greyer than normal. But maybe it was just the light. "The first reason is that I want to talk to you. No interruptions, no listening ears. I want to know why you did what you did. Why you… betrayed me." Neal blinked, refusing to let himself feel guilty for his actions.

"And the second?" he asked, as steadily as possible. Peter smiled.

"It's not like you're going anywhere. This rooftop is as secure as Holding Cell Two."

"Yeah," Neal nodded, "I came up here to think, not escape." That, of course, was a complete and utter lie. Right behind Peter's head he could see Mozzie gliding past the White Collar building in a giant, silent, hot air balloon. The plan had been for Mozzie to fly close, chuck down a rope and pull Neal to freedom, but with the presence of Peter that wasn't exactly possible. Neal casually crossed his arms into an 'X' shape above his head, making it look as though he were stretching. He hoped Mozzie would get the message and abort before Peter looked round and saw him.

"So," Neal asked awkwardly, as Mozzie scrambled around the rigging of the war balloon in a state of panic, "What exactly do you want to know?"

"Everything. Tell me everything. You can trust me."

And the thing was, Neal did trust him. It was all over anyway; there was no reason to hold back. So he told Peter everything and tried not to wince when Mozzie nearly knocked a window cleaner off his balcony. He told him all about the death threats on Mozzie and Alex, and how he had been forced to steal the Raphael and swap it for Mozzie's life. He told him about swapping the painting with Keller and trying to offer the microchip for Alex, and the surprise on Keller's face when he saw it. He explained how hurt he was that Alex had played him and tried to steal the microchip for herself, how scared he had been when Keller attacked him.

When he had finished, he and Peter sat in a contemplative silence.

"What I don't understand," Peter started, "is what your plan was. After you gave the painting to Keller, what were you going to do then?" Neal sat up a little straighter.

"I knew that you were following me, Peter." He held up a hand to stave off Peter's denial, "I knew that there was no way you would let me go to an art museum alone – I knew that you would be there watching. I also knew that you were good enough to follow me even when museum security and NYPD couldn't. I led you to the library. I let you call in Jones and the SWAT team. My plan was to give Keller the Raphael and the microchip, thereby ensuring the safety of my friends, and then scarper. You would burst in and arrest Keller with stolen property, my friends would be safe, and I would be free."

"But you're not. You're not free." Peter sounded disapproving. Neal hung his head.

"I know. I messed up. I underestimated Jones. He came in with that photobomb thing and I couldn't get away. It didn't help that Keller attacked me either – that definitely set my plans back."

"One last question," said Peter, crossing his legs and seemingly deep in thought, "Was it worth it? Was it worth turning your back on everything you'd achieved? You were reformed, Neal! You didn't have to do this. You could have told me about the death threats. The bureau would have handled it for you. But instead you took matters into your own hands! And looked what happened."

"It was worth it," Neal snapped, suddenly angry. "I saved Mozzie's life! His life is worth a spot of illegal activity."

"You're going to prison, Neal," hissed Peter, "I'm sorry, I didn't want to have to say this, but it's true. Your trial is tomorrow. There is overwhelming evidence against you. Because of this, you're going to rot in maximum security."

"It was worth it," he insisted. Peter stared at him, eyes glassy, almost as if he were fighting back tears.

"I don't want my son to go to prison. I don't think I've ever told him this, but… well, I love him." Neal swallowed the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat.

"I don't think that I've ever told my dad this, but I love him too." He leaned his head against Peter's shoulder, feeling oddly safe despite the threat of prison looming over him. "But I don't love my handler. I did what I had to do to save my friends. You should understand that!"

"You didn't save Alex." Peter deadpanned. "She betrayed you. Where is the microchip? If I don't have it by tomorrow, I lose my job and we would then lose the house. You're going to prison either way and it's not like Alex needs it. Give it to me!"

"I don't have it. I lost it during the fight."

It was the second outright lie he had uttered in the past five minutes. The microchip was tucked snugly into his sock.

Hey everyone, hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please drop me a review, I love reading them and hearing your thoughts, comments and suggestions! :)