Peter couldn't help but let out a deep breath as he got into bed, relieved to finally be at the end of his day. He supposed it was more of a groan than a sigh. It was hard to decide whether the noise was driven by fatigue, frustration, or relief. Perhaps a combination...

"Hey… What's the matter?" El asked softly, rolling over with a rustling of blankets. "Took you a while to come upstairs."

"Took a while to deal with him…" Peter replied gently. He pulled his side of the blankets over his torso. "Sorry if I woke you."

"No… You didn't. You guys talked?"

"Well, I don't know if I'd call it talking, El. He seems to prefer banter."

"Oh, so do you…" she accused, smiling in the dark. "You enjoy that…"

"Not this late. And not when I'm trying to make a point. I'd prefer respect."

"Trust me. He respects you. Banter is his way of figuring you out."

Peter rolled his eyes a little bit, staring up at the ceiling in his darkened bedroom. "Yeah. Right. Your whole psychological theory on him testing me." He was quiet for a moment, and then slowly asked, "Speaking of his psychology… You don't think he'd leave tonight, do you?"

"Leave?" she echoed, a little surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Leave the house…" he said slowly.

She paused at first, as though puzzled by the question, and then slowly responded, "I don't really know… You tell me, Peter. Did you give him a reason to leave?"

"Reason? No. But I'm giving him space." Peter continued to stare up at the ceiling of their bedroom. "I mean, what am I supposed to do…? Handcuff him to my furniture?"

"Don't be ridiculous." She reached over and touched his arm. "Peter, he's stayed over here before without incident many times. Hell, you started calling the guest room 'Neal's room'."

"I know. But when he's here, he always has the anklet on," he pointed out.

"So you don't trust him?"

"I want to trust him," Peter replied slowly. "And I trust him more than I did a couple months ago." His tone was cautious. "And," he stressed the word like he was trying to convince himself, "he definitely knows what would happen if he did leave."

"What would happen?"

"Well, first I would catch him, and then I would kill him…" Peter answered, tone sardonic. "And then after I dealt with him, our arrangement would be over. And maybe my career."

"Oh, Peter… Don't say that…"

"El, it's true. I've got just as much to lose here as he does. I put a lot on the line with this agreement. He messes up, and it's on me. It's one thing when he plays games with his semantics, and another recently when he's been pushing the limit during cases, but there are certain lines he cannot cross."

"Have you told him that?"

"He knows," Peter responded, insisting to himself that Neal did know by now. He yawned. "I just normally don't think about it as much because we have his invisible fence to fall back on."

"Well, his invisible fence will be back tomorrow. It's one night."

"You sound so sure."

"You want to go back downstairs and go with your idea handcuff to furniture?" she responded with slight exasperation.

"Is it horrible I started to think about what furniture would even work? I mean, unless it's fixed to the ground or wall, then he—"

"Peter," she objected. "Stop."

He chuckled slightly, reaching over to squeeze his wife's hand. "Hon, I would never actually do that… Threaten it, yes. But I don't think I could actually do it."

"Good."

"Besides, do you know how easily he slips cuffs, Hon? I'd probably have to use duct tape."

"Stop…" she replied, though she laughed softly. "Go to sleep."

With that his wife turned over, a signal that it was the end of the conversation. Peter took a deep breath and willed himself to fall asleep, rather than listen for any hint of movement downstairs.

Peter woke early the next morning to his alarm with a feeling of apprehension and fatigue that undoubtedly revolved around Neal. It was a feeling that was becoming all too familiar. During a hot shower, he reminded himself that going downstairs first would change nothing if Neal had left. He might as well go through his routine first.

He considered that he hadn't heard any noise during the night, at least nothing that had drawn his attention. He then considered that this one fact didn't mean anything. This kid was damn good at sneaking around and even better at running. He knew without a doubt that Neal already knew his way around the house like it was his own. Hell, Peter had seen him skip the stairs that creaked on his way up or downstairs like it was second nature.

If he had run, Peter convinced himself it would simply be to go home. To sleep in his own bed. It wouldn't be to truly run. That's at least what Peter continued to tell himself. He would find him quickly. It seemed silly to risk being in trouble to simply sleep at home, but Peter knew when Neal wanted something, even something that seemed trivial to others or to make a self-dignifying point, he would find ways to stretch the rules and truth to get it. He'd probably even have a good rationale to offer.

And if that were the case, and he found him at home, Peter wasn't sure what he would do next. He would be truly disappointed. There would have to be consequences, because that was Neal's biggest issue, but Peter's methods for punishment were a short list beyond the easiest actions (threatening paperwork and shortening his radius) unless he got creative. Maybe a night locked up would actually be more effective. He wasn't sure. And he wasn't sure he could do it. With the goal to keep Neal out of jail, he knew putting him behind bars, even under his own controlled timeline, would be hard.

And if he wasn't downstairs, and he wasn't home… Peter wasn't sure what to do then. While he boasted his ability to find Neal with ease, it wasn't quite the case. He wasn't sure he would know where to start this time. Mozzie would be the first call. His stomach turned at the thought. How would he explain leaving his CI off anklet without supervision? He could already hear Hughes… Sure he had brought him home. But he hadn't really supervised him…?

Dammit.

What should he have done? Had Handcuffing him to his furniture really been an option?

Today was also the day Peter had to turn most of his attention to their current case. Which would, as he noted to Neal the night before, involve a tip out of town. Neal had seemed excited about that prospect…

Too much thinking for this early, Peter told himself irritably. He cursed as he turned off the shower water.

Peter quickly finished getting ready, going back to his bed one last time to give his wife a kiss. He was up earlier than usual this morning, so they wouldn't share their typical breakfast together.

He slowly made his way downstairs with a sense of foreboding. However, walking into his living room, that feeling was quickly replaced by a sense of relief, as the scene presented itself. Neal was fast asleep on his couch, curled on his side with the afghan haphazardly wrapped around him as though he had struggled with it in the night.

Of course he didn't run, Peter told his previously foolish self. Why would he run? He has no reason to run.

He felt only slightly guilty for thinking it earlier. He studied Neal's sleeping face, wondering at how sleep erased all hints of a clever conman, all those crafted expressions, and left a genuinely innocent, peaceful, youthful Neal in its place. The real Neal, without the walls. He'd never thought of this version of Neal those handful of years back, sentencing him to prison. The thought of him sleeping on his couch or having to take care of him never once crossed his mind back then. Now it was a common recurrence.

"Neal," he spoke in full volume as he moved to the couch. Peaceful and endearing or not, they were on a schedule, and this wasn't a bed and breakfast. He found himself going to Neal's legs first, pulling back the tangled blanket and then reaching down to hike up the sweatpants from his ankle. At least by sleeping, he'd by default kept his foot elevated. He admitted the ankle did look much better, and wondered how much was due to the tight bandage wrap they had skillfully applied. It was when he briefly touched the ankle that Neal began to wake, stirring slightly.

Peter stepped back and watched him.

Neal squirmed into a full-blown stretch, his limbs spreading out on the couch as he untangled himself from the blanket, accompanied by a fatigued, brooding look on his face. The smooth peacefulness in sleep from minutes ago was replaced with a scowl. He looked at Peter with full blown skepticism, hair in disarray.

"Morning. How you feeling?" Peter asked. He glanced over towards the corner of the room where movement caught his eye. He spotted his dog, also rising and stretching.

Neal cleared his throat as he continued to study Peter for a moment, as though slowly registering where he was. Then as he wakened further, his emotional walls appeared to build back up. The scowl melted away, replaced by a placid, expressionless look. "I'm good," he said softly, pushing the blanket off to his side as he sat up straighter. "What time is it?"

"Early. Ankle good?"

"Yeah," Neal replied, glancing toward his feet a little perplexedly, exhaling tiredly. As they spoke, Satchmo walked over the pair, tail wagging eagerly. Neal yawned and reached his hand out to comb his fingers through the dog's fur.

"Good. Then get up. We've got to go." Peter watched Neal turn himself, legs moving to allow his feet to meet the floor. The younger man's hand remained fixed to the canine, petting him as though in a tired trance. "You need anything here before we go to your place? I just need to let Satchmo outside, and then I'm ready to go."

"No breakfast?" Neal asked. "Where's Elizabeth?" He stopped petting the dog, who then moved to lick his hand.

"She's sleeping," Peter answered. "No breakfast. We can get something on the way to the office."

Neal nodded slowly, yawning again. As Peter walked away, Satchmo quickly followed at his heels, and Neal slowly started to get to his feet.

Peter exhaled as he made his way to the kitchen. He felt guilty to feel relieved at Neal's presence, and silly at his thoughts during his shower. He opened his back door with a sigh, rationalizing those feelings to himself as he watched Satchmo eagerly run out into the chilly morning air.

At Neal's, Peter was pleasantly surprised for the second time that morning as he observed the younger man take the stairs up to his apartment without any hesitation or sign of pain. Last night he'd noticed some favoring of the injured side. This morning it appeared gone. He wondered how much was an act versus he was truly healing quickly. While he hated to have an 'I told you so' on the injury not being a big deal, he'd much rather have a partner in one piece than have a prolonged recovery.

In the apartment, Peter gave Neal ten minutes to get ready as he glanced at his watch. As early as they had risen, he still felt pressed for time to get to the office. There was a lot to do on this case. After distractedly telling Neal to get ready within the time frame, he immediately focused on his phone and started to draft a note to Diana to have the team in the conference room at nine to regroup on next steps.

"Ten minutes?" Neal echoed incredulously, making no indication that he was aligned with the urgency that morning. "Peter. You realize I got more than ten minutes to shower and dress in prison, don't you?"

"I doubt that," Peter responded as he took residence on Neal's couch and sat down, finishing the message to Diana. "Even you." He glanced up to see Neal still just standing there and shook his head without sympathy. "And you're now down to nine and a half minutes. C'mon, Neal. Don't waste time."

Neal raised his eyebrows. "I bet you took more than a ten minute shower this morning. In fact, you gave Satch more than ten minutes outside as well."

"Neal." Peter tapped at his watch. "Eight minutes. I'm not kidding. Go. We've got a lot to do today." He returned his focus to his phone as he spoke, pressing send on the message to Diana with a sigh. "More than a lot to do."

"I wouldn't know because you've told me next to nothing about the case," Neal replied.

"You want me to keep it at nothing?" Peter retorted. He looked up. "I have other things to occupy you that aren't this case, Neal."

Neal's frown intensified.

"I'd rather have you on the case though," Peter replied coaxingly, sending him a look. "Which you'll learn about with everyone else at nine."

Neal sighed but resignedly walked away. Within a minute, Peter could hear the water from the shower turn on.

In six minutes, Neal was back, dressed in a pressed shirt and suit, shoes on, wet hair starting to curl at the edges.

"See that?" Peter told him as he ignored the less than impressed look on the face of the young man standing in front of him. It wasn't quite a scowl, but he seemed on the verge. Peter felt slightly amused in response. "You're ready. With time to spare no less."

"Hooray for me," Neal responded despondently. "I left time to stop for coffee."

Peter shook his head and smirked. "Don't be silly. I'll make some at the office. No need to pay or waste more time. Let's go."

Neal opened his mouth to respond and then closed it again as Peter was already heading towards the door. His expression was one of chagrin, but he followed Peter with a sigh.

Peter glared at the traffic ahead of him, trying to remain optimistic that they would make it to the office on time. His eyes alternated between the clock and the cars ahead of him periodically.

Meanwhile, he reminded himself it was always worthwhile to use his time in the car with Neal opportunistically. While he had once joked to Neal that not having a car was a poor life choice, putting jokes aside he was somewhat relieved Neal had never pushed for one. Not only was it one less thing to worry about, but while Peter was driving, Neal was more or less his captive audience. Barring jumping out of the car at a red light or stop sign, which Peter knew had actually crossed Neal's mind more than once, there wasn't much of an option to leave the vehicle until they reached their destination.

"So… you still haven't told me how you hurt your ankle in the first place, Neal," Peter started approximately three blocks into the drive. He still wasn't sure why the answer to that question was being protected like a state secret, but he figured he would try again.

Neal tossed a tired glance Peter's way, seemingly slightly exasperated at the question, before shaking his head slightly and moving his hand to reach for the radio dial. "So? Does it really matter?"

Peter glanced at the hand as it fumbled with the dial to change the station, watching him in short glances from the road. Once Neal had settled on a station, he moved his own hand to change it back. "No. But is it really such a tough question to answer?"

"No," Neal responded. Peter watched out of the corner of his eye as a moment later Neal's hand returned to approach the dial again. Neal added, "I just don't see the relevance."

"Neal…" Peter raised his hand from the wheel, ready to swat the infringing fingers if they entered radio territory again. The way he said his name stressed two meanings. First, answer the question, and second, hands off the radio.

Neal's outreached arm hesitated for a moment, wrist staying just out of reach, before he gave up and dropped his hand to his lap. "It just happened. I twisted it. And it's fine now."

"Just happened while you were doing what?"

"Nothing. I was home."

"Nothing doesn't usually result in injury, Neal."

"Statistically true. But this time it did."

"Neal…"

"I was exercising. In my radius," Neal responded. He sent Peter a look again. "End of story."

A moment of silence passed between them. Peter wanted to persist, but he also knew to pick his battles. He gripped his hands on the steering wheel and refrained from asking again. He supposed it wasn't his business, despite his own personal opinion that anything to do with Neal was his business.

Neal was the one to break the gap in conversation a moment later. And then the conversation turned somewhat unexpectedly. "Peter… What if we don't replace the anklet right away?"

Peter was glad they were at a red light as the question caught him off guard, and he felt a sense of surprise at the inquiry. He gripped his hands even harder on the steering wheel before he gave Neal a long sideways look. "And what do you mean by that?"

"If we're going to go somewhere on this case, wouldn't you take it off anyway?"

"Depends. And I didn't commit to you going anywhere…" Peter replied.

"You implied."

Peter chuckled slightly. "You want to talk about what you imply?"

"My point is… what's the harm in keeping it off for now, if you're only going to take it off for the case anyway?" Neal asked.

"What's the harm in putting it back on?" Peter challenged. "It doesn't hurt you."

"I didn't go anywhere last night. I could've."

Peter felt a chill. Could've. He didn't respond right away.

"You probably don't even know whether I left the house or not," Neal continued.

Peter didn't. He hadn't heard anything. It took him back to his thoughts from earlier that morning. But he wasn't going to admit that. "You don't get to choose when it goes back on, Neal. It goes back on as soon as it can."

"But –"

"But nothing. One of the conditions of your release, as you're very well aware, is the anklet. I'm not having any discussion about it. Reminding me how much leverage you have to go somewhere without it…?" Peter continued. "Wrong argument. Not helping your case." The light turned green and he slowly accelerated. "I told you last night. I trust you. But this is part of the agreement. Which you negotiated."

"There's a show tomorrow." Neal paused after he made the simple statement. Peter glanced over and could see him fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve. "I want to go. But I can't with the anklet."

Peter rolled his eyes briefly, keeping his eyes on the road. "Where, Neal?"

"Outside my radius."

"Obviously. Where?"

"It's in New Jersey." Neal said it slowly, tentatively.

Peter immediately scoffed. "No. Not happening. The only river you get to cross is the East and only to one location: my place. You're not crossing any other rivers unless it's with me for a case, and you're sure as hell not leaving the state."

"Peter, it would only be for an hour or two, and if there's no anklet you don't even have to make any radius exception, so I thought—"

"No, Neal," Peter said firmly. Neal didn't respond right away and Peter glanced at him. While he masked it well, Peter knew he was stewing inside. He knew because he'd had discussions like this before with Neal, which usually resulted in Peter feeling like the bad guy. He wasn't trying to be the bad guy. But rules were rules.

"It doesn't just come on and off," Peter persisted, filling the silence. "You know that."

"It's already off."

"And I cut it off, I know," Peter said. He calmed his tone to sound more sympathetic. "But an agreement is an agreement. You wear that piece of hardware with little to no exception. Exceptions are undercover cases where it needs to come off and, apparently now with new precedent, medical emergencies."

"It wasn't a medical emergency," Neal responded bitterly.

"Call it whatever you want then," Peter answered. "It was a rare exception. It's going back on as soon as we get the replacement, which is likely once you step foot into the office. If it comes off for the case, then that's one of the exceptions."

Neal didn't respond. He just shifted in his passenger seat, head turning towards the window.

Peter glanced over, feeling the silent sulk radiating off of Neal, though appreciative there was no follow-up argument. "You have the rest of your life for art shows," Peter told him. "While you work for the FBI, you're on a limited social and geographical radius."

Neal's response was a long exhale.

"Not to mention you get more scenery than most people would with your sentence," Peter persisted. He didn't know why he felt the continued need to defend his decision.

Neal continued to remain quiet. He reached over for the radio again.

"Why's this only coming up because your anklet is off, Neal?" Peter sighed. He reached to lightly swat the hand away from the radio. "You never mentioned any interest in going to some show in Jersey before today."

"I did," Neal replied, a little stiffly. He dropped his hand into his lap. "Three weeks ago actually. When we were at the gallery in SoHo following up on the lead for the post-impressionist replicas." He turned his head and stared at Peter. "Which you probably don't remember me mentioning because you all but fall asleep whenever I mention anything of the sort."

"Don't be silly," Peter answered, rolling his eyes and chuckling softly, though he would admit Neal's penchant for chatting about art did at times cause him to zone out once it strayed from what was actually relevant to a current case. Neal could at times be a walking, talking encyclopedia, proud to share his knowledge if given the opportunity. "I'm sure I was listening, and I'm also pretty sure I told you no."

"Then forget about it," Neal continued. "I just thought to ask. I know you don't appreciate the subtleties of these events –"

"Neal, the answer's no, no matter how you spin it," Peter interjected. "So save your breath."

"Fine. But you should know that these shows only happen at certain times in certain cities, Peter. In certain years. It's like telling you not to watch the playoffs because you can read about it the next day."

"Now you're comparing apples to oranges," Peter sighed. "That's not the same."

"Agree to disagree. Not going to argue with you." Neal reached out then and turned the knob of the radio, changing the station as well as turning up the volume, the car speakers now loudly pumping out rock-and-roll. Peter didn't stop him this time.

Peter glanced over at him as he neared a stop sign, and could see Neal's frustration building. Someone else might not have noticed, but Peter had studied him for too long. He could see his posture had stiffened, and he was just barely noticeably working his jaw. For that, Peter left the station, but reached to lower the volume just slightly. Compromise.

He told himself to ignore Neal's reaction. Rules were rules. But he was irritated at himself for feeling guilty about saying no. But he knew it was the right answer. As he'd reminded Neal before, while you're serving out a sentence for breaking the law, you don't get the luxuries of going to events you want to on a whim. That was part of the consequence. Still, something tugged within him. He'd never expected at his early stages of investigating Neal that he'd ever feel empathetic for this person, nor that he'd actually feel an inclination to make exceptions for him.

He tried to push back against the part of him that was becoming a pushover.

So much for using the car ride to press Neal on how he had hurt his ankle…

"What if someone came with me?" Neal spoke up suddenly then.

"You mean someone other than Mozzie?" Peter replied sarcastically.

Neal rolled his eyes back. "Yes."

"Well, it sure as hell isn't me," Peter continued. "And good luck getting someone else at the Bureau."

"What about –"

"Nope, not El." Peter could feel the glare. "Neal, listen… When you want to do something, think to yourself, would you be able to do it in prison? If the answer is no, then table your complaints, please. The things you can do far outweigh the things I'm sticking to the rules on. You know that."

Neal didn't answer, becoming quiet again.

Peter cleared his throat, focusing on the road. "Do you agree?"

"Do I agree?" Neal echoed, a little incredulously.

"Yeah. Does what I say make sense?"

"Peter, what am I supposed to say to your default argument to compare something to prison?" Neal replied, a little defensively. "It's easy for you to go there, but do you really think that's a fair comparison?" He paused and then quickly added, "And don't give me the whole 'you don't know what fair is,' spiel, Peter. It's too early for that."

"Fine. I'll wait for that until you've had your coffee," Peter responded, slightly teasing. He sensed Neal's sentiment beyond the tone and wanted to move on. "Besides. We have the case. I need you focused on that and not some room filled with pictures."

"Pictures..." Neal echoed, trailing off. "That coffee can't come soon enough…"

They were at the office by a quarter to nine, a short amount of time to spare before the meeting Peter had requested Diana to organize on his behalf in the conference room. It was just enough time to find her, quickly debrief, and hopefully have Neal restate his nonchalant, confident poise. The rest of the car ride had been somewhat quiet, and Peter knew Neal was somewhat deep in thought.

Before he could settle them in and find Diana, Jones found them first, just as they had made it a few feet into the office, barely past Neal's desk.

"Hey, Boss," Jones greeted. "How was your night?" He glanced at Neal as he asked the question, no doubt wondering what had happened after his brief call with Peter while the man was at Neal's apartment. He then settled his eyes back on his supervisor.

Neal didn't react, simply slinking around his desk to take a seat in his chair.

"It was fine, Jones," Peter replied. "You know about the nine o'clock?"

"Yes, Diana has us all rounded up," Jones confirmed with a smile. "I'll be there. But I wanted to let you know the anklet's here. Arrived first thing this morning."

Peter didn't even blink. He'd been expecting this. A glance down towards Neal met a stoic expression, but Peter could feel the negative energy exuding from him. Often the anklet went hidden, concealed beneath clothing, unnoticed and not discussed. When it did come up, particularly around others, Peter could feel Neal's cloaked edginess.

"Thanks. I'll take care of it," Peter told Jones. "Where is it?"

"Your office," Jones responded. He glanced between Neal and Peter. "And, uh, they need the other one back. They asked if they could pick it up at noon."

"The other one," Peter echoed. A moment passed between them. Then Peter nodded, responding quickly, "Sure. They can come by at noon." His brow furrowed just slightly.

"Cool," Jones answered. "I'll let them know. Thanks. See you at nine." With that he gave a quick nod and walked away.

Peter turned and stared at Neal pointedly.

Neal raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes slightly at the sudden and very direct attention. "What?" he asked. "I was about to ask if you want coffee, but you look like you have something else on your mind…"

"Damn right I do," Peter replied, moving closer to Neal's desk. "And I bet you know what it is. Where is the old one, Neal?"

"Old what?" The corners of Neal's mouth edged up just slightly before quickly stiffening, a stoic look winning out. His mouth straightened.

Peter felt his blood pressure start to rise. "You think I didn't notice that look?"

"What look?" Neal insisted innocently.

Peter leaned forward and placed his hands down on the surface of Neal's desk. "C'mon, Neal," he said in a lowered voice. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. The anklet. The old one."

"Peter, you're the one that cut it off of me, remember?" Neal responded back. He maintained a calm, innocent exterior and spoke matter-of-factly. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his middle. "You were the last to touch it that I saw…"

"Yes," Peter agreed stiffly. "In your apartment."

Neal shrugged, continuing to project innocence. "Well, Peter, what did you do with it afterwards?"

"Are you playing with me?" Peter asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

"Never. I wouldn't dare," Neal responded. His lips slightly curved again.

Peter continued to stare at Neal, irritated at the sudden act. Why was he surprised… Of course Neal wasn't going to offer any information. That wasn't a natural thing for him to do. Why would he expect him to be different in this situation? He was playing. However, Peter specifically recalled waving the defunct anklet in Neal's face, making some sort of relevant point in the moment, before dropping it on his table. After that, he had no recollection of seeing the device. Why he didn't take it with them when leaving the apartment… Well, he could kick himself for it right now.

"You're so observant, Neal. What did you see me do with it?" Peter challenged, raising his eyebrows. His mind channeled his memories from just an hour ago when he was right there, waiting for Neal to get ready. Had he seen the anklet? His memory was suddenly a blur. He'd been so focused on his phone…

Neal shrugged. "You put it on the table," he admitted without pause.

Peter was pleasantly surprised by an upfront response, and continued, "And then what?"

Neal shrugged again. "I don't know."

"Is it still there?"

"I've been with you this whole time," Neal replied, a little defensively. "Why are you acting like I did something with it?"

Peter acknowledged Neal was right. He couldn't have done anything. Peter had been on top of him ever since he cut it off, and while he was good with sleight of hand, the anklet wasn't exactly something that fit in a back pocket. But still something didn't feel right about having left it behind.

"Did you tell Mozzie it was there?" Peter raised his eyebrows. "I'm sure that little goon would jump on a chance to get inside that hardware."

"Little goon?" Neal echoed sarcastically. "That's real nice, Peter. I don't call your friends goons. Though now that I think about it, have I even met any of your friends…?" He smirked. "Do you have any?"

"Stop it." Peter shook his head dismissively. "Stay on topic, Neal. If we go to pick it up, is it going to be there?"

"Don't you have a meeting starting in ten minutes?" Neal extended his wrist to look at his watch with a little bit of exaggeration in the gesture.

"Neal."

"We were just at my apartment, Peter," Neal answered, frowning slightly. His tone remained inquisitive and blameless. "Why didn't you ask about it then?"

Peter felt like throttling Neal, though the younger man was technically saying nothing wrong. "I should have," he responded crossly. He racked his brain. He didn't recall seeing it that morning at Neal's apartment. But, so focused on conversing with Diana, he honestly hadn't looked for it. Between glancing at his watch and goading Neal into getting ready faster, he hadn't really thought to look for it. Despite being the person who always thought end-to-end about things, especially process and procedure, this time he hadn't.

"I was a little surprised when you just left it there," Neal mused out loud. He pressed his lips together and tilted his head slightly, giving Peter a questioning look.

"Oh yeah? Were you?" Peter asked sarcastically while giving Neal a look, narrowing his eyes.

Neal returned the look with a self-righteous gaze of his own. "It didn't seem very 'Peter' of you," he replied earnestly. "To just discard it like that."

Peter narrowed his eyes further. Why was it that Neal's most open, honest moments were to make statements that drove him crazy? "I wasn't discarding it, Neal…"

"Want me to go back and get it?" Neal offered. "I can go back home."

"You? Not a chance. But if I send Diana after our meeting, will it actually be there?"

Neal made a face. He was bothered at first by Peter's dismissal of his offer, but moreso vexed at the second suggestion. "I don't want Diana in my apartment."

"I don't care, Neal. I need it back by noon."

"And what happens, theoretically, if that doesn't happen?"

"Why wouldn't that happen?" Peter retorted stiffly. He gave Neal a challenging look.

"I said theoretically, Peter. Speaking theoretically doesn't mean it won't happen," Neal answered. "I'm just wondering what would happen. You told me I should always ask questions. Consider scenarios."

"Not what I had in mind when I told you that," Peter replied a bit irritably. Then took a deep, calming breath. He straightened to his full height and gestured to Neal. "Get up."

Neal looked at up at him quizzically. He paused and then asked, "Why?"

"Because I'm out of time, Neal, and—"

"I don't know why you're turning this on me," Neal interjected defensively. "I didn't—"

"You didn't do anything," Peter finished abruptly. "Is that what you're going to say? I've heard it a million times, Neal. Enough. Just get up. We're going to my office. I need to at least get your new anklet on and activated before nine, and then we'll figure out the other one."

Neal looked a bit indecisive. "You're mad."

Peter sighed. "No," he forced out, feeling his blood pressure beg to differ. "I'm not."

"I can tell," Neal insisted. "Your pupils get bigger and you do that thing with your hands that—"

"Neal," Peter interrupted. "My hands are about to be around your neck." He took a step around the side of the desk towards Neal. "Remember our conversation about lockup?"

Neal smiled up at him, leaning his head back to look up at him more directly, clearly unaffected by the threat. "Peter…"

Peter's expression remained the same, narrowing his eyes slightly. "My office," he said. "Now." With that he turned and left, walking across the bullpen towards the stairs.

Neal hesitated just a moment longer. He let out a long deep breath but then promptly got to his feet, following a short distance behind Peter.

As he entered his handler's office seconds after him, he preemptively closed the door behind him. "You promised you'd never accuse me of something without proof," he told Peter. He spotted the replacement anklet on Peter's desk and frowned. "It feels like you're doing that now."

"I'm not accusing you of anything," Peter responded, back turned to him and not looking up as he reached for the device. "Sit."

Neal moved further into the office and pulled back a chair from the front of the desk to sit down. "Feels like you are," he repeated.

"I'm not," Peter said curtly. "I'm accusing Mozzie of something." He moved to take the chair beside Neal and sat down as well. "And you're doing a pretty good job not denying it by the way."

Neal scoffed. "Peter. I've been with you since you cut it off. I don't control Mozzie."

"No, but something tells me you give him just as many harebrained ideas as he gives you," Peter continued. "And if he so much as touched the old anklet, Neal, then you both have a lot of explaining to do."

Neal clenched his jaw, unnoticeable to an observer. He hated how caged he felt at the moment. Here was a situation where it was Peter at fault. Peter had been the one to come to his apartment, cut off the anklet, and leave it behind. Neal didn't make any of those decisions, and was not present to see Mozzie return to the residence. Had he possibly texted Mozzie to let him know that there was an unattended, disarmed version of his anklet sitting out for anyone to examine? He might have, but that was beside the point. That was all circumstantial.

Neal glanced behind him longingly towards the door of the office as Peter took the chair beside him.

While Peter got the device ready, Neal turned his head. His eyes trailed across the contents of Peter's office as he had done multiples of times before. He was pretty sure he could spot anything amiss. He had to. Just in case he ever needed to fix things in here…

A tap on the knee from Peter brought his attention back to the current task at hand, and he turned his head before sighing and shifting in his seat so he could elevate his foot to Peter's reach. He rested it on the corner of the other man's chair and turned his head again to look out the window.

"Other one," Peter told him.

"Hm?" Neal turned his gaze back again.

"Not this one." Peter pushed at the currently elevated leg gently. "I'm not putting it on the same one."

"But I'm used to it on that one," Neal objected, not moving.

"So you'll get used to it on the other one."

Neal furrowed his brow slightly, and despite it rubbing him the wrong way (it was bad enough he had to wear the damn thing – could he not choose which ankle it went on?) it seemed too juvenile a point to fixate on and he let it go. He dropped the leg to the ground and shifted his position to raise his other foot the same way.

He could feel Peter's hands pushing up the fabric of his slacks to get access to his ankle. The movement was gentle and he tried not to feel annoyed.

"I'll move it back when you're sure the other ankle is fine," Peter said softly as his fingers focused on the strap of the anklet. "Just not yet."

Neal shivered at the touch against his bare skin but said nothing. Peter went through the motions quickly and the anklet beeped when it was activated. Neal didn't bother looking down to see the green light indicator. He felt a small tug as the fabric of his pant leg was put back in place and then they were done. As Peter stood up and moved around his desk to return to his own seat, Neal lowered his leg back to the floor. He flexed his ankle gently. He'd gotten so used to the hunk of metal on the other ankle, so this was a little weird.

"Now you have a phone call to make," Peter said as he settled into his own chair.

"What phone call?" Neal viewed Peter in question.

"Prove me wrong, Neal," Peter persisted. "Let's call your friend. You don't mind speaker phone, do you?"

Neal sighed. Calling Mozzie was one thing, but calling Mozzie with Peter as an active audience was something else. The two had gotten a little less awkward with each other but it was still two separate and distinct relationships, both with a different flavor of trust, that he needed to carefully balance. Separation of church and state.

"Is that really necessary?" Neal asked.

"Can you tell me with absolute, one hundred percent certainty that the anklet is on your table where I left it?" Peter asked. "If you can, then no, it's not necessary."

Neal wanted to look away. Peter was literally staring at him. If he looked away, not only would he appear guilty, like an accomplice, but he'd simply be directed to make eye contact again. He knew Peter at this point. Peter was big on eye contact. So he maintained an even gaze with his handler. And he didn't lie. "No," he admitted. Then he added, "But I can't say a lot of things with a hundred percent certainty, Peter."

Peter simply nodded. "I need it back, Neal. Call him. Please."

"He might not answer," Neal warned.

"I'll take the chance." Peter glanced at his watch. Minutes until nine.

Neal sighed again and reached into his pocket to withdraw his phone. As Peter watched him expectantly, Neal gave him a look.

"What?" Peter frowned.

Neal simply shook his head. Peter's focus was a little bit too much, but he said nothing. He started to dial his friend's number from memory.

"Speaker phone, Neal," Peter told him.

Neal grew frustrated. "Why?" he protested.

"Neal. I don't have time for you to tell me he's not there or to play some sort of code word game with him."

"Code word game?" Neal echoed sarcastically. At Peter's look, he sighed and pressed 'call' before begrudgingly also pressing the speaker button. "Fine."

It took two rings for Mozzie to pick up.

"Mon frère, Spiderman," came the voice over the line. "Good morning."

Neal winced at the wording, and tried to redirect his friend. "Listen, Moz. Hey, before you say anything—"

"Scale any other buildings?" Mozzie continued.

Neal felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach. He tried to avoid looking at Peter. "Look, Moz," Neal continued quickly, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. He tried to ignore it. He could feel Peter glaring at him with laser pointer vision. "I'm here with Peter. You're on speaker."

"Speaker… Lovely," Mozzie responded, obviously not keen on the concept. His voice grew a bit tinny. "Hello, Suit."

"Hello, Mozzie," Peter answered in equal monotone. Then his hissed, "Neal. What the hell does he mean – scaling buildings?"

Neal swiftly ignored him. "Mozzie, I need to ask you something."

"Neal," returned Mozzie, interrupting in a voice that was a little stiff. "You know I do not like to be on speaker phone."

"I know, Moz, but—"

"Nor called from the inside of a federal building."

"Yes, I know that too, Moz, but listen—"

"If you know, then why am I still on speaker phone?"

"I tried. I did." Neal shot a look at Peter irritably and then made an executive decision and pressed the button to return the call to the earpiece only. He held the phone up to his ear. "There. Sorry." He ignored the reaction from across the desk. "Moz."

"Neal," Mozzie's voice continued, now directly in his ear. "What does the Suit need? You really ought to learn to manage him a little better. At least for my sake."

"I'll try," Neal responded, trying to mask his underlying sarcasm. He could feel Peter watching him. He tried to decide whether to cut to the chase or to try to dance around his words slightly in order to avoid Peter's scrutiny. He decided on compromise and pushed himself up from his chair, as the first approach would obviously work best but without Peter as an audience. Why had he agreed to that anyway? His ankle ached slightly in protest as he moved towards the doorway. "Listen, Moz –"

"Neal," Peter said his name warningly.

Neal ignored him and moved to pull the door open. He exited the office, continuing his discussion with Mozzie but decidedly one-on-one. "No climbing references, Moz," he said insistently once he was far enough from Peter's earshot. "Please."

"Oh, you didn't share your new hobby with the Suit, I suppose?"

"Not sure he would be supportive."

"Imagine that."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Listen." He paced a few feet across the floor, looking back towards Peter's office, surprised but pleased the man hadn't followed him out. "The anklet. Where is it?"

"I told you. I know a guy."

"Where's the guy? I need it back."

"Why?"

"By noon, Moz. Is that possible? Did you already give it over?"

"You said they left it behind."

"Yeah, but now they want it back," Neal answered brusquely.

"So what you're really saying is your assumption that they wouldn't notice they left it behind wasn't all that sound."

"I figured they would notice," Neal said, voice terse. He didn't often earn lectures from Mozzie anymore and he wasn't about to invite one now. "Just not so quickly." He could hear the sigh come over the line. "Moz, come on. I thought you'd be done and have it back before he noticed."

"So the Suit surprised you."

"You could say that."

"Interesting."

"Mozzie, please."

"I get it," Mozzie said, sighing gently. "Look… Let me call him and see."

"So you have no idea whether you can get it back? He's going to kill me, Moz."

"I didn't say that…" Moz paused. "Look, the guy seemed busy. So on one hand, I would think he hasn't touched the thing yet, because he just hasn't had the time. But… that being said. Access to one of these Fed-authorized devices can be quite tempting. He was excited to get his hands on it."

"Just call him."

"I will. And don't sound so desperate, Neal. It's not like you. Does the Suit know we have it or he's speculating?"

"He assumes. I didn't tell him. But he knows. After all, he left it at my place."

"Fine. But it's not a big deal. Like you said, Neal – He's the one that left it."

"I know," Neal insisted. "Moz, I get that. But he has a different sort of interpretation of the situation."

"Fine. I'll get it back, bud."

"Thanks. By noon. Or else… Or else, I don't know." Neal rubbed his free hand over his face dolefully. He could always blame Mozzie if he didn't get it back in time. What could Peter do to Mozzie?

"You okay?"

"I guess."

"You guess…" Mozzie repeated slowly.

"I'm fine. I'm good." Neal wasn't going to start any emotional platitudes with one of his oldest friends. "I'm good, Moz."

"Not like they'll lock you up for this. They left it behind," Mozzie said affirmatively. "It's their ass on the line for overlooking it. But by noon should be fine. You'll be at the office?"

"I think so." Neal repeated Mozzie's words in his head: Not like they'll lock you up. This seemed like a small infraction, but everything was the potential last straw that could lead to not meeting the conditions to be serving his sentence outside of prison. And besides, Peter had already threatened him twice now with time in the holding cell. Which he absolutely did not want. And Peter had other informal ways to deal with him too.

"So by noon it is, pal. How's the ankle?"

"Better."

"Good. See you before noon."

"Okay. Thanks, Moz."

The line went dead. Neal closed his eyes briefly and then returned to Peter's office, meeting the expectant gaze with a calm one of his own.

"You'll have it back by noon," he said as affirmatively as he could.

"So he has it."

"You'll have it by noon," Neal repeated.

"In one piece?" Peter asked.

"Yes," Neal said naturally, though his stomach flip-flopped a little at the thought. He hadn't specified with Moz but he knew the man would channel what he needed. "One piece."

"Why'd he call you Spiderman?"

Neal forced a smile with a chuckle and then made deliberate eye contact with Peter. Eye contact made statements more convincing and made Peter less suspicious. He was about to respond with an automatic 'not sure,' but acknowledged internally that would be a lie. So he went with a shrug and instead replied, "I'm sure he was trying to make a joke."

"A joke…" Peter echoed. "And the reference to scaling buildings? That a joke too?"

"He's got a creative mind…" All of this was true.

"Oh, I don't doubt that…" Peter eyed him skeptically. "So do you... What'd you do?"

Neal frowned briefly and then smiled a bit wider, forcing as much indifference as he could. "Me? Nothing, Peter." He couldn't maintain the eye contact too much longer and tried to think of what to have divert his attention.

Peter didn't look convinced. "It's never nothing with you. What did you scale?"

Neal shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous. Since when do you take everything Mozzie says to be reality? He was probably referring to a recent conversation we had. You think I've actually been scaling buildings?" Questions weren't lies.

Peter continued to look at him with scrutiny.

"You know what I'd like to scale…" Neal spoke, changing the angle of the conversation. "I have a top ten. I've ranked it by country. First – "

"I don't want to know," Peter interrupted.

"Not curious?"

"Nope. Not in the least."

Neal tilted his head to the side, looking at Peter curiously. He was pretty sure the man was curious, but more importantly he was pretty sure he had also successfully redirected his thoughts away from recent climbing activity.

Mission accomplished.

"It's nine," Neal told him pointedly. "Don't we have to be in the conference room?"

Peter sighed and nodded. He pushed back his chair and started to stand up. "Right. Let's go."

"I never got that coffee."

"You'll live."