Hey guys :), hope you're all healthy and safe! Here's the next chapter. I'm so glad that you liked the last one, thank you so much for your support and I'm sorry for the cliffhanger. Hope you'll like the outcome of this chapter a lot more! :) All comments, readers and suggestions are MUCH appreciated. Thanks a lot! And once more, just to make sure you're all well aware: I really enjoy writing and I won't stop, I promise! It just takes some time, because I've got a lot going on right now in my everyday life! :-)


After more than three hours and a frantic search through the whole building and the surroundings, they had still no trace of the boy. Unsurprisingly, Peter was right, and the Raphael gone. He felt utterly disappointed and somehow ashamed by the betrayal. Hughes made it more than clear that he had to pay the price for all of this mess. And Peter still didn't know how to explain it to his wife, let alone the MET. He had been taking such a huge risk, all for nothing.

But, after his first rampant anger vanished, he found himself sitting alone in his office, recognizing a bunch of other, confusing feelings arising. Even though he didn't like it, he felt haunted by the boy's sad, regretful looking eyes. He felt as if, at last, they had a fragile connection yesterday, even though Peter had been well aware that the boy had a lot in mind and wasn't telling him everything. But he wholeheartedly believed that he owned a good core. All in all, he just couldn't believe that Neal would do that to him and El, not offhandedly. But what the hell happened then? Why did he act like that? Peter rubbed his aching forehead and groaned silently.

Deep in thoughts, he watched his team running around in the lower part of the office. They obviously didn't know what to do and were throwing a nervous glance in his direction from time to time. Peter didn't know what to tell them, he didn't even know what to do himself.

Suddenly his mobile startled him out of his thoughts. He shook his head to clear his mind and looked at the screen. His eyes widened in shock. What the heck? The anklet went back on and could be located again! He rushed through the menu and observed the map. Peter immediately recognized the location, it wasn't far away from the mall he took Neal to.

He furrowed his brows in confusion. Even though they didn't know his father's name, let alone his address or other background information, this couldn't be a coincident, could it? Neal certainly wouldn't run directly back home, would he? And why did his anklet start working again? This didn't make any sense. Peter jumped up and left his office in a rush to inform his team.


Only half an hour later, the van was standing in front of a dilapidated looking apartment building and Jones, Diana and a few other agents watched Peter expectantly.

"All right, let's get this done! I can't say where exactly he is, but we'll find him, even if we have to enter every single apartment, understood?"

They all nodded solemnly. Peter hesitated for a second, but then added: "Just one more thing. Even though he is a criminal, which I have to admit he proofed once more, lets always remember that he's just a kid after all… So please make sure he won't get hurt."

Peter's eyes met Diana's gaze and he noticed a lot of sympathy in her expression, which made him feel embarrassed somehow, but he tried to concentrate on the upcoming task. "Well, let's go get him!".

They entered the building in total silence, their weapons drawn and found the stairwell empty. It was dark outside by now and Peter could barely see anything but avoided to turn on the light. He didn't want to scare away his target.

Peter looked around, it smelled disgusting and was, as far as he could see, extremely dirty in here. He doubted that the lights would work anyway. He pointed up the stairs to begin the search, but before he could move, Diana stopped him by grabbing his arms.

He looked at her in confusion. She pointed to the opposite wall and he followed her gesture. His eyes widened. He recognized a huge bright red arrow. And under the arrow huge red letters, written with a fine brushstroke:

"Hi Peter!"

He shook his head. What the hell did that mean? He waved at his team to follow him and hurried up the stairs, where he found another arrow, pointing up the stairs. After that, one last arrow guided them up the stairs again, where they found a door marked with a huge red cross and the words:

"Please, don't be gentle!" underneath.

Even though Peter still didn't understand what this was all about, he didn't hesitate but kicked the door to enter the flat.

"FBI. Whoever is in here, just freeze!", he shouted, and they went into the apartments hallway. Peter felt nauseas immediately. He could smell alcohol, rotten food and lot of other things he couldn't – and didn't want to - identify.

They split up and went to search the different rooms. Peter found himself with Jones in a dark room to his left.

"FBI!", he shouted once more and touched the wall to find the light. He found a switch and turned it up. The bright light dazzled him for a split second, but then his mouth dropped open. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

The whole room was stuffed with art supplies. Canvases in different sizes, oil paints, brushes, sketchbooks and dozens and dozens of paintings. Besides, Peter noticed a narrow flatbed with a neatly folded but worn out looking blanket on it. In the middle of the room there was an easel with an envelope on it and a quiver was hanging from one side. Both men looked around, their guns still at the ready, but there wasn't any movement.

Peter lowered his weapon and slowly went closer. In a fine handwriting he could see his name written neatly on the white envelope. He shook his head in disbelief and started opening it, still not able to make any sense out of it. With Jones watching his back, he stared at the words in front of him.

"Dear Peter,

I could say I'm sorry, but I don't think it would make it any better. But please believe me, I AM sincerely sorry. I appreciate how much you did to protect and support me I'll never forget that. And you have no reason to trust me anymore, but I swear I had my reasons.

Even though this won't make it up – welcome to my former room! It's nice, isn't it? You'll find the Raphael in the quiver (yes, it's the original one, so please be careful!) and feel free to take a look at all the other things inside the flat. I suppose you'll find that very interesting! The drunk idiot in the living room is my father. Please arrest him for as long as possible, that's what this badass deserves. He wanted to sell the damned Raphael and forced me to do a lot of the things you'll find in this room. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you before.

Peter, I know I'm not in the position to demand anything, but please, do me one last favour and wait a bit before you openly announce that the Raphael is back. Please! It's the last thing ever I'll ask you to do. I know that you won't stop hunting me, which is fine. At least there's someone looking for me and tell you what? I kind of enjoyed it somehow, so why not going on with it. Thank you so much for everything, Peter. Honestly. And please tell Elizabeth I really appreciate what she did for me and I enjoyed our conversations and the stay in your house very much. You're both great people, you really are! The kind of people I would have loved as parents. And again, I can't say how much I'm sorry.

See you (or rather not!),

Neal"

Peter raised his eyes, his hands were shivering.

"Damned!", he shouted. The boy was right, he was a hand full of trouble. But nevertheless, Peter's heart went out to him. What was it, that he still felt this strong urge to protect and comfort him after all?

Peter grabbed the quiver and risked a look inside. The Raphael, he couldn't believe it. But why? Why did he do all this? He shook his head in disbelief and turned around, with the letter and the quiver in his hands to face Jones, who watched him intensely.

"He wanted us to come, holy shit!". He explained the content of the letter in short terms. Jones looked stunned, too. But before he could reply anything, Dianna went inside with a familiar looking, shabby man with cuffed hands, who obviously couldn't stand upright properly.

"Boss, we found this gentlemen lying on the floor in the living room, with these in his pockets!". She showed him bags full of jewellery – golden bracelets, rings and a variety of pills, too.

"It's not my stuff, I swear it's not! This little son of I bitch, I promise I kill him next time, cut him into pieces!", the man managed to blare in a sluggish voice.

Peter couldn't help but smile a little. Caffrey at his best!

"Nice to meet you, Mr...?", he asked him pointedly.

"You don't need to know my fucking name, fed! Isn't it your job to know such things BEFORE you're disturbing decent citizens?", he shouted and spit on the ground in front of him.

Peter raised his brows before replying calmly. "Well, you're right, I don't need to know your name. The evidences are more than enough to arrest you for now. Take him out Dianna and don't forget to mirandize him. I promise you, Mr. Caffrey or whatever you're called. You'll pay for what you did to Neal. I'll personally make sure of it!".

The man started to struggle and tried to free himself to attack Peter, but Jones and Dianna were able to stop him with joined forces.

"What are you talking about, you bloody fed? What I do with my boy is none of your business. He needed a firm hand to explore his talents and I made sure he never lost track. He became what he is because of me. And I provided him with a place to sleep and food and whatever. So don't tell me I did something wrong with this brat."

The drunken badass finally managed to free himself and stumbled in Peter's direction. The agent took his chance and hit him right in his stomach, which made his enemy kissing the dust.

"Get this piece of shit out of here!", Peter demanded and Jones and another agent pulled him up roughly and accompanied the screaming man out of the flat.

Dianna stared at him afterwards.

"Is it true? This is Caffrey's dad?", she asked, doubt in her voice.

Peter simply nodded and turned around. He suddenly noticed the dreariness of this place. He couldn't see any personal items. Besides the art stuff and the plank bed, the room looked depressingly blank. Furthermore, Peter noticed a lock on the door and handcuffs next to the bed. This obviously had been a cell in former time. He could literally see young Neal, sitting in his room, desperately trying to please his drunken father, dreaming of a better future.

Rage grew inside him! How could someone treat his own son so badly? Peter reluctantly began to search through the kid's impressive work, feeling more like an intruder than a fully responsible agent. Neal had been right, this definitely didn't make up for anything and Peter would never stop hunting him! He now, more than ever, felt the strong desire to protect and rescue the young con!


Neal hurried through the night. He knew he wouldn't have much time. After he had entered the evidence room, he had been facing not only the original Raphael, but also his perfect forgery. In this moment he had made up his plan and had smiled slightly. At least Peter wouldn't lose his job because of him, even though that would have made things a lot easier, considering that the agent would hunt him wherever he went.

He had taken both paintings and stored them under his shirt. After that, he sneaked out of the room in silence, entering the front room, only to find the security man sleeping behind his desk.

Man, they should really overthink their safety standards! he thought, rolling his eyes. It felt far too easy. Afterwards, he had just walked around that man and used his key card to leave the room.

The door had beeped loudly, and his heart jumped a little. But when he had turned around, the guard just shifted in his seat and the snoring continued. Neal had breathed out in relief and slipped through the door. With his head held upright, he had walked up the stairs, greeting a few uninterested looking agents and entered the main hall. When he had walked pass the guard who searched him a few hours earlier, he waved him goodbye and smiled.

"So you're free to go, aren't you? See kid? Told ya he's not a bad guy, didn't I?", the guard grinned. Neal smiled again, gave him thumbs up and, without being noticed anymore, left the building. Outside he waited for the feeling of joy, freedom and success, but felt nothing but cold and alone.

He had have no time to grab his coat and was now shivering in the bitterly cold wind. The drizzling rain felt like needles on his skin. He gritted his teeth and hurried towards the next subway station. While walking, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about the warmth and cosiness of the Burke's home. He imagined Elizabeth sitting on the coach, Satchmo to her feet, a hot tea in one and a good book in her other hand. He felt heavy on the heart. How utterly he wished to be part of such a life! But it wasn't meant to be and tried once more to focus on his upcoming task.


Half an hour later, he entered his hated former home, a bottle of whisky in one hand, a six-pack in the other one. Just to make sure…

He reluctantly climbed up the stairs. In front of the apartment, he took one last deep breath and knocked as forcefully as possible. It took his father over five minutes and three more attempts of Neal's knocking until he finally made it to the door and another ten seconds to recognize who he was. James grinned spiteful.

"I knew you'd come, dearest son! Come in.", he backed away, making space for Neal to enter the hallways. He went past him, but couldn't stop himself from answering cockily.

"Didn't have I choice, huh? Suppose it's the only way to get rid of you bastard!".

He knew right away that this answer wasn't a smart one. His father pushed him hard, so Neal crashed against the wall to his right. He hardly managed to safe all the bottles from breaking. He needed them!

"How dare you? I'm your father after all. Show a little respect, bloody bastard. What have I done to deserve a failure like you?".

He hit his son's face with his fist, Neal's head bumped hard against the wall and he could feel blood running down his forehead. His vison blurred.

"Wait, dad, please!", he managed to beg. Neal presented the variety of bottles in his arms. #

"I got what you wanted and a little peace offer. Stop hurting me, you'll destroy the painting!".

His father paused and grabbed the bottles.

"Where is it?", he demanded then.

Neal carefully pulled it out from under his shirt. He had wrapped it in a plastic bag he got in the shop where he had bought the alcohol. Not ideal though, he hoped that there wasn't already a damage, but it didn't look like that.

His father eagerly teared it out of his hands.

"Well, well! So you're not a total idiot after all."

As expected, he straight away opened the bottle of whisky and, with the painting in his hand, went inside the living-room without another glance in his son's direction, who leaned against the wall, breathing hard and trying to calm himself down.

"So now we're done, right?", he shouted angrily.

His father laughed his head off. "Guess so! Don't need you anymore, beloved son. Well…maybe I will one day, we'll see."

Even though that behaviour was exactly what he expected, he could feel burning tears in his eyes. The only remaining part of his family treated him like rubbish and used him as a punching back and a source of money.

He once again felt utterly alone. But that only reminded him of Mozzie! Not family by blood, but so much more and so worth fighting. He silently went towards his room to prepare the things he needed and then there was nothing left but to wait!