Slowly but steadily, the rescue team moved in.

The early morning air was cool, a soft mist weighing over them. Barely past daybreak, everything was covered with a layer of dampness.

It was a small but strong team that Gerry lead. It was a group he had worked with many times before and trusted. With better weather today than a day earlier, and confidence in their coordinates, they had finally been able to identify a safe place to land the helicopter. Things felt like they were on a right track.

Touching down on solid ground was their biggest first accomplishment. Despite his assurance to Hughes and the rest of the team back at the office upon their departure, that milestone of a safe landing was not one he took for granted but one he was happy to have behind him. Even considering to attempt that feat on the previous day would have been futile with the weather and lack of daylight in these thick woods. Open space to allow a landing was scarce. An overhead search had been the only option possible. And that had proved less than fruitful.

"Keep your eyes out, men!" Gerry coached his team as they moved forward. "The coordinates haven't changed much in the last hour – if they are with that tracker, then they're going to be nearby!"

The tracker. What were the chances. It wasn't often that the Bureau happened to be accompanied in the field by a CI in custody that was sporting such a convenient device. If not for that CI and his Marshal sponsored hunk of metal, the only clue they would have of their location would be the coordinates of their previous aircraft before losing contact. And according to the latest tracker numbers, they weren't quite nearby that aircraft any longer.

Four men was all he had. The pilot had stayed behind with the helicopter. This was all they had room for, despite others' interest in joining them, such as Diana. He had sensed her unspoken disappointment when he declined her offer to come along based on their capacity. He knew all they wanted was to help – he knew the feeling.

Two of the men with him were trained medics. He had specifically chosen them for that reason. They weren't sure what they were going to find, or in what state the men might be in – the events of the last day were a mystery. It was unclear what had happened to their original transport, with an inability to make contact with that vehicle or pilot. Gerry could only presume whatever issue they had encounted was weather related. That was the extent he would make assumptions. He had no intel on whether the men were injured. Diana was unable to tell from her extremely brief contact with Peter.

Gerry had only met Peter once. It was a few years back, on another case. The meeting was brief, but he had liked the man. He hadn't really had a chance to speak much to him then – then again, the man hadn't offered much of an opportunity for chitchat that day given they were in the middle of another high profile, time sensitize case back then.

White Collar, he thought wryly. Since when was this part of the Bureau scoring all the action?

Even though the interaction was limited, and Gerry was certain he wouldn't be remembered, he had respected the way Peter interacted with the broader team. He was happy to be contributing now to helping Peter out in some way.

Where they had landed the helicopter was still several hundred yards from where the signal had last been detected. So while landing was an accomplishment, the next one would be actually locating their targets now that feet were on the ground. It was a delicate balance between getting as close as possible, but still finding a spot that meant landing (and take-off) safety protocols were fulfillled.

He hoped Peter would also make the job easier for them – the sound of landing would not have gone unnoticed, and presumably Peter was expecting help to arrive. If he was able, he would likely move towards their location.

They'd been moving at a pretty swift pace for several minutes, and so far they'd discovered nothing more than the scenery. The woods were thick with trees, their canopy overhead creating the appearance of a darker time of day. The ground was muddy.

It was just a few minutes later that Gerry heard the shout from a member of his team.

"Over here!"

The voice wasn't too far away up ahead. He increased his pace to more of a jog, dodging around trees and bushes as he went.

Within a minute he had found the rest of his small team.

In front of them was another individual, standing in the near distance beside a tree. His appearance was disheveled and dirty. At first glance, he blended in with the terrain. But despite the tousled hair that fell onto his dirt smudged face and the torn and ragged looking clothing, Gerry noted that the general height and build of the person seemed to match the description of the CI they were expecting to find.

"Hands in the air!" a member of his team shouted. That same person had his gun carefully pointed ahead of them at this individual.

The individual slowly raised his arms, the effort appearing to be onerous. His hands were as dirty as his face. As he lifted his arms, he also turned his head slightly, calling behind him to the trees. "Uh, hey – Peter?"

"Face forward," Gerry's team instructed. "Identify yourself."

The other person followed their instructions slowly, turning back to face them with a somewhat pained look on his face.

While Gerry was fairly certain who this person was, before confirming that identity their treatment of him was fairly standard protocol. They could never make an assumption – they didn't know who else they'd be dealing with out here, civilian or otherwise. It was completely unknown territory.

While they weren't expecting anyone other than their two targets in such a remote location, stranger things had happened. The team's safety was priority until the targets could be confirmed.

The ragged individual kept his hands raised, though his arms appeared to be wavering. "Are you guys with the FBI?" he asked them. "It's about time."

Gerry took a few steps forward. He kept his own weapon holstered. "Are you Neal Caffrey?"

Before there was time for a response, another figure was quickly approaching from the near distance. Within seconds, he was side by side with the first individual. While his appearance was similarly disheveled, Gerry could tell right way that it was Peter. He looked quite in contrast to their last interaction, but it was undoubtedly him.

"Special Agent Peter Burke," came his loud introduction confirming what Gerry already knew. Peter had his own hands partially raised, palms out. "You can put your weapons away."

"At ease," Gerry told his men.

The two members of the team that had weapons raised immediately obeyed and now lowered them.

"Agent Burke," Gerry began, offering a smile. He took a few steps forward in the mud. "We were hoping that was you on the other side of these coordinates. I'm glad we were able to locate you so quickly."

"Quickly?" came the sarcastic, almost prickly response from the other man beside Peter. It was barely audible, but Gerry didn't miss it. He looked at the man discernibly, but his expression was tough to read. His arms had dropped to his side.

"So are we," Peter responded. He gestured beside him. "This is Neal."

"Thought so. Well, I apologize we couldn't get here sooner," Gerry continued, partially addressing Neal's comment. "The conditions weren't in our favor, though I'm sure there's no consolation in hearing that considering the lack of shelter out here." He paused and looked behind him to locate a particular member of his team. "Dave," he spoke. "Step back and call it in, will you?"

Dave voiced an affirmative. He began a light jog back towards their arrival point.

Gerry then turned back to look between the two men, taking in their appearance. His first impression was that they were a bit battered, but not badly injured which was a relief. Most obvious was their exhaustion. "Assume you're both mobile?" he asked. "Any injuries that require immediate attention?"

"No. We're both mobile," Peter replied. "It's all only superficial."

"Good to hear. Now before we move – We were expecting the two of you, but is there anyone else out here we need to be aware of?" Gerry continued.

"No," Peter responded.

At the same time, Neal responded, "Yes."

Gerry didn't miss the strange look that passed between the two men as they looked at each other cautiously, conflicting responses noticed by all. The look that the two of them exchanged was as though they were mentally directing some kind of message to one another. Something they didn't want spoken out loud. Gerry frowned.

"Neal…" Peter said softly but gravely.

Neal stared back at him for only a moment, his own expression equally grim. He then turned his attention to Gerry. "There's a person we left behind," he stated. "Ed Donovan." He paused. "He is – I mean, he was…. He was our pilot."

Gerry mentally noted this. Of course. The pilot. After all, they hadn't arrived out here unaccompanied. "Was," he echoed. "I take it that Mr. Donovan is deceased?"

"He is," Neal affirmed, clearly bothered by either the question or fact.

"Are you certain?"

Neal nodded. He looked over again at Peter. "No doubt about it," he stated matter-of-factly. He didn't elaborate further.

Peter said nothing, mouth a thin line.

Gerry looked from one to the other. They were both hard to read. "The pilot. Alright. And there's no one else?" he persisted.

"No one," Peter replied firmly.

Gerry looked from Peter to Neal. Neal, solemn, said nothing through words nor expression.

"Alright," Gerry acknowledged with a nod. "I'm sure it was a long night for you guys. Let's head back to the chopper, and we can finally get you guys out of here." He gestured them forward and started to take a step back.

"What about Ed?" Neal asked.

Gerry paused and studied him for a moment. "I've been told there's a separate crew planning to make a recovery the aircraft," he said slowly. "I'll make them aware of the situation. I, uh, assume he's still with the vehicle?"

"He is," Peter replied.

Gerry nodded. "He will be taken care of." He eyed Neal, who looked a little skeptical. "I'll personally ensure it." Then he paused and asked, "How did the aircraft go down, if you don't mind me asking?"

Peter and Neal both paused. Neal's eyes went towards Peter again. It seemed once again there was a lot being conveyed though unspoken between them.

"It was very sudden," Peter replied. His tone was a bit wary, almost purposefully vague.

"I'm sure." Gerry waved a hand in the air dismissively. No doubt it wasn't an experience they wanted to recount – at least not here before they were even able to leave this place. "Forget it. I'm not here to question you guys. I'm just here for the extraction. Now let's get out of here."

'Out of here' wasn't back to the city.

Out of here was a detour to a nearby hospital. Following strict instructions, Gerry had explained.

Peter was impatient to that fact, but he didn't object.

It was an uneventful helicopter ride. Few words were exchanged. It was too loud to really have a conversation anyway. This time the headsets they wore were purely for noise cancelation and not wired to pick up any audio.

Peter's mind was on overdrive during the short ride. He wasn't sure about Neal. Neal was hard to read, and he primarily stared out the window.

Peter felt on edge. Inside the aircraft was a warmer environment than they'd had in a long time. He still felt cold, wet, and unprepared.

His thoughts centered around Dean, left behind. Unknown to their rescue crew. A whole world beneath the forest floor that was out of sight.

"Can I get a phone?" was Peter's first question when they were back on land.

Gerry acknowledged the question but was also slightly dismissive. "Definitely," he stated. "As soon as you're inside, they can give you a phone. We've already let the Bureau know where you are."

The Bureau was only part of Peter's concern. He wanted to hear Elizabeth's voice. He didn't know what she knew. He was supposed to have been home the night before. He didn't know what she might have been told.

He appreciated that there were orders to ensure they were not seriously injured, but Peter was anxious to get back to the city. There was too much he needed to do. And before that, he wanted more than anything to see that his wife and his home were unscathed. He didn't trust Dean and the plan had him feeling very uneasy. He knew he had to figure out a way to address next steps and put an end to this plot of his. He just hadn't figured out exactly how to do that yet.

He was also exhausted. It wasn't lost on him that neither he nor Neal had slept in a prolonged period of time. Nor had they eaten. The only water that had been available to them was that of the rain.

For the first time, Peter realized he was hungry.

Peter considered this and remained relatively quiet while sitting in the small hospital exam room, shirtless and fatigued.

A doctor examined him, asking basic questions while reviewing the vitals previously noted by a nurse on a clipboard and peering into his eyes with a penlight. He responded truthfully but briefly. He knew he had a concussion, he knew he was bruised, and he knew he was dehydrated. He also knew there was no treatment beyond rest, some fluids, and restricted activity.

None of these comments surprised him.

None of these ailments required a prolonged stay or treatment. Nor did he think a more thorough exam was required. He was anxious to get this stage over with and to get going.

In another room nearby, he knew Neal had been treated to the same exam and a similar line of questioning. He was certain that he felt the same way, and wondered at his own patience. Neal had previously made it clear his opinion of medical treatment.

"Your ribs," was the next comment from the doctor, bringing Peter back in again from his thoughts. "If you breathe in for me and hold it… Then let it out, how's it feel? The bruising here… I'm concerned that –"

"I doubt they're fractured," Peter interjected, knowing where the doctor was going with this. "Bruised, but nothing more than that."

"Can you breathe in for me?"

Peter sighed but then did as instructed. It pained him, but he maintained a stoic expression nonetheless. After a few deep breaths in and out, forcing himself to appear unbothered, he looked for a reaction from the doctor.

"Pain level?" the doctor asked.

"Minimal," he replied. "You can wrap me up if you want, but I'm sure it'll be fine."

"We don't recommend compression wraps for ribs any more," the doctor replied monotonously. "We can offer some pain medication. For your ribs, and your head. I'm sure you're in pain."

Peter didn't respond. He thought again of Elizabeth. Did she know their aircraft had gone down? Did she know he was now at a hospital?

"I'm sure you'll be relieved to hear my primary recommendation for you is rest," the doctor continued. "I also recommend you get checked out again in the next couple of days... If there's any bleeding, or if you develop any other symptoms—"

"Got it," Peter noted. "I appreciate it, Doctor."

"You and your friend are quite fortunate," the doctor noted. "I've treated a few other helicopter crash victims, and the fact you've walked away from that with minor injuries is really remarkable."

Peter nodded. The doctor had no idea the extent of their experience after that crash. The crash was a long ago memory by now. There were more pressing matters. "And Neal is okay? Did you see him?"

"Yes," the doctor replied. He made a final note on his clipboard and then looked up again at Peter. "You'll both be ready to leave before you know it. But tell me this… He didn't give me much insight into the burn marks. Do you know where those came from?"

Peter felt confused. His brow furrowed. "Burn marks?" he repeated. "Sorry?"

"He has this marks," the doctor persisted. He gestured his hand over his abdomen to indicate the vicinity of the injury. "They're like burns, and they are very recent. They appear to be inflicted from a stun gun, or a taser? Do you know when that would have happened?"

Peter felt his mouth go dry. The question rang in his ears. Burns? He frowned further.

"I can see that it's not something you were aware of…" the doctor responded. He frowned himself. "I asked him about it, but he didn't give much a response."

"That didn't happen from the crash…" Peter stated.

"I expected as much," the doctor replied. "It's not serious and will heal just fine. And I suspect I'm correct on the origin of the marks – it's a pretty signature burn that those devices make. Though most people would remember how they got something like that. It's not a pleasant experience."

Peter swallowed. He felt his heart beat a little faster, feeling a pang of anger and anxiety. "Well, it's been a long day," he responded. He was done speaking to the doctor. He was ready to get Neal, and to get out of here. "Where is he?"

"He's next door," the doctor responded. He tucked his clipboard under his arm. "Why don't you get dressed and I'll get your discharge papers and a couple prescriptions set up? I understand you've got a ride coming along?"

"So I've heard," Peter responded. Gerry had told them as much. Gerry's purview had only been transport to the hospital. Not back to the city. 'Maybe not as quick, but more direct to your home,' Gerry explained. Peter hadn't argued. He couldn't readily think of a convenient landing zone near his Brooklyn home. And he was definitely in favor of returning home as quickly as possible.

"Great. Well, hang tight and I'll be back in a few minutes." The doctor paused. "I also just have to mention, Agent Burke, that we don't get a lot of federal agents over this way. I don't know what brings you to our neck of the woods, but I do wish you the best."

Peter smiled tightly. "Thanks."

Peter watched the doctor leave the room and sighed. He slowly slid himself off of the exam table, moving towards the chair in the corner where he'd placed his shirt and service weapon. His body ached as he redressed. His mind tried to process a million jumbled thoughts. This menagerie of thoughts was becoming too common and was weighing heavily on him.

Once dressed, he moved out of the room into the hall. It was a typical hospital setting, with sterile looking walls and floors, some bulletin boards and notices placed along the hallway walls. It felt foreign to be back in a proper building, and to be out of the bizarre underground bunker that belonged to Dean. For once the air they breathed was not damp and wet. However, while they were physically out of Dean's presence, Peter knew that the man's grasp was still strong on them. He felt it.

The doctor had mentioned that Neal was 'next door.' He looked left and right down the halls before he took a couple steps towards the next room, taking a look inside. It was a similar exam room, but empty. Frowning, he moved across the hall, peering into the next room. Also empty.

He ran a weary hand over his jaw, sliding it back through his hair with another sigh. He remained in the doorway and briefly closed his eyes, exhausted.

"Looking for me?"

Peter turned at Neal's voice, unwilling to admit relief at his presence and maintaining a stoic expression. He observed Neal a few feet away and said nothing at first. He hadn't even heard Neal's footsteps approaching.

"Did you think the worst?" Neal persisted. He leaned against the wall beside him.

Peter frowned slightly. "Come again?"

"You know," Neal replied with a shrug. "No tracking device. No supervision. I could be miles away by now."

"Do you want me to think the worst?" Peter replied.

"I was down the hall. Brushing my teeth." Neal raised his arm, showing off the toothbrush and small tube of toothpaste in his hand.

Peter eyed the toiletries for a moment, musing that it had been wise of Neal to ask for such supplies. He also noted that Neal's face looked cleaner, though a bruise was now more prominent on his temple. He was certain his own appearance remained rather dingy. He looked forward to a shower once he returned home.

Peter cleared his throat and took a step back towards his original exam room. "Let's wait in here, Neal."

Neal said nothing and followed Peter into the room.

Peter returned to the exam table but merely leaned against it. He gestured towards the chair that previously held his clothing. "Take a seat, Neal."

"Gerry said we have a ride coming," Neal spoke.

"They'll let us know when it's here," Peter responded. He watched Neal walk over to the chair and slowly take a seat. It clearly pained him to do so. "How you feeling?"

"Like I've spent the day at the spa," Neal replied sarcastically. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair and gripped the toothpaste in his hand as though he didn't know what to do with it. "Is that a rhetorical question, Peter? I feel fantastic.How do you feel?"

Peter didn't feel great himself. He also didn't feel like beating around the bush. "Neal, the doctor mentioned something to me about burn or taser marks."

Neal's brow furrowed. He didn't immediately respond, but his jaw grew stiff. He merely gripped the toothpaste tighter. "What?"

"On you."

Neal shook his head. "Why'd they mention that to you?"

"What's the story?"

"Story?" Neal echoed. His tone sounded a bit defensive. "The story sounds like a HIPAA violation to me, Peter."

"Neal." Peter spoke his name firmly. "Did Dean do that?"

"Well, I didn't do it to myself," Neal replied. He gave Peter a fleeting glare before looking away.

Peter exhaled, shaking his head slightly. He felt a mix of emotions again. Anger. Anxiety. Confusion. "You never said anything, Neal..."

"Well, what were you going to do about it?" Neal answered, a bit stiffly. He kicked the back of his heel against the chair leg. "He did it to try to get a reaction from you."

Peter swallowed, thinking back vividly to when he and Neal had been separated by Dean. The sounds from the other room. The struggle. The noise. The feeling in that moment. It was now exacerbated by realizing a hint of what was happening behind closed doors. "I'm sorry, Neal," he said sincerely.

Neal shrugged and shook his head. "You didn't do it," he replied in monotone.

Peter remained silent. He wasn't sure what to say. Thinking back on the events of the last day made him feel ill. And yet it wasn't over. It was far from over.

Peter reflected on the renewed recollection that Dean had only a short while ago initially threatened to keep Neal behind… His shoulders tensed thinking back on that now.

Dean was trying to use Neal as an example. Of what he was capable of.

"I'm fine," Neal said dismissively, speaking into the silence. He shifted again uncomfortably. "Especially now that oral hygiene has been restored.." He sighed and moved again uneasily. The chair beneath him scratched against the floor as he shifted. "Peter, stop it. Stop looking at me like that."

Peter turned his head, instead looking out at the doorway to the hall. He wished he could rewind to a few days earlier when his biggest concern was why Neal has mysteriously injured his ankle. He regretted yet again the decision to even bring Neal with him. He also realize he'd never discovered the origin of that injury. It didn't even seem to matter now.

"He's going to be watching us, Neal," Peter stated. He watched a nurse pass by in the hall. "You understand that."

"Yet you don't trust the FBI enough to help," Neal stated.

Peter turned back to look at him. Neal had a skeptical look on his face. "It's not about trusting the Bureau, Neal."

"Is that why you're lying to them?"

"No one is lying to them, Neal," Peter persisted, giving a shake of his head.

"Back there. With Gerry." Neal tilted his head. "Are we redefining the concept of truth now, Peter? Is there an acceptable technicality you want to tell me about?"

Peter sighed. Neal sounded a bit annoyed. Critical. "We can't tell them about Dean right now, Neal. You know that."

"You don't think they could help?"

"If he realizes anyone else is on to him, then we put everyone in danger."

"How would he know?"

"We have to assume at the moment he knows more than we think," Peter replied. "I don't doubt he knows where we are right now."

"What about Elizabeth?" Neal persisted. "Are you going to tell her what happened?"

Peter paused. This question had crossed his mind as well. He and Elizabeth had no secrets. He wasn't going to start now. "Yes," he admitted. The other thing he had decided was that there needed to be complete honesty between himself and Neal.

Neal didn't seem surprised by the response, but he also didn't comment. He simply nodded.

"Only so she can be aware of her surroundings," Peter explained, for some reason feeling the need to justify himself. He took a deep breath, wincing as his ribs objected, and then added, "And I'm pretty sure she's going to realize something is going on."

A moment of silence passed between the two men, both exhausted. The unspoken concerns weighed heavily in the air.

"Mozzie can help," Neal began. He said it tentatively.

"No," Peter replied. He turned his head. Neal was staring out the window behind them. "Neal, you can't tell him about this."

Neal's jaw twitched slightly. "Why?" he simply asked.

"For the same reason I can tell the Bureau right now."

"Mozzie is discrete."

"No."

"Mozzie's good at finding people, Peter."

"I said no."

"You have three days," Neal commented with a sense of skepticism. "You're going to find the person he's looking for in three days? Someone he can't find, despite how resourceful you claim he is, and you're going to do that? Without any help?"

"I'm going to try." Peter had resources. He had old records. He had the Bureau's system. He would be risking himself to look up some of this information, but he had to do it.

"And say you find her. Then what?"

"Don't know yet," Peter admitted.

"You'd hand her over?"

"No, Neal," Peter said stiffly. "She's in Witness Protection. That's not how it works. In fact, my biggest priority is confirming that she's actually still safe."

Neal turned his head now, meeting Peter's eye. "Witness Protection. Is she there because of him?"

"Partially," Peter replied.

"I thought he said he helped to save her. That he helped with the case."

Peter scoffed. "No. No, that's not quite true. But it's a long story."

"Well, you've got to fit that story and a solution into three days," Neal responded dryly.

"Trust me, Neal. Trust me, I know."