Hi guys!

Back with a quick update as promised. :) Thank you to those who are reading, and especially to those who leave reviews! You have no idea how much I appreciate you taking the time. Thank you so much!

Hope you enjoy this one!

~cosette141

"Damn!"

Neal couldn't help the grin that slid onto his pale face as he snatched the king from Bobby's side of the chess board.

"Checkmate."

Neal had—quite painfully—tossed and turned for a few hours after his rude awakening, hardly getting any more sleep that didn't include the plane exploding over and over again. Morning had come slow. June stayed true to her word and paid him a visit, armed with light stories and distraction. He knew she could tell he was exhausted, but she didn't let on. And for that he was grateful. She promised to return tomorrow, no matter what.

Neal tried not to think about tomorrow.

So when he was sitting in his cell for the hour afterward, not thinking about tomorrow, over and over again, Bobby paid him a visit and asked him to a game of chess.

Across the table, Bobby shook his head, smiling but mock-irritated. "Damn, Neal," he said, setting his pieces back on the board. "That's five in a row. You beat me in six moves! How is that even possible?"

Neal chuckled. "You're playing with a conman, Bobby."

Bobby leveled Neal with a meaningful gaze. "Yeah, but you wouldn't cheat me. You're a bad guy, but not that bad a guy."

Neal lifted a brow, and gestured to the other inmates in the recreational room. "Then why am I here?"

"Like you kept saying," said Bobby, putting his last piece back in the flanks on his side. "You turned yourself in."

Neal smiled, setting up his chess team again. "Wouldn't lie to you."

"I know." Bobby made the first move, taking a moment to contemplate it. "This reminds me of old times. Every Monday and Friday we'd do this."

Neal froze with his hand on a pawn, feeling his fingers shake. He quickly moved it forward, not caring that he didn't think it through and left it vulnerable. He quickly clasped his hands under the table.

It was Monday.

For some reason, the reminder of a prison habit he held for four years was suddenly all too familiar.

"Neal? You okay there?"

Neal blinked, seeing his pawn off the board and Bobby looking at him funny. "Either you played me into a trap cause your king is open, or something's goin' on up there." He used Neal's pawn to tap his own temple.

Neal sighed. "Just tired." Which was not a lie. Then, a spark in his eye, "Or it is a trap."

Bobby let out his own breath as Neal made a move and he reexamined the board. "You're worried about the meeting, huh?"

Neal didn't bother questioning how the slightly older man knew. His emotions were written all over his skin at this point. "People holding it are not my biggest fans."

"Neither was Peter."

Neal lifted a brow even as he made quick work of Bobby's move and took a knight. "That's different."

"How?"

"I had the chance to wear Peter down." said Neal simply, moving a piece to protect his king. "These people decide my fate without me even there."

"Well," said Bobby, staring at the board in consideration, "for what it's worth, you're not the first conman to try charming a Fed for the deal you made with Peter. That was the first time I've seen it work."

Bobby made a move that took out Neal's king's protection. Neal made a new move to protect it again. He was backed into a corner. Only half paying attention to what he was saying, he replied, "That's because Peter's different."

Bobby took out Neal's last protection. "Maybe it's because you are."

Neal lifted his head, seeing the sincere look in Bobby's eyes. It deepened as Bobby said, "I've been here twelve years," he said, "and I haven't played chess with anyone else."

Neal smiled, adding the tiniest splash of color onto a black and white canvas. He lifted his hand to turn over his king. "And looks like you finally won."

But at the same time Neal turned over his king to surrender, Bobby did the same to his own. They both hit the board at the same moment. Neal looked at him in surprise. "What are you doing? You won."

Bobby started clearing the board. "Nope. I was only playing against half of your attention. Doesn't count. We'll call this one a draw."

Neal raised a brow, that smile tilting his lips. "Thanks. For the game." he said softly. Sincerely. "That half of my attention was better off for it."

"I know," said Bobby, folding the board up. "And after you reinstate your deal with Peter, I'm gonna win a game versus all of it."

Neal just smiled.

Neal had never found prison life to have a quick clock but today—the entire past week—has it only been a week?—had gone by slower than he could ever remember a minute going. His visit from June and his game with Bobby helped him out of the darkness, welcome distractions, but they had long worn off by now.

Neal picked at the food on his tray in the cafeteria, sitting alone in the corner. Out of view by most entrances and beneath a dim light that needed changing. From here, he could still see Donny standing at the entrance across from him, watching the room with a hawk-like gaze.

If tomorrow went well, he wouldn't have to search for a dark corner to eat a meal.

He wouldn't have to hide a sip of a quality beverage.

He wouldn't have to play the camera angles in his own room so that they wouldn't see the worst of his pain.

More than anything he just wanted to be completely, truly free.

Back on the anklet didn't mean free, as he was only "free" with conditions, but…

...it was freer than this.

His ribs still beat a steady rhythm of pain from his morning wake up call, making eating sound far less appetizing than normal. But he forced himself to eat some anyway.

It was when a chair pulled out next to him at his table and an unfamiliar man sat beside him that made Neal tense.

He froze, only darting his eyes to the man beside him, who was donned in the same orange jumpsuit and putting down his own tray of food. The man didn't seem to notice Neal's cautious gaze on him, and simply ate.

It wasn't something that hasn't happened before in prison, someone joining the same table he was sitting at.

But it usually didn't raise the hair on the back of his neck.

Or maybe he was just paranoid?

Shifting his eyes to see Donny still in the doorway, eyes now locked dangerously on the man beside Neal, Neal allowed himself to relax a little.

"Yeah, you got him now."

Neal turned his gaze sharply back to the man, who spoke without looking at him. "Do I know you?" asked Neal, voice cutting harshly. Harsher than he intended, but he was getting really sick of being scared.

"No," said the man, taking a bite of food. "But I know you."

Neal felt the threat in his tone and shifted his eyes to Donny, almost to make sure the man was still there. He was. Still watching.

"Snitches don't do well here, ya know."

Neal felt his back stiffen. "I've never done anything to you."

The man turned his head, looking at him for the first time. "Not to me. But to my friends, here, you have. I don't much like someone rattin' out their own kind. There's an honor among this kind. Seems like you'd do well to be taught that honor."

The tension in his muscles was doing nothing to help the pain in his midsection. Neal tried to ignore the chill running down his spine. I don't have to listen to this. He stood, seeing Donny watching the man carefully. Neal started to leave.

"Like I said," the man went on, something in his tone pulling Neal to a stop. "You got him now. But if your little meeting tomorrow doesn't go well…" If Neal was any more tense he'd break in half. "Well," the man said, "I'd assume you'd be here for quite a while. And those cheerleaders you got yourself aren't gonna stay here for years. City ain't payin' them to babysit." An icy chill swept down Neal's spine, and he saw the man give him a grin. "Don't worry. We'll be here for ya when they ain't."

Neal walked away, moving faster than his ribs wanted him to but he didn't care. He passed Donny as he went through the doorway, who was still glaring dangerously at the man still eating at Neal's table.

Dammit, Peter, please get me out of here.

Peter stood still, motionless, as he looked across the empty hangar.

He was alone and the hangar was empty. The plane—or what was left of it—had been moved days ago. To be sifted through piece by piece and logged as evidence. And looking out over the hangar, it looked as if nothing was wrong. It was calm, a clean slate. The smoke had cleared.

He couldn't exactly say the metaphorical smoke has done the same just yet.

His head was still turned around in a million ways, bent in ways it shouldn't bend and thick with a haze he couldn't see through. Questions turned themselves over, looking for answers he didn't have. Peter had spent most of the day going over his preparations for the meeting with the IA tomorrow morning, having gone over every question he assumed they'd ask, and what he was planning to respond with. The entire day had been about questions, whether the ones IA was sure to ask him or the ones Peter's been asking himself all week—some, for much longer than that.

But only one question brought him here today. Back to the hangar.

Only one question stumped him more than the rest.

Only one question demanded an answer more desperately than the others.

"Peter…"

He'd been on his way to that plane. On his way toward her. He'd made his decision. Peter had been sure. He was simply too late; Neal had made his choice and there was nothing Peter could say to change his mind.

But then he stopped.

And he turned.

And for one of the first times since Peter's known him, he saw something he's never seen Neal do.

Neal hesitated.

For a split second, the charming mask Neal always hid behind slipped. And there was something behind it—something that wasn't sure. And to see that from Neal—the man who was so sure of everything that even nature doubted itself—was surreal. Neal had a crack in his armor and Peter managed to put it there.

"Peter…"

Peter shut his eyes, hearing Neal's voice in his head, saying his name. He opened them, seeing the empty hangar, his mind's eye replaying his memory on the scene before him. Seeing Neal's hesitancy. Just for a moment.

And in the second just after, the plane exploded.

And so did the moment.

Peter blinked and the memory faded away. But the question—that desperate question—remained:

What were you going to tell me?

It could have been anything. Knowing Neal, the man who was just as predictable as he was unpredictable, Peter's guesses were just that; guesses. Neal could have been about to apologize; maybe guilt from skipping his goodbye with the agent finally caught up to him. Maybe it was an amends to clear the air before he left forever.

Or maybe…

He was going to stay.

Peter had made him stop. Twice. He'd thrown a wrench into Neal's plan. Peter knew with certainty that the younger man had not expected to care about his new life with the FBI. And Peter knew he did, far more than he let on.

And, maybe, Neal wasn't the only one surprised that this deal was more than just a success on the closing rate.

Peter had always loved his job—it was more a calling, a purpose, than a monotonous clock in and clock out position to him. But these past few months with Neal at his side… he'd never been so excited to do his job. Not only because they managed to get further on cases with Neal's help, but because maybe a part of him could see that change in Neal. Could see the good shining through. He was seeing Neal use his brilliance in a way that helped others, and himself.

And, maybe, because he was beginning to see Neal less as a worthy adversary, less as a highly intelligent sidekick, and more of a…

...friend.

And maybe that's why he drove even more recklessly than usual after shooting Fowler to get to the hangar on time. Maybe that's why his chest had been tight and his fingers had been white as they clenched the wheel.

Maybe that's why Neal stopping and turning flared hope in Peter's chest, and why it still haunted him those words Neal didn't say.

Peter blinked at the empty hanger. The sun was dropping in the sky, taking the warmer temperatures with it. Peter zipped his jacket, giving the hangar a last look.

"You told everyone goodbye but me. I just want to know why."

"You know why."

Peter felt himself smile as he remembered.

"You're the only one who could change my mind."

Peter put his questions aside. First things first, he had to keep his promise to Neal. He was going to get him out of prison. The IA were not Neal's biggest fans, but like the man said, Hughes hadn't been either. Peter knew Neal best and he knew the best in Neal. All he had to do was convince the IA to take another chance on him.

Peter knew, out of everyone in the world, he was the only one who could change their mind.

"Did I?"

Did I change your mind?

Something told Peter that he did.

And if he could convince Neal Caffrey, world class thief and forger, to stay in this little life they made him here, he could convince a handful of agents in a room to let him.

a/n: we finally made it, guys! the next chapter is the IA meeting. Not sure when I'll get it finished, but that's where we're headed. :) thanks for reading and see you soon!