Hi guys! Back with another chapter :)

We're getting close to the meeting with IA! Hooray! I had to watch the episode again and write down like twenty minutes of dialogue word for word, so I'm very excited to get to the actual meeting! I'm also planning to take this story past when Neal gets out of prison because I felt like there was a loooooot of h/c potential in the beginning of season 2 that the writers didn't jump on, so I'm gonna fill some of the gaps there too. Feel free to let me know if there's anything you guys would like to see too! :D

Thanks again to everyone reading, and especially to those who left reviews! Thank you thank you thank you, it means the world.

~cosette141


Peter rubbed his eyes, the coffee in the mug between his hands doing little to wake him up. He's never had trouble waking up in the early hours of the morning due to a phone call that lit up his nightstand, but his stress had been stealing sound sleep from him for days.

Peter took another sip of it, tilting his wrist to check the time. 7:25am. There were two other customers at this particular coffee shop, and Peter took a brief moment to wonder why anyone would get up at such an hour—on Sunday, no less—to do a crossword puzzle.

The door clanged a few bells as it opened and Peter turned to see Hughes walk in. It was a strange sight; the man Peter had only really known in a business suit was, instead, in jeans and a golf shirt. Much like Peter himself.

Hughes nodded to Peter and approached the table, sitting across from him. Before Peter could speak, his waiter appeared with a mug of coffee that he placed in front of Hughes, as well as a plate of simple breakfast.

"Thank you, Robert." said Hughes to the waiter.

"Just like clockwork, like ya always are," replied Robert, who smiled and walked away.

"You're here at 7:30 in the morning every Sunday?" asked Peter.

Hughes shrugged. "Early riser." He didn't touch the food or coffee, and instead gave Peter a rare look of concern. "I called you to see how you were." His brows shifted. "You don't look well, Peter."

Peter heaved a sigh. "I'm all right. Just ready for this all to be over." And lowering his voice a little, "Any sign of Fowler?"

"Peter," said Hughes, taking a sip from the mug. "I'm here as your friend, not your boss. This isn't about—"

"Please," said Peter, surprised by how desperate he sounded.

Hughes sighed. "No. Nothing yet."

Peter rubbed his temples.

"Have you been getting any sleep?" asked Hughes.

"Probably the same amount as Caffrey," said Peter dejectedly.

Hughes nodded at the mention of Neal. "You should know," said Hughes, "that the two guards he's been assigned are watching out for him. They stopped an attempted assault and adjusted the members of the group's sentences accordingly. You can trust that Caffrey's being well protected."

Peter nearly choked on his coffee at the word assault. That was one of the last words he expected to hear at this meeting. "Assault?" Peter forced out. Again? "When? What group?"

"Peter," said Hughes, looking increasingly more concerned for the younger agent; a look Peter hasn't often seen from Hughes. "Relax; he's fine. You did hear the word attempted, right?"

The words flew over Peter's head. "What group? Who did it?"

Hughes sighed, looking a little reluctant. "Avery. He and some others. But he was certainly leading the pack."

Avery.

Peter's blood burned.

Could this get any worse?

Peter shut his eyes, rubbing over them. God, he was tired, he was angry, and now he had to worry someone else he and Neal put it prison was going to try to attempt some kind of vengeance-

"Peter," said Hughes.

Peter blinked his eyes open.

"I know he's more than just a CI to you, Peter." said Hughes. "And as much as I tried to not like the kid, he's got a way with people." He took a sip of coffee. "I didn't just call you to see how you were; I mean, I did, but I also wanted you to know that reinstating the deal isn't a complete longshot."

That lifted Peter's brows.

"Remember when you brought this deal to my attention?" said Hughes. "Slapping a tracking anklet on one of the most elusive thieves in white collar history and purposefully letting him out of prison?"

Peter nodded. That was an interesting conversation for sure.

"Do you remember when I said no?"

Peter nodded, again.

"Ten times?"

A little quirk of a grin, and another nod.

"And do you remember what you said to change my mind?"

Peter lifted his head. He did.

"Reese… this one's different."

Hughes lifted his mug and took a sip. "The IA agents might be hard asses, but so am I." He lifted his eyes to Peter's, a little grin of his own quirking at his lips. "And even hard asses have a soft spot. You always seem to know how to find it. Irritating as it may be."

Peter smiled; one of his first in days. "Thanks, Reese."

Hughes pulled out a newspaper from his jacket and clicked a pen, opening it to the crosswords. "Go get some rest, Peter. God knows you need it, and IA will rather return a badge to someone who doesn't look dead on his feet."

Hughes began his own crossword, and Peter nodded and stood, dropping a twenty on the table.

He left the little shop, feeling just a little bit lighter and a little bit heavier as he did.


"Where were you so early?"

Peter closed the door and followed the voice that floated in from the kitchen. Elizabeth was making breakfast. It was just after nine o'clock.

"Hughes called for coffee," said Peter, walking around the kitchen island to give Elizabeth a kiss on the cheek and reached for the coffee pot to pour himself a mug.

"Everything okay?" asked Elizabeth, face falling a little. "You could have woken me up."

"No, no," said Peter quickly. "Everything's fine. He was just keeping me updated."

"Neal broken out of prison yet?" asked Elizabeth as she sat down at the dining room table.

Though sensitive the subject was, that made Peter cough a laugh. "No," he said, and he sobered as the word assault flitted back through his mind.

Just like it had the entire car ride home.

Peter joined her at the table, not exactly hungry after the visit with Hughes, which both made him feel worse and better. Better, for if Hughes believed he had a chance, he certainly did, and worse for even if Peter got the deal reinstated and Neal out of prison, that didn't erase the fact that someone tried to hurt Neal, and succeeded the first time.

"Peter."

Peter looked up from his mug. Elizabeth was ignoring her food and looking at him with concern.

The only look he seemed to be getting lately.

"Hm?" he asked.

"I know that look," said Elizabeth. "That's not a good look. What happened?"

Peter looked at her. So badly wanting to tell her how much it tore him apart that Neal was hurt, but just as badly wanting her to never find out. Instead, he opted to say, "I'm just… just worried about Neal. He's by himself, and he's probably a mess—"

A hand covered his. "I know." said Elizabeth softly.

"I just wish I could talk to him," said Peter. He rubbed at exhausted eyes with the hand Elizabeth wasn't holding.

"I know," she said, softer.

Peter ran a hand through his hair. "I have a day and a half to figure out what the hell I'm going to say at the meeting on Tuesday." He took another long sip of coffee, letting it burn its way down his throat. He looked at Elizabeth, giving her half a smile. "I think I need to go for a run."

Elizabeth rubbed her thumb over his hand. "From here to New Jersey?"

Peter sighed. "Maybe." He downed the rest of the caffeine, and with a meaningful grin toward her, he headed upstairs to change.

Elizabeth finished her breakfast, tapping her finger against her own mug, watching Peter leave.

She tapped her mug a few more times in consideration, then made up her mind.

Elizabeth put her dishes in the sink, and went upstairs to get ready.


"Neal… it's perfect!"

Neal smiled as Kate walked into the hotel room, like a child walking into Disney World. It was one of the nicer rooms of the hotel; he and she conned their way into it. A free vacation fit for a king and a queen.

Neal watched Kate take in the beauty of the expensively furnished room and he leaned against the wall, taking in her. It's only been a few months since the chaos with Adler. But this was the first time Neal managed to acquire enough cash and forge a very passable fake passport for Kate to take her out of the country for a very special trip. They were in Italy. One of his favorite places in the world.

Neal laughed a little as Kate excitedly ran to the doors that led to the balcony and she threw them open in delight. She then froze and gasped in a little breath.

A little worried, Neal pushed himself off the wall and rushed to the balcony. "Kate, what's-" But when he saw what she did, he froze too, his own breath catching.

The balcony opened into a vast view of Italian countryside. Hills and Tuscan trees dotted the horizon and follow the hills. A calm stream weaved through them, and underneath a rustic bridge in the distance.

Neal felt Kate's arms wrap around his waist and she hugged him gently, her eyes never leaving the sight. "I think this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Neal tore his gaze away to look at her, and he kissed the top of her head. His eyes on her, he said, "Yes, you are."

Kate laid her head on his chest, letting out a soft laugh.

"The only thing missing," said Neal, looking back toward the bridge, "is-"

But before he could finish, Kate released him, and went back into the bedroom. She returned with her purse, and from within it, she pulled out a bottle of Bordeaux.

Neal stared at her in shock. "Kate… is that…?"

She smiled wider. "My first heist? Why, yes, it is."

Neal stared at her in shock-out of the past few months, she'd accompanied him and Mozzie on their cons, but she'd never run her own, by herself.

Neal's shock morphed into a smile, warmth filling his chest more than any Tuscan sun could.

Neal opened his eyes.

The smile the dream left on his face faded as he stared at the concrete ceiling.

Just a dream.

Maybe it was always just a dream.

Neal breathed out. His hands shook. Clenching his jaw, Neal shut his eyes and tried to loosen the knot around his chest. He turned his head, seeing the coffee grounds in the tied filter that slipped out from under his pillow to the blanket right by his face. He smiled, despite himself. Ah. That's where the dream came from.

Neal thought back to that day, to that hotel, to that bridge. Seeing the beauty in something that was so far away, that he was almost sure was a mess if he saw it up close. They saw it the way they wanted to.

"I think there's a difference between loving the idea of someone, and actually loving who they really are."

Neal paused at Elizabeth's words. His smile faded a bit more.

But he remembered that day in Italy, that feeling, that pure joy. He and Kate both felt that joy that day. He didn't want to taint the memory with sadness and grief. Kate… she wouldn't want that, either.

"I hope you're there now," whispered Neal to the air, imagining the happiness in her face, walking up the stream, basking in the sun.

Neal stood slowly. His ribs had stiffened overnight, and he winced as they stung and burned. It wasn't as bad as it had been days ago, but it still wasn't pleasant.

Alan was waiting for him outside his cell. They exchanged a morning greeting, and mostly to distract from how slowly he was walking, Neal asked the man about his family. Several guards keep that information to themselves, but some weren't as closed off. Neal learned that Alan had a son, and that Alan himself was coach of his soccer team. Seems Neal's offhand thought about the man's friendly demeanor had been right on.

As Neal went through a morning routine of showering and joining several other inmates for breakfast, he tried not to think about how much of a routine it was. He used to go through that on autopilot. But it was different; sitting down to slightly-burnt toast and too-dry scrambled eggs, Neal tilted his body to shield from the two security cameras in the room, as well as Alan's view. Though Alan was more focused on watching the rest of the room than him, and Neal had a feeling that the man wouldn't care even if he did know.

Neal had grabbed two coffee cups, one of which he'd filled with boiling water. He pulled the coffee grounds from his sleeve, and set it open in the empty cup. He poured the water over the grounds, filling it to the brim. The aroma already warmed his chest. Once empty, Neal threw the used grounds and filter into a napkin to throw away. He'd smooth out the transition soon, making it even more invisible to the cameras. Neal's brows kneaded at the thought, like he was already planning his new prison routine, but he pushed it away and instead took a sip.

It was just like the first day at June's after leaving prison. It was more than just a beverage; it was a sense of freedom. And any rule he could break in here and get away with, the better.

Thank you, June.

Neal finished the cup, savoring the taste. He suddenly remembered Peter's face when he first found Neal at June's mansion, and heard that Neal was drinking Italian roast. The FBI agent had rolled his eyes until he tasted it. Neal grinned. He rested his case; the beverage had magical qualities.

Neal's grin faded a little. He missed Peter. He was surprised by how much he missed Peter. He knew Peter was suspended from his badge, so… why hadn't he come visit yet? Neal sighed; he probably had a reason. Peter Burke had a reason for everything.

But that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Neal was hardly finished with breakfast before Alan told him a few guards were waiting to take him to a visitation room.

Neal didn't exactly doubt that June would truly come back to visit him again, but… he wasn't used to people… wanting to see him. Especially two days in a row. He couldn't help but wonder what he did to deserve such a kind gesture.

Today's visit certainly lifted his spirits. It wasn't a heavy conversation like yesterday, as Neal was afraid, but instead, June came in with the goings-on with her grandchildren. Her granddaughter was doing well in her college art classes, and one of her pieces was actually going to be shown in an art show. Her grandson was still playing soccer and his team was heading for their playoffs.

Neal took the opportunity to ask about her family, realizing he never did. Though she never asked about his family, but he took it as respecting his privacy. Neal learned that June and Byron had two children, a boy and a girl, who were in their forties now. Her son lived on the other side of the country, and was an accountant. But by the way she said 'accountant' as if with air quotes, that almost no one but himself or Mozzie would have caught, it led Neal to believe that her son also colored outside the lines, and she was very proud. Her daughter was a freelance artist, which she believes explains her granddaughter's talent.

More than anything, the conversation was an enormous distraction from the out of control spinning in his head. And Neal knew June knew what she was doing.

And it only made him love her even more.

After bidding June a goodbye-with another promise to see him tomorrow morning-Neal returned to his cell.

Immediately, he checked his sleeve, finding another wrapped filter of coffee grounds. Neal grinned, hiding the coffee beneath the pillow. He straightened painfully back up, turning to look at the wall of tallies.

The meeting with IA was Tuesday. Less than two days away, now.

The meeting that would decide whether he goes back to his new life, or he stays in this one for years and years and years...

Alan knocked on the wall beside his open cell door. Neal looked up, pulling his shaking hands to his sides.

"You're popular today," said Alan. "Someone else's waiting to see you in visitation."

Peter?

Grateful to have broken the stream of negative thought, Neal followed Alan out of his cell.

Please be Peter.


"How'd you know?"

Elizabeth felt her heart quicken a bit, being led through a few hallways inside the prison. Though she'd done nothing wrong and she was only here for a short time, she could imagine the fear of having to be trapped here. The idea of Neal being trapped here… just didn't seem right.

"You and Peter."

More than once over the past few days, she's heard herself tell Mozzie and Peter that Neal has them, that Neal needs them.

"Goodbye, Elizabeth."

But the more thought she gave it, the more she realized that Neal didn't tell Peter goodbye.

But he'd told her.

Someone as careful, someone as intricate as Neal Caffrey didn't do something for the sake of doing it. He did things with meaning behind them. He did things because of the meaning behind them.

Which is why, the day Peter came home after Neal asked for the deal, she didn't think it was such a bad idea. He'd served his four years sentence, and considering the fact that he he escaped so easily, he'd proven that he could have escaped any of those four years he was incarcerated. He chose to stay. He only left to chase the love of his life.

He committed a serious federal offense, but he didn't hurt anyone, and he did it for love.

And, sure, Elizabeth would admit. It was romantic.

He wasn't some scumbag hurting people for the hell of it.

She was starting to see that criminal didn't always equal bad guy.

She'd certainly spent time with Neal over the past year he'd worked with Peter, certainly gained a new friend in Mozzie, and one in Neal. She'd always thought of how she felt about him, but never spent time to wonder if he thought anything of her. To be honest with herself, she believed that Neal wouldn't have missed her, had he left for real.

"How'd you know?"

But he'd called her. And not just to say goodbye-he'd called to ask her a question that he could have asked anyone.

And that question certainly kept her up at night, right alongside Peter.

"Elizabeth… You and Peter. How'd you know?"

It was spoken casually, but Elizabeth knew it took a lot for him to ask. For Neal-someone whose profession relied on him pretending he knew everything.

And she remembered what she said back.

"I think there's a difference between loving the idea of someone, and actually loving who they really are."

Something in her knew that wasn't the answer he wanted to hear, but it was the answer he'd already come up with himself.

Why ask if he already knew?

And above all…

Why ask her?

Did Neal really value her opinion over his own? Over Peter's?

So, maybe, all this time… she was overlooking someone else Neal needed.

"Right this way, Mrs. Burke."

Elizabeth blinked; the guard that had been leading her through the prison was holding a door open to a room with a sign that read: VISITATION. She breathed out, and nodded, holding her coat tight in her arms.

She walked inside, seeing the lone table in the room, and the locked door behind it.

Would he want to see her?

Elizabeth sat down slowly on the seat, hearing the door close behind her, making her feel just a little colder.

And Neal spent four years here.

Was this a mistake?

She wasn't exactly close with him. Would he even want her here?

He called me.

He called me.

Sounds tore her from the rush of thoughts racing in her head, and she clasped her fingers together as the lock in the door sounded and unlatched. The door opened, followed by a guard and-

Neal.

Elizabeth nearly lost her breath.

It was Neal, she knew it was-but it wasn't the person she'd grown to know. This Neal wasn't the guise of perfected confidence. This Neal was… this Neal was

Different.

If she thought she'd been shocked to see him, it was nothing compared to the shock on his face. He blinked a few times as the chains were released from him, almost as if he wasn't sure if she was really there. She took the moment to see him - pale, haggard, and the word broken seemed to fit him unnaturally well.

The guards left them alone, but Neal didn't move. He seemed to take a second to find his voice, and when he did, he asked, "Elizabeth?"

She felt a bit more out of place at his shock. But she found her own voice, saying quietly, "Hi, Neal."

Neal slowly made his way to the table, even slower lowering himself to the bench. He looked as uncomfortable as she feared he was.

But when he lifted his head, she was stunned to see the haggard look in his eyes had disappeared, and he was giving her a charming smile. The stark difference within seconds nearly stole her breath a second time. This Neal was the one she remembered, the one she knew.

It was just clear to her now that this Neal wasn't Neal at all.

"Just in the neighborhood, Elizabeth?" asked Neal casually. And if Elizabeth didn't know better, she might have believed the question was genuinely lighthearted. But she saw the question in it; he didn't know what brought her here, and he wasn't going to let down any guard until he knew what did.

Elizabeth swallowed. "I came to… see how you were doing… here."

Neal dropped his eyes to the table, leaning back slightly. She knew that look. Searching for a lie.

Peter was right; she was spending too much time with Mozzie.

Neal sighed. "I mean," he said, lifting his eyes back to hers. She could hardly see the blue behind the mask he constructed. "It's not the Four Seasons."

Elizabeth smiled awkwardly. "Right," she said, feeling her own discomfort. "Peter doesn't know I'm here." she blurted out. But the bluntness served a purpose-the mask over his eyes slipped a little as he cocked his head in surprise of the diverted topic.

"I'm flattered," said Neal with a grin. "But I didn't think I was your type."

Elizabeth leveled him with half a glare. She let the joke slide, and instead said, "I don't think he would want me to tell you how he's been." she admitted, and the forced spark in Neal's eyes faded away. "He was ordered by Hughes not to contact you," she said quietly.

That got a response. Neal sat back a little, clasping his hands on the table. And if she wasn't mistaken, it looked like a weight lifted from his shoulders. "So," said Neal to the table, mostly to himself, "that's why, then."

Elizabeth heard the words he didn't say.

That's why he hasn't come.

It hurt her to realize Neal has been waiting.

"It's killing him," she said quickly, hating the dark look in Neal's eyes. His gaze lifted to hers, with another slight confusion in his eyes.

Not like he didn't believe her.

Like he didn't understand how it could be true.

And it broke her heart, just a little bit.

"He's worried about you," she said. "I've never seen him this stressed out."

Neal looked up, brows quirked in puzzlement. He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, then thought. Then, eyes back on her, he asked, "Really?"

God, he looked so young.

"Really," she said with a sad smile. "All he's been talking about for the past week was this meeting with Internal Affairs. He's not going down without a fight. And we know Peter; he's a stubborn man."

Neal smiled a little. "He thinks they'll…?" He left the question hanging, like he wasn't sure he wanted to ask it. Like he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

"He does," she said. "And I do, too."

Neal's eyes find the table again, and Elizabeth hesitates in the silence.

"I want to thank you again," she said cautiously, "for the favor at the museum. It's amazing, Neal."

Neal lifted his eyes. Seriously, he said, "It was the least I could do."

Elizabeth cocked her head. "Was it a… legal… favor?"

Neal just raised an eyebrow. "You do realize they record these meetings, right?"

Elizabeth froze. Oops.

Neal laughed a little. "Lucky for you, it was. I actually do know somebody."

Elizabeth smiled too.

A little more silence descended, and Elizabeth wrestled with words sitting on her tongue until she said, "Peter's not the only one… worried about you." She watched his eyes cloud just a little bit more as he watched her. "I'm sorry about…" She didn't say her name, because she was sure Neal would have a hard time hearing it.

Neal nodded, his eyes dropping back to the table, pulling his clasped hands off the surface to his lap.

Why did you call me?

Elizabeth sighed a little, shoving the question down. As badly as she wanted to know, she didn't want to pour salt into a fresh wound.

"I just…" she began, trying to choose her words. Neal lifted his head. "I just want you to know that you're not alone. You have Peter, and you have me. And we're not going anywhere."

Neal's eyes dropped from hers again, but that ghost of a smile was back on his face, giving his pale skin just a little color of life. "Thanks," he said, lifting his gaze back to hers.

"If you…" Elizabeth swallowed, trying gently, "if you need someone, anyone, to talk to… about anything, you can talk to me."

Neal just nodded, the haze in his eyes clearing a little. "I know."

"How'd you know?"

And maybe, Elizabeth realized, Neal already did know that.

"You were right, by the way."

Her heart beating a little faster, Elizabeth looked back up at him. His words were quiet, and not exactly directed at her, more at the corner of the table. He didn't elaborate, but somehow, Elizabeth knew he was talking about it.

Her gaze softened a little, watching as his eyes didn't leave the corner of that table. Without looking at her, he said, even more quietly, "It wasn't real."

Elizabeth felt her chest tighten, hearing the pain underlying the words. She hesitated, then sat up a little, fingering the cubic-zirconia pendant of the necklace she was wearing. "On one of my first dates with Peter," she said, and Neal lifted his head, the cloud in his eyes thinning again at the diversion of the topic, "he took me to a baseball game. And outside was this little fair, with a few of those arcade games. He won me this necklace, and probably paid ten times its worth in an attempt to win it," she said with a smile on her face at the memory. "We were there for almost an hour. Peter had this personal vendetta against the machine that was clearly rigged against him. Must have been the cop in him." Elizabeth laughed a little, and looked up at Neal, who was listening with curiosity. "He's bought me a couple diamond necklaces over the years, but I love this one the most. He went to war on that machine for me, and it was one of the most romantic things he's ever done." Her smile faded a little, and she let genuinity deepen her words. "Something doesn't need to be real for you to love it."

Neal held her gaze, the cloud thinning a bit more. The person behind the mask showing through the crack.

And maybe she's realizing the same for herself, watching the man she once thought she knew, and loved like family, and knowing that she's hasn't truly seen him until now.

Knowing he'd appreciate a change in topic, Elizabeth said, "The Retrospective event at the Channing Museum is in a few months," she said with a little smile. "I want you to come with me. Okay?"

Neal looked at her, a question in his face.

"When you're back on the anklet," she said, matter-of-factly, "working with Peter and causing him mischief, you're spending a night with me at the museum. Okay?"

She knew what he was thinking, but she wasn't going to let him go there. He's going to get out of here.

Neal's eyes slowly lifted to hers. "Peter's not going to mind that you're taking me instead of him?"

"Peter would give you a thousand dollars to go with me instead of him."

That got her a little laugh, and she felt a spark of satisfaction. Neal let out a breath, then nodded slowly. "Okay. It's a date."

Elizabeth smiled. "Good."

At that moment, there was a knock on the door and the two guards were back. But one look back at Neal, she saw a little more color in his pale face, and a little more life in his brokenness.

But he was still smiling, just a little.

And in her eyes, she's done what's she's come here to do.

"Thanks for coming, Elizabeth," said Neal, seriously. "And…" he hesitated, standing for the guards, seeming like he wasn't sure if he wanted to say something or not, when he finished quietly, "...for everything." His gaze found hers, his eyes a blue canvas, not a cloud in the sky.

"Anytime," she said honestly. "I'll see you soon, Neal."

He nodded, not exactly looking like he shared her optimism as they slapped the chains back on him, but the color her visit added to his face didn't fade.

And that was enough to add a little color back to hers.

-.-.-.