In a somewhat silent car ride, Peter drove to the urgent care location that he knew of closest to his home. He'd admit it crossed his mind while driving that he would have had a very different evening if he didn't have a CI within his realm of responsibility.

Another thought process that he kept to himself was that the decision to drive to this particular location came only after a brief internal deliberation of where he could even take Neal at that time of night. This internal debate took place on the descent down the stairs of June's townhome, when he realized that he knew limited late night health care facilities that weren't the emergency room. He preferred to avoid the ER if possible. As he recalled the one facility not too far from his home, he also decided that its location would help avoid the inevitable (and he'd admit likely logical and persuasive) argument Neal would attempt after the check-up about going back to his own home. If he'd chosen anywhere on Neal's side of the East River, the argument would be unavoidable and shutting it down would be that much more challenging.

Though the younger man said nothing, Peter could hear his sigh when they crossed the bridge. He clearly knew the argument he'd been planning to make would no longer be valid.

Peter wasn't thrilled about the situation himself. But he saw no other path forward now that the anklet was off. And he had seen no way to avoid cutting it off, other than leaving to go retrieve the key which would have cost more time in an already late evening and may have even spooked Neal. Getting Neal to leave with him to get the key could have gone a few different ways…

He considered whether he should carry a copy of the key with him more often.

At that consideration, he immediately realized Neal suspecting he had a key on him regularly could be dangerous. The kid had already several times proven that he could take Peter's wallet without his detection. It was playful each time, but didn't change facts. And no level of disapproval Peter had shown so far had been able to diminish the proud smirk Neal displayed each time he was successful.

Focusing on the present, Peter reminded himself that reflecting on other foregone options was pointless now; on the path he had chosen, he knew he would have to explain himself to Hughes, possibly fill out some paperwork, and who knows what else.

This was a first time in this sort of situation for him as well. Dealing with Neal, and the equipment that came with him, was actually well summarized by Neal in a statement he made back at June's: there was no manual.

And now, despite never imagining it, Peter had cut off the anklet. There was no going back. In the moment, he couldn't rationalize just leaving it on him, seeing how tight it was. Part of it felt like he was making a point. And if he waited to let a real medical professional take a look, likely the physician would do the exact same thing, so why not just get it over with?

He tried to explain that reasoning to his wife when he briefly left Neal in the waiting room of the medical office and gave her a quick call to provide an update on his timing. Leaving Neal meant enough distance to make a private phone call out of his hearing range while also keeping him fully in sight within a reasonable distance.

"Wait – You cut his anklet off?" came El's shocked response as he filled her in over the phone. "Peter –Why?"

"Hon, I didn't know what else to do…" he explained with a tired sigh. "It seemed like the right choice at the time. It was on so tight." He ran his hand through his hair, leaning against the hallway wall and eyeing Neal like a hawk through the glass doors. "He sat there at the office quiet all day, head down, focused. Meanwhile, I had no idea this damn thing was so tight on him…."

"Why wouldn't he tell you?"

"I don't know," Peter answered bitterly. "I don't even know what happened, though given his recent track record on self-preservation, who the hell knows. Meanwhile, I've got the other case heating up... Diana's tried me like three times tonight."

"Hon… One thing at a time. Did you ask him why he didn't tell you?"

"Not directly," Peter admitted. "I asked him what happened, but he was vague." He sighed. "Exercising apparently." His tone was skeptical. There were moments when he felt the upmost trust in his CI, even despite the relatively short duration of their arrangement so far. They worked so well together; he'd be the first to admit it. There were times Neal opened up, even came to him directly looking for guidance. Then there were other times Neal seemed completely closed off or would purposefully withhold information, causing Peter to be uncertain of his intentions. "I just don't understand how it happened while he was at home."

"Who knows," El continued. "Maybe something happened on the way to work, Peter. Accidents are random. Maybe he was going to tell you tomorrow since it was late."

Peter pressed his lips together and considered that. "I don't think it could've waited until tomorrow," he responded doubtfully. "He would've had to cut the damn thing off himself. And that would have been a nightmare. Not to mention the anklet kept sending a signal to the Marshals." Through the glass windows separating the hallway from the waiting room, he watched Neal sit diligently in the nearly empty area, head bowed over a clipboard. He appeared to be diligently filling out the paperwork that had been handed to him. "I'm sorry to have to bring him home tonight, El. But I can't leave him alone without the anklet. Hughes would kill me, and if anyone else found out…"

"So if not for Hughes, you'd leave him home?" He could feel El smiling through the phone line. "It's just the policy and paperwork that makes you feel the need to ensure supervision?"

"Sure. Let's let him think that," Peter answered with a smirk. "Might go over better than the constant 'don't you trust me' debate that I find myself baited into…" He trailed off, eyeing Neal again through the glass. "Listen, Hon, it's not too busy here... We shouldn't be too long. I really don't think there's anything seriously wrong – but I just want to make sure. Plus it gives me a documented reason for cutting his anklet off."

"Of course. It's no problem," she answered calmly. "I've got some things to catch up on. I'll see you both when you get home."

"Thanks, Hon. Love you."

"Love you too."

He ended the call and with a sigh made his way back to the waiting room. He glanced over at the reception desk on his return to Neal and was thankful once again that it wasn't too busy. He settled back into the plastic chair next to Neal and nodded towards the paperwork. "You almost done?"

"Mm-hmm," Neal responded. He was a couple pages in, neatly checking boxes. His tousled hair was making a rare askew appearance, falling onto his forehead in bangs.

Peter watched his CI's diligence and suddenly felt suspicious. He eyed the paperwork for a moment, and as Neal moved to turn to the final page, Peter reached to take the clipboard from him. "Hey. Give me that for a minute." For being so reluctant to be here, Neal had been all too comfortable to fill out his personal information.

Neal let the clipboard go without objecting. He leaned back in his seat and said nothing.

Peter flipped the paperwork back to the first page. He scanned the information that Neal had filled out in perfect penmanship. Immediately he exhaled a sigh of frustration. "Neal…"

"What?" Neal looked up at him briefly through dark lashes before turning his gaze to a television mounted up on the wall. "I was almost done."

"Done?" Peter echoed. He tapped his finger against the first page of the clipboard. "This," he pointed to the first line of the form, "is not your name." He moved his finger to the second line. "This," he continued in exasperation, "is not your birthday. Or month. Or year."

Neal exhaled a slow breath, puffing out his cheeks briefly. He then turned his head to meet Peter's eye. "They're all accurate for a known alias of mine. And if you—"

"No, Neal," Peter said, shaking his head. He felt in the last few months he'd used the word 'no' more than he had his entire prior life.

"You should know that name, Peter."

"I do." Peter sighed again. "I do know this name, Neal. And it's not yours." He shook his head again.

"It is mine," Neal objected. "The paper trail on that name is solid."

"Solid…" Peter echoed incredulously. Then he returned to his point. "It's not your real name, Neal," he stated firmly. "This person didn't just have a US Marshals anklet cut off because of an injury. You did."

"The anklet has nothing to do with me being here," Neal pointed out. "You're the reason I'm here, because of a little swelling… And honestly, Peter, considering I didn't choose to be here, I'd rather he – " he gestured at the paper – "be the one to have it on his medical record. Is that a big deal?"

"Did you just use the phrase 'honestly' with me while asserting you want to use a false identity?"

"Honestly is not a phrase," Neal corrected. "It is an adverb. And 'false' is a bit subjective, Peter."

Peter gripped his hands tightly on the clipboard. He couldn't imagine any other agent and their CI having an exchange like this. He couldn't even imagine any other agent personally taking their CI to urgent care, concerned about an injury. This is what he got, for crossing every line with this conman and letting him under his skin and permitting him to have a leash multiples longer than what anyone had advised him. He glared at Neal, who was now smiling at him. Smiling?

Hughes warned you… Peter reminded himself. Multiple times…

He glanced at his watch and sighed at the time. Patience, Peter… he reminded himself. He's right that you made him come here, for better or for worse. Despite the fact you could be at home with your wife right now.

Get this under control, he told himself.

Then he pointed a finger at Neal as he stood. "Do not move. Not an inch."

"I can't. Apparently I'm gravely injured and require urgent care," Neal responded with a shrug. He blinked at Peter with an earnest but clearly exasperated expression. "And where could I go? An inch sounds taxing."

Peter's pointed finger remained on Neal as he narrowed his eyes. He ignored the twitch in his hand that wanted to actually slap the other man and instead repeated, "Stay," in more of a growl as he walked back toward reception.

The older gray-haired woman behind the desk smiled at him as he approached. "Is he done with the paperwork?" she asked kindly. "We should be able to see him shortly."

Peter smiled sheepishly, swallowing back the anger that was meant for Neal and not for this woman who was simply doing her job. "Not quite," he admitted. "In fact, do you mind if I have a new set of forms? I'm really sorry, but he misunderstood a section." He cursed silently as he peeled back the erroneous pages from the clipboard in his hand and handed it back to her empty. Internally he felt his blood pressure rise. Would she buy his explanation? What was there for any person who could read at an elementary school level to misunderstand on these forms?

She frowned briefly but nodded, handing him a new clipboard from her desk with a fresh set of forms attached as well as a pen.

"Thank you." Peter took a calming breath, exchanging the new clipboard for the old and stepping away as he tucked it under his arm. He crumpled the erroneous papers in his hand as he sat down at the first available chair, roughly fifteen feet from Neal, and then balanced the clipboard of paperwork on his knee. He looked up briefly and caught Neal looking at him cautiously before quickly ducking his head to look away.

Neither of us want to be here, buddy, Peter thought to himself wryly. He then quickly began to fill out the form, realizing sadly he knew Neal's personal information nearly as well as his own. After chasing him for so long, learning everything he could about him, details like date-of-birth and social security were simple statistics he could rattle off. Hell, he even knew his shoe size, his belt size. Everything. He still questioned some of it, especially Neal's real birthdate given the lack of history from his childhood, but he honored what was official record as truth until he learned more.

After filling in the basic information including address and other personal information, he skipped the section on family history, which he was sure Neal had been amused to fabricate wildly on the previous form, and quickly wrote a description for the reason of visit.

Finishing, he got up and returned it to the woman at the reception desk, who thanked him and said it would just be a couple more minutes before someone could see Neal.

He then returned to the seat next to Neal, tossing the fictitious papers in a trashcan he passed on the way. He was curious to read what Neal had written, but also didn't want to give the behavior much attention. He'd learned attention was something Neal thrived on. Giving it for the wrong actions wouldn't be conducive to teaching him. As he sat beside the other man, he didn't get much of a reaction.

"They said it should just be a few more minutes," Peter told him.

"Great," Neal responded a bit despondently.

Peter waited a moment, and then after no further response, he deliberately moved his knee to bump it into Neal's leg. "Don't sulk," he told him. "And I get it now; taking liberty with those forms is fun."

Neal turned his head at the comment, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Peter met his gaze and continued. "I just gave you a new middle name. And I might have added some additional symptoms."

Neal's look transformed into suspicion briefly before he then looked nonchalant. "No, you didn't," he said doubtfully.

Peter shrugged. "Maybe I did. There was that section for 'other.'"

"Other like what?"

"Other like pain in the ass," Peter responded.

At the quick and sarcastic response, Neal's surly expression suddenly changed as his lips curled up into a smirk. His posture slackened slightly as he started to chuckle. Before he could verbally respond, he heard his name from the front of the room. "Mr. Caffrey?" called an older nurse. "We can see you now."

An hour later, Peter tried not to be annoyed that Satchmo and Elizabeth both looked more enthusiastic to see Neal arriving to their home than him. Satchmo's tail wagged eagerly as Neal leaned down to scratch him behind his ears, murmuring his name and a series of 'good boy' remarks.

"Hello, boys," El greeted as she gave Peter a quick kiss and gently squeezed his forearms in reception. She then turned her attention to their guest. "Neal, sweetie, I heard you got hurt?"

"Ah, not really. I'm fine," Neal answered, giving Satchmo one last rub before straightening to his full height. "I'm sorry to inconvenience you tonight, Elizabeth." He glanced at Peter briefly and then returned his look to her, exuding innocent sincerity. "But someone cut my anklet off and won't let me stay at home tonight."

"I heard," El responded, nodding sympathetically. "But you're never an inconvenience, Neal. Don't worry about it. Peter said you hurt your ankle. But he didn't mention what happened…" She glanced behind Neal at Peter, who simply shrugged. Neal still hadn't told him the details.

Neal shrugged as well. "It's nothing. Urgent care even said so."

"That's actually not quite what they said…" Peter disagreed with a slight shake of his head. "They said it was quite swollen. And they said it's a grade one sprain."

"Which they can do nothing for," Neal pointed out.

Peter exhaled a tired breath. "They wrapped it for you, which helps with the swelling. And it was better to check, Neal."

"I knew it was nothing," Neal muttered. He started to pet Satchmo again, diverting his attention.

"Does it hurt?" El asked.

"A little when I put weight on it," Neal admitted as he scratched under Satchmo's chin. "But it shouldn't take long to heal."

"Well, you're putting weight on it right now. Shouldn't you keep it elevated?" she asked. "Come inside and make yourself at home." She gestured towards the other room. "Come on in and sit."

"It's late," Peter commented dryly as he slowly followed them into his living room. He watched El guide Neal to the couch and tried not to be exasperated. Of course she was now going to complete baby him. Meanwhile, it had been his evening that was inconvenienced. "Maybe we should all consider calling it a night." He glanced down as his cell phone started to vibrate yet again.

"So what else did they tell you?" El asked Neal, watching him sink down into the couch. "Anything you need to do?" She sat down beside him.

Neal made a face. "Not really. Despite Peter's insistence, I'm fine, Elizabeth. I even walked on it all day."

Peter bit back his desire to point out that that's precisely why the ankle had swelled so much. Instead he kept on the theme of the conversation, while slightly distracted by the text message from Diana that he now read, holding his phone in his hand. "They told you to do something, Neal," he responded with a sigh. He looked up from his phone. "RICE?"

Neal's expression of displeasure continued. "RICE," he echoed. His tone was sarcastic. "Good memory, Peter. Who texted you?"

Elizabeth glanced between the two of them. "RICE?"

"Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation," Neal rattled off the doctor's recommendation, defining the apparently common acronym for sprained ankle treatment in a monotone voice. "Is that Diana again?" he asked Peter, nodding towards the phone.

"It's nothing," Peter responded, pocketing the device. It wasn't nothing, but given he'd already brought a big part of his workday home with him, he could spare his wife a discussion about work.

"Elevation," El repeated. She reached over and took one of the throw pillows from the couch and put it on the coffee table directly in front of Neal. "Then up you go. Here."

Neal obeyed and lifted his foot to rest it on the pillow. Peter frowned as he watched Neal adjust his sneaker-clad foot on his furniture and decorative accessories.

"Is that better?" Elizabeth asked.

Neal looked up at her with a thankful and somewhat pathetic look. "Yeah. Thank you, Elizabeth."

"No problem, sweetie," she answered. She paused. "You said ice." She glanced behind them. "Peter. Will you get him some ice?"

Peter's eyes narrowed slightly, but he caught himself before giving into the gut reaction, even noticing Neal now smiled somewhat smugly. So much for returning home and getting a restful evening. Elizabeth was now in full-fledged mother-hen mode with an injured Neal. He should have expected that, bringing him here.

"Ice. Sure," he replied stiffly, reserving his other comments to be silent. He left them to walk over to the kitchen, approaching the fridge with a sigh. He opened the freezer door and peered inside, quickly locating an icepack towards the back, which had last been used when he'd overexerted himself at a summer picnic three years ago playing a casual game of baseball and had needed it to ice his shoulder.

As he grabbed that and shut the freezer door, he heard his wife's voice call out, "And ice cream, Peter. Bring some of that ice cream of yours that he likes."

Shaking his head, Peter walked back into the view of his wife and Neal with only the ice pack in hand. "He doesn't need ice cream, El. It's nearly eleven o'clock at night." He ignored the fact that they both looked at him in disappointment with similar blue eyes. He walked over to Neal and handed him the ice pack. "You don't need ice cream, Neal."

Neal took the ice pack and shrugged. "I don't disagree, Peter. I also didn't need a trip to urgent care, but clearly that wasn't relevant."

Peter braced himself, keeping calm at the sarcasm for a countless time that night. He then noticed his wife's yawn at that moment and rather than responding to Neal's insolence decided simply to state the obvious once again. "It's late."

"It is," Elizabeth agreed, running her hands over her jean-covered thighs with another yawn, which she then tried to catch in time to stifle it with her hand. "I didn't actually realize it had gotten so late. I've got a big day tomorrow, so I'm probably going to head upstairs. But I'm glad I caught you both."

Peter nodded. "Thanks, Hon. Sorry to keep you up. I'll be up in just a minute."

"Sounds good."

As Elizabeth left, Neal shifted his eyes towards the window on the other side of the room, but could suddenly feel a strong gaze on him, a gaze that once again for a countless time saw straight through him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay – say it… What'd I do now, Peter…?"

"Nothing," Peter told him, chuckling softly. "Nothing, Neal…. Hey – Look at me," he directed. He waited, watching the brief hesitation on the younger man's face before finally Neal eventually obeyed, turning his head, deep blue eyes shifting to meet Peter's brown. Peter then continued to talk, lowering his voice so to keep the discussion between the two of them. "Now listen… I know you don't want to be here, but you're off anklet. You know that's the deal. I don't like it either. And you know what I'm going to say next."

"Yeah, Peter, I do. You do realize you're kind of a man of routine."

Routine? Peter thought to himself. Did they now have a routine when Neal was at his house? Instead of reflecting on that he replied, "Do you though? Because normally you've got the anklet on when you're here."

"And that means what?" Neal gently placed the unused ice pack on the coffee table, ironically next to his foot, which it hadn't yet touched. "What do you think I'm gonna do, Peter?" He smirked just slightly. "I'm not going to go anywhere, and I've already inventoried your valuables. On that one by the way, keep in mind my motto – if it's been gone long enough and you don't miss it…"

"Funny…" Peter replied dryly.

"So what'd Diana say?" Neal asked, skillfully changing the topic. As Peter started to frown, he persisted, "I know it was her texting you. You had the same expression each time you got a message from her tonight. What's going on? Is it something on the case?" Neal asked. "Maybe a new case?"

Peter studied him. He considered his responses. Neal looked a little too eager. After a pause, he responded, "You want to know the plan?"

"Of course," Neal replied, genuinely look interested. He sat up a little straighter.

"So here's the plan…" Peter set up the anticipation, slightly amused by Neal's heightened attention but schooling his features. He then slowly delivered his next line. "Everyone, including you, is going to bed." Peter saw a flash of annoyance cross Neal's face and he held up a hand to squash any start of a protest. "Don't, please. No whining. It's late. What were you expecting me to say?"

"You can't tell me when to go to bed."

"That's funny. I think I just did." Peter gave him a look, but then added, "Don't forget the first word the doctor said was 'rest', remember?"

"Rest," Neal echoed. "Actually, I think his first words were 'hello, I'm Doctor Stevens."

Peter simply shook his head. "Enough. Then the deal is we'll get up early, stop by your place, go to work, and get you back on anklet. Then the case." Neal didn't look convinced, and Peter studied him, uneasy. "Neal."

"So you won't tell me about the case until I'm under lock and key?"

"That's not what I said, Neal." Peter shook his head again. "We can talk about the case tomorrow. It's too late, and I'd like to talk to my wife for at least five minutes tonight if that's okay with you."

"You could have been home tonight," Neal pointed out. "They did nothing at urgent care, just like I suspected would happen." He shifted under Peter's look as it grew sterner. "These are facts, Peter."

They were facts. Peter couldn't disagree. "Neal, I needed to take you there not just to make sure you were okay, but at the least to get paperwork that substantiates why we have to pay for a replacement anklet for you. Get it?"

"Paperwork?" Neal now looked incredulous. "If you just needed a medical report, then Mozzie could have had that to you by the morning and saved all of us the time."

Peter narrowed his eyes. "Not what I want to hear, Neal. That friend of yours—"

"If you have time to comment on my friends, you have time to tell me about the case," Neal interjected.

At that, Peter moved around the coffee table slowly and lowered himself to sit on the couch next to Neal. He ignored Neal's slight recoil from him and shifted closer. He stayed quiet for a minute, thinking over his words as they sat shoulder-to-shoulder. He then said, "We're not talking about cases tonight, Neal. But I do want you to think about something."

"Thoughts are involuntary, but I'm open to a topic," Neal replied.

Peter paused, musing on the response for a moment. It was often Neal would deliver a candid response like that, causing him to pause and question the way his CI's mind worked. But he was determined to get his last word in for the night and get upstairs so he continued. "Do you know where you'd be right now if you were anyone else's CI?"

Neal answered monotonously without delay. "Home."

"No. Not at home. You're smarter than that," Peter persisted.

"Okay. So the answer is not at home," Neal replied.

"You set your anklet off, Neal."

"While technically I can't argue that, Peter, you said it was a signal anomaly."

"So let's call it that. You think the Marshals ignore signal anomalies?"

"It's explainable." Neal paused. "You could have also just called me to ask."

"I was on my way home when they got in touch with me," Peter answered. "But if I called… What would you have told me over the phone?"

Neal opened his mouth to respond and then paused. "I'm not sure," he admitted truthfully. He smirked slightly. "What specifically would you have asked?"

Peter shook his head, sighing. "Neal…"

"No, I mean it," Neal replied earnestly. "It's a valid question. If you just called to gauge how my evening was going, then sure, I might not have mentioned anything…" Neal said. "But had you specifically said there was a question on the anklet, then we could have talked about it."

"Talked about it," Peter repeated skeptically. "How about you being honest with me?"

"I wasn't dishonest," Neal replied. "And if you called, you could have been honest with me about what your intention was…"

"Neal, let's cut to the chase here."

"Please."

"When the Marshals called me – what do you think would have happened if I told them you weren't with me?" Peter paused, waiting for Neal to respond. When he didn't, he elbowed him gently. "Let's say I didn't come over tonight. Let's pretend I got the same phone call, but instead I said I wasn't with you, and I didn't know what you were up to. Following?"

"Easy plot to follow."

Peter found the nonchalant tone of Neal's response slightly infuriating but didn't comment on it. He continued, "I'll tell you what would have happened, Neal. Someone would have come over to make sure no one had tampered with your anklet, but it wouldn't have been me." Peter paused. "They probably would have entered your place armed, assuming the worst."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Okay, Peter." He leaned back, sinking slightly into the cushion behind him, exuding a posture of exasperation. Then he suddenly frowned. "Wait— did you think I tampered with it?"

"I hoped not," Peter admitted briefly, registering Neal's furrowed brow before continuing his earlier point. "Once they put their guns away—" he ignored Neal's repeat of an eye roll, "—and checked on your anklet, what do you think would have happened next?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Neal replied. "You're on a roll."

Ignoring the tone, Peter said, "I'll give you a hint. You wouldn't have spent thirty minutes at urgent care and an evening at a Brooklyn brownstone. You know where you would be tonight?"

Neal let out a deep, husky breath of impatience. "I don't know, Peter. Let me guess. Somewhere worse?"

"Somewhere worse," Peter muttered, in disbelief of Neal's indifference, shaking his head. "Yeah, Neal. Probably a holding cell down at the office until they could get you a new anklet, and that would likely only be after hours at the ER waiting for someone to check you out. Probably in cuffs. Does that sound worse?"

"I don't know," Neal responded as he tilted his head to look at Peter, voice calm and steady but eyes bright with impishness. "Would someone be lecturing me there?" he asked.

Peter didn't respond. Instead he pursed his lips and just eyed Neal solemnly.

"And," Neal continued, "could James Bonds have been the one at the ER instead of Neal Caffrey?"

It wasn't lost on Peter that if Neal were someone else's CI, he wouldn't have to practice this extreme patience and deal with this inconvenience. He wouldn't have to put up with this lack of respect. He tried to remind himself Neal did this on purpose. He's just testing you, El had told him when he ranted about Neal's impudence once recently. Testing what? had been Peter's incredulous response.

"And," Neal persisted, "would there have been ice cream?"

Peter glared at his CI, and worked his jaw. He waited a moment, processing his thoughts and using all his restraint to keep his hands to himself, all while maintaining eye contact. Those impudent blue eyes, challenging him. "You want to find out?" He looked at Neal with a challenging stance of his own. "Let's find out. Not too late for you to go to lockup. Since you're so curious."

Neal smirked. "Nice try, Peter. You're not going to drive me there at close to midnight. Didn't you want to talk to your wife?"

Peter chuckled. He shifted his position to get access to pull his phone out of his pants pocket. "Oh, I don't have to drive you. That's what Jones and Diana are for. In fact, they might even have a race to get here to see who can get the opportunity to put you behind bars for the night." He smiled.

Neal's smirk faltered for a moment, eyes shifting from Peter to his phone, then back to Peter's gaze again. He then put his smirk back in place and crossed his arms over his chest. "You're bluffing."

"Am I?" Peter shrugged and dialed a number into the phone, pressing call. He stood up from the couch then and put the phone to his ear, turning his back to Neal for a moment and taking a few steps away. He listened to the first ring, waited another second between rings, and then turned back around to gauge the situation.

Neal was no longer slouched back with arms crossed. Instead he now sat up straight, at the edge of the couch with his hands planted next to his sides. His smirk was gone and instead he watched Peter warily. "You're bluffing," he said assertively, though this time he didn't sound so sure. "And it's not funny."

Peter shook his head and shrugged. "You wanted to see the difference, Neal. So you'll see the difference. You don't want to be here anyway, right?" He paused then on the third ring. While unbeknownst to Neal, the voicemail from his own office with his own voice began on the other end of the phone. Ignoring it, Peter started to talk. "Oh, hey, Diana… Good, you're still up! Listen, I need a favor… Can you make it out to Brooklyn?"

Neal got to his feet then, glaring at Peter with contempt, walking towards the front door. He ignored the throbbing ankle, which reacted to the quick movement in protest.

"Neal…" Peter called out disapprovingly, watching Neal's movement across the room in a mix of amusement and satisfaction. He continued the act and spoke into the phone, "One minute, Diana." He dropped his hand, phone at his side and took a few steps in his CI's direction as the younger man got closer to his front door than he was comfortable with. "Hey, Neal. Stop." He realized then that Neal wasn't going to the front door, but to the stairs. "Hey!" he said more firmly, observing with satisfaction that raising his voice caused Neal to stop in his tracks. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm telling Elizabeth," Neal responded huffily. With a hand on the railing he remained still, but looked ready to continue his movement up the stairs.

"Neal…" Peter resisted chuckling as he ended the phone call, cutting off the voicemail he'd erase tomorrow, and returned the phone back into his pocket. His frustration with Neal was somewhat softened by his amusement that Neal would go to El over such an empty threat. He shook his head at his CI. "You're not waking up my wife," he said. He had noticed the close relationship the two of them had started to grow, and suddenly realized there might even be things his wife knew about Neal that he didn't. "I also didn't realize the great Neal Caffrey was so damn gullible."

Neal eyed him suspiciously. He watched Peter hold up his now empty hands. "I knew you didn't call her," Neal responded then, a self-assured look replacing the uncertain one from moments ago. He took a step back to stand by the door, half cocky and half sheepish. He stuck his hands into his pockets. "I was just playing along."

"Right… By heading to my bedroom to complain about me to my wife…" Peter said slowly. "Okay, smart guy."

Neal glowered slightly, seemingly attempting but failing to try to hide it behind a mask of disregard as he made his way back towards the couch. Peter noticed his slight limp as he moved across the room. Neal collapsed back down on the couch and frowned.

"So I guess it is better here then, huh?" Peter answered. He stood a couple feet away and crossed his own arms over his chest. "Before you complain, you should consider what my other options are."

"There are always other choices, or else it wouldn't be an option," Neal responded with a shrug. He leaned forward and picked up the ice pack from the coffee table, examining it.

Peter watched him, wondering if he was considering using the ice pack or was simply using it as an excuse not to make eye contact. "You want to sleep down here or in the guest room?" he asked. He watched Neal gesture at the current couch and nodded. "Okay. I'll bring you a blanket." He was about to turn away when Neal's voice interrupted his train of thoughts.

"Peter?" Neal began, his focus continuing to be on the ice pack.

"What?" Peter frowned as he turned.

Neal sighed and then rubbed one hand over his face, the other balancing the ice pack. "If you hear the door tonight, I don't want you thinking… you know. But I might just need air. At night. It doesn't mean I'm going anywhere."

Peter watched him, feeling a slight pang of something that he couldn't quite place. "That's fine, Neal…" he said. "If you do, take Satch with you."

Neal nodded and smiled slightly. "Of course."

Peter glanced at his watch. He could see the exhaustion on Neal's face and was feeling it himself.

He left the room without another word to briefly go upstairs to retrieve an afghan from the closet. He then returned to Neal, who was in the same spot he left him. He tossed it to him.

"One more thing," he started.

Neal looked up as he caught the blanket. "I thought you already gave me your parting thoughts, Peter. What else do you need to lecture me on?"

"Nothing like that," Peter responded. "Just decided I'd give you one hint about the case."

Neal raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

"Might require a brief trip outside of the city…" Peter responded. He anticipated the reaction and was not disappointed. Neal's face lit up, lips spreading to reveal his pearly white smile. Unlike the previous parts of the night, this time it looked completely genuine.

"Really?" Neal asked.

"Really," Peter responded. He realized Neal's excitement made him feel content.

"So you might want to rethink that anklet replacement tomorrow, Peter," Neal noted, leaning forward to replace the ice pack on the table. "Might just make sense to—"

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Peter interjected with a shake of his head. "Let's handle one thing at a time."

Neal nodded, continuing to smile. "So this trip… Do I need a passport?"

Peter gave him an incredulous look. "Neal… No. I'm talking out of the city. Not the south of France."

Neal just shrugged. "One can only hope."

"And who said you're coming with me?"

Neal tilted his head to the side. "Peter… You're not that cruel…"

"Good night, Neal," Peter responded, rolling his eyes. "Think about what I told you."

TBC